Back in the early to mid-aughts, as music delivery was rapidly changing, I often used to ask two questions of musicians I met: One was, "How do you find new music, and what is it about a new artist that forms a deeper connection for you with that artist?" Secondly, "Why does every generation discover and fall in love with The Beatles?" Children generally rebel against everything their parents do and like, but every generation seems to love The Beatles. What is it about their music that has such universal and timeless appeal? It’s often said that we love the music that was popular when we were growing up, but anyone under the age of 60 didn’t grow up when The Beatles were active, and there are a lot of fans much younger than that. I would ask these questions, many times in bars after gigs, but I never really got any useful answers until one summer evening a few years ago. I was hanging out with my friend, Joe Morishige, and his wife, Laura. Both are great musicians, but not actively part of the music business or industry. They play music quite a bit, but mainly just for their enjoyment. Joe was the first person to answer the question in a way that made sense to me. He said he was not into The Beatles when he was younger; he only discovered them when he was in his twenties, and that he still didn’t consider himself a big fan. But he proposed that what The Beatles had in their recordings was a palpable sense of fun and adventure. “You can hear their excitement as they figured out how to make the records they were creating. There was a sense of discovery present as they were inventing new sounds and structures in the studio.” I’ve thought about that conversation with Joe for the past few years, and I think he’s on to something even if it is difficult to define.
I listen to a lot of new releases, and I’m often pleasantly surprised at how much excellent music is being produced right now. But I also hear a lot of music, that, despite being well-produced with everything in its right place, falls flat to me. It may be well-crafted, but it feels boring and doesn’t elicit much of an emotional response for me.
I was thinking about this while listening to an older, established artist's latest album. I enjoy it, but if I’m honest with myself it doesn’t have the same appeal to me as the band he was once in. What is it about his band's classic records that keeps me coming back to them? Thinking back to Joe’s ideas, I realized I feel that I can hear the excitement of those then-younger bandmates as they created those records. There was a joy of discovery in making something greater than the sum of their parts. This doesn’t feel present in the newer material, despite it being well-crafted, well-recorded, and even taking musical chances many artists his age might not.
To clarify, I don’t think it’s an issue of age. Sure, it’s easier to find that excitement when you’re young and new to recording, but I think older artists can channel that as well. When I listen to David Byrne [Tape Op #79] singing on his 2008 collaboration with Brian Eno [#85], Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, I can hear the excitement in his voice as he’s discovering a way to put melodies and lyrics to the tracks that Eno had initially created. I can hear it in almost every record that Radiohead has made in the past two decades. I hear it in the Johnny Cash records that Rick Rubin produced. Is this totally subjective and only based on my taste in music? Of course it is, but I feel I respond to that excitement, and I believe a lot of other people do as well.
Here’s the third question for those of us involved in recording music: "As we (as producers, artists, writers, etc.) get better at our craft, how do we manage to keep that sense of discovery in the music we’re making?" The first few recordings we might make are pure experimentation and excitement, but as we get better at it, there are fewer surprises. In fact, for professional engineers, we’re paid to minimize the surprises in a certain sense. But I know people respond to music that hits them a little differently than everything else streaming through our devices. So, how do we balance these two somewhat opposing ideas?
And finally, looping back to my first question, how do we (as both artists and listeners) form a deeper, lasting connection to music? How do we create and find the songs and artists that can make this connection amongst the avalanche of music released every day? I would argue that it’s more about an intangible sense of joy in the music, and less about what type of gear we’re using, how it's EQ’d, or what compression ratio was used on the top snare mic. And finally: What can we do as a music recordists to create an environment within our recording spaces and our processes in order to foster that sense of experimentation and excitement with the people we are making music with?
Let me know when you figure out the secret. 