The first time you go into a studio, it is enough just to get something out that doesn’t utterly suck. As time goes by, ambition grows. Now you want to introduce some nuances. And I do not think any seasoned band would argue that tone is one of the hardest things to put across in music. It is all too easy to get wrong, and all to hard to get right. One might disagree, but just today while driving along I heard something which made the point easier to explain. Like a lot of drivers, I switch constantly between channels, trying to find something in ‘the great wasteland’ that I can stomach.  I stopped on a station playing the Beatles version of ‘With A Little Help From My Friends’. Ringo Starr’s laconic delivery perfectly suits the song. In his world-weary tone it is mild tribute to his friends in the band, the men riding life’s ups and downs with him, watching with wry bemusement the various follies that surround them. The station followed  it up with Joe Cocker’s histrionic version, made famous through its appearance in the Woodstock movie. In his hands the song is a completely different beast, all intense passion, hope and despair, a different beast entirely. If you listen to the arrangements, it comes as a surprise to realize they are not really all that different. It’s all in the delivery.

Even in my own minimal singing career, I can think of a few times when I did not really nail what was intended. The demo of ‘Helmethead’ is full of self-loathing and sarcasm. Somehow, the final version ended up jokey and comedic, which wasn’t really the point at all.

While poking through my Ipod the other day, I came across a couple of songs I downloaded a while ago, and have hardly listened to since. In the midst of this current phase of studio productivity, I have been thinking about this problem, and these songs really stuck out.

I guess I am not supposed to like Beyonce, but anyone who appreciates talent for its own sake has to respect this creature. Genetics have favoured her more than most; good producers have also made the difference. ‘Irreplaceable’ is as close to perfect as it gets. The music is bare, all washed out loops and samples. The song’s power comes almost entirely from the vocal delivery of Beyonce herself, her tone both economic and somehow florid. The lyrics are more resigned than angry, and Ms. Knowles nails it perfectly as she lectures her errant boyfriend in an almost conversational tone. She manages to keep her trademark octave swoops to a minimum, dropping them in here and there when she wants to make her point - which (not unreasonably) seems to be ‘I am the one in charge here, take it or piss off’. In contrast to the braggart’s world which is male R&B & hip-hop, it is actually rather refreshing.

Al Stewart’s ‘Year of the Cat’ is the diametric opposite of Beyonce’s song, but they have greatness in common. Stewart was a 30-something ex-hippie singer-songwriter in the mid-70s, when this song came out, and to all reports he has changed very little in the intervening period. The song has that smooth 70s sound, combined with a great performance from everyone involved. Lyrically it’s about getting caught up with the wrong woman, in the wrong place, and then being unable to extricate yourself from either. Really, though, the song is about ennui. Stewart’s delivery conveys this with every syllable. His reading is mostly soft and laconic, but every so often he pushes his voice a little, or clips a vowel, just to let you know what’s really going on. Solos come and go, but Stewart is always there, aimlessly wandering the streets, picking up books and laying them down, buying drinks he doesn’t really want. The song would literally be nothing without him.

In the studio, this is the stuff that drives us nuts. How, exactly, does one create that sort of magic? And a worse thought - if we did, would we know it?  Or would we keep going, driving right past the house, down the highway, and into the next town?

 Unfortunatly, it’s never easy.