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Comment by Russ Kirin on October 18, 2011 at 3:29pm

An Ode to Imperfection

This post really got me thinking. It started with a simple "things-that-make-you-go-hmmm" moment and eventually led to a full-blown assessment of human nature, truth and The Second Law of Thermodynamics. Thanks Pete. Just what I needed when I'm busting on a deadline.

Part 1 – Perfection: A Double-Edged Sword

I'm a huge proponent of imperfection and I practice it daily. Of course, we are all imperfect. But imperfection is not failing. It's not sin. It's an intrinsic and inseparable aspect of human nature. "To err is human" and our inherent imperfection is every bit as important to who we are as is our struggle to overcome it.

However, to deny our imperfections, to artificially remove them and present an idealized version of ourselves to the world, is to deny our humanity, to purport that we are somehow more than human, and to accept a deluded belief that human perfection is not only possible, but desirable.

Unfortunately, this happens all the time. America has developed a culture that expects perfection especially from our cultural icons, including political leaders, sports heroes and entertainers. We expect their images to be Photoshopped to perfection. We expect their every spoken or sung syllable to be scripted, scrubbed and polished to perfection. We expect perfect bodies, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect lifestyles and conduct that perfectly befits their roles in the American cultural pantheon.

In return, we worship them and reward them handsomely even though we know their perfection is an illusion. We create these superhuman paragons because we deeply desire to believe in the possibility of perfection that we cannot find in ourselves.

Now, if that's not psychotic enough, think about what we do the moment after this illusion of perfection is shattered. Our "heroes" are immediately tried and convicted in the court of public opinion, and summarily thrown under the bus simply for being human. Former icons, such as Jane Fonda, Bill Clinton, Michael Vick and Hank Williams, Jr., can personally vouch for this. But regardless of whether or not our fallen icons have recanted, repented or otherwise recovered, they will never again meet the American standard of perfection. They’re now mere mortals. They’re one of us.

Here’s the kicker. It seems we actually want our paragons to fail. We want them to ultimately prove again and again that perfection is neither possible nor desirable. We want them receive their public comeuppance, to confront and accept their own humanity, and confirm that they are no more perfect than we are. We want to be assured that being imperfect and being merely human is OK.

Comment by Pete Warren on October 18, 2011 at 1:15pm

Russ, good thoughts...  Lots of them!  Clearly, a lot to consider in the subject matter.

In my opinion, the recording process can be defined in several ways. There are certain goals that I believe a producer can have in this process.  One of them can be to deliver an experience to the listener that is not a realistic artistry experience.  That happens all the time.  I agree with your comments there.  And then, you see the artist preform on live TV or on stage at a concert even, and there are those moments where you question (or you don't even question it any more) that they are truly performing, but rather, they are lip synching.  Those little glitches in the performance that give it away, right?  

Another goal in recording, which is my approach, is to deliver an authentic representation of a live experience of music.  In other words, if you are in an auditorium listening to an orchestra performance, for example, your ears get to experience the full acoustic experience of everything that happens sonically between the orchestra and your ear, including all the harmonic interactions and resonance interactions from all the instruments and surfaces in that entire room, uninterrupted. When you listen to recorded music, you're listening to extremely inhibited processes that basically ruin that entire experience that you get in the auditorium I just described.  I view the production and engineering art form as one of reconstituting that acoustic and harmonic experience whereby we capture sound and reproduce it electronically, via technological means, through two speakers or more, or headphones, so listeners can experience it in a way that they are able to enjoy that experience in a way that is pleasing to them.  In such a way, the technological tools of the trade, such as auto-tune (Or my preferred, melodyne) become tools to be used, not crutches to "fix" poor performances.  I prefer to toss out poor performances, and hire people able to execute excellent performances 100% of the time.  But then again, I don't always have that opportunity, since I am not always mixing something that has been recorded by me (as producer or engineer).  Lots of us have this experience, of course.  

But to your point, yeah, the early version compared to the final mix very clearly should prove the value of professional engineers and producers as to both the art and science of what we do by using the available technology at hand, no matter what it is.  But also, as stated above, hard fixes in tuning and timing bother me.  They ruin my senses that tell me that anything produced by humans should naturally sound imperfect.

Lastly, you address the issue that we are designed to be imperfect.  I believe that even Adam and Eve were imperfect from the get go.  They were sinless until they sinned.  But still yet, imperfect, not yet knowing the difference between good and evil until their eyes were opened!  But hey, they only had one thing they were told to not do, and they couldn't even stick with that one thing!  Look at all the things we are supposed to get right!  We're far from perfect.  Our goal should be excellent imperfection! 

Comment by Russ Kirin on October 18, 2011 at 12:54pm

Part 2 – Pride and the Deadly Sin

The first time I set foot in a real recording studio was way back in college. I was a tourist visiting one of the famous studios on Music Row. Our group was herded into a control room and the guide played us a tape. It was the lead vocal track of a new song by Charley Pride – straight off the mic. After a minute of uneasy silence, a series of polite titters rippled though the group. When the song ended, some idiot actually said out loud, “Hell, even I can sing better than that.” I don’t rightly remember, but it just might have been me.

