On June 8, 2024, the Michigan Central Station, the 13-story behemoth built in 1914 that sat abandoned and befouled along Michigan Avenue in the Corktown neighborhood since 1988, reopened to the public. Now owned by Ford, it is no longer a train station but will house, I dunno, some sprocket division or whatever for the car company. This local news shouldn’t interest CREEM readers that much at first. Subscribers to Basement-Dwelling Losers Monthly, on the other hand, might remember the MCS fondly as the location where two robots beat the shit out of each other in the 2006 Transformers movie. Besides its civic, architectural, or robot-apocalyptic meanings, what does Michigan Central's reopening mean for the music fan?

Well, for one, they threw a big concert in there on June 8.

It was curated by good oF Marshall Mathers as a celebration of Detroit’s musical history. Diana Ross, Jack White, and Slum Village were some of the heavy hitters who performed. Bob Seger must have been putting his pontoon boats in at the lake because they helicoptered in Melissa Etheridge and the tattooed human beanbag chair Jelly Roll to "pay tribute” to him instead. I watched it on TV and overall it was...okay. Being a corporate, ticketed event—basically, a musical infomercial for the Ford Motor Company—means it wasn’t really meant for the people of Detroit. And looking out over that devastatingly white audience, it certainly had the tang of yet another “we’re making the city safe for suburbanites!” deal. The upside was getting close-ups of the utter confusion on those pale faces when a DJ, Sky Jetta, did an extended set of ghettotech for the crowd. Charitably, I will say the concert seemed like the perfect musical capstone to the rebirth of Corktown, a neighborhood that had been on its back foot since at least 1988 and has been slowly crawling back since the last game was played at Tiger Stadium in 1999.

Also along Michigan Avenue, in the shadow of Michigan Central, is High Bias Recordings. While not having the grandiose symbolism of one of the Big Three returning to the city by restoring one of its most infamous eyesores, High Bias does serve an important role: recording the sound of the city as it moves through its history. The studio, a former bottler and liquor store, is nondescript from the outside, save for the previous business’ “Squirt, the cool citrus soft drink” sign. I met with Chris Koltay, the owner and operator, at the chic café across the street (a perfect symbol of the “new Corktown"), and after he had his coffee and a joint, we moved over to the studio for the interview. I’ve known Koltay for at least 12 years now from recording, touring, and bumming around Corktown bars. He’s a 6.5-foot-tall, garrulous fella with an abiding love for coffee, weed, and musical equipment. That’s a good trifecta for a deep music head and probably explains how he’s been able to run the studio, record, and do sound on tours for as long as he has.

So, first things first, how long has High Bias been here and what was Corktown like then?

Well, I got the building in early 2002 and was recording here by December. At the time, the next functioning business west of here [on Michigan Avenue] was Hygrade Deli. There were a few lofts peppered in between. The Gaelic League was always here. Going east there was the White Castle. Where Ema [a fancy Asian fusion restaurant] is now was a pawnshop. Where Motor City Wine is now was the Express Bar. LJ's Lounge is still there. Other bars and a few after-hours places scattered down the avenue, and there were guys in most of them selling coke. When I moved here this neighborhood was loosely referred to as Coketown. [Laughs]

How’d you end up here in the first place? You’re from Ohio, right?

Yeah, Toledo and Cincinnati. Cincinnati had a great scene in the ’90s, like a lot of places then. By the end of the decade, I started looking at the social climate there and thinking about whether I wanted to settle down there, be in bands and record. It was a conservative joint. I would come up to Detroit for shows and hear what everybody hears: “You can buy a house for cheap!” It was actually true back then. It felt like Cincinnati in the ’90s—super DIY and dangerous. You know, going to shows in a weird part of town where, like, Wolf Eyes would play and then a really killer rock band and then something electronic. And nobody gave a fuck, for better or worse. The scene is ignored and therefore able to do its own thing. But still ignored.

I’m always fascinated by people who decide to move to Detroit, especially back then.

