Sponsoring

 Committee:   Dr.  David  J.  Elliott,  Chairperson  

Dr.  John  V.  Gilbert  
Dr.  Ricki  Goldman  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
OBLIVIOUS  TRAILBLAZERS:  CASE  STUDIES  OF  THE  ROLE  OF  RECORDING  

TECHNOLOGY  IN  THE  MUSIC-­‐MAKING  PROCESSES  OF    

AMATEUR  HOME  STUDIO  USERS  

 
 
 
 
 
 
Adam  Patrick  Bell  
 
Program  in  Music  Education  
Department  of  Music  and  Performing  Arts  Professions  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Submitted  in  partial  fulfillment    
of  the  requirements  for  the  degree  of    
Doctor  of  Philosophy  in  the    
Steinhardt  School  of  Culture,  Education,  and  Human  Development  
New  York  University  
2013

     
 UMI Number: 3553941

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 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  
 
While  I  studied  the  processes  of  my  participants’  music-­‐making,  I  
participated  in  the  process  of  dissertation-­‐making.  For  the  sake  of  brevity,  
the  pages  herein  do  not  divulge  the  fine-­‐grained  details  of  my  dissertation-­‐
making  process.  As  a  result,  the  gracious  and  wonderful  people  who  shaped  
and  fostered  my  dissertation-­‐making  process  are  undeservedly  thanked  only  
once  on  a  page  that  I  fear  most  readers  will  hurriedly  glance  over.  It  is  said  it  
takes  a  village  to  raise  a  child;  in  a  similar  vein,  I  posit  it  takes  a  community  
to  write  a  dissertation.    
 
Collectively,  my  committee  of  David  Elliott,  John  Gilbert,  and  Ricki  Goldman  
served  as  a  brilliant  guiding  light  to  navigate  me  through  every  stage  of  the  
long  (and  sometimes  meandering),  but  very  fun  process  that  is  the  making  of  
a  dissertation.  Their  visionary  influences  are  woven  into  each  sentence  of  
this  manuscript.  
 
Paul  Geluso  had  a  heavy  hand  in  guiding  my  research  on  audio  engineering  
and  mentored  me  in  the  recording  studio  with  hours  upon  hours  of  hands-­‐on  
experience.  Paul’s  unending  patient  guidance  in  the  studio  was  elemental  in  
shaping  my  research.  
 
My  coursework  was  critical  in  enabling  me  to  carry  out  this  research  and  I  
am  especially  grateful  to  Colleen  Larson  for  the  qualitative  case  study  
expertise  she  imparted  to  me  and  to  Sharon  Weinberg  for  equipping  me  with  
the  knowledge  and  tools  to  conduct  statistical  analyses.  
 
I  cherish  Barbara  Hesser  and  the  wonderful  faculty  and  staff  of  the  music  
therapy  department  for  providing  me  with  lasting  friendships  and  the  best  
working  environment  a  graduate  student  could  hope  for.  This  hospitality  was  
extended  at  the  Nordoff-­‐Robbins  Center  for  Music  Therapy  where  Alan  Turry  
and  staff  nurtured  my  teaching  and  researching  skills.    
 
The  doctoral  program  in  music  education  at  NYU  is  small,  but  strong.  I  was  
continually  encouraged  and  inspired  by  my  outstanding  classmates:  Nina  
Guerrero,  Eva  Egolf,  Susan  Davis,  Linda  Lanier-­‐Keosaian,  and  Sunmin  Kim.

  iii  
One  day  we’ll  all  rave  about  the  latest  Dave  Kim  novel  and  I  will  boast:  “That  
guy  edited  my  dissertation!”  Thank  you  Dave  for  you  sifting  through  these  
pages.  
 
My  family  loves  me  unconditionally.  I  cannot  fathom  how  to  express  
gratitude  for  this  other  than  to  endeavor  to  live  love  as  they  do.  
 
Anna  =  Awesome.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This  research  was  supported  by  the  Social  Sciences  and  Humanities  Research  
Council  of  Canada.  
 

  iv  
 TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  
 
 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS                                iii  

LIST  OF  TABLES                                  xi  

LIST  OF  FIGURES                                xii  

CHAPTER  

  I   RESEARCH  OBJECTIVE                                1  

         Of  Bedrooms  and  Basements:  A  Self-­‐Portrait                        1  

         Background:  The  Return  of  the  Homemade  Record                      3  
         Occupy  Wall  Street:  Need  For  Study                          6                            
         Purpose  Statement                              8  
            Research  Questions                              9  
         Discussion  of  Terms                              9  
Popular  Music                              9  
         Conceptual  Framework                          10  
         Organization  of  the  Dissertation                        14  
 
II   LITERATURE  REVIEW                          17  

         Introduction                              17  
         The  State  of  Informal  Learning  in  Music  Education                            18    
         The  Influence  of  Recording  Technology  on    
Music  Learning                                          23    
         The  Emergence  of  the  Solitary  Sound  Sculptor                                                25  
         Music  Education  Field  Studies  on  Informal  Learning                  30  
         Music  Education  Studies  on  Computer-­‐Based    
Composition                                                            33    
         Making  Records                                            39  
             The  Old  Ways                            42  
       
           continued  
 

  v  
 Classic  New  York  Studio:  Columbia’s    
“The  Church”                                      43  
      The  Les  Paul  Legacy                          45  
      Shrinking  Studios                          53  
         Conclusions                                          57  
 
III   METHODS                              59  
 
             Methodology                            59  
             Method                              60  
Recruitment  of  Participants                        60  
Case  Study  Time  Frame                          62    
Data  Sources  and  Collection  Strategies                    63    
      Survey                            63    
      Video  Observations                        64    
      Stimulated  Recall  Interviews                      66    
      Semi-­‐Structured  Interviews                      67    
      Screenshots  and  Screen  Recordings                  68    
      Field  Notes                              69    
      Journals,  Documents,  and  Photographs                    70  
Analysis                              71  
Cross-­‐Case  Analysis                          74  
Coherence,  Consensus  and  Instrumental  Utility    
(Reliability  and  Validity)                                        76  
   
IV   A  STATISTICAL  PORTRAIT  OF    
NEW  YORK  HOME  STUDIO  USERS                          78  
 
         Procedure                                78  
         Results                              79  
    Demographic  Information                        79  
    Musical  Background                          84  
    Recording  Background                        88  
         Discussion                              91  
 
V   TRACK  1:  MICHAEL                            95  
 
         Email  and  Starbucks:  Meeting  Michael                        95  
         Michael’s  Home  Studio                            99  
         Inadvertent  Lessons  Learned  from  a  Guitar  Teacher                100  
           
             continued  
 

  vi  
          Cassette  Creativity  Since  1977                      102  
         “That’s  the  Only  Way  it’s  Going  to  Happen”:    
Going  Classical                              103  
         Electric  Era                          105  
         The  Skeuomorphic  Advantage:  Learning  Pro  Tools                112  
         On  the  Road…Again                        117  
         Flying  Solo:  Learning  Ableton  Alone                    118  
      Getting  Connected                        120  
Clicks  of  Intent                        124  
Following  the  Timbre  Trail                      128  
         “For  My  Own  Edification”:  Lonely  Learning                  132  
 
VI   TRACK  2:  TARA                                                    135  
 
         The  Williamsburg  Bridge                      135  
         Tara’s  Meandering  Migration  to  Music                    137  
From  Scoring  Points  to  Scoring  Films                  139  
“I  Just  Learned  As  I  Had  To”:    
  Karaoke  Composition                        140  
“It  Was  Very  Ad  Hoc”:  Reflexive  Recording    
  With  Mindful  Technology                    141  
         The  DAW  Double-­‐Edged  Sword                      143  
         Walking  and  Writing                        145  
         Stumbling  With  Sibelius                        147  
         Finding  the  Studio  at  Home                      148  
Preparation  (Saturday  and  Monday  Morning)                148  
      Recording  Piano  (Monday  Afternoon,  Tuesday,    
        and  Wednesday)                      153  
      Wednesday:  Recording  the  Piano  for  “Grandpa”                155  
      Thursday:  Technical  Difficulties                    162  
Friday:  Vocals                        163  
      Saturday  and  Beyond:  Comping                    169  
Ongoing:  Shopping  for  a  Mixer                    174  
         To  Be  Continued:  Conclusions                      176  
 
VII     TRACK  3:  JIMMY                        180  
 
         Bicycling  Through  Bushwick                      180  
         “The  Cell”:  Inside  Jimmy’s  Rehearsal  Space                  182  
         From  Scratching  to  Picking:  Jimmy’s  Transition  from    
DJ  to  Guitarist                        184  
 
             continued  

  vii  
 “I  Just  Found  It  So  Hard”:  Learning  to  Play    
  the  Guitar                        188  
         “It  Was  Never,  Never,  Never,  Serious”:    
Learning  by  Osmosis                      190  
         “I  Woke  Up  With  the  Melody”:    
  Writing  and  Recording  “Kingdom  Come”                  192  
“Everyday  We  Hustle”:  Writing  Lyrics                  194  
“It  Just  Happens,  You  Know,  It  Just  Happens,    
  It  Just  Happens”:  Recording  Ideas                  195  
         “Me  and  Him  Have  This  Synergy”:  Mixing  with  Bill                204  
Analog  Vs.  Digital  According  to  Jimmy                  206  
Getting  Guitar  Sounds  in  Mixing                    208  
Compressing  the  Guitar  Solo                    210  
“I  Never  Thought  I  Would  Be  A  Singer”:    
  Processing  the  Voice                    213  
Evaluating  the  Final  Mix                      214  
         Distributing  “Kingdom  Come”                      215  
         Second  Nature                            216  
   
VIII   TRACK  4:  TYLER                        219  
 
         Just  Blocks  Away:  Tyler’s  Apartment                    219  
         Bubble  Wrap:  A  Guided  Tour  Through    
  Tyler’s  Bedroom  Studio                      221  
         Fading  Into  Mixing                          224  
Stems                            227  
         Microphone  Selection                          229  
         A  Master  Plan                          233  
The  Fictional  Family  Tree:  Tyler’s  Characters                236  
         A  Design  for  Life:  Otter,  Sumac,  and  Totem                  241  
         “Just  Learned  It  From  Doing  It”:  Musical  Origins                243  
         Enter  Recording  Technology                      243  
“Cracks”  In  College                        244  
“I  Would  Get  Together  With  Myself”:    
Using  Acid                        245  
From  Acid  To  Ableton                      249  
         “This  Is  Me  Watching  Me  Talking  About  Me”:    
Stimulated  Recall  With  ScreenFlow                    250  
Editing  MIDI                          251  
Equalizing  Beats                        254  
Making  Loops                        256  
 
             continued  

  viii  
 Shifting  Pitch                        257  
         “If  I  Can  Get  Myself  Feeling  Good  About  It,  Singing    
and  Dancing,  That’s  Always  A  Good  Sign”                      258  
         Writing  Strings                          261  
Perfect  Notes                        262  
Panning                          265  
“I’ve  Never  Formally  Studied  Doing  It”:    
Writing  Strings                        266  
         “And  That’s  It  For  Now”:  Concluding  the  Session                  268  
         Tyler’s  Time  Distribution                      268  
         “Technology  is  the  Reason”:  Assessing  the  Role    
of  Recording  Technology                      271  
“If  You  Just  Hear  Songs  Like  Sandwiches    
  Then  You  Know  What  to  Put  On    
the  Sandwich”:  A  Sixth  Sense  for    
Songwriting?                        272  
 
IX   MULTI-­‐TRACK:  CROSS-­‐CASE  ANALYSIS                  275  
 
                       The  Self-­‐Sufficient  Studio  Versus  the  Vertically    
            Integrated  Studio                      278  
                       Vertical,  Horizontal,  and  the  Plane  Between                  281  
Breaking  From  the  Horizontal  Mold                282  
Karaoke  Composition  and  Reflexive  Recording                284  
Preset  Culture                      285  
Undo  the  Undue                      287  
         Acquiring  Skills  and  Knowhow:  Learning  Strategies                287  
         Emulating  Icons:  Aural  Learning                    288  
         Peer-­‐Guided  Learning                      290  
         Secluded  Studios:  Self-­‐Directed  Learning                291  
Tape  Travails                        292  
Domain  of  the  DAW                      293  
         Self-­‐Directed  Learning  as  Immersive  Learning    
            and  Holistic  Learning                    295  
         Conclusions                          296  
 
