Björn Yttling, a key member of the acclaimed Swedish band Peter Bjorn and John, is deeply engrossed in manipulating a Moog synthesizer in a studio setting. Despite the vintage charm of the Realistic MG-1, a personal favorite of the studio owner since high school, Björn’s pursuit of a specific sonic texture is evident. For those familiar with Peter Bjorn and John, this dedication to sound is no surprise. In mere moments, the old synthesizer yields, producing the desired melody—a testament to Björn’s sonic ingenuity.
Peter Bjorn and John—comprising Peter Morén, Björn Yttling, and John Eriksson—have convened to refine new tracks following an extensive two-year tour supporting their breakthrough album, Writer’s Block. This is the album that gifted the world the undeniably catchy, whistle-infused anthem, “Young Folks,” a song so ubiquitous it resonated even with mainstream audiences. The studio space is brimming with a diverse array of instruments, from keyboards and drum machines occupying every available surface to drums and amplifiers strategically placed around the room. Even the piano is prepared for recording, routed through the PA system with generous reverb. The band’s objective is clear: to finalize song arrangements and solidify their sonic direction. Over three intense days, the same core of songs are explored through various iterations—tempo shifts, instrumentation changes, and alterations in overall feel. Björn spearheads this process, encouraging the band to examine their music from every conceivable angle, embodying a rehearsal-centric pre-production philosophy. He mentions that the Los Angeles location is particularly conducive to focused work, as the time difference minimizes phone interruptions, allowing for uninterrupted creative flow.
Björn Yttling’s influence extends far beyond his role in Peter Bjorn and John. He is a formidable keyboardist and arranger, a central figure in numerous significant Swedish musical projects. His resume includes collaborations and tours with celebrated acts such as The Caesars, Nicolai Dunger, and Dungen. Furthermore, his production credits are equally impressive, having shaped the sound of records for The Concretes, Shout Out Louds, Robyn, and Lykke Li. Björn possesses an exceptional ear for identifying the essential elements of a compelling song. His productions often achieve a timeless quality while simultaneously exhibiting an otherworldly sonic signature. Crucially, he maintains a firm grasp on crafting memorable hooks, and his arrangements, though seemingly simple, are capable of unexpected shifts, occasionally venturing into experimental territories reminiscent of Sun Ra. For a deeper dive into his avant-garde inclinations, one can explore Yttling Jazz, his side project that evokes the image of Raymond Scott’s compositions colliding within a Mingus-esque pinball machine.
Amidst his four-day Los Angeles stay, which included Björn’s eventful experiences at the Knitting Factory and a less fortunate encounter at Steve Aoki’s DJ night—resulting in a lifetime ban—he engaged in a conversation in the studio’s dining area to discuss his journey in music.
When did your journey into recording begin? Were you part of a band at that time?
My initial foray into recording was somewhat unconventional. As a child, I participated in a Jeopardy-style TV quiz show. My prize for winning was a trip to Copenhagen. However, I opted to exchange the trip for a 4-track cassette recorder.
They accommodated your request and provided the monetary equivalent for a 4-track recorder?
Yes, along with a pair of high-quality AKG headphones. The recorder was a Fostex cassette model, although I had prior experience with a Tascam Portastudio at music school.
You attended music school during your high school years?
Actually, it was even earlier, around the age of 12 or 13. The school had acquired an Atari 1040ST computer and a Tascam Portastudio. Later, they added a Roland D 50 synthesizer. These were the instruments that sparked my initial explorations in music creation. Subsequently, I acquired my own 4-track recorder. Armed with just a microphone, I began experimenting with tape-to-tape recording—there was no turning back from that point. Well, technically, one could rewind a step!
What is your current age?
I am 33.
So, you’re not among those in your generation who have bypassed the era of tape recording entirely?
No, that’s not my background. My early interest was in synth music. The advent of MIDI technology was revolutionary—it expanded the possibilities significantly. I used MIDI with Atari or Commodore computers, recorded to tape, and then added vocals. Later, I attended high school with Peter [Morén], and I continued to record using my 4-track setup.
Initially, were your recordings primarily solo endeavors?
Yes, initially it was just myself and a friend, working on songs we had written together.
How did you transition into recording and producing for other artists?
