Since the current fad of ‘recorded’ music began, it’s pretty much impossible to separate music from the technology used to produce it and distribute it. From the running time of 78rpm records arguably creating our concept of the ‘perfect’ three minute pop song, to the wider dynamic range (and thus fuller bass) possible on a 12” vinyl disc helping pave the way for disco and dance, technology is inextricably linked to the content and form of modern music. Nowhere is this more apparent than in our current dependence upon computers to record and write. Yet, this comes at a price; the seemingly infinite capabilities of recording and sequencing software, effects plugins and software synthesis in general belie what is sometimes a less than beneficial effect on our creativity and innovation.
To find out more, we need to go back to the hardware synthesiser and effects boom in the 1970s/80s. Machines which still influence the basis of modern electronic music date back to this time: the Roland TR 808/909 drum machines, and the TB-303 bassline synth. The 808 was at odds to other drum machines of the time, such as the Linn LM-1, which whilst distinctive (and classic) still referenced the sound of ‘real’ drums. This might lead to a perception of the 808 being synthetic in nature, yet the machine possessed a nuance and rhythmic swing all of its own, a feel comparable to that of a human drummer. Record an 808 and no two drums hit in the same place twice – nor do they sound the same. It also had no numeric tempo input, just a big knob you could turn to slow down or speed up.
Fast forward to the present, and we have a proliferation of 808-type samples, yet these are being loaded into software samplers, a single sample per hit. The computer clock is perfectly in time, and therefore inorganic, whilst tempo is a bpm figure. These things affect you creatively. Sync different instruments to an 808 and by turning the tempo knob you could slow your whole track down in the middle of a performance, or speed it up on a whim. In Logic this requires careful programming, which becomes tedious and difficult to do on the fly, especially if working with audio rather than MIDI.
The TB-303, meanwhile, was designed by Roland as a bassline accompaniment synth and sequencer for organists or guitarists, but ended up being hijacked to help shape the sound of acid house. Turning up the 303’s resonance control creates the distinctive ‘squelchy’ acid sound (which I hate – it sounds much nicer turned down!), whilst manipulating the controls as a pattern plays creates organic, evolving performances of a repetitious sequence. Jungle and drum n bass drums, meanwhile, can be traced back to Akai’s S950 sampler, which allowed classic drum breaks to be sampled from 70s soul records and sped up (or slowed down, which sounds awesome too). Artists like Aphex Twin and Squarepusher also adopted the S950, pushing the machine to its limits with insanely complicated programming, a process that took days and probably more than a few bags of high grade weed.
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My point here is that hardware can not only offer a more organic ‘feel’ than modern software, but also allows the happy accidents to occur which are intrinsic to the creative process. Take a topical example, that of David Bowie working with Tony Visconti and Brian Eno to make ‘Low’. Visconti’s pioneering snare sound was created by letting the snare signal feed back on itself through an Eventide Harmoniser, a new toy of Visconti’s which, he told Bowie, “fucks with the fabric of time”1. Bowie was unsure about this sound at first, so Visconti tactfully removed it from his headphones, whilst leaving it in those of drummer Dennis Davis. This allowed Davis to ‘play into the effect’, as the velocity and timbre of his drums affected the Eventide accordingly. Not only did the use of technology create a new sound, but it changed the live playing of the drums and influenced the performance of the song itself.
I have experienced a similar effect first hand over the past few years of writing music. Effects processing and fiddling with the physical controls on a hardware synthesiser can lead to all kinds of unexpected sounds that end up influencing the writing of a song. True, this is still possible with software, and plugin effects such as those by Valhalla DSP can create some weird and wonderful sounds. But there’s nothing quite like plugging something in the wrong way to unleash an unexpected sonic detour, and I personally find that difficult when exclusively using software. It’s not like I’m the king of sonic experimentation though – far from it. I constantly find myself in cycles of becoming attached to ideas before they’re fully formed, and always need to practise ‘letting go’ in order to wind up somewhere more interesting. I owe a lot to my collaboration with Charlie Alex March (who produced both my albums), and his many machines, for stopping me getting too comfortable.
Finally, it is all too easy to lose the spontaneity of performance when writing electronic-based music using computer software. Too often the temptation is to edit, to perfect, to fiddle away after the recording has been made. It’s inspiring to hear James Stintson, one half of legendary Detroit techno recluses Drexciya, speak about their writing process. Apparently they would work in performances, where the duo set up all their drum machines and synths, linked them together, then recorded them running live. This would allow the spontaneous addition of new elements; a new drum break from failing to bring the snare back in as planned, a constantly changing synth sound, or simply the ability to extend a track if the feeling took you there. This means their records, though sounding sequenced, are in fact “part of the feeling of the moment … something you can’t reproduce”2.
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t use computers to record and make music – far from it, I know that my laptop is still the centre of my musical world. Well, let’s face it, of my entire world. But as well as being an incredible facilitator, my computer sometimes isn’t the best way to discover the unexpected. By bearing this in mind, I hope I can look forward to a weirder, more wonderful future.
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1. Visconti in Seabrook, Bowie In Berlin, 2008
2. Stintson interviewed in Groovesmag, 2001
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Photo Credit: Robert Self
NZCA Lines' new album 'Infinite Summer' is out now. Live dates:
February
10 Manchester Soup Kitchen
11 Glasgow Broadcast
12 Leeds Headrow House
15 Brighton Sticky Mike's
16 London The Pickle Factory
27 Sheffield Outline Festival, The Harley