X   CONCLUSIONS                        297  
 
             Homemade  Brooklyn                      297  
         Audio  Conditioning                      300  
         Mid-­‐Fi                          304  
           
             continued  

  ix  
          By-­‐Processes:  Learning                          308  
         Works  in  Progress:  New  Approaches  to  Learning  and    
  Recording                        309  
         Implications  for  Music  Education                  311  
Music-­‐Making  Tools                      311  
Trial  and  Error  Learning                    313  
Songsmithing:  Learning  by  Making                  315  
DAWing                        316  
         Suggestions  for  Future  Research                    317  
         Les  Paul  Looms                        320  
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY                            322  

APPENDICES  

A   RECRUITMENT  FLYER                      339  

B   STATEMENT  FOR  SURVEY  PARTICIPANTS                                340  

C   CONSENT  FORM  FOR  SURVEY  PARTICIPANTS                341  

D   SURVEY                          343  

E   STATEMENT  FOR  CASE  STUDY  PARTICIPANTS                349  

F   CONSENT  FORM  FOR  CASE  STUDY  PARTICIPANTS              351  

G   INTERVIEW  PROTOCOL                                                                                                                  353  

H   FIGURE  OF  ANALYSIS  PROCEDURE                                                                  355  

I   UCAIHS  EXEMPTION                        356

  x  
 LIST  OF  TABLES  
 
 
 
1   Hours  of  data  sources  collected  from  participants                      63  
 
2   In  which  industry  are  you  employed?                        83  

3   Approximately  what  percentage  does  making  music  contribute    

to  your  income?                                                              84  
 
4   How  many  years  total  have  you  studied  privately,  at  a  college,    
or  at  a  conservatory?                                              87  
 
5   What  recording  software  do  you  typically  use  to  make    
and  record  your  music?                                            90  
 
6   Case  study  participants’  responses  to  survey  items                    94  
 
7     Ableton  guitar  effects  auditioned  by  Michael                  129  
 
 
 

  xi  
 LIST  OF  FIGURES  

 
 
1   Gender  distribution  of  sample                          79  

2   Right  skew  of  age  distribution                          80  

3   Age  distribution  of  sample                            81  

4   Racial  distribution  of  sample                          82  

5   Distribution  of  sample  by  New  York  City  Borough                    82  

6   Instrument  distribution                            86  

7   Computer  type                              89  

8   PC  vs.  Mac                                89  

9   Michael’s  kitchen  table                        100  

10   Roland  GK-­‐2A                            109  

11   Roland  GR-­‐30  guitar  synthesizer                      110  

12   M-­‐Audio  MIDISPORT                          111  

13   DigiDesign  Mbox                          113  

14   Mackie  1604  VLZ  mixing  console                      115  

15   Michael’s  living  room                        119  

16   Ableton  interface                                      120  

17   TASCAM  US-­‐122                          121  

18   Michael  chooses  “Ambient-­‐Alien  Riches”                    123

  xii  
19   Ableton  drum  map                          127  

20   Michael  imports  audio                        130  

21   “Crystal  Reverb”                          130  

22   Multiband  EQ                            131  

23   M-­‐Audio  ProKeys  88  MIDI  controller                    147  

24   DigiDesign  Mbox  2                          147  

25   Felix  working  on  a  Logic  session                      149  

26   “The  big  Russian  guys”  tune  the  piano                    152  

27   The  camera  view  of  Tara  playing  piano  and  Felix  engineering              156  

28   Tara  sings  into  the  mic                        164  

29   Original  “Grandpa”  lyrics                        166  

30   Screenshot  of  the  “Grandpa”  Logic  session                      171  

31   The  exterior  of  Jimmy’s  rehearsal  building                    181  

32   Jimmy’s  rehearsal  room                        183  

33   Native  Instruments  Battery  interface                    198  

34   Avalon  737  preamp                            204  

35   Bill  at  the  helm  of  the  Pro  Tools  session  for  “Kingdom  Come”              206  

36   Waves  SSL  4000-­‐E  plugin                        207  

37   Waves  Renaissance  EQ  plugin                      209  

38   Bomb  Factory  compressor  plugin                      211  

39   MOTU  Traveller                          221  

40   BOSS  TU-­‐2  chromatic  tuning  pedal                      222  

  xiii  
41   Electro  Harmonix  Holy  Grail  reverb  pedal                    223  

42   AKAI  MPD  32  MIDI  pad                        225  

43   Shure  SM57  dynamic  microphone                      229  

44   AKG  C  414  XLS  condenser  microphone                    230  

45   Shure  SM7B  dynamic  microphone                      231  

46   Frequency  response  graph  of  the  AKG  C  414  XLS                  232                  

47   Frequency  response  graph  of  the  Shure  SM7B                  232  

48   Tyler’s  tree  of  characters                        237  

49   Tyler  edits  the  MIDI  notes  for  his  harpsichord  part                253  

50   The  two  EQ  shapes  that  Tyler  used  on  “elecbeat”                              255  

51   “Analog  Warmth”                          258  

52   The  saturator,  EQ,  and  compressor  that  comprise  the  plugin    

“Analog  Warmth”                                      259  
 
53   AKAI  LPK  25  MIDI  keyboard                      261  

54   Making  perfect  notes                          263  

55   Tyler’s  completed  string  part                      264  

56   Panning                            266  

57   Tyler’s  time  distribution                        270  

58   A  singular  waveform                          276  

59   Multiple  waveforms  constituting  a  multi-­‐track                  277

  xiv  
 CHAPTER  I  
 
RESEARCH  OBJECTIVE  
 
 
 
Of  Bedrooms  and  Basements:  A  Self-­‐Portrait  

For  nearly  a  century,  formal  music  education  has  turned  its  back  upon  the  
learning  practices  of  the  musicians  who  produce  most  of  the  music  that  comes  
out  of  loudspeakers.  But  perhaps  by  constructively  embracing  those  same  
technological  developments  which  many  people  consider  to  have  alienated  
music-­‐making,  and  noticing  how  they  are  used  as  one  of  the  main  means  of  self-­‐
education  for  popular  musicians,  we  can  find  one  key  to  the  re-­‐invigoration  of  
music-­‐making  in  general.  (Green,  2001,  p.  186)  
 
As  a  young  rock  musician  I  embraced  the  technological  developments  

of  which  Green  speaks.  Music  technology  has  been  a  critical  music-­‐making  

tool  in  my  life.  I  started  drumming  and  playing  the  guitar  when  I  was  15  and  

a  year  later  I  dropped  out  of  my  high  school  music  class  so  that  I  could  play  

the  music  I  liked.  I  took  the  few  chops  I  had  learned  as  a  percussionist  and  

applied  them  to  the  drum  kit  I  bought  with  the  earnings  from  my  first  

summer  job.  My  older  brother  taught  me  a  few  chords  on  his  guitar  and  I  

learned  how  to  play  songs  by  my  favorite  bands  using  tablatures  I  

downloaded  from  the  now  defunct  OLGA  (On-­‐line  Guitar  Archive)  via  our  

dial-­‐up  modem.  I  listened  to  CDs  repeatedly  so  I  could  emulate  the  styles  of  

my  favorite  guitarists  and  drummers.  All  the  while  I  made  countless  

recordings  of  myself  with  a  tape  recorder  to  “write  down”  my  original  songs.  

  1  
 I  was  astonished  when  I  first  became  cognizant  of  the  recording  

technique  called  overdubbing.  While  listening  to  a  recording  of  one  of  my  

favorite  bands  that  had  two  guitarists,  I  heard  three  distinct  guitar  parts  

played  simultaneously.  Up  until  this  point  I  had  assumed  that  the  band  

recorded  their  songs  live  in  a  studio.  I  didn’t  realize  one  person  could  play  

multiple  parts  on  a  recording  or  that  Les  Paul  popularized  the  overdubbing  

technique  in  the  early-­‐1950s  (Buskin,  2007).  I  adopted  the  practice  of  

overdubbing  and  became  my  own  accompanist  by  improvising  lead  guitar  

melodies  to  a  previously  recorded  rhythm  guitar  part.    

  Fast  forward  to  the  digital  age  and  in  the  year  2000  I  bought  a  50-­‐

dollar  computer  program  called  Music  Center  that  enabled  me  to  overdub  up  

to  16  tracks.  By  routing  a  few  Radio  Shack  microphones  to  my  computer’s  

soundcard  through  a  second-­‐hand  four-­‐channel  mixing  console,  I  could  

record  any  sound.  In  the  basement  and  bedrooms  of  my  parents’  home  I  

recorded  over  a  hundred  songs  throughout  my  adolescent  years.  My  music  

education  took  place  outside  of  the  classroom  after  school  and  consisted  of  a  

self-­‐directed  approach  to  music-­‐making  with  recording  technology.  

My  early  adulthood  years  coincided  with  a  critical  period  of  transition  

in  the  music  recording  industry;  digital  technologies  were  quickly  usurping  

their  analog  predecessors.  This  change  trickled  down  to  the  consumer,  giving  

me  access  to  similar  recording  technology.  My  computer  morphed  into  a  

gateway  to  a  new  kind  of  music-­‐making  experience.      

  2  
Background:  The  Return  of  the  Homemade  Record  

If  there  has  been  a  key  player  in  the  home  studio  revolution,  it  has  most  
certainly  been  the  computer.  Moore's  Law,  which  essentially  states  that  the  
transistor  capacity  of  a  computer  chip  doubles  roughly  every  two  years,  has  
proven  to  be  relatively  accurate  since  the  mid-­‐'60s  and  seems  to  be  
continuing…For  the  home  studio  enthusiast—and  indeed  for  the  greater  
professional  audio  community—these  developments  have  turned  the  
cost/performance  ratio  on  its  head,  making  extremely  high-­‐quality  audio  
achievable  for  the  masses.  (Touzeau,  2009,  p.  1)  
 
  By  the  mid-­‐1990s,  Pro  Tools,  a  program  for  music  production,  became  

increasingly  widespread  in  professional  recording  studios;  by  the  2000s  

other  similar  software  packages  called  DAWs  (Digital  Audio  Workstations),  

such  as  the  inexpensive  program  Music  Center  that  I  utilized  as  a  teenager,  

were  made  available  to  the  consumer  market.  Leyshon  (2009)  explains:  

The  shift  to  software-­‐enabled  recording  has  significantly  reduced  the  

cost  of  entry-­‐level  equipment,  which  has  improved  the  quality  and  
capacity  of  home  recording…Software  and  code  have  made  possible  a  
regime  of  more  distributed  musical  creativity,  which  represents  a  
democratization  of  technology.  (p.  1325)  
 
  The  2009  global  report  of  the  National  Association  of  Music  

Merchants  (NAMM)  details  that  computer-­‐based  recording  experienced  a  

financial  boom  between  1999  and  2008.  The  computer  music  market  rose  

almost  200  percent  to  become  a  400-­‐million-­‐dollar  industry,  while  sound  

cards  and  hardware  increased  by  570  percent,  establishing  a  180-­‐million-­‐

dollar  industry  (NAMM  Global  Report  –  2009).  

Taken  literally,  the  term  home  recording  is  somewhat  misleading—it  

does  not  necessarily  mean,  “to  record  music  at  one’s  home.”  In  the  audio  

  3  
engineering  community,  home  recording  is  generally  understood  to  mean  

amateur  or  hobby  recording:  a  recording  produced  by  the  self-­‐taught  

individual.  Regelski  (2007)  describes  amateruing  in  music  to  be  an  

intrinsically  motivated  act  fueled  by  a  love-­‐like  passion.  Amateur  audio  

engineering  entails  the  confluence  of  two  phenomena  defined  by  Waksman  

(2004):  technological  enthusiasm  and  tinkering.  Commencing  in  the  

nineteenth  century,  “Enthusiasm  for  technology  is  what  led  individuals  not  

only  to  use  technology,  but  also  to  take  pleasure  in  it,  and  to  apply  

themselves  to  it  as  a  form  of  recreation”  (p.  677).  Tinkering  is  more  specific,  

Waksman  delineates:  “It  has  been  a  means  of  exploring  the  ways  in  which  

technology  can  be  put  in  the  service  of  creating  a  certain  kind  of  sound”  (p.  