Moving to Stockholm broadened my network and opportunities to connect with other musicians. I started playing with Nicolai Dunger, which was essentially my first professional engagement. Simultaneously, I worked in studios as a keyboardist for producers like Pele [Almqvist], known for his work with The Hives, and Jari [Haapalainen], who produced Ed Harcourt. This studio experience led me to realize that constant touring wasn’t the lifestyle I envisioned long-term. Observing these producers, I considered production as a viable path. I began co-producing with Jari, assisting him and learning the intricacies of the role. I also contributed arrangements, including strings and horns—skills I had developed through formal music education and sheet music writing. My production journey started with our debut Peter Bjorn and John album in 2002. Following that, I produced an album for Marit Bergman, which became my first significant production credit and a hit in Sweden. At that time, indie rock’s presence in mainstream charts was limited; the charts were dominated by older and more polished genres. Marit’s success played a role in breaking indie music into the Swedish mainstream. Initially, budgets were tight, often non-existent, but I pursued projects regardless. I proactively sought out bands, offering to produce them for free if they could cover studio costs during my downtime. I maintained a consistent work ethic. During this period, I also joined The Caesars, which provided financial stability through touring across the US and Europe. My co-production partnership with Jari flourished, leading to several gold records in Sweden. Before fully committing to music production, I had supplementary income, like teaching piano, but around 2002-2003, I transitioned to full-time music work.
How crucial is pre-production in your process? Do you dedicate significant time to it?
I typically avoid recording demos prior to entering the studio, but I prioritize extensive rehearsals with artists. I emphasize pre-rehearsals! This preliminary stage is vital—defining song structures and determining optimal keys for vocalists. This often involves informal sessions, perhaps sitting with the artist and singing through ideas, rather than being confined to a formal rehearsal space.
You conduct these initial sessions in a more relaxed setting, like their home?
Yes, because the vocal approach differs significantly when singing into a microphone. There’s a tendency to raise the key instinctively when rehearsing with mics, as monitoring volume can mask the true vocal range.
So, you’re adjusting the song’s key based on these initial vocal explorations?
Precisely. Often, in a rehearsal setting, there’s a natural inclination to push the key higher. However, in a more intimate setting, like a casual sofa session, the optimal key often becomes more apparent. I also value working closely with drummers early in the process. The rhythmic foundation—the drums and beats—is paramount to me. If those elements are solid and aligned with the song’s direction, establishing the bass and other instrumentation becomes much smoother. The vocal and drum elements are foundational, and for band projects, we then transition into formal rehearsals.
What informs your decisions regarding acoustic versus electronic instrumentation, particularly concerning drums?
I generally lean away from purely electronic drums. Soft synths and samplers are also not typically part of my workflow. I appreciate ambiguity in sound, where the origin of an instrument isn’t immediately discernible. I enjoy manipulating acoustic sounds and processing electronic sounds through amplifiers.
Considering the precision and tightness of the grooves in your productions, one might assume drum machines are frequently employed.
While I can’t entirely rule out drum machines, they aren’t my primary tool. I often layer them with unconventional elements. For instance, borrowing a hip-hop technique, I might incorporate a wooden clap sound on the snare. Or, I might dampen guitar strings or even capture percussive sounds by hitting walls or ceilings. Adding subtle, unexpected notes to the snare track, perhaps from a briefly triggered synthesizer, is another technique.
Your process isn’t heavily reliant on sequencing or extensive programming then?
While I do engage in some sample manipulation and chopping, particularly for rhythmic elements, it’s not the core of my approach. The ability to subtly rearrange and manipulate elements within a digital audio workstation is invaluable.
I understand you prioritize capturing as much as possible to tape initially, then transferring to digital.
That’s generally my preferred method, project-dependent of course. However, the Peter Bjorn and John record was created entirely within a digital environment due to the studio setup—my studio at the time lacked a tape machine. We aimed for a more direct, drier sound, wanting to preserve the immediacy of the tracks. Tape, while sonically rich, can sometimes soften the transients, which we wanted to avoid for that project. I recently acquired a Universal Audio LA-3A compressor, which has been a welcome addition. Previously, I hadn’t found a compressor in my studio that resonated with my sonic preferences, so compression was often bypassed. The LA-3A is exceptional. In my studio workflow, I often manually ride the faders during recording.
You’re adjusting levels in real-time during the recording take?
Yes, for instance, during a chorus section, I might reduce the input level dynamically. I’m not particularly drawn to compression as a standard practice. While it can initially sound appealing, I often find it doesn’t truly enhance the sonic character in a way that manual gain riding can.
How integral is your home studio to your overall production process? Is it a consistent element in every project you undertake?
