HoCo hails man behind the music

In his 52 years, he's been an anthropology major, a plumber, a musician, a record producer, an entrepreneur and a teacher. Not necessarily in that order.

But in the very recent past, he's become something else: a cancer survivor.

"It's a life-changing event," Schumacher said on a recent Monday afternoon.

With a day planner in one hand and a phone in the other, checking both frequently, he looked as busy as a man of so many hats would expect to look. And these days, he's as busy as ever.

The seventh annual HoCo Fest, which starts tonight, will in part be a tribute to and benefit for Schumacher, who has played a big part in fostering and growing the community the festival has been celebrating since it started in 2005.

All of the proceeds from Sunday, the final night of the four-day event, will go to Schumacher's battle against cancer and the medical bills that accompany it.

And the lineup that night, which includes headliners DeVotchKa as well as current and former Tucson musicians such as Calexico and Nick Luca, will serve as something of a reunion for several of the countless people Schumacher has worked with over the years.

"We've built up a lot of good will with these artists because of how we've treated them and the experiences they've had while recording and playing here," Schumacher said.

Dave Slutes, Hotel Congress' entertainment director, created HoCo Fest and is one of Schumacher's oldest friends in the Tucson music scene.

When he saw his friend struggling earlier this year, Slutes asked if there was anything he could do to help. And when Schumacher suggested setting up some kind of benefit to help defray his bills, the light bulb went off in Slutes' head.

"(HoCo Fest) has always had a community aspect to it," Slutes said. "We're not just another music festival that throws a bunch of bands together and is big and ugly and commercial.

"We want to represent Tucson well. I want it to have a deeper meaning, to have soul, and what we're doing this year is a perfect example of that."

Wandering career path

More than 25 years ago, Schumacher wasn't a major player in the Tucson music scene. He had arrived here from Pennsylvania as a freshman anthropology major at the University of Arizona.

"I wasn't sure what I wanted to do yet," he said. "Most of the people from my graduating class (in high school) were going off to Ivy League schools to do big things, but I had no idea."

His move to Tucson wasn't inspired by dreams of bigger and better things out West, but rather a somewhat lax admissions policy.

"It was the easiest college to get into if you were out-of-state, Schumacher said. "It was literally one paragraph, and I didn't want to work really hard at getting into college, so I picked the easiest application.

"Within a week of sending it in, I was accepted."

But a disheartening lecture during Schumacher's sophomore year derailed his plans.

"I had a professor who stood up in front of the class and said if you don't get a Ph.D., you're not going to make it. You'll end up like me," Schumacher said. "And I was like 'wow, this is as far as I can get?' I got really disillusioned."

Shortly thereafter, an opportunity to work for a plumber came up, and Schumacher jumped at the chance to take his life in another direction.

"I thought 'Why not?'" he said. "It paid $4.50 an hour, and I'm certainly not going to college, so I dropped out."

In the subsequent years, he learned his new trade and, in his spare time, worked on music. He didn't just want to perform and write, however, and he soon found his way into home recording.

In 1989, he found a warehouse space at the intersection of Seventh Street and Seventh Avenue. His original intent was to turn the space into a nightclub.

"At the time, it was pretty rough for bands in this town," Schumacher said. "A lot of the places that had been friendly to the punk bands had either closed or burned down. I was looking to fill that gap and put on shows because there was no place to play."

But then Randy McReynolds, a friend of Schumacher's who was also into recording, saw the space. McReynolds had just come off the road, running sound for Slutes' band, the Sidewinders.

"Randy walked in the door, took a look around and said 'It's a recording studio.'"

7n7 was born

Schumacher and McReynolds ran the aptly named studio together for three years, building a reputation as an artist-friendly outfit, and a cheap one at that.

"We had no overhead," Schumacher said, "I was paying $100 a month for the space, and it was huge. Which was why we could be a $15-an-hour recording studio with a half-inch eight-track."

Their first sizable payday as studio owners came when Green on Red, a band that formed in Tucson but spent most of its career based in Los Angeles, recorded their final album at 7n7.