676).  Historical  accounts  document  that  the  occupation  of  audio  engineering  

grew  out  of  recording  practices  developed  in  home  studios  like  my  own  (e.g.,  

Horning,  2002).  Pioneers  in  the  field  like  Les  Paul  and  Joe  Meek  honed  their  

techniques  in  the  bedrooms  and  basements  of  their  home  studios  (Buskin,  

2007;  Cleveland,  2001).  Katz  (2004)  documents  that  until  1912  many  

phonographs  were  equipped  to  record,  but  once  the  disc  format  was  

standardized,  home  recording  was  not  easily  accessible  again  until  the  1950s  

with  the  introduction  of  tape  (p.  70).  It  is  fitting  that  the  recording  mediums  

of  human  history  (cylinders,  discs,  tape  reels,  and  hard  drives)  are  round,  

because  we  have  come  full  circle,  back  to  a  point  where  recordings  made  at  

home  can  go  straight  to  the  radio  just  like  Les  Paul  and  Mary  Ford’s  1959  hit,  

  4  
“How  High  the  Moon.”  Nashville-­‐based  recording  engineer  Chuck  Ainlay  

(Dire  Straits,  Dixie  Chicks,  Sheryl  Crow)  admitted:  “It’s  really  gotten  to  the  

point  now  where  somebody  can  build  a  home  studio  and  get  the  same  kinds  

of  results  that  the  major  studios  can”  (cited  in  Gottlieb,  2010,  p.  21).  Izhaki  

(2008)  and  Huber  (2010)  have  made  similar  claims  in  their  audio  

engineering  texts  aimed  at  the  amateur  home  recorder.  Recording  engineer  

Dave  Pensado  (Pink,  Beyonce,  Shakira)  theorized  why  the  practice  of  home  

recording  rivals  the  professional  studio:  

In  many  ways  there  are  a  lot  of  things  the  home  guys  do  that  are  in  
fact  better  than  the  recordings  that  come  from  a  big  facility.  That’s  
because,  in  general,  the  creativity  that  emerges  from  home  studios  
almost  always  surpasses  that  of  an  expensive  studio.  (as  cited  in  
Simons,  2004,  p.  10)  
 
  Recording  studios  were  once  defined  physical  spaces  that  musicians  

entered  to  record  their  works.  Studios  employed  audio  engineers  whose  sole  

purpose  was  to  capture  the  musicians’  performances.  With  DAWs  being  used  

outside  of  the  professional  studio,  the  once  rigidly  defined  spaces  and  roles  

of  musician  and  audio  engineer  are  coalescing.  There  is  a  renewed  role  in  

music  production  reminiscent  of  Les  Paul,  a  hybrid  of  musician  and  audio  

engineer,  a  role  where  a  single  individual  is  responsible  for  writing,  

performing,  recording,  and  mixing  his  or  her  own  works.  My  study  sought  to  

investigate  the  practices  of  this  hybrid  role  in  music  production.      

 
 
 

  5  
Occupy  Wall  Street:  Need  for  Study  
 
  “All  day,  all  week,  occupy  Wall  Street!”  rang  throughout  New  York  City  

during  the  fall  of  2011  as  protestors  determined  to  have  their  voices  heard,  

appealed  to  their  Government  for  change.  Armed  with  the  slogan,  “We  are  

the  99  percent,”  the  protestors’  main  grievance  centered  on  income  

inequality  and  the  distribution  of  wealth.  Economist  Joseph  Stiglitz  (2011,  

May)  detailed  that  “the  one  percent”  earned  nearly  a  quarter  of  America’s  

annual  income,  constituting  a  40  percent  control  of  the  nation’s  wealth.  

A  similar  imbalance  occurs  in  music  education.  Despite  the  mosaic  of  

musics  in  our  society,  music  education  tends  to  be  rather  monochromatic,  

rooted  in  the  Western  classical  tradition.  Scholars  in  music  education  have  

provided  ample  theoretical  grounding  for  adopting  the  educational  practices  

of  non-­‐classical  musics  (e.g.,  Abeles,  2010;  Elliott,  1995;  Regelski,  2006;  

Seifried,  2006),  and  the  past  decade  has  witnessed  a  growing  interest  in  

“informal  learning”  practices.  Feichas  (2010)  defines  informal  learning  as  

“non-­‐linear,  cooperative  learning,  controlled  by  a  social  group  rather  than  by  

an  individual”  (p.  49).    

Green  (2001)  investigated  the  learning  processes  of  “popular  

musicians”  (i.e.,  rock  musicians)  and  concluded  that  their  learning  practices  

are  markedly  different  from  classical  musicians’.  Green  proposed  that  

informal  learning  strategies  should  be  adopted  to  complement  existing  music  

education  practices.  Considering  that  classical  music  accounted  for  less  than  

  6  
two  percent  of  physical  and  digital  albums  sales  in  2012,  while  rock  music  for  

example  accounted  for  27  percent  and  30  percent  of  physical  and  digital  

album  sales  respectively  (see  “The  Nielsen  Company  &  Billboard’s  2012  

Music  Industry  Report”),  music  education  research  on  non-­‐classical  music  

practices,  often  labeled  “informal”  or  “popular,”  is  greatly  underrepresented  

as  far  as  the  music-­‐buying  public  is  concerned.  This  is  not  an  argument  

against  classical  music,  it  is  an  argument  for  the  musics  that  represent  the  

other  98  percent.    

Some  distinctions  from  Green’s  work  and  my  study  should  be  noted.  

With  regard  to  content,  my  study  focused  on  the  use  of  recording  technology  

in  the  music-­‐making  process,  an  aspect  that  is  not  covered  by  Green  beyond  

the  use  of  a  playback  device  such  as  a  CD  player—this  aspect  of  the  role  of  

technology  in  music  education  has  also  been  studied  by  Lin  (2005)  and  

Williams  (2009).  To  frame  recording  as  capturing  a  musical  performance  to  a  

medium  is  overly  simplistic  and  fails  to  acknowledge  the  complexity  of  the  

process.  My  study  aimed  to  understand  the  complex  processes  of  a  musician  

working  with  modern  recording  technologies.  Secondly,  with  regard  to  

research  method,  Green  employed  interviews  as  her  sole  source  of  data.  My  

study  employed  a  triangulated  approach  utilizing  interviews,  video-­‐based  

observations,  and  screen  recordings.  My  method  relates  more  closely  to  a  

recent  dissertation  by  Tobias  (2010).  Tobias’  case  study  of  a  high  school  

classroom  that  uses  modern  recording  technologies  to  create  new  musical  

  7  
works  (i.e.,  Pro  Tools),  discusses  the  role  of  technology  in  the  creative  

process.  My  study  differs  by  focusing  on  participants  18  years  of  age  or  older  

and  by  employing  a  more  naturalistic  design.  Opposed  to  being  assigned  

projects  by  a  teacher,  the  participants  in  my  study  engaged  in  their  practice  

at  a  place  and  time  that  was  self-­‐determined.  Further,  the  design  of  the  

qualitative  component  of  my  study  involved  fewer  participants,  allowing  for  

more  in-­‐depth  and  focused  analysis  on  the  music-­‐making  process.  

My  study  is  also  relevant  to  the  field  of  phonomusicology,  the  study  of  

music  recordings.  Bayley  (2010)  summarizes  the  need  for  studies  like  mine:  

Rather  than  merely  revisiting  the  end  product,  or  comparing  several  
different  end  products  (as  is  the  overall  tendency  within  musicology),  
recording  as  many  elements  of  the  creative  process  as  possible  within  
an  unspecified  timeframe  can  lead  to  fascinating  developments  from  
the  participants  and  the  observer  that  can  benefit  future  audiences.    
(p.  220)  
     
 
 
Purpose  Statement  

The  purpose  of  my  study  was  to  examine  how  recording  technologies  

(e.g.,  DAWs,  microphones,  etc.)  are  used  by  musicians  in  the  process  of  

producing  a  recording  in  a  home  studio  (i.e.,  not  a  professional  studio),  and  

how  they  learned  the  skills  to  produce  (write,  record,  and  mix)  a  recording.  

  8  
 Research  Questions  

1. How  is  recording  technology  used  by  musicians  who  record  in  a  home  

studio  environment?  

2. How  do  musicians  acquire  the  skills  and  knowhow  to  create  a  

recording?  

Discussion  of  Terms  

Popular  Music  

A  brief  discussion  of  the  term  popular  music  is  warranted  because  my  

study  involved  participants  who  would  typically  be  classified  as  popular  

musicians  in  music  education  research.  Bowman  (2004)  likens  popular  music  

to  art,  explaining,  “It  does  not  and  cannot  mean  any  one  thing,  or  even  any  

single  combination  of  things”  (p.  37).  Historically  the  criteria  used  to  define  

popular  music  have  been  measureable  consumption,  delivery  mode,  or  

“alignment  with  a  particular  group  of  people”  (Rodriguez,  2004,  p.  14).  

Because  these  criteria  are  subject  to  shifts,  what  qualifies  as  popular  music  is  

always  subject  to  change.  Despite  this,  popular  music  and  popular  musicians  

have  emerged  as  commonly  used  terms  in  music  education  research.  The  

term  popular  musicians  is  frequently  used  interchangeably  with  informally  

trained  musicians  because  musics  that  have  tended  to  be  termed  as  popular  

such  as  rock  music  have  also  tended  to  be  produced  by  informally  trained  or  

self-­‐taught  musicians.  For  example,  Green  (2001;  2008),  a  leading  researcher  

  9  
in  informal  music  pedagogy  frequently  uses  the  term  popular  musicians  

interchangeably  with  rock  musicians.  Often  popular  music  is  defined  by  what  

it  is  not,  and  is  used  as  a  catchall  definition  for  music  that  does  not  fall  under  

the  umbrella  of  classical  or  jazz.  Bowman  (2004)  uses  the  case  of  jazz  to  

illustrate  the  conundrum  of  trying  to  define  popular  music  because  there  was  

a  time  when  jazz  and  popular  music  were  synonymous,  but  that  is  no  longer  

the  case.  Ultimately,  what  constitutes  popular  is  a  matter  of  preference;  it  is  a  

complex  social  phenomenon  that  falls  outside  of  the  scope  of  my  study  but  is  

well  articulated  and  explained  by  Wilson  (2007).  Rather  than  framing  my  

study  around  the  products  of  the  participants  (what  type  of  music  do  they  

produce?),  I  designed  it  based  on  the  processes  of  the  participants  (how  do  

they  produce  music?).    

 
 
Conceptual  Framework  

The  first  question,  “How  is  recording  technology  used  by  musicians  

who  record  in  a  home  studio  environment?”  was  examined  through  the  lens  

of  Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom’s  “Compositional  strategies  in  

computer-­‐based  music-­‐making”  (1998).  The  model  takes  into  account  how  

software  impacts  the  composer  and  posits  that  there  are  two  ways  of  

working,  Vertical  and  Horizontal.  Horizontal  1  composition  resembles  a  

traditional  approach  to  recording  in  which  the  music  is  composed  in  its  

entirety  before  recording  commences.  A  key  feature  of  the  Horizontal  

  10  
approach  is  that  composition  and  arrangement  are  distinct  and  separate  

processes.  Horizontal  2  differs  from  Horizontal  1  in  that  it  allows  for  more  

improvisation  and  experimentation  throughout  the  recording  process.  It  

takes  into  account  the  feedback  provided  by  the  playback  of  the  computer.  

The  Horizontal  1  approach  is  further  defined  into  different  branches  of  

composition,  but  for  the  purposes  of  my  study,  these  subcategories  were  not  

relevant.  These  differences  stem  from  a  limitation  imposed  by  the  software  

employed  in  the  original  study;  it  was  not  capable  of  recording  audio,  it  could  

only  record  MIDI  information.  MIDI  (Musical  Instrument  Digital  Interface)  

allows  users  to  record  a  performance  using  a  synthesizer  that  can  later  be  

edited.  The  parameters  that  can  be  edited  are  “pitch,  duration  (rhythmic  

value),  tempo,  dynamics,  and  desired  sound  (patch)”  (Frankel,  2010,  p.  238).    

In  contrast  to  Horizontal  composition,  Vertical  composition  integrates  

composition,  arrangement,  and  recording  into  a  single  intertwined  process.  