Absolutely. I value my home studio as a space for critical listening and detailed editing after initial tracking sessions. Listening sessions with bands are essential—it’s about aligning everyone’s vision and ensuring collective understanding of the project’s direction. Without this shared perspective, overdubs can become unfocused, with extraneous elements like unnecessary strings, guitars, pianos, or organs creeping in. The listening sessions help refine the focus: “Where are we truly aiming to take this song? What sonic layers are essential, and why?” The more intimate environment of a smaller studio fosters improvisation and experimentation. Quick adjustments are easily made—microphone changes are less cumbersome, and patching in different instruments is streamlined. My home studio is equipped with a diverse collection of synthesizers, which is a significant advantage. The efficiency and creative flow in my studio often outweigh the benefits of a larger, more technically advanced commercial facility. The process itself is more central than the sheer quantity of gear. In larger studios, time can be consumed by technical troubleshooting, like chasing down phantom monitor buzz. Mixing isn’t my primary focus; I don’t typically take on mixing projects for other artists. However, remixing can be enjoyable as it offers a chance to appreciate another artist’s creative choices, though it’s not a regular part of my work.
When bands present demos, do you utilize them, or do you generally prefer starting from scratch?
It depends. If a demo possesses a particular sonic quality or energy that’s compelling, especially with more electronic-based tracks, I might incorporate elements from it. However, I generally strive for a cohesive sonic identity across an entire album, which often necessitates recording in a unified space. I often pre-select a limited palette of instruments for each project. This constraint, paradoxically, aids creativity and helps establish a sonic framework for the album. Or, conversely, I might identify instruments to intentionally exclude—”no Hammond organ on this record,” or “no electric guitar,” or “Spanish guitar is off-limits.” These limitations, these deliberate choices, can streamline the creative process—defining parameters like “this is a maracas record, not a tambourine record!”
Setting aesthetic limitations seems to become a crucial aspect of your process.
Precisely. And the interesting thing is, you can often coax any instrument to approximate the sound you’re envisioning, regardless of its inherent nature. Even without synthesizers on a project, a heavily distorted marimba can evoke the sonic texture of an 8-bit synth. There are always inventive workarounds, and that’s where the real creative exploration begins for me—discovering novel methods to achieve familiar sonic sensations.
Before this conversation, we were discussing “good” versus “crappy” gear. You requested the removal of the larger amplifiers, preferring the smaller ones, and asked to bring out the “crappy” drum machines and keyboards. Yet, we also acknowledged the importance of a well-maintained piano. Considering drums, for instance—is meticulous drum tuning essential?
Not necessarily… it’s not a rigid requirement. Occasionally, if I’m aiming for a specific, resonant, jazzy Gretsch tom sound, I’ll enlist someone skilled in drum tuning because it’s not my forte! But generally, I’m open to using whatever drums are available. If a drum sound resonates, I might build a song around that specific sonic characteristic, and that drum might then feature across multiple tracks on the album. The quality of the instrument itself is secondary—even a “crappy” piano can be inspiring! We often intentionally avoid pristine, perfectly tuned, flawless instruments. I’m more drawn to sounds with character, with imperfections. Finding a collection of “crappy” sounds that coalesce into something compelling is far more rewarding. Achieving technically “good-sounding” recordings is almost too easy—almost anyone can do it now. Well, perhaps not anyone, but it’s certainly more accessible. The intriguing sonic details in recordings often lie in those unexpected, almost accidental elements. The listener might think, “What is that sound? Why did they include it in the mix?” But these odd sonic fragments often elevate the track, creating a unique and memorable sonic landscape. It’s always the unexpected sonic elements that truly captivate. It’s disappointing when a song begins with a captivating intro, and then the full arrangement enters, overwhelming the initial magic—the song’s essence is often diminished. If the intro’s sonic intimacy had been sustained, the track would have been exceptional. Think of some Young Marble Giants tracks—where the sparse, unconventional elements are the core. Then, when “proper” drums intrude, it disrupts that delicate balance—I dislike that. I want those unconventional elements to be the anchor of the song. The more conventional elements are just there to provide structure and cohesion. Adding sub-bass or synthesizers—that’s comparatively straightforward. I wouldn’t choose to begin with pristine, “good-sounding” elements and then attempt to weave in the unconventional elements. That’s simply not my preferred creative approach.
Tape Op is a bi-monthly magazine dedicated to the art of record making.
