Here you will find a variety of writings. Software and hardware reviews, industry news and commentary, as well as personal reflections. Enjoy!

State Of Symbiosis - 2

On developing symbiotic relationships with your tools.

Anyone who creates music using technology is likely familiar with a couple of colloquialisms used to describe the desire for newer, bigger, better, faster, cooler noise-making or noise-capturing devices.  I would posit that gearlust, also known as GAS (gear acquisition syndrome) affects all musicians and content creators at some time or another in their careers.  Those with little expendable income likely experience it more than those with fat bankrolls, often thinking that more money=more tools=better music, yet the creativity of those with abundant wealth may also suffer as a result of gear glut.  Regardless of financial standing, the symptoms of the affliction are much the same.

“If I could only get NewSampleLibraryX, it would finally allow me to get that sound I’ve been looking for!” - or - “If I could only afford that new UltraFancyGuitar, I’d be able to thrash like Steve Vai!” - or simply - “If I had a faster computer my music would sound better.”

The industry focus on benchmarks and specifications lulls consumers into a zombie-like state wherein we are convinced that if our new QuadProcessor PowerTower computer can run 79 instances of the leading convolution reverb, it must also mean that our music will sound better.  Never mind the fact that anyone whose project requires 79 discreet reverb instances probably skipped a few sound design and engineering classes…

At some point we all lust after new gear, be it for rational or irrational reasons.  Yet I think, on some level, eventually we all realize that new gear does not necessarily mean that we will become better musicians.  It may improve workflow or offer new sonic palettes, but in and of itself, it can’t make our music better.

So why do we torture ourselves with product comparisions?  Why do we save our pennies for The Next Big Thing if we know that it may not actually take us to the top of the charts?  Therein lies the quandary of modern music technology my friends.

In a commentary he wrote for Wired Magazine, Brian Eno speaks to this very issue:

I recently spent three days working with what is possibly the most advanced recording console in the world, and I have to report that it was a horribly unmusical experience. The console, which has more than 10,000 controls on its surface and a computer inside, was designed in such a way that music-making tasks once requiring a single physical switch now require a several-step mental negotiation. My engineer kept saying “Wait a minute” and then had to duck out of the musical conversation we were having so he could go into secretarial mode to execute complex computer-like operations. It’s as though a new layer of bureaucracy has interposed itself between me and the music we want to make.

This is an experience we’ve all had at some point or another.  We spend 15 minutes trying to find just the right preset or sample, only to find that the melody we were trying to record has escaped us.  We tweak virtual knobs to our hearts content, only to find that the finished phrase lacks musicality – so we send it to the recycle bin and start again.

In this way, simply adding new tools to our sonic arsenal may further confound and complicate the composing process.  I can certainly recall numerous times in my musical career when the sheer number of options at hand got in the way of raw creativity.  In fact, I think the most musically productive times in my life have come when I was working on a tight deadline and had a very limited sonic palette.  Eno goes on:

With tools, we crave intimacy. This appetite for emotional resonance explains why users - when given a choice - prefer deep rapport over endless options. You can’t have a relationship with a device whose limits are unknown to you, because without limits it keeps becoming something else.

Indeed, familiarity breeds content. When you use familiar tools, you draw upon a long cultural conversation - a whole shared history of usage - as your backdrop, as the canvas to juxtapose your work. The deeper and more widely shared the conversation, the more subtle its inflections can be.

Here, Eno has replaced two of the variables in my original equation: fewer tools=more familiarity with those tools=better music.  Now I realize that this is a gross simplification of the matter, but I think my point is clear: in the pursuit of musical creativity, more important than the acquisition of new items for your sonic toolset, is the development of deep relationships with the existing toolset.  Once we’ve obtained what we consider to be a complete toolset, and this definition is elusive, we must keep ourselves in check and realize that simply adding more does not result in greater quantity or quality output.

In my own studio, I’ve went through several revisions resulting in expansions and contractions of hardware and software through the years.  I’m beginning to remember the days when creating was easy and when being completely at home in my studio meant never having to think twice about which buttons to push, which knobs to turn, or which patch to use as a jumping off point for a particular composition.  There was a tangible correlation between the addition of new items and the decline in productivity.

My constant pursuit of information about the state of industry is somewhat at odds with this philosophy, because the more I learn about making music and the processes and tools used by my peers, the more I foolishly wish for more and more things to improve my work.  But I know, in my heart of hearts, that the new version of EWQL Symphonic Orchestra will NOT make me a better musician, producer, engineer, or composer.  No – only practice, patience, study and experimentation can foster creativity.  Only then, when I have fully explored the limitations of my current environment, will the addition of a new variable truly open up a new creative window.

I’ll conclude by saying that there are obviously exceptions to every rule.  A prime example is the huge shift in composition styles and workflows that has been introduced by software programs such as Ableton Live.  In a way, Live was a paradigm shift for many musicians, and it has opened up new creative possibilities precisely because it introduced an entirely new set of limitations.  While traditional programs typically fostered a linear composition style, Live instead encourages more modular thinking – loops, sections, phrases, addition, subtraction – all in the context of real-time manipulation.

These exceptions notwithstanding, the more we become familiar with the tools at hand - and obviously a limited toolset lends itself to familiarity more so than an unlimited toolset - the more we can remove the barriers to spontaneity, inspiration and creativity.  The tools become extensions of ourselves, a medium and channel for expression, rather than an external object which we must forcefully manipulate in order to capture our thoughts and feelings.  In this sense, learning the limitations of our tools allows us to develop symbiotic relationships with them, such that together we become greater than the sum of our individual tools.

Eno’s final words summarize it well.

Although designers continue to dream of “transparency” - technologies that just do their job without making their presence felt - both creators and audiences actually like technologies with “personality.” A personality is something with which you can have a relationship. Which is why people return to pencils, violins, and the same three guitar chords.

Next entry: Software Review: Kirk Hunter Symphony Orchestra - Emerald

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