Whispers of Thrash in the Wind

Recording history outside Pyramid Sound Studios

They say “Ithaca is GORGES!” and it very much is. With 150+ waterfalls in a 10-mile radius of the city, the natural surroundings have a cozy majesty that harmonizes with the Finger Lakes setting. My wife and kids spent a long holiday weekend in town for a wedding before the pandemic, and our explorations of and in water would’ve made Hudson proud.

Ithaca is home to some critical pieces of music history, too. The Grateful Dead played a legendary show at Barton Hall, on the campus of Cornell University, on May 8, 1977. The date is so famous that a re-creation of the venue has been displayed during Dead & Co. shows at Sphere. But on a recent trip northwest of North Jersey, to visit Cornell with my daughter, my personal interest was 105 East Clinton Street.

Pyramid Sound Studios. Or what’s left of it.

Anyone who’s ever read the credits for many ’80s and ’90s thrash metal albums is familiar with the name Alex Perialas. Pyramid’s owner and operator, he’s also an engineer, mixer, and producer. Not hyperbole: The man is a revolutionary architect of the recorded sound of the category. Years later, he became the Director of Ithaca College’s Sound Recording Technology program. Perialas collaborated with a host of the brightest minds in thrash, young guys now recognized as pioneers, and then he imparted his technical and artistic wisdom on new crops of bright minds. I’ve never used my audio degree, but this as inspiring as the quality albums he delivered.

Anthrax and Testament both tracked their first two LPs at the studio. Overkill did their first three there. Stormtroopers Of Death (S.O.D.), Nuclear Assault, and Flotsam & Jetsam, known quantities in the genre, had the pleasure as well. Perialas diversified expertise through hardcore, alt rock, jazz, and blues. Even Aaliyah recorded several songs at Pyramid—like her and those crazy smart thrash bands, the studio was a One In A Million.

Saturday morning. Time was limited. I hit the hotel gym for my run, I hit the breakfast buffet, and I hit the shower. My daughter and I had brunch plans at the Ithaca Bakery, after which we were going to the Cornell-Harvard women’s basketball game. As she stirred, I told her I’d be back in a half hour before elevatoring it downstairs to brave the conditions. I love the cold, but it’s been far too cold for far too long this winter. A thin layer of snow covered the windshield. Warming up the car, I switched the wipers on and noticed that three of the tire sensors were lit, not just the two from the previous night. Greaaat…one more thing to do.

The heat finally started overrunning the chill in the Nissan as I pulled into the lot behind Pyramid Sound Studios. I grabbed my phone and took a deep breath to brace for the frigid temperatures. Hung a right at the corner and walked past the Pritchard Automotive body shop until I was mere feet away from the drab, gray building. Where a part of the soundtrack to my youth was created. The exterior paint is in good shape, but the awning I saw in photos is long gone. Stepping into the recessed entranceway, I wrapped my left hand around the freezing doorknob not to see if it would turn, but because touch is a strong sense. Connecting. And it was.

Sadly, the studio’s later history hasn’t leaned as happy as it should’ve been. The structure was condemned in June 2012 due to bridge construction adjacent to the storage portion of the facility (see note). I looked through all the windows. Gutted. Can’t even remember what was inside—besides, I wasn’t expecting to see Pyramid from its heyday, with the live rooms ideal for recording drums, some iso booths, and the main control room with a vintage Neve VR console. Didn’t hear “Madhouse” or “Alone In The Dark” or “Wrecking Crew” in my head. No hint of conversation from yesteryear related to mixing this song or how to sequence that album. Alex Perialas wasn’t present, in the flesh or otherwise.

In at least one respect, my experience on the sidewalk of East Clinton Street was still heavy in the spirit of the genre: Thrash doesn’t have time for the sentimental. Its primary concern is the truth, through lyrics with social commentary and music that’s as unrelenting as the wind was for those 10 minutes. I felt a cold hard truth in my bones and, as I hustled to the car with nearly frostbitten fingers, I realized that, like a thrash guitar solo, Ithaca is gorgeous indeed.

Note: Pyramid Sound Studios stated in a Facebook post on July 1, 2015, that it was back in action following the removal of the notice of condemnation as well as upgrades to the facility, including refurbishing the Neve board. Evidence exists that recording was happening at the studio through 2022, though a Facebook post on March 16, 2021, indicates it was closed for a while because of Covid. And with no official announcement on its site or on social, or without speaking with Alex Perialas himself, it’s difficult to say when Pyramid shuttered its doors at this location for good.

Further Reading

Pyramid Sound Studios Receives Community Support

Future of Pyramid Sound Studios Remains Uncertain

Ithaca Building Department Labels Pyramid Sound Studios Unsafe