I remember driving up 1-75 in my U-Haul and there’s, like, seven or eight U-Hauls heading the other way. It kind of felt like running into a burning building a bit. [Laughs] But look around this studio, it’s full of things nobody wanted. [He motions towards a synth A Not that it wasn’t worth money, but when I got this Roland JX-3P, nobody wanted it. I feel that way about this building, the city. It’s kinda the way I was raised. My dad was from Hungary, and he left in ’56. He would repurpose everything— “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure." It became my mentality. Also, a thing or place that is ignored...you can do a lot when no one is looking at you. This building had mushrooms growing through it and two feet of trash and drywall on the floor, but it was mine.

And the people I met here seemed so fearless to me. It’s funny, though, one of the first times I came up to Detroit, I remember my mom nervously asking how it went. Back then, in the late ’90s, I looked like hard-rock alt-guy, you know, big sunglasses. I was probably going for a Brainiac look. I’m sure people here thought Stone Temple Pilots. [Laughs] So she asks me and I’m like, “Mom, it’s weird. Everybody in Detroit dresses like they’re in Foghat!” It was a time capsule. It was and still is a place to disappear.

So how did High Bias go from a mushroom cave to the studio we’re in today?

It was very DIY for the first couple of years. By 2004 or so, I had recorded some local bands like Demolition Doll Rods and Rescue. I was doing monitors at Saint Andrew’s Hall downtown and because of the kind of guy I am and I’m fucking tall, people noticed me there, so bands would take me out on tour. So, on the road, I’d be telling everybody I met about my cheap, vibe-y studio in Detroit. I wasn’t trying to advertise myself, but you know how touring goes—I crash at your place, you come through town and now you’re crashing at my place...the virtual gear museum.

The first big out-of-town band to record here was probably Akron/Family. It was 2006 and I was a big fan of that band, so I went down the street to the Lager House early to see them. I was talking to their bass player, Miles Seaton, rest in peace, a very top-shelf human. I had never met him but was doing the whole “I’m such a big fan, is this how you created these sounds on the record?" He’s like, “Uhh, yeah?” I can admit, I was being a bit of a punisher. [Laughs] And I tell him I have a studio down the street and his eyes light up: “Let’s go there now!” So I excitedly take him there before the show and give him the tour. At the end, he asks to use the bathroom. Years later, after I had recorded two of their albums, toured with them, and became good friends, he admitted he only went with me because he really had to take a shit.

The Lager House bathrooms: yesterday, today, and forever the worst. [Laughs]

Classic tour problem. But that healthy bowel movement must have worked because that led to Set ’Em Wild, Set ’Em Free and Shinju TNT being recorded here. That and some true friendships, but that’s how it goes. That and going around the world as a sound engineer and tour manager got that ball rolling.

Now to the present and future. First, how’s business?

High Bias is doing okay. We’re self-sustaining. To be frank, I don't have any life savings or health insurance. I suppose if I stopped buying gear and records, we’d be fine. [Laughs]

Are there any newer Detroit bands coming through we should look out for?

Lemme think. There’s Gusher. If I’m forced to bulletpoint their sound I’d say Flipper meets Jesus Lizard with more humor. Just very well-written songs for a heavy band. I don’t know what it is, the length of my hair, but I’ve been recording a lot of heavy bands. Prostitute is another. The dancier side of Gang of Four, maybe? The singer Mo is a Lebanese kid who shouts over the music. They are what people would say is a dangerous, volatile band. Their recordings sound that way. The live show is that way. The video art they make is incredible too. If they can stay alive and not get canceled they’re gonna really do something.

Outside of the heavy rock, I’m really excited about Ahya Simone, who is a harpist and producer. She does all sorts of beautiful stuff. Kesswa is a singer who’s worked with Shigeto and makes ambient soul music. Leafar Village is modern Afro-futuristic jazz. Now that I’m thinking about it, we’ve had a good variety of sounds come through recently.

At least it sounds creatively sustainable.

It’s an interesting feeling being here in the middle. My job is to make you sound as good as you think you do. We’re definitely better than your laptop setup at home, and we’re not competing with the clinical professional studios that cost more.

The forgotten music-business middle class.

You with your band and me here, we’re both in it. It can be a weird place to live in. Even with what I’ve done, I’m always a few months away from thinking about what to do with this place and all this shit. But on the other hand, I’ve been doing this for 20 years now, and in the music business that is a raging-ass success. [Laughs]

Okay, Koltay, when I need to make my misjudged solo record, you know who I’ll call.

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