The  Vertical  composer  completes  an  entire  section  of  a  piece  of  music  before  

moving  on  to  the  next.  Similar  to  Horizontal  2,  the  Vertical  approach  

incorporates  recording  parts  and  then  listening  to  them,  but  it  is  more  

experimental—fewer  preconceived  ideas  guide  the  composition  and  the  

computer  plays  a  more  central  role  in  shaping  the  composition  through  the  

use  of  editing.  The  Vertical  2  approach  commences  with  the  composer  

selecting  which  instruments  will  be  included  even  though  the  parts  have  yet  

  11  
to  be  written.  The  theory  of  Folkestad  et  al.  (1998)  has  been  utilized  in  

studies  similar  to  mine  including  Mellor  (2008)  and  Tobias  (2010).      

Based  on  my  experiences  as  a  rock  musician  and  my  conversations  

with  other  musicians,  the  model  of  Folkestad  et  al.  (1998)  is  incomplete.  

Their  model  is  overly  simplistic,  dichotomizing  a  complex  process  into  two  

categories.  I  propose  that  while  composing  with  a  computer  does  involve  

vertical  and/or  horizontal  processes,  the  role  of  the  recording  technology  is  

largely  overlooked.      

Reflecting  on  his  experiences  as  a  composer  and  orchestrator,  the  

Beatles’  producer  George  Martin  remarked:  “I  had  to  write  a  lot  and  actually  

hear  orchestras  playing  what  I  had  written.  And  even  then,  the  fact  is  that  

every  time  you  write  a  score,  no  one  can  be  absolutely  certain  how  it  will  

sound”  (1979,  p.  36).  The  great  advantage  of  composing  music  with  a  

computer  is  that  it  offers  immediate  feedback  in  sound  (Upitis,  1990);  the  

sounds  that  have  already  been  recorded  influence  the  future  sounds  

produced  by  the  composer,  creating  a  constant  feedback  loop  between  

composer  and  computer  until  the  composer  deems  the  piece  of  music  

complete.  This  reflexive  process  invites  experimentation  and  improvisation.  

In  the  digital  domain,  the  number  of  tracks  is  limited  only  by  the  computer’s  

power  and  audio  quality  does  not  degrade.  In  tape-­‐based  recording,  each  

new  pass  of  recording  slightly  degrades  the  quality  of  the  tape,  making  

experimentation  and  improvisation  more  consequential.      

  12  
 What  I  term  as  reflexive  is  akin  to  what  constitutes  both  horizontal  

and  vertical  processes  in  the  theory  of  Folkestad  et  al.  (1998),  because  

process  is  my  focus.  This  may  seem  confusing  because  process  can  influence  

structure  and  vice  versa.  Differentiating  one  from  the  other  is  not  necessary;  

rather  the  focus  of  my  analysis  when  using  this  model  was  to  privilege  

process  over  structure.  Many  important  questions  about  the  process  of  

music-­‐making  are  left  unaddressed  in  using  this  model,  which  led  me  to  

augment  it  with  new  questions  such  as:  How  are  different  sounds,  

instruments,  timbres,  and  effects  chosen  and  why?  How  is  each  part  

recorded?  What  thought,  if  any,  was  given  to  the  microphone  selection  and  

the  microphone  placement  used  in  the  recording  of  an  instrument?  How  was  

the  mix  achieved?  Did  the  composer  realize  his  or  her  vision  for  the  piece?  In  

all  of  these  decisions,  how  does  recording  technology  influence  them?  

The  second  question,  “How  do  musicians  acquire  the  skills  and  

knowhow  to  create  a  recording?”  was  addressed  using  Green’s  model  of  how  

popular  musicians  learn  (2008),  which  stipulates  that  they:  

1. Choose  their  own  music  to  learn;  

2. Learn  by  listening  and  copying  recordings;  

3. Learn  alongside  friends  or  by  themselves;  

4. Assimilate  skills  and  knowledge  in  haphazard,  idiosyncratic,  and  

holistic  ways;  
 
5. Integrate  listening,  performing,  improvising,  and  composing  
simultaneously  throughout  the  learning  process.  

  13  
 The  first  criterion  was  assumed  in  my  study  because  I  selected  

participants  who  record  their  own  music.  Because  they  can  be  differentiated,  

the  third  criterion  was  separated  into  two:  self-­‐directed  learning  and  peer-­‐

guided  learning.  Green’s  model  is  based  on  rock  musicians  and  may  not  be  

applicable  to  other  musics  that  are  commonly  categorized  as  popular.  Väkevä  

(2010)  argues  that  popular  music  pedagogies  should  consider  a  wider  scope:  

Such  practices  as  DJing/turntablism;  assembling  of  various  bits  and  

pieces  to  remixes;  remixing  entire  songs  to  mash-­‐ups  in  home  studios;  
collective  songwriting  online;  producing  of  one’s  own  music  videos  to  
YouTube;  exchanging  and  comparing  videos  of  live  performances  of  
Guitar  Hero  and  Rock  Band  game  songs—all  of  these  indicate  a  
musical  culture  that  differs  substantially  from  conventional  “garage  
band”  practices.  (p.  63)  
   
Väkevä  presents  a  vast  picture  of  the  varied  styles  of  musics  that  have  

been  left  in  the  margins  thus  far  in  field  studies  concerned  with  informal  

music  pedagogy.  Green’s  model  served  as  a  foundation  for  understanding  

how  the  musicians  in  my  study  learned  their  craft,  but  additionally  I  

consulted  literature  from  the  fields  of  audio  engineering  and  

phonomusicology  to  supplement  my  analysis  because  Green’s  criteria  did  not  

always  suffice  to  explain  the  phenomena  I  investigated.      

Organization  of  the  Dissertation  

  The  remainder  of  this  document  is  divided  into  nine  additional  

chapters.  Following  the  traditional  format  of  a  dissertation,  the  second  

chapter  presents  a  review  of  related  literature.  In  the  field  of  music  

  14  
education,  my  study  most  closely  relates  to  literature  on  informal  learning  

and  computer-­‐based  composition.  Correspondingly,  a  discussion  of  these  

topics  constitutes  the  majority  of  the  content  of  the  second  chapter.  

Additionally,  literature  on  audio  engineering  was  surveyed  to  present  a  

context  for  the  study  as  it  relates  to  the  practice  of  home  recording.    

  The  third  chapter,  Methods,  details  the  mixed  methods  employed  in  

the  collection  of  data.  As  a  first  step  to  recruit  suitable  participants  to  serve  

as  case  studies,  an  online  survey  was  utilized.  Given  the  complexity  of  the  

process  of  producing  a  recording,  a  multifaceted  qualitative  method  was  

developed  to  collect  various  types  of  data  from  the  case  study  participants  

including  interviews,  video  recordings,  and  screen  recordings.  Drawing  on  

multiple  methodological  resources  as  influences,  data  analysis  involved  

several  stages  that  are  outlined  in  the  Analysis  section.  

  The  fourth  chapter  presents  the  findings  of  the  survey  that  was  used  

to  recruit  participants.  The  results  of  the  survey  provide  a  demographic  

context  for  the  study,  presenting  the  trends  within  the  practice  of  amateur  

home  recording  in  New  York  City.  

  Chapters  five  through  eight  comprise  the  heart  of  the  study,  

presenting  the  cases  of  Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  respectively.  Each  of  

these  individuals  approaches  the  practice  of  producing  a  recording  

differently,  influenced  by  their  backgrounds  and  ambitions.  Using  thick  

description  and  seeking  to  draw  out  the  voices  of  the  participants,  each  case  

  15  
incorporates  and  integrates  the  traditional  categories  of  results,  analysis,  and  

discussion  to  present  a  detailed  account  of  the  role  of  recording  technology  

in  their  music-­‐making  processes.  

  Following  the  typical  structure  of  a  multiple  case  study,  the  ninth  

chapter  presents  a  cross-­‐case  analysis,  highlighting  the  similarities  and  

dissimilarities  across  cases,  as  there  is  no  one-­‐size-­‐fits-­‐all  model  for  

presenting  the  cases.  The  final  chapter  serves  to  summarize  the  salient  

findings  of  the  study  and  consider  their  implications  for  the  practice  of  music  

education.      

  16  
 CHAPTER  II  

LITERATURE  REVIEW  

Introduction  

  Two  bodies  of  literature  informed  my  study:  informal  learning  in  

music  education  and  audio  engineering  practices.  Previous  research  in  these  

respective  fields  has  tended  to  shy  away  from  addressing  the  other  in  depth.  

This  reflects  an  antiquated  attitude  toward  music  production  in  which  the  

roles  of  musicians  and  engineers  typically  did  not  overlap.  The  training  of  

audio  engineers  focused  more  on  technical  skills  (i.e.,  electronics)  than  

musical  training  until  the  1980s  when  the  profession  shifted  from  an  

apprenticeship-­‐style  learning  model  and  began  to  increasingly  value  diploma  

and  degree  programs  that  included  both  technical  training  and  music  

training  (Sanders,  1993;  Walsh,  1996).  Pritts  (1998)  explains:  “These  

programs  shared  the  objective  that  the  educated  recording  engineer  needed  

training  in  music,  physics,  and  engineering,  and  hands-­‐on  laboratory  

experience”  (p.  88).  Meanwhile,  music  education  curricula  tended  to  exclude  

audio  engineering  skills.  The  literature  review  presented  herein  looks  to  the  

fields  of  music  education  and  audio  engineering  to  establish  a  context  in  

which  to  situate  my  study.

  17  
The  State  of  Informal  Learning  in  Music  Education  

Dishrag  (Henry  Jones)  actually  showed  me  the  thing  that  I  learned  to  play  with,  
which  was  he  said  that  everything  in  music  is  made  up  by  the  "codes."  And  I  
thought  he  meant  like  secret  codes…And  I  thought,  "Well  hell,  no  wonder  I  
couldn't  do  this.  It's  a  damn  code!  Nobody  ever  told  me  it  was  a  code."  Of  
course,  he  meant  "chords."  He  said,  "This  is  how's  you  make  a  code.  You  take  
any  note,  and  you  go  three  up  and  four  down,  just  like  in  poker."  And  he  didn't  
mean  musical  steps;  he  meant  keys  on  the  piano.  If  you  go  three  up  and  four  
down  on  any  note  on  the  piano,  it  makes  a  major  triad  and  your  thumb  always  
lands  on  the  key  signature  note.  When  I  saw  that  I  thought,  "Well,  by  God,  I  can  
do  that.    That  makes  sense.  All  this  E-­‐G-­‐B-­‐D-­‐F  crap  doesn't  make  much  sense  to  
me,  but  this  makes  sense…That's  how  I  learned  to  play  the  piano.  (Jim  Dickson,  
session  musician  at  Sun  Studios  as  cited  in  Floyd,  1998,  p.  96)  
 
  Dickson’s  recollection  of  learning  to  play  the  piano  is  representative  of  

the  anecdotal  accounts  of  informal  learning  that  surface  in  the  historical  

literature  on  rock  music.  In  the  past  decade  researchers  in  music  education  

have  started  to  delve  deeper  beyond  anecdotes  and  systematically  question  

how  music  learning  occurs  in  informal  contexts  with  the  aim  of  

understanding  how  these  processes  might  inform  classroom  pedagogy  

(Tobias  &  Barrett,  2009).  Folkestad  (2006)  claims:    

Most  research  in  music  education  has  so  far  dealt  with  music  training  
in  institutional  settings,  such  as  schools,  and  is  accordingly  based,  
either  implicitly  or  explicitly,  on  the  assumption  that  musical  learning  
results  from  a  sequenced,  methodical  exposure  to  music  teaching  
within  a  formal  setting.  (p.  135)      
 
It  is  a  thin  line  to  tread  when  arguing  for  informal  learning  practices  

in  a  formal  setting,  an  argument  that  is  well  articulated  by  Finney  and  

Philpott  (2010)  who  aver:  “Formal  learning  about  informal  learning  is  a  

contradiction  that  risks  the  moment  of  informal  learning  remaining  ‘buried’  

  18  
and  can  result  in  a  short-­‐lived  as  opposed  to  long-­‐term  impact  on  the  habitus  

of  developing  music  teachers”  (p.  11).  A  major  point  of  debate  has  been  

whether  or  not  non-­‐classical  musics  can  be  included  in  school  curriculum.  

