A while ago, I was talking about the difference between the way we make records, and the way they used to be made. The difference can be a little hard for a layman to understand; after all, to most people, a song is a song. Audio quality, as long as it is decent, is probably neither here nor there.

Thus it may come as a bit of a surprise that so many older audio critics hate Itunes (and Ipods). An MP3 is a compressed version of the audio information available on a CD; and, it should be noted that Itunes is just a sophisticated version of the MP3 format that has been around for a decade or more. It is a black and white picture of something designed to be listened to in colour. These days, a lot of musicians and engineers have grown up familiar with the tight fizzy sound of an MP3.  They are comfortable with it, and they take this reality into account. More often than not, records made prior to the digital age suffer the most in comparison. Three-inch tape could capture an enormous amount of real audio information, aided heavily by the warm tube mics and solid state pre-amps which were the only thing available in those days. That is why albums cost so much to make thirty years ago. To do anything like a decent job recording music, you needed a fortune in specialized equipment. I can record and edit multi-track songs on my laptop, but the reality is, certain aspects of the audio quality will never even approach the stuff made in the 1970s. While recording platforms are infinitely cheaper and more sophisticated today, the digital mics and preamps found in most studios cannot come close to the sound offered by old solid state equipment.

This is not to say that the digital age has not been a boon to recording. Simple computer programs and dirt cheap digital-audio interfaces mean I can make very sophisticated recordings without the benefit of an engineer or stduio. And I can do them for practically nothing. And so can anyone else. This is a good thing. On the other hand, the infinite editing possibilities offered by the digital platform can be problematic. When do you stop? Especially when endless tinkering does not cost anything? While our studio is a mix of digital and analog, it is not free. The first thing I do with any new client is to underline the necessity of at some point stopping. We always remind our clients that artists usually run out of money before they run out of inspiration. No one ever listens, but we are sympathetic. We have learned the hard way that endless tinkering does not makes for more interesting records. In a digital age, it is the spaces between the notes, the burst of energy, the sudden moment of passion that can make all the difference.

 35 years ago, bands had no choice. You could not go back and overdub your enthusiasm.  Tape cost a fortune, and studio time was rare and valuable. If the band was wobbly, the record sucked. Interestingly, sometimes the band did indeed suck, and the result was still brilliant. Recently I downloaded Living In The USA by the Steve Miller Band. I heard the cut on classic radio, and it stayed with me. If you listen to it on headphones, it perfectly illustrates the sea change that has taken place in the past decade.

The song is a blues shuffle in that late 60’s San Francisco style, complete with someconfusing hippie patriotism passing for lyrics. A squeaky old Hammond organ and a truly crappy bass carry the hook, along with an inordinate amount of noodly percussion, sloppy handclaps, and some honkin’ harmonica. Still, it has a great feel, all good vibes and happy grooves. Listen to it again, and you start to hear a few things that really make it stand out when you put it up against something from the past decade. For example, the intro takes a full 50 seconds. These days, the radio edit would have you well into the third chorus by this juncture. 20 seconds later, when you finally hear the classic hook for the first time, the group half-heartedly bumbles into the riff only to have the guitar silenced by an ungainly blast of feedback.

My favourite moment comes at 1:42; for some reason the drummer comes fully unglued, falling a full beat behind the rest of the band. He is forced to speed up to catch everyone else, skipping along like a novice soldier. A minute later, a 60s-style breakdown is abandoned after a dozen bars when neither the bass, guitar or drums can agree on who is supposed to be doing what. And for the final bonus: the unrehearsed ad-lib that covers the wandering fade contains some faux calls for patriotism; the last audible one?

 “Somebody get me a cheeseburger!”

 They don’t make them like that anymore. It just does not work that way.