Once Mark Lemhouse decided to cut his album, he knew there was only one place in Memphis to do it: Easley/McCain Studio on Deadrick Street, just south of midtown. The room at Easley/McCain has a warm sound, compounded by the fact that the studio uses analog tape and vintage mics, necessary to capture Lemhouse’s whiskey-drenched tones and ragged-but-right guitar style. “It’s a comfortable room,” Lemhouse says. “I wanted my album to sound like I do live, and I knew I could hit it at Easley’s in their setting.”

The room at Easley/McCain is huge: the size of a mechanic’s garage, it’s big enough to set up the instruments and find your own space, spread out and really breathe. It’s reminiscent of the way studios used to be, before digital technology took over. Sam Phillips’ Sun Studio, a few miles west, was set up the same way – as was Chess in Chicago, where Muddy Waters cut his best sides.

The equipment at Easley/McCain lends itself to the post-WWII blues sound of Sun and Chess. Producer Scott Bomar spied an old drum that had hung on the wall for a decade; when taken down, the drum proved to have a booming bass sound that was perfect for the unpolished sound Bomar was looking for. Tube pre-amps and vintage microphones also contributed to the prevalent spirit of the session, a lonesome echo of days gone by.

Albums in rooms this size are cut live, the band performing as if for an audience. Everybody has to be on, because there’s no chance to overdub vocals or drop in missing notes. It’s a truly organic experience – and sadly, one fading from the musical landscape.

“It’s a more intense approach,” Lemhouse explains. “Whatever nuances and mistakes you make are there on the final mix – and so you’re pushed to a higher level, performance-wise.” He credits the magnetic tape used for the warm and fuzzy sound. “While digital recording might be more precise, analog sounds much more human. And you have to be ready to record, because what you hear is what you get in an analog studio.”

The resulting album – Big Lonesome Radio – has a gritty feel that’s more akin to a Howlin’ Wolf or Jimmy Reed than a young white man playing the blues in the 21^st century has a right to sound. Lemhouse has always been a rough player, and with the Easley/McCain dynamics behind him, his notes come across like crackling radio transmissions from a time gone by.