For  example,  Seddon  (2004)  argues:  

It  is  not  possible  to  insert  alternative  music  styles  into  a  set  of  
classroom  practices  that  has  been  developed  to  deal  with  classical  
music.  Sub–cultures  are  more  than  just  the  style  of  music  they  use,  
they’re  context–dependent.  (p.  213)  
         
Folkestad  (2006)  and  Green  (2001)  counter  with  the  observation  that  

popular  music  is  already  in  schools  because  students  and  teachers  bring  it  

with  them;  it  is  a  part  of  their  culture.  Regelski  (2007)  makes  a  case  for  

adopting  amateurism  in  classroom  practices  and  Green  (2008)  put  this  

theory  into  practice  with  her  Musical  Futures  Project  in  the  UK.  A  leading  line  

of  logic  in  the  UK  has  been  to  focus  on  students  as  “curriculum  makers”  

rather  than  focus  on  musical  styles  (Finney  &  Philpott,  2010).  This  mentality  

ensures  that  curricular  content  reflects  students’  interests.    

Informal  learning  in  music  is  not  new;  in  his  historical  synopsis  of  

music  education  in  America,  Humphreys  (2010)  states:  “We  can  conclude  

that  music  learning  outside  the  schools  was  ubiquitous  during  the  eighteenth  

and  especially  the  nineteenth  centuries”  (p.  132).  Cope  (2002)  aptly  claims:  

“One  of  the  most  striking  features  of  music…is  the  occurrence  of  informal  

learning  outside  the  formal  system,  although…one  could  be  forgiven  for  

missing  this  aspect,  if  one  relied  entirely  on  the  research  literature”  (p.  93).  

  19  
Aside  from  Green  (2001)  and  a  few  others  (e.g.,  Karlsen,  2010;  Mellor,  2008;  

Tobias,  2010)  the  accounts  of  the  learning  processes  of  popular  musicians  

tend  to  be  anecdotal  like  Dickson’s  epiphany  of  learning  to  play  the  piano  

quoted  at  the  beginning  of  this  section.        

Bifurcating  learners  into  the  categories  of  formal  or  informal  is  based  

on  the  premise  that  learning  practices  differ  markedly  from  one  musical  style  

to  another.  While  different  musics  may  be  characterized  as  predominantly  

formally  trained  (e.g.,  classical)  or  informally  trained  (e.g.,  rock),  there  is  a  

considerable  grey  area  between  these  two  poles.  First,  consider  that  all  

formally  trained  musicians  have  engaged  in  a  substantial  amount  of  informal  

music  learning  simply  because  it  is  a  reality  of  human  existence.  Willingham  

(2007)  reminds  that  informal  music  learning  commences  early  in  life:    

The  human  race  begets  its  own  with  all  of  the  conditions  for  musical  
growth  present…infants  and  young  children  incorporate  sounds  that  
resemble  music  (singing,  rhythm,  movement,  and  general  musical  
activities)  into  their  play  world,  imagination,  and  language.  (p.  89)  
 
Cognizant  of  it  or  not,  and  regardless  of  intent,  humans  learn  music  in  

a  variety  of  contexts.  Sloboda  (2005)  explicates  music  learning  as  an  

osmosis-­‐like  process:  

Human  beings  pick  up  quite  high-­‐level  implicit  (or  tacit)  knowledge  
about  some  major  structural  features  of  the  music  of  their  culture.  
They  gradually  improve  their  ability  to  do  this  over  the  first  10  years  
of  life  and  preserve  this  ability  into  adulthood.  We  may  presume  that  
this  is  achieved  through  informal  engagement  in  the  everyday  musical  
activities  that  abound  in  almost  all  human  cultures  (e.g.  nursery  
rhymes,  hymns,  dances,  popular  songs,  playground  games).  (p.  247)    
 

  20  
 Considering  the  typical  path  of  music  development  described  by  

Sloboda  (2005),  it  stands  to  reason  that  it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  

avoid  informal  learning  in  music.  All  musicians  engage  in  some  type  of  self-­‐

guided  learning.  Cope  (2002)  discloses:  “By  its  nature,  this  is  undocumented  

in  any  systematic  way.  Anecdotal  evidence  suggests  that  such  informal  

instrument  learning  occurs  in  almost  all  forms  of  music”  (p.  95).      

Conversely,  musicians  typically  categorized  as  informally  trained  

engage  in  learning  practices  typically  associated  with  formal  learning.  For  

example,  in  his  study  of  heavy  metal  musicians,  Walser  (1993)  found,  “Like  

conservatory  students,  many  of  these  heavy  metal  musicians  take  private  

lessons,  study  music  theory,  and  practice  scales  and  exercises  for  hours  every  

day”  (p.  xi).  Practicing  in  order  to  achieve  a  level  of  mastery  is  a  common  

denominator  amongst  musics.  Gladwell  (2008)  popularized  the  research  of  

Ericsson,  Krampe,  and  Tesch-­‐Romer  (1993),  arguing  that  the  development  of  

musical  expertise  requires  10,000  hours  of  practice.  Calculating  that  both  

Mozart  and  the  Beatles  reached  the  10,000-­‐hour  mark  at  the  peak  of  their  

careers,  Gladwell  concludes:  “Practice  isn't  the  thing  you  do  once  you're  

good.  It's  the  thing  you  do  that  makes  you  good”  (p.  42).  Marcus  (2012)  

counters  that  attaining  expertise  is  not  simply  a  matter  of  time  commitment:  

The  Beatles…put  in  more  like  2,000  hours,  not  10,000...to  focus  solely  
on  practice  is  to  unfairly  dismiss  talent.  Consider,  for  example,  Jimi  
Hendrix  and  Jimmy  Page;  neither  started  until  he  was  an  
adolescent…but  both  were  playing  professionally  within  a  year  or  so  
of  their  peers.  (p.  100)  

  21  
 Talent  and  time  aside,  and  regardless  of  musical  style,  all  musicians  

are  subject  to  the  sociocultural  context  in  which  they  live.  Veblen’s  discussion  

of  context-­‐dependent  musicianship  emphasizes  the  importance  of  the  

complex  social  systems  that  inform  different  musics:  “The  context  of  a  given  

practice  (or  style,  or  genre)  will  determine  expectations  for  improvised  

vision,  creativity,  performance,  and  listening…a  student  also  learns  through  

encounters  with  an  entire  social  musical  community”  (2005,  p.  315).          

Similarly,  Csikszentmihalyi  and  Rich  (1997)  use  a  sociological  systems  

model  to  expound  how  musicians  come  to  be  deemed  “creative.”  Using  the  

constructs  domain  (i.e.,  music)  and  field  (i.e.,  music  critics,  musical  peers,  

etc.),  Csikszentmihalyi  and  Rich  (1997)  explain:  

At  the  macro-­‐level…examples  of  creativity  are  dependent  on  cultural  

knowledge  and  societal  resources…At  the  micro-­‐level,  the  systems  
model  suggests  that  the  creative  process  involves  a  person’s  ability  to  
innovate  while  interacting  mentally  with  the  rules  or  practices  of  a  
domain,  and  while  keeping  in  mind  the  judgments  and  practices  of  the  
field.  (p.  48)  
 
Classifying  musics  by  learning  approaches  (i.e.,  formal  vs.  informal)  is  

limiting  because  it  negates  the  broader  context  of  the  society  and  culture  in  

which  a  given  musical  style-­‐community  is  situated.  My  study  took  into  

account  the  situated  nature  of  each  participant’s  music-­‐making  with  

recording  technology  by  examining  their  learning  histories.  

  22  
The  Influence  of  Recording  Technology  on  Music  Learning  

Humphreys  (2010)  delineates  that  music  education  in  the  twentieth  

century  changed  significantly:  “From  about  1910  the  phonograph  played  a  

particularly  important  role  in  general  music’s  shift  from  a  nearly  exclusive  

focus  on  sight-­‐singing  to  a  mixed  approach  that  included  listening  and  

performing”  (p.  128).  Millard  (2005)  pushes  the  argument  further  about  

recording  technology,  claiming:  “Recorded  sound  was  the  great  educator,  

attracting  generations  of  performers  into  musical  careers  and  schooling  them  

in  styles  of  music  which  were  often  not  written  down”  (p.  12).  Katz  (2004)  

concurs:  “Recordings  have  been  especially  valuable  learning  aids…scores  do  

not  always  represent  performances  adequately,  and  they  cannot  easily  

indicate  the  timbres  and  sonic  effects  that  musicians  seek  to  develop”  (p.  27).  

To  some,  recording  technology  has  had  a  revolutionary  role  in  

changing  the  way  we  listen  to  music.  Hass  (2009)  explains  that  prior  to  

recordings,  music  was  an  “experience”  and  not  a  “thing.”  The  “thing”  was  the  

musical  score  and  once  a  sound  occurred,  that  same  sound  would  never  be  

heard  again,  forcing  music  listeners  to  be  active.  In  the  words  of  Hass:  

“Recording  took  these  ephemeral  experiences  and  turned  them  into  

tangibles.  Once  the  experience  could  be  repeated  at  will,  music  lovers  

became  passive”  (p.  60).  Hass’  assertion  that  recorded  music  has  led  to  a  

decline  in  the  population  of  active  music-­‐makers  is  shared  amongst  scholars  

from  different  fields  including  music  education  (e.g.,  Green,  2001),  

  23  
musicology  (e.g.,  Filmer,  2003),  and  audio  engineering  (e.g.,  Gottlieb,  2010).  

Filmer  avows  that  the  Baroque  period  hosted  the  greatest  concentration  of  

amateur  music-­‐makers;  the  decline  of  which  is  due  to  several  factors  

including  the  introduction  of  recorded  music  in  the  twentieth  century:  

The  effects  of  electronic  broadcast  reproduction  and  transmission  of  

music  have  been  twofold:  they  have  deprived  musical  life  of  the  
auratic  quality  of  live  performance  and  they  changed  considerably  the  
amateur  traditions  of  musica  practica  for  both  musicians  and  their  
audiences,  by  making  less  necessary,  and  thus  limiting  their  
opportunities  for  participation  in  the  social  practices  of  making  music  
together.  (p.  102)  
             
Green  (2001)  echoes  Filmer’s  sentiment,  stating:  “Recorded  music  has  

replaced  live  music  in  many  contexts,  and  an  increasing  distance  has  opened  

up  between  musicians  and  listeners”  (p.  186).  Both  Regelski  (2007)  and  

Seddon  (2004)  see  the  professionalization  and  specialization  of  musicians  as  

a  critical  factor  leading  to  the  decline  in  the  number  of  amateur  music-­‐

makers.  Is  amateur  music-­‐making  in  decline?  Does  recorded  music  dissuade  

potential  music  learners?  The  claims  of  Filmer  and  Green  are  based  on  a  

nostalgic  view  of  a  Western  society  in  which  amateur  music  practices  were  

quite  different.  They  imply  that  musicianship  can  be  equated  with  the  ability  

to  play  an  instrument  amongst  or  with  a  group  of  people.  By  broadening  

Green’s  implied  definition  of  amateur  music-­‐makers  as  performers  to  include  

those  who  compose  with  the  aid  of  technology,  music  educators  can  foster  

the  development  of  a  new  order  of  musical  amateurs.          

  24  
The  Emergence  of  the  Solitary  Sound  Sculptor  

Alan  Parsons,  famed  recording  engineer  of  the  Beatles’  Abbey  Road  

and  Pink  Floyd’s  The  Dark  Side  of  the  Moon,  criticizes  new  recording  

technologies  for  their  deleterious  impact  on  the  traditional  nuclear  band:  

I  think  we’re  losing  the  idea  that  musicians  can  form  this  thing  called  
the  band  and  play  together...The  songwriter  has  his  laptop  or  a  little  
home  studio  with  his  few  processing  devices  and  keyboard  and  guitar  
and  bass  guitar,  and  is  quite  likely  to  play  everything  himself.  (as  cited  
in  Gottlieb,  2010,  p.  9)  
 
Parsons’  sentiment  is  shared  by  other  recording  engineers  of  his  

vintage  such  as  Joe  Chiccarelli  (Beck,  U2,  Elton  John):  “There  is  a  magic  that  

happens  when  you  have  a  great  band  in  a  room  all  playing  together  and  

inspiring  each  other”  (as  cited  in  Hatschek,  2005,  p.  191);  Andy  Johns  (Led  

Zeppelin,  the  Rolling  Stones,  Van  Halen):  “The  more  people  that  are  playing  

at  the  same  time,  the  better—as  opposed  to  doing  overdubs”  (as  cited  in  

Massey,  2000,  p.  138);  and  Phil  Brown  (Roxy  Music,  Talk  Talk,  Dido):  

“There’s  something  that  happens  when  you  get  five  people  in  a  room  playing  

live  –  the  end  result  is  more  than  the  sum  of  its  parts”  (2010,  p.  361).  

