About Creamery Studio
Our studio was designed with flexibility in mind for both live band tracking and smaller overdubbing productions. With adjustable ceiling panels and go-bo separation, we can capture a variety of acoustic spaces. Our vocal booth and adjacent control rooms allow for further flexibility and separation.
At the age of 12, Quinn’s uncle put a bass in his hands and cranked James Brown on full blast. His life was forever changed. Around the same age, another subversive uncle began sending mix-tapes of Devo and 80’s punk rock. The slope got slipperier yet when the 13 year old opened a BMG account that resulted in early appetite for debt and an eclectic collection of everything from Thelonius Monk and Mr. Bungle, to the Digible Planets. What was an inspired but mixed up kid supposed to do but grab for everything? Over years as a player and then a beat maker, the influences expanded beyond bass into the pursuit of recording and production. With an education in bass and composition, and some big dreams, the western kid packed up and moved to New York City. The Creamery took shape when he had outgrown the britches of his Brooklyn bedroom “studio” and he collectively built a space for co-creating great music with great musicians.
Starting out as a guitar player laboring over Stevie Ray Vaughn solos and writing overdramatic pop songs, Jeff learned how to record out of desire for creating his own recordings. After a while he became the go to guy making records out of dirty apartments and dorm rooms. In 2009 he moved to Brooklyn where an alternative path was never considered. After working out of a handful of compromising spaces around Brooklyn, Jeff finally landed at the Creamery in 2014 where he and Quinn have been growing the space since. Jeff has worked with Maggie Rogers, Jim James, Trixe Whitley, Caroline Polacheck and Sleigh Bells, just to name a few. He loves tape machines and his Eventide H3000, analog synthesizers and a-traditional electric guitars, zippered coconuts filled with beans and ribbon microphones. Jeff’s assistant Baku will be happy to keep the couch warm while you’re pouring your heart out in the live room.
Ken ventured into recording as a musician, mostly just to save himself the puzzled looks from other engineers when his musician adjectives failed to explain what he was going for. If he couldn’t BE Jimmy Hendrix, he knew wanted to record the next one!
It started like most everyone else, with a laptop and busted midi piano. When those didn’t suffice, he pointed his sharp ears, work ethic, and eagerness to be part of a team into becoming a studio intern, then assistant, and quickly onto Dreamland Recording, where he spent the last several years as a house engineer. In one of upstate NY’s best studios, Ken hunted tape and dust, and lucked upon the opportunity to work with artists like Pharaohe Monch, the Psychedelic Furs, Goo Goo Dolls, and many other.
Ken left it all behind to join us here in Brooklyn for a chance at something new (whatever that means). Ken brings a sensitivity to each project and understands how to find the missing piece in the puzzle and fill it. Sometimes that might just be to shush and let the people behind the mics do the talking.
Carmine’s path with music started at age 11 when a neighbor left a guitar and amp at his house. He would spend hours in the basement making noise, learning songs, and being fascinated with the array of sounds he could summon from that amp. He eventually found himself at Berklee in Boston studying jazz and arranging, and more deeply exploring his own songwriting. This led him to Denver where he pursued his own music more seriously and became obsessed with recording. Working with different bands and running his own studio he found that making records was his calling. This led him to New York where he quickly found home at the Creamery, naturally feeling an alignment with the ethos that the space embodies. He feels that creativity is a direct connection to the divine, this is something he does his best to honor in every stage of the recording process.