Of course, this was the moment our guide had hoped for. He calmly pushed a few buttons, restarted the tape and the final mix flooded the room. Everyone listened in stunned silence as Charlie Pride, the Country Music icon we all knew, sang his latest hit to perfection. Thankfully, no one heard the loud thud when my jaw hit the floor. And unfortunately, no one heard my sincere apology since my foot was in my mouth.

This was the first time I ever experienced a “before and after” comparison between an original performance and a final mix – between the raw material and the finished product. It was the first time I realized how important “the man behind the curtain” was to creating the illusion of the great and powerful Oz. It was also the moment when my illusion of the perfection of recorded music was shattered. And I never listened to a record the same way again.

I began applying the same “test” for determining the success or failure of a record as I would for a theatrical motion picture. Does it “suspend my disbelief?” Does an actor make me believe that he is The Elephant Man and not John Hurt or that she is Sophie Zawisowski (or Karen Blixen or Miranda Priestly or Julia Child) and not Meryl Streep? Do the special effects make me believe that Superman and children on broomsticks can fly or that I care deeply about an ugly little alien who’s trying to phone home? Does John Williams make me believe that I should hear his music during an epic battle in the silent vacuum of space?

I know Star Wars is a science fiction fantasy film and not a documentary. Yet the power of its story, characterizations, performances and production convinced me that it was “true.” And this suspension of my disbelief enabled me to be transported to a galaxy far, far away and experience something wonderful, unforgettable and meaningful.

I know a record doesn’t represent reality. I know the singer’s natural voice doesn’t really sound that way. I know the tone, balance and placement of the voices and instruments have been electronically affected. I know every aspect of the performances has been painstakingly, albeit artificially idealized and “perfected” to the ultimate extent necessary to reach the intended audience and sell as many copies as possible.

For me, the questions are: Does the record make me forget what I know? Do the music, lyrics (if any), performances and production combine to make me suspend my disbelief and accept their perfection as “truth?” Does it transport me to a magical place where, at the very least, I can be entertained or, at the very best, I can make a personal, emotional connection with the song and/or the artist and experience something wonderful, unforgettable and meaningful?

 

Comment by Russ Kirin on October 18, 2011 at 12:53pm

Part 2 – Pride and the Deadly Sin (continued)

You might think this is an unreasonable test for a piece of recorded music. Fair enough. But music is important enough to me to expect and even demand that it meet such a standard in order to be worthy of my belief, as well as my hard-earned cash. The music I believe in has to make a significant, positive, lasting difference in my life.

Before I learned my lesson in that Nashville studio, recorded music was my cultural icon, the hero I worshipped. I believed that perfection was possible and desirable. When my illusion was shattered, I threw my fallen hero under the bus and vowed never to be deceived again. It took me years to come to terms with this “betrayal” – to forgive this “deadly sin” – and appreciate recorded music for being merely human.

So, after all of this, what makes recorded music real? What makes it true? What makes it believable? What makes it authentic? What makes it wonderful, unforgettable and meaningful? To my mind, the simple answer is, its humanity.

Its imperfections.

Comment by Russ Kirin on October 18, 2011 at 12:52pm

Part 3 – Auto-Tune: My Two Cents

The evening before Pete posted this blog, I was catching up on my DVR backlog. In the middle of the latest episode of The Sing-Off, one of the contestants was interviewed about the “challenge” of doing a song from The Sixties. She was totally intimidated. She said she couldn’t imagine how the singers did it back then – how they just effortlessly nailed their parts – in the days “before Auto-Tune.”

Yes, she actually mentioned the software by name as though it were an inseparable part of the signal chain. It also sounded as though she could no more imagine recording her voice without Auto-Tune than she could imagine recording it without a microphone.

Now, in light of the lively debate about the use (or abuse) of Auto-Tune, this speaks volumes – not only about the professional abilities (or lack thereof) of today’s vocalists, but also about the “status” of Auto-Tune in the hierarchy of music recording technical solutions.

With respect to vocalists, I’m not aware of any plug-ins that will correct poor technique, compel practice and preparation, filter-out bad taste, restore a tin ear or otherwise maximize a minimal talent. And I’m pretty sure no one has yet devised a plug that will humanize a virtual asshole.

However, there is an important piece of stereo analog equipment that has traditionally been indispensable to musicians, especially singers. Unfortunately, it seems to have fallen out of general use lately. Ears. If you don’t use ‘em, you lose ‘em.

With respect to the “status” of Auto-Tune, it appears to me that it is now among your “go to” technical solutions. But just how “go to” is it?

Can you imagine recording, mixing or mastering a song intended for the consumer music market without using reverb? Without adding some form of EQ, compression or limiting? Probably not. These “go to” solutions and the qualities they impart have become “conventions” – minimum but ubiquitous standards for audio production that music makers and music consumers fully expect to “hear” in their music. They’ve become an integral part of what makes a record sound like a record.