Collaborative  music-­‐making  can  certainly  entail  what  Chiccarelli  

deems  “magic,”  but  the  logic  of  Filmer  (2003),  Green  (2001),  and  Parsons  (as  

cited  in  Gottlieb,  2010),  privileges  this  mode  of  music-­‐making  above  others,  

shunning  a  population  of  modern  music  makers,  solitary  sound  sculptors,  and  

pushing  them  to  the  margins  of  musicianship.  A  solitary  sound  sculptor  is  a  

label  I  use  to  describe  a  musician  who  works  independently  to  make  new  

  25  
music  from  existing  recordings.  The  existence  of  the  solitary  sound  sculptor  

is  predicated  on  the  affordances  of  recording  technology  that  enable  fine-­‐

grained  sound  shaping.  Moylan  (2007)  decrees  that  the  ability  to  control  

sound  with  recording  technology  has  led  to  the  emergence  of  a  new  musical  

species:  “A  new  creative  artist  has  evolved.  This  person  uses  the  tools  of  

recording  technology  as  sound  resources  for  the  creation  (or  recreation)  of  

an  artistic  product”  (p.  36).    

Marshall  (2010)  frames  Moylan’s  conception  of  “recreation”  as  a  

portal  to  a  new  kind  of  music-­‐making,  citing  the  emergence  of  the  mashup  in  

the  first  decade  of  the  twenty-­‐first  century:      

Mashups  emerged  precisely  at  the  moment  that  digital  technologies  

enabled  them.  As  “bedroom  producers”  suddenly  had  the  tools—and,  
thanks  to  peer-­‐to-­‐peer  networks,  the  source  materials—to  play  with  
pop  music  and  to  share  their  creations  with  a  global  audience,  they  
turned  consumption  into  production,  conjuring  Frankenstein  versions  
from  the  scrap  heap  of  commodity  culture.  (p.  308)  
 
Moorefield  (2010)  cites  the  example  of  The  Grey  Album  by  Danger  

Mouse,  which  combines  Jay-­‐Z’s  The  Black  Album  with  the  Beatles’  The  White  

Album  as  an  example  of  the  use  of  beat,  key,  and  tempo  matching  as  

compositional  tools  (available  in  programs  such  as  Sony’s  Acid  and  Ableton  

Live).  Citing  producer  Brian  Eno  (U2,  Coldplay),  Moorefield  likens  composing  

mashups  to  curating:  “Creating  music  in  the  studio  is  becoming  more  the  act  

of  a  curator  then  of  a  composer  in  the  traditional  sense.  Increasingly,  

‘writing’  has  come  to  mean  the  deft  combination  of  samples  from  various  

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sources”  (p.  299).  Eno’s  vivid  recollection  of  how  he  came  to  conceptualize  

composing  with  a  multi-­‐track  recorder  as  akin  to  painting  demonstrates  how  

music-­‐making  with  this  technology  ushered  in  a  radical  new  approach  to  the  

composition  and  recording  process:  

It  was  painting  with  sound.  You  could  make  a  piece  over  an  extended  
period  of  time—it  didn’t  have  to  preexist  the  process;  you  could  make  
it  up  as  you  went.  And  you  could  make  it  like  you  would  a  painting—
you  could  put  something  on,  scrape  something  else  off.  It  stopped  
being  something  that  was  located  at  one  moment  in  time.  It  started  
being  a  process  that  you  could  engage  in  over  months,  even  
years…Funny  enough,  the  people  who  first  realized  this  were  art  
students.  (as  cited  in  Crane  &  Baccigaluppi,  2011,  p.  40)  
 
Eno’s  “make  it  up  as  you  went”  ethos  is  a  mode  of  learning  that  has  

become  commonplace  amongst  a  new  generation  of  technology-­‐dependent  

learners  labeled  Gen  Y,  Millenials,  or  Digital  Natives.  Black  (2010)  provides  

the  following  description  of  the  learning  style  of  this  generation  born  

between  1981  and  2001:      

Digital  natives  approach  learning  as  a  plug-­‐and-­‐play  experience.  They  

use  interactive  games  for  enjoyment,  challenge,  and  learning.  Viewing  
interactivity  as  a  key  component  of  technology-­‐based  learning  
activities,  they  expect  those  types  of  activities  in  their  college  
classrooms.  Today's  students  simply  plunge  in  and  learn  through  
experimentation  and  active  participation.  Their  learning  is  nonlinear,  
epitomized  by  jumping  from  one  Internet  site  to  another.  (p.  99)  
 
Downes’  (2011)  concept  of  Web  2.0  learning  depicts  a  similar  picture,  

affirming:  it’s  “an  attitude  not  a  technology.  It's  about  enabling  and  

encouraging  participation  through  open  applications  and  services”  (p.  180).  

Downes  characterizes  Web  2.0  learners  as  people  that  absorb  information  

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quickly,  operate  at  “twitch”  speed,  expect  instant  feedback,  and  are  as  likely  

to  create  new  media  than  to  acquire  it  (p.  178).  Gauntlett  (2011)  

substantiates:  

Web  2.0  invites  users  in  to  play.  Sites  such  as  YouTube,  eBay,  
Facebook,  Flickr,  Craigslist,  and  Wikipedia,  only  exist  and  have  value  
because  people  use  and  contribute  to  them,  and  they  are  clearly  better  
the  more  people  are  using  and  contributing  to  them.  This  is  the  
essence  of  Web  2.0.  (p.  5)  
 
In  short,  the  world  of  Web  2.0  promotes  a  participatory  culture:  “In  

the  digital  world,  we  learn  by  doing,  watching,  and  experiencing”  (Thomas  &  

Brown,  2011,  p.  76).    

The  concept  of  the  Web  2.0  learner  aids  in  contextualizing  the  appeal  

of  music-­‐making  with  more  accessible  software  such  as  GarageBand.  

However,  not  all  music  educators  perceive  recording  technology  to  be  user-­‐

friendly,  for  example  consider  the  critique  of  Regelski  (2007):    

Although  the  ever-­‐new  array  of  composition  software  is  frequently  

marketed  as  though  for  musical  dimwits,  results  are  limited  primarily  
by  the  musical  skill  and  knowledge  of  the  user—abilities  that  can  be  
advanced  by  school-­‐based  composition  studies.  (p.  36)  
 
This  view  does  not  take  into  account  the  learning  characteristics  of  

Gen  Y  as  described  by  Black  (2010)  and  Downes  (2011).  If  Regelski  is  

referring  to  notation  programs  such  as  Sibelius  and  Finale,  he  is  correct  in  his  

assessment  that  results  are  limited  by  skill  and  knowledge.  The  same  could  

be  said  for  Pro  Tools  and  Cubase,  DAWs  that  are  modeled  on  the  multi-­‐track  

tape  recorder  and  are  quite  sophisticated.  These  programs  attempt  to  utilize  

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new  technology  for  old  tasks.  Rose  and  Meyer  (2005)  assert  that  computers  

have  been  slow  to  bring  about  changes  in  learning  because  they  are  typically  

used  to  carry  out  old  learning  models  that  are  tied  to  a  text-­‐based  culture.  As  

an  example,  they  describe  how  it  took  20  years  until  filmmakers  started  to  

experiment  by  using  zoom  and  filming  from  multiple  perspectives.  Prior  to  

this,  cinematography  was  nonexistent,  the  camera  was  used  to  film  stage  

productions  from  a  stationary  position.  Rose  and  Meyer  conclude:  “The  

technology  to  do  these  things  was  in  place  early,  but  people  needed  time  to  

discover  the  new  capacities  of  movie  cameras  and  shift  their  mindset  away  

form  the  old,  more  limited  methodologies  of  the  stage”  (p.  14).            

The  “new  capacities”  of  music  software  have  been  developed  and  do  

not  require  school-­‐based  composition  studies  to  realize  musical  ends.  Crow  

(2006)  claims  that  “loop-­‐based  sequencers”  such  as  GarageBand,  Ableton  

Live,  Reason,  and  Fruity  Loops  (FL  Studio),  which  require  users  to  perform  

new  types  of  musical  actions  such  as  “dragging,”  “dropping,”  “repeating,”  

“layering,”  “triggering,”  and  “enhancing,”  transmutes  the  computer  into  a  

“performance  instrument.”  Crow  purports  that  new  avenues  of  music-­‐

making  enabled  by  technology  have  begat  a  new  breed  of  composer:    

The  technology’s  ability  to  manipulate  audio  has  meant  that  many  
people,  who  up  until  now  did  not  perceive  themselves  to  be  
musicians,  can  handle,  create,  and  communicate  music  using  their  
computers.  They  employ  inexpensive  music  software  and  hardware,  
which  does  not  require  “traditional”  musical  skills  or  conceptual  
understanding.  (p.  123)  
 

  29  
 Blake  (2010)  claims  the  program  GarageBand  enables  a  new  type  of  

musicianship,  providing  a  platform  to  engage  in  macro-­‐composition:  

GarageBand  does  not  facilitate  composition  at  the  micro-­‐level:  instead  

the  user  is  invited  to  manipulate  pre-­‐existing  loops  of  material,  
chaining  them  together  to  make  new  music  from  relatively  large  and  
undigested  segments,  to  reform  rather  than  to  transform.  The  
program  encourages  careful  thought  about  the  ways  in  which  
qualities  of  originality  and  compositional  skill  are  conceived  and  
recorded.  (p.  55)  
 
Phelps,  Sadoff,  Warburton,  and  Ferrara  (2005)  illuminate  an  

imbalance  in  music  education:  “When  we  think  of  music  in  our  schools,  we  

think  about  performing  music  rather  than  creating  it…Composition  is  a  way  

to  grapple  with  relationships,  to  imagine  new  musical  possibilities,  to  pursue  

new  musical  ideas”  (p.  253).  Inside  or  outside  of  schools,  composing  with  

software  is  now  a  more  affordable  and  viable  route  to  experiencing  music  for  

learners  of  all  levels  and  can  serve  to  satiate  what  Laird  (2009)  terms  as  

innate  musical  hunger.  

Music  Education  Field  Studies  on  Informal  Learning  

Field  studies  of  informal  learning  are  relatively  new  in  music  

education  research  and  those  that  focus  on  technology  are  rare.  Both  

Campbell  (1995)  and  Jaffurs  (2004)  have  documented  the  learning  processes  

of  adolescent  “garage  bands”  relying  primarily  on  direct  observation.  

Campbell  observed  two  Seattle-­‐based  bands  comprised  of  adolescents  ages  

14  to  16  in  1994,  the  heyday  of  grunge  rock.  Similarly,  Jaffurs  observed  a  

  30  
single  practice  of  a  rock  band  that  was  made  up  of  some  of  her  high  school  

students  to  understand  their  learning  processes.  These  studies  illuminate  

how  learning  strategies  employed  by  informally  trained  musicians  differ  

from  those  observed  in  formally  trained  musicians.  Salient  findings  from  

these  studies  include  a  predominance  of  learning  within  peer  groups  and  a  

reliance  on  aural  learning  from  recordings.  Like  Green  (2001),  neither  of  

these  studies  focused  on  the  role  of  recording  technology  beyond  the  use  of  a  

playback  device.  While  Campbell’s  study  presents  an  in-­‐depth  view  of  the  

bands  she  observed,  by  contrast  Jaffurs’  study  involved  a  very  brief  

observation  period  (a  single  rehearsal),  detracting  from  its  credibility.    

In  less  naturalistic  conditions,  Johansson  (2004)  examined  the  aural  

learning  abilities  of  three  rock  guitarists  learning  a  new  song  in  a  recording  

studio.  Evincing  the  value  of  experience,  the  guitarists  relied  on  conventions  

of  rock  music  to  accomplish  the  task  of  playing  along  to  songs  they  had  not  

heard  previously.  Soderman  and  Folkestad  (2004)  observed  the  

collaborative  learning  processes  of  two  rap  groups  given  the  task  of  writing  

lyrics  to  a  researcher-­‐provided  beat  while  working  in  a  recording  studio.  

Soderman  and  Folkestad  found  that  in  this  case,  the  musicians  placed  greater  

emphasis  on  the  quality  of  lyrics  than  the  music.  The  researchers  observed  

that  the  rap  artists  were  comfortable  working  on  the  spot  and  improvising  

lyrical  content.  Gullberg  and  Brandstrom  (2004)  compared  the  working  

processes  of  formally  trained  (jazz)  and  informally  trained  (rock)  musicians  

  31  
when  given  a  task  to  record  a  song  in  a  studio  and  found  that  the  rock  group  

placed  a  heavy  emphasis  on  getting  the  “right”  sounds  by  adjusting  

microphone  placements.      

