By Null
Lately, I have been revisiting a lot of older records.
Part of the reason for this is because when it comes to rock music these days,
the bottom line is Pro-Tools and the “loudness wars.” I cannot
fucking take it
anymore.
In regard to making a record, there are those who
write songs and play instruments—I am referring to the band. However, there is
always another member who plays a big part. This person is the producer, or
engineer, who determines the production value of the recording. In essence, the
“production” is an additional key component of the group. Every record contains
this “invisible” aspect. These days, I have a real hard time distinguishing
between rock bands. Sure, the singer’s voice can often que me in, but aren’t
these different singers backed up by the same homogeneous band? I believe they
are called “The Protool, No Dynamic, Loud As Fuckers Band.” They make almost
every record indistinguishable. This was not always the case.
Fuck man, Glen Campbell played on half the songs that
were ever recorded in the world, and you wouldn’t even know that if I didn’t
tell you. Yeah, Motörhead sounds like a fucking sandstorm, but they sound that
way regardless of how they were recorded. It was intentional. I can pick out
the difference between instruments on an old Motörhead recording better than I
can on any loud-as-fuck fest I have heard these days.
t is not that I am just a grumpy old man, which, of
course, I am. It is the fact that digital music is cold and dead. Analog music
is warm and alive. It’s science. For instance, take Rise Against, they have
good lefty politics, they are good song-writers, and they seem to be good guys.
Previously, I had never bought any of their albums because of the sound—the
production. However, I picked up End Game
a few weeks ago and thought maybe I could get into the album if I just
familiarized myself with the sound after repeated listenings. I like the record,
but I just couldn’t get past the production. It makes me sad.
While I was driving around rockin’ my new Rise Against
album, I stopped at a bookstore in town that has a lot of used CDs, just to try
my luck. I was fortunate as I found Nova Mob’s second album. Considering I am a
huge Hüsker Dü fan, and that Grant Hart died recently, I was excited to pick it
up. As soon as I got back into my car, I threw it into my CD player. Instantly,
I noticed that the mix sounded weird. The vocals seemed buried. It was a bit
tinny. The bass was muffled. There was also some tape hiss.
It was like a breath of fresh air.
It sounded fucking great. Almost like a real band,
with real people, making human mistakes, which often result in making great
records. I could actually distinguish the two guitars from each other. What’s
that, a bass?
I was floating in paradise. I drifted through the band
rehearsal space in somebody’s garage, ya know, the place where music is made.
The carpet was stained from spilt beer and flipped ashtrays. There were busted
drumsticks on the floor with broken guitar strings coiled around them like
snakes from some underground punk rock world. There was sweat. And blood. There
was also space. And air. The sky was clear, and I could sense something real.
In this paradise, there is sadness for the current
state of record making. I wish Rise Against would visit this place, where their
music and their words would be heard; where a guitar and bass complement each
other, instead of sounding like one indistinguishable beastly instrument; where
they could be heard and seen. It is a place where I could distinguish them from
the Foo Fighters.
Nova Mob sustained this paradise for the next 53
minutes.
Nova Mob’s second album has horns, and acoustic
numbers, and straight-ahead rockers. It grows on you over time, and the songs
lend themselves to emotional interpretations of all colors and hues. At least,
that is what it did to me. It felt like going home. Don’t fear the tape hiss.
We don’t need to be saved from our imperfections.
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