I can’t imagine that an artist, a producer or a mix or mastering engineer – no matter how “inspired” – would eschew the use of these conventions and risk the consequences in the industry and the marketplace. And certainly consumers would no more buy the dry track of that Charley Pride song than they would buy a car without wheels, an engine and brakes.

So, is Auto-Tune (vocal pitch correction in general) a new convention? Has it become one of your minimum audio production standards? Is it now an integral part of the sound of recorded music? If singers, such as that Sing-Off contestant, can’t imagine recording their voices without Auto-Tune, does it follow that consumers can no longer accept listening to or buying music that doesn’t have perfectly tuned vocal tracks? If this is the case, then you might as well end the debate right now and fully embrace this new convention for better or worse.

 

Comment by Russ Kirin on October 18, 2011 at 12:52pm

Part 3 – Auto-Tune: My Two Cents (continued)

Personally, I hope this is not the case. From what I gather, some call Auto-Tune a crutch that props up poor singers. Some call it a bit of magic that can make a good singer sound like a great one. Some call it a miracle worker that can save an otherwise perfect vocal take from the trash.

To singers, Auto-Tune seems to be a drug like Vicodin used to relieve the pain of an occasional mistake or like steroids used to beef-up a weak performance. It can be effective in small doses, but there is a risk of dependency and even addiction. To producers, it’s a precision instrument used to sculpt their work to perfection. But there seems to be an ever-present temptation or even a compulsion to perform a full facelift when a little make-up will do the trick.

To me, Auto-Tune is like an audio version of the Wonder Bra. It gives a singer just enough of an enhancement to help create the illusion of perfection. Yes, we’re right back on that slippery slope.

The problem is, the Wonder Bra works really well right up until the “seductee” sees the real thing(s) in the flesh. Similarly, Auto-Tune works right up until the listener, the consumer, the loyal fan hears the singer perform live. Of course, most other studio conventions are easily and routinely reproduced in concert. But from what I understand, Auto-Tune is not – unless the singer is fortunate enough to be using a high-powered Venue or some other similar system at every show.

In either case, when the Wonder Bra finally comes off there will be “fallout” so to speak – negative consequences from goods promised that cannot be delivered, dashed hopes and a stark reality that does not live up to expectations. In other words, the dreaded shattered illusion.

By all accounts, live performance is the artist’s bread and butter. So, why risk disappointing (or downright pissing-off) the patrons at the point of sale by creating unrealistic expectations in the studio recordings that can’t be met in live performances? Why gild the lily in the first place? Why not forget the Wonder Bra, keep it real and let the artist score with the audience in the studio and on the road based on merit instead of artifice?

 

Comment by Russ Kirin on October 18, 2011 at 12:51pm

Part 4 – Imperfection is Dead! Long Live Imperfection!

Keeping it real – or as real as possible - requires a lot. First and foremost, it requires us to admit our imperfection and embrace it as a precious resource rather than wasted material, a valuable asset instead of a liability. We should recognize that imperfection is part of what gives our identity, character, depth, dimension, interest and, most importantly, humanity – as much as any other aspect of our personalities and talents. Our imperfections are part of our signatures, part of what validates and authenticates our statements, our work, our lives.

For the artist, admitting and embracing imperfection requires incredible honesty and courage, as well as a leap of faith. When you admit to your listeners, “This is who I am. I am not perfect. I am just like you.” you risk that what you have to offer may be no better than anything else, that what you have to say may be no more significant or important to them than a conversation with someone else. You risk mundanity. You risk irrelevance. You risk being thrown under the bus.

So, what is the reward for admitting and embracing imperfection? In a word, credibility – that quality of being believable and worthy of trust.

We can admire, even lust over the physical perfection of a supermodel. But we don’t honestly believe that we will ever meet her (or him), let alone make a personal, emotional connection. Perfection is worshipped from afar (in the case of our supermodel, through the Photoshopped pictures in a magazine) and there will always be an insurmountable distance between the perfect goddess and we mere mortals. That distance prohibits a direct relationship – there can be no personal, emotional connection with perfection. We simply can’t “reach” it. We simply can’t “relate” to it.

We relate to imperfections – those we see in others, as well as those in ourselves. Our imperfections enable us to shake hands and belly-up to the bar and have a drink with each other. They enable us to talk, laugh, cry, complain, agree and disagree, to hate, like and love each other. They enable us to say, I hear you, I understand you, I’ve been there and done that, I feel your pain and your joy. They enable a relationship – a direct, personal and emotional connection with each other. They enable us to believe in each other.

An artist who presents him or herself as perfect will never make a real connection with the listener. You may be worshipped, but you will always remain unreachable and “incredible.” An artist who admits and presents his or her imperfections, shakes hands with the listener. That connection alone opens the door to credibility. The listener lets you inside because he or she believes you have something significant and important to offer, and trusts that what you have to say is true.

That’s why I love, I celebrate, I embrace imperfections. They empower our humanity. They give us the opportunity to create something wonderful, unforgettable and meaningful.

Take a listen to “How Dark the Night” by Blind Willie Johnson and see if you agree.