"It was my first taste of dealing with a bigger band on a bigger label," Schumacher said. "Unfortunately, it was also one of the last things I did with Randy."

Shortly after finishing the album, "Too Much Fun," Schumacher and McReynolds' partnership dissolved.

"When Randy and I split up, there I was with the space and this gear, and I was like 'OK, I guess I gotta start doing this thing.'"

Schumacher renamed the studio Wavelab and worked harder than ever to make it viable.

He moved the studio twice, first to the Pennington Practice Rooms at 125 E. Pennington, and then to the current location at 111 S. Sixth Ave.

In its nearly 20-year life span, Wavelab Recording Studio has become a sought-after destination for bands from around the world.

DeVotchKa, a Denver-based band, has recorded its last four albums at Wavelab. Their relationship with Tucson and Schumacher began in 2003, when they were getting ready to record "Una Volta," their third album.

"We had come down to Tucson on a whim to play a show at Plush," said Nick Urata, the band's singer and guitarist. "We saw John and Joey from Calexico at the show, and they told us that we had to come back and meet Craig."

A short time later, DeVotchKa was back in Tucson to record, and they've been coming back ever since.

"Craig is like an enabler," Urata said. "He helps you get what you want in the studio, but he also helps you pull things out that are different and unexpected."

Sergio Mendoza, the frontman for Sergio Mendoza y La Orkesta, is in the process of finishing his first album with Schumacher.

"He's easy to work with, and he's helped us out so much on this record," Mendoza said. "And besides that, he's just a great person, you know?"

Schumacher has used his reputation as a producer and generous host to bolster the reputation of Tucson's entire music community.

"We do our best to treat people well," he said. "And when you do that, people are more inclined not only to come back, but to tell other people to come down and experience it."

"Back to my fighting weight"

Things were going well for Schumacher, especially since his studio's most recent move.

"We really started coming into our own in the new place," he said.

And then, on Jan. 31, Schumacher was diagnosed with cancer.

"It's been difficult to say the least," he said.

Schumacher's type of cancer, commonly called head and neck cancer, can often be treated with surgery. But in this case, surgery wasn't an option.

"It took over my right tonsil and part of my lymph node," Schumacher said. "And it was right next to my carotid artery, so there was no way to cut it out."

As a result, Schumacher was forced to undergo a grueling schedule of chemotherapy, followed by six weeks of radiation therapy.

"My radiologist told me I was going to get back to my high school fighting weight," Schumacher said, "and he was right."

Like so many other cancer sufferers, Schumacher found that the cure can be just as difficult as the disease.

"The aftereffects of radiation are pretty brutal," he said.

"The chemo runs you down, but you can still function after a couple of days. But then the radiation made it so I couldn't eat, I couldn't swallow. My saliva was just gone."

Since completing his radiation therapy, Schumacher is regaining his strength, but he'll never regain full use of his salivary glands.

"The upper one came back after I finished treatment, but the lower one is just gone," he said. "It's a whole adjustment to a new way of life."

And part of that adjustment has taken place in how he runs the studio he created.

"I'm focused more on the big-picture stuff," Schumacher said "I want to produce, mix, or just be the guy in the room who makes everyone feel good. But the plugging in microphones and managing every little piece of it, I'm sort of over that. It's easy to get burned out in this business."

One of the ways Schumacher has avoided the burnout is by moving on to other things.

"I was a college dropout," he said, "but ironically enough, now I teach at a community college. How do you like that?"

Schumacher, who teaches studio music recording at Scottsdale Community College, said working with his students has helped him regain an appreciation for the profession he chose, almost by accident, 22 years ago.

"I get all of these different perspectives from my younger students. It gets me out of my narrow perception of how things are," he said. "I'm helping these students with the technical aspects, but also helping them grow and mature as artists. And it's fun to see them excited, like we were back when we were first starting out."

For Slutes and many other people who recognize Schumacher's vital role in Tucson's music community, that's good to see.

"I don't know about you, Craig, but I'm still excited," Slutes said. "You see, I knew he was getting better when he started to get so curmudgeonly again."