Each  of  these  studies  employed  a  researcher-­‐designed  learning  task  

for  the  subjects  to  accomplish.  While  this  type  of  design  provides  insight  into  

how  musicians  go  about  accomplishing  a  task,  the  working  environment  

itself  is  fabricated  and  not  naturalistic.  It  is  questionable  whether  any  of  

these  learning  tasks  are  realistic.  Despite  taking  place  in  a  recording  studio,  

the  discussion  of  the  role  of  recording  technology  is  limited  because  the  focus  

is  on  learning  processes.  

In  16  site  visits  over  the  course  of  a  month,  Tobias  (2010)  studied  a  

specialized  high  school  music  technology  class.  Using  multiple  sources  of  

data  including  field  observations,  video,  interviews,  screen  recording,  and  

screenshots,  Tobias  focused  on  what  takes  place  and  how  it  might  inform  

curricula  and  pedagogies  of  music.  Tobias’  dissertation  goes  into  great  detail  

describing  the  processes  of  the  students  as  they  worked  on  projects  and  

developed  music  production  skills  such  as  mixing  using  Pro  Tools.  Tobias’  

work  served  as  an  excellent  model  for  my  study  because  his  data  collection  

methods  and  focus  are  similar;  however,  my  study  involved  fewer  

participants  to  enable  greater  depth  in  analysis,  focused  on  older  participants  

(over  18  years  old),  and  concentrated  on  practices  taking  place  outside  of  

formal  learning  sites  such  as  schools.  

  32  
Music  Education  Studies  on  Computer-­‐based  Composition  

Computer-­‐based  composition  has  been  the  subject  of  a  handful  of  

studies  and  while  the  focus  of  these  studies  has  been  on  compositional  

processes  of  adolescents  or  children  in  school  settings,  they  do  provide  some  

insight  into  how  recording  software  is  integrated  into  the  learning  processes  

of  musicians.  Older  studies  (Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  &  Lindstrom,  1998;  

Stauffer,  2001;  Wilson  &  Wales,  1995)  utilized  technology  that  is  now  

obsolete,  but  their  findings  provide  useful  insights  into  the  nature  of  how  

young  composers  work  with  computers.  

Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998)  looked  at  adolescent  

composers  (ages  15  to  16)  and  analyzed  129  compositions  of  14  participants.  

The  researchers  focused  on  the  composition  process  at  the  individual  level,  

using  as  little  teacher  assistance  as  possible  so  that  the  compositional  

process  could  unfold  more  naturally.  The  students  were  each  given  a  

workstation  that  included  a  synthesizer  and  a  computer  with  a  sequencer  

program  called  Master  Tracks.  The  participants  were  given  a  brief  

explanation  of  how  to  use  the  equipment,  but  no  manuals  were  available  for  

the  students  to  access.  The  researchers  cite  computer  technology  as  a  

significant  factor  in  enabling  music  creation  and  underscore  the  point:  

“School  should  not  teach  the  method  of  composition,  but  rather  create  a  

context  in  which  the  pupils  can  explore  their  own  ways  into  music  

composition”  (p.  95).  

  33  
 Despite  being  published  over  a  decade  ago,  the  compositional  model    

proposed  by  Folkestad  et  al.  (discussed  in  the  section  Conceptual  

Framework)  continues  to  be  cited  in  studies  on  composing  with  recording  

technologies  (e.g.,  Mellor,  2008;  Tobias,  2010).  The  limitations  of  the  model  

of  Folkestad  et  al.  stem  from  the  MIDI-­‐based  technology  they  employed—

MIDI  programs  are  not  capable  of  recording  audio,  presenting  a  barrier  to  

composers  who  want  to  play  an  instrument  other  than  a  MIDI  keyboard.  

Because  of  this  limitation,  guitarists  and  vocalists  in  the  study  were  forced  to  

perform  live  and  use  the  software  as  accompaniment.  This  in  turn  impacted  

the  researchers’  model  as  it  includes  subcategories  for  live  performance  with  

software  accompaniment.      

Stauffer  (2001)  examined  the  compositional  processes  of  one  

participant  over  seven  months  during  the  school  year.  Like  the  study  by  

Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998),  the  design  of  the  study  

incorporated  as  little  teacher  involvement  as  possible  and  allowed  the  eight-­‐

year-­‐old  girl  to  freely  explore  the  composition  program  in  weekly  after-­‐

school  hour-­‐long  sessions.  The  software,  Making  Music,  enables  students  to  

compose  by  drawing  with  a  mouse.  The  user  can  alter  the  pitch,  duration,  

texture,  timbre,  and  volume  of  each  note  and  control  the  key  and  tempo  of  

the  overall  piece.      

Stauffer  observed  the  participant  progress  through  a  process  in  her  

compositional  journey,  from  exploration,  through  development,  to  

  34  
conclusion.  Exploration  involved  getting  started  by  experimenting  with  

different  sounds  or  listening  to  previously  recorded  ideas.  In  the  

development  phase  the  participant  committed  to  a  composition  by  recording  

ideas  until  completed.  The  participant  developed  melodies  by  recording  a  

small  phrase,  listening  to  what  was  recorded,  and  then  proceeding  by  adding  

to  it.  The  conclusion  stage  involved  refining  and  editing  the  recorded  

segments  until  a  completed  product  was  realized.  The  participant  evinced  

“having  either  an  internal  conception  of  a  sound  she  wanted  or  a  plan  for  her  

composition”  (p.  14).  All  of  the  participant’s  compositional  decisions  were  

deliberate,  verified  by  her  explanations  that  she  was  not  simply  playing  with  

the  program,  but  using  it  to  express  her  musical  ideas.    

Like  the  study  by  Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998),  

Stauffer’s  (2001)  findings  provide  evidence  that  previous  experience  is  not  

required  to  compose  with  a  computer.  Both  studies  argue  that  more  

opportunities  for  students  to  participate  in  computer-­‐based  composition  are  

needed.  Toggling  forward  past  2001  and  examining  more  recent  studies  on  

computer-­‐based  composition,  advocacy  continues  to  be  a  dominant  theme  

due  to  the  computer’s  potential  to  include  new  music-­‐makers.        

Finney  (2007)  presents  the  case  of  an  adolescent  student,  PJ,  who  was  

marginalized  by  the  UK  music  curriculum.  PJ  was  very  musical,  he  crafted  rap  

music  and  had  ambitions  of  being  a  producer,  but  he  could  not  pursue  

studies  in  music  because  he  lacked  skills  required  by  the  curriculum  such  as  

  35  
the  ability  to  read  music.  Finney  believes  that  the  problem  was  not  with  PJ;  

rather  the  problem  is  with  the  “high  status  knowledge”  curriculum.  Finney  

proclaims:  “In  the  case  of  music,  this  is  knowledge  that  arbitrates  in  matters  

of  tastes.  It  defines  what  counts  as  music  and  what  doesn’t  count  as  music,  

and  determines  who  is  and  who  is  not  the  musician”  (p.  18).  

PJ  used  the  sequencing  program  Reason  to  compose.  Like  GarageBand  

or  Ableton  Live,  sequencing  programs  enable  the  user  to  piece  together  

sampled  sounds  and  sculpt  them  into  an  original  piece  of  music.  Framing  the  

computer  as  instrument,  sequencers  encourage  experimentation  and  

improvisation.  Users  receive  instant  feedback  from  the  program  and  can  hear  

the  impact  of  the  choices  they  make  while  composing,  allowing  for  rapid  

editing  and  revising.  Further  insight  into  the  processes  of  music-­‐makers  like  

PJ  could  aid  music  educators  in  identifying  new  pedagogical  approaches  with  

recording  technology.  

  Echoing  the  plea  of  Finney  for  increased  inclusion  of  computer-­‐based  

composition  in  school  curricula,  Quinn  (2007)  chronicled  her  transition  from  

a  classically  trained  piano  performer  to  electronic  musician.  According  to  

Csikszentmihalyi  (1997),  “In  technological  societies  we  spend  about  one-­‐

third  of  the  day  alone…the  vast  majority  of  people  try  to  avoid  it  as  much  as  

possible”  (p.  14).  Quinn’s  description  of  working  with  a  computer  captures  a  

contrasting  sentiment,  describing  how  she  perceives  the  computer  to  be  

much  more  than  an  inanimate  machine:  

  36  
 Perhaps  it  was  something  to  do  with  the  solitary  hours  which  I  had  
spent  writing  bits  and  pieces,  the  individual  engaged  with  a  computer,  
which  allowed  that  deep  relationship  to  develop…my  bedroom  studio  
was  a  place  of  solitude,  a  private  world  where  I  was  able  to  take  things  
at  my  own  pace,  a  place  to  both  lose  and  find  myself.  (p.  24)                  
 
  Quinn  (2007)  reveals  that  in  composing  she  experienced  flow:  “Flow  

tends  to  occur  when  a  person’s  skills  are  fully  involved  in  overcoming  a  

challenge  that  is  just  about  manageable”  (Csikszentmihalyi,  1997,  p.  30).  

Quinn  asserts:  “Music  technology  offers  a  way  into  music,  specifically  

composition,  which  is  potentially  free  from  traditional  constraints  and  makes  

the  study  of  music  more  accessible  to  more  students”  (p.  28).    

  Resembling  an  earlier  design  by  Wilson  and  Wales  (1995),  Mellor  

(2008)  conducted  a  study  in  which  four  males  and  four  females,  ages  13  to  

15,  were  given  a  15-­‐minute  open-­‐ended  composition  task  (i.e.,  “compose  

what  sounds  good  to  you”)  using  the  program  Dance  eJay.  Employing  a  multi-­‐

pronged  data  collection  approach,  Mellor  used  screen  recordings  and  

conducted  stimulated  recall  interviews  and  semi-­‐structured  interviews  to  

analyze  the  students’  composition  strategies.  Using  the  model  of  Folkestad,  

Lindstrom,  and  Hargreaves  (1998),  Mellor  found  that  all  of  the  students’  

approaches  could  be  categorized  as  vertical.  Mellor  suggests  that  Dance  

eJay’s  interface  encourages  a  bit-­‐by-­‐bit  or  vertical  approach.  

Similarly,  Wilson  and  Wales  (1995)  gave  80  students  (ages  7  to  9)  10  

minutes  each  to  compose  a  musical  piece  using  the  program  Music  Works.  

The  researchers  observed  the  method  of  composition,  the  use  of  the  playback  

  37  
function  and  editing,  and  the  level  of  familiarity  with  the  computer.  The  

participants  created  notes  of  different  pitch  and  rhythmic  values  on  a  blank  

staff,  adjusted  the  volume  and  tempo,  and  altered  the  timbre,  key,  and  meter  

of  their  compositions.  While  Mellor  (2008)  incorporated  multiple  sources  of  

data  and  included  the  perspectives  of  the  participants,  making  her  approach  

more  rigorous,  both  studies  involved  a  very  short  timed  task  to  learn  a  new  

program  and  compose  with  it.  Such  designs  miss  the  mark  in  providing  

young  composers  with  realistic  composition  experiences  by  dictating  

precisely  the  time,  location,  and  duration  of  the  experience.            

Computer-­‐based  composition  has  its  limitations.  Jennings  (2007)  is  

critical  of  the  manipulative  tendencies  of  computer  program  interfaces:  

“They  subliminally  direct  the  actions  of  users,  in  both  musical  and  non-­‐

musical  ways”  (p.  78).  Programs  make  assumptions  and  covertly  steer  users  

by  limiting  options.  Limiting  the  possibilities  in  the  process  of  composition  

leads  users  of  the  same  software  to  compose  in  a  generic  method,  resulting  in  

generic  outcomes;  the  software  itself  becomes  the  genre.  Programs  that  use  

preset  sounds  can  limit  diversity  and  constrain  the  styles  composed.  Mellor  

(2008)  suggests  that  computer-­‐based  software  dictates  the  method  of  

composition—it  encourages  users  to  compose  in  chunks  and  dissuades  

composers  from  writing  one  part  at  a  time.  Latartara  (2011)  supports  

Mellor’s  assertion  and  alleges  that  DAWs  encourage  the  processes  of  looping  

and  overdubbing:  

  38  
 Repeating  and  looping  sounds  is  one  of  the  most  common  
compositional  techniques  coded  within  music  software  programs  
today…Repeating  loops  are  intrinsic  to  the  software  interface…The  
second  is  the  ability  to  layer  these  repeating  loops  one  on  top  of  
another.  Sequencers  and  digital  audio  workstations  (DAWs)  provide  
an  easy  visual  format  for  layering  different  sounds  or  tracks  and  
mixing  them  together.  (p.  110)  
 
Lastly  there  is  a  practical  issue  for  music  educators  working  in  formal  

institutions  because  of  the  high  cost  associated  with  implementing  these  

technologies  in  classrooms,  especially  considering  how  quickly  they  devalue  

and  become  obsolete.    

Making  Records  

A  significant  body  of  literature  exists  that  is  aimed  at  the  do-­‐it-­‐

yourself  recording  musician  that  feature  catchy  titles  such  as  Guerrilla  Home  

Recording:  How  to  Get  Great  Sound  From  Any  Studio  (No  Matter  How  Weird  Or  

Cheap  Your  Gear  Is)  (Coryat,  2008),  Home  Recording  for  Musicians  for  

Dummies  (Strong,  2012),  and  Big  Studio  Secrets  for  Home  Recording  and  

Production  (Dochterman,  2011).  At  the  other  end  of  the  spectrum,  numerous  

academic-­‐oriented  books  on  the  recording  arts  have  been  published  that  are  

highly  technical  and  require  previous  experience  in  the  field  of  audio  

engineering  to  be  comprehended.  One  such  example  is  Understanding  and  

Crafting  the  Mix  by  Moylan  (2007),  a  guide  that  aims  to  increase  the  audio  

engineer’s  mixing  skills  through  a  series  of  listening  exercises  aided  by  

graphical  representations  of  different  audio  phenomena.  In  between  these  

  39  
two  extremes  there  exists  a  superfluity  of  books  and  articles  that  contain  

interviews  with  world-­‐renowned  audio  engineers.  These  interviews  

disseminate  engineers’  philosophies  of  audio  production  and  also  provide  

some  specific  information  on  how  they  achieved  certain  sounds  on  famous  

recordings.  The  audio  engineers’  and  producers’  anecdotes  tend  to  meld  both  

specific  technical  information  such  as  microphone  choice  and  placement  with  

more  subjective  (and  often  clichéd)  opinions  on  recording  philosophy.  

Thanks  to  the  interview  data  complied  by  researchers  such  as  Massey  (2000,  

2009),  Buskin  (1999),  Savona  (2005),  and  telling  autobiographical  accounts  

including  those  of  Geoff  Emerick  (Emerick  &  Massey,  2006),  George  Martin  

(Martin  &  Hornsby,  1979),  and  Phil  Ramone  (Ramone  &  Granata,  2007),  it  

has  been  well  documented  how  the  professional  audio  engineer  and  

producer  learned  their  trade  and  how  they  achieved  the  results  in  sound  that  

have  earned  them  such  high  esteem  in  their  field.        

The  history  of  making  records  has  been  very  well  documented  (e.g.,  

Horning,  2002;  Millard,  2005;  Milner,  2009).  For  the  purposes  of  my  

research,  going  back  to  the  time  of  Edison  was  not  necessary,  but  an  

understanding  of  the  development  of  the  role  of  the  audio  engineer  and  

recording  technology  helped  to  provide  a  context.  Milner  (2009)  postulates:  

“We  have  an  ingrained  awareness  of  recording  music  that  people  didn’t  have  

in  1915.  The  world  is  saturated  with  recordings…The  recording  is  the  closest  

thing  we  have  to  a  universal  music  condition”  (p.  12).  

  40  
 Milner  argues  that  regardless  of  the  advancements  in  recording  

technology  (from  discs  to  tape;  from  tape  to  digital)  we  as  a  listening  society  

are  faced  with  a  paradox:  “How  can  a  representation  of  music  be  as  real  and  

authentic  as  the  music  it  represents?”  (p.  13).  There  was  a  time  when  a  

recording  could  only  capture  what  happened  in  real  time,  but  even  then,  the  

performance  had  to  be  catered  to  the  recording  process.  For  example,  

recordings  in  the  pre-­‐electrical  era  demanded  that  the  musicians  perform  

into  a  horn  in  order  to  produce  enough  air  pressure  to  move  the  needle  that  

recorded  onto  the  wax  cylinder  (Horning,  2002).  Morton  (2000)  provides  a  

description  of  a  typical  pre-­‐electrical  era  recording  session:  

A  recording  director  (who  might  also  be  a  conductor  or  serve  other  
functions)  physically  arranged  the  musicians  and  managed  the  details  
of  the  session.  During  the  session,  the  director  motioned  to  vocalists  
to  indicate  when  to  lean  in  close  and  when  to  duck  or  step  away  from  
the  horn  during  instrumental  solos,  allowing  the  musicians  to  come  
forward.  (p.  21)  
 
Katz  (2004)  describes  how  performing  to  a  horn  is  akin  to  performing  

to  a  microphone:  

A  vocalist  might  literally  stick  her  head  inside  the  horn  to  ensure  that  
her  pianissimo  would  be  heard,  but  then,  with  the  timing  of  a  lion  
tamer,  quickly  withdraw  for  her  fortissimo,  so  as  to  avoid  “blasting”  
the  engraving  needle  out  of  its  groove.  (p.  38)  
 
Sterne  (2003)  succinctly  concludes:  “People  performed  for  the  

machines;  machines  did  not  simply  ‘capture’  sounds  that  already  existed  in  

the  world…Making  sounds  for  the  machines  was  always  different  than  

performing  for  a  live  audience”  (p.  235).  

  41  
 Pink  Floyd  producer  Andy  Jackson  commented:  “On  a  great  track  it  

can  be  hard  to  differentiate  between  production,  engineering,  and  

arrangement,  they  are  so  symbiotic  in  terms  of  the  way  the  track  works  its  

magic  on  you”  (as  cited  in  Burgess,  2005,  p.  187).  This  concept  is  a  central  

tenant  of  Zak’s  Poetics  of  Rock  (2001).  In  Zak’s  view,  a  song,  its  arrangement,  

and  recording  may  not  be  three  distinguishable  entities;  it  depends  on  the  

music-­‐makers’  process.  Calling  it  “commonplace”  in  “pop  music  production,”  

Zak  (2010)  reasons  that  via  “the  expressive  qualities  of  electronically  

manipulated  sound,”  “recordings  assert  their  own  versions  of  acoustic  

reality…through  a  process  of  creative  distortion  of  real-­‐world  musical  

events”  (p.  308).  The  proceeding  sections  of  this  chapter  will  examine  the  

developments  in  recording  technology  and  practices  as  they  relate  to  the  

evolution  of  the  hybridized  music-­‐maker  that  straddles  the  musical  and  

technological  spheres  in  the  home  studio.    

The  Old  Ways  

In  the  pre-­‐tape  era,  recording  studios  needed  to  be  large  enough  to  

house  all  of  the  musicians  that  were  to  perform  on  the  recording.  In  order  to  

achieve  balance  between  instruments,  the  engineer’s  only  method  of  control  

was  a  crude  calculation  of  altering  the  distance  of  an  instrument  from  the  

horn;  closer  equals  louder  and  vice  versa.  While  demand  supported  the  

growth  of  the  recording  industry  and  the  resulting  crop  of  professional  

  42  
recording  studios  that  emerged,  the  conceptual  approach  of  recording  in  the  

electrical  era  remained  largely  the  same  until  the  early  1960s.  One  key  

difference  was  that  electrical  recording  enabled  the  engineer  and  musicians  

to  inhabit  different  spaces  within  a  studio,  giving  both  groups  a  separate  

domain  and  leading  to  the  design  of  the  typical  recording  studio  (Chanan,  

1995).  The  proceeding  section  on  “The  Church”  serves  to  exemplify  the  

predominant  approach  to  recording  during  the  early  era  of  tape-­‐based  

recording,  post-­‐World  War  II  through  to  the  1960s.  

           

Classic  New  York  Studio:  Columbia’s  “The  Church”  

In  the  city  of  New  York,  between  the  years  1945  and  1960,  the  best  recording  
studios  were  fashioned  out  of  old  hotels,  churches,  electric  plants,  or  simply  
abandoned  office  space;  practically  any  kind  of  building  was  fair  game.  Studio  
owners  at  that  time  had  one  thing  in  common:  a  willingness  to  let  the  original  
composition  of  the  structure  remain  a  part  of  the  recording  environment.  Thus,  
old,  creaky  wood  floorboards  were  left  unvarnished  and  unwashed;  dusty  
curtains  hung  in  place  for  years;  cement  storage  rooms  were  used  to  supply  a  
live  echo  effect.  Such  artifacts  contributed  to  the  overall  sound  of  each  studio–
and  are  the  reason  why  the  discerning  listener  can  actually  distinguish  one  
room  from  another  today.  (Simons,  2004,  p.  13)  
 
Acquired  in  1949  and  in  operation  until  1982,  famed  Columbia  

recording  studio  “The  Church,”  located  at  207  East  30th  street  in  Manhattan,  

was  used  to  record  Kind  of  Blue  (1959)  by  Miles  Davis,  Glen  Gould’s  Goldberg  

Variations  (1955),  and  Leonard  Bernstein’s  West  Side  Story  (1957).  

Essentially  The  Church  was  a  large  cavernous  room;  in-­‐house  engineer  Frank  

Laico  remarked:  “30th  Street  Studio  was  a  hundred  feet  by  a  hundred  feet  and  

  43  
had  very  high  ceilings;  the  room  was  just  tremendous.  We  could  record  

[anything]  from  solo  [musicians]  to  full  symphony  orchestras,  and  Broadway  

cast  albums  with  forty  or  fifty  musicians”  (as  cited  in  Kahn,  2007,  p.  75).  

Simons’  (2004)  interview  with  Laico  revealed  that  the  studio  typically  

utilized  a  simple  signal  flow  for  recording  that  included  high-­‐quality  

components  such  as  Telefunken  U47  and  M49  microphones,  Pultec  

equalizers,  Universal  Audio  limiters,  and  a  custom  mixing  console.  (The  

aforementioned  list  of  recording  equipment  is  now  highly  sought  after  and  

very  expensive,  likely  in  part  due  to  the  acclaimed  recordings  that  they  were  

used  on  by  Laico.)  The  Church  left  a  unique  sonic  stamp  on  the  recordings  

made  within  its  walls.  Laico  employed  an  ambient  micing  technique  in  which  

multiple  sources  of  sound  (i.e.,  musical  instruments)  and  their  accompanying  

reflections  were  recorded  through  multiple  microphones.  In  this  approach  

the  room  was  an  integral  part  of  the  recording  as  both  direct  and  reflected  

sounds  (natural  reverberations)  were  captured  to  the  recording  medium.  

Additional  reverb  was  added  using  chambers.  In  the  case  of  The  Church,  the  

audio  signals  were  sent  to  a  room  in  the  basement  with  dimensions  12  feet  

wide,  15  feet  long,  and  8  feet  high.  A  speaker  projected  the  sound  in  the  room  

and  a  microphone  captured  the  natural  reverberations.  This  approach  to  

recording  is  typical  of  studios  from  the  1950s  to  the  early  1960s.  The  

architectural  features  of  a  studio  were  central  to  a  recording’s  sound  because  

of  natural  reverberation.  

  44  
 The  Les  Paul  Legacy  

The  home  recordings  of  Les  Paul  and  Mary  Ford  from  the  early  1950s  

featured  an  impressive  display  of  the  technique  of  tape-­‐based  overdubbing  

and  had  a  profound  influence  on  recording  practices  in  the  following  

decades.  In  contrast  to  The  Church,  Les  Paul’s  recordings  were  produced  

outside  of  a  professional  studio  without  the  aid  of  professional  engineers.  

Paul  recalls  that  he  and  his  wife  Mary  often  recorded  in  their  kitchen  and  

other  rooms  in  their  home  to  attain  different  effects:  

I  would  have  Mary  sing  a  certain  part  while  standing  in  the  hallway,  
and  other  parts  in  different  rooms  to  give  each  track  its  own  
sound…We  had  the  bathroom,  which  produced  an  echo-­‐like  sound,  
and  once  I  determined  exactly  where  to  position  Mary  and  the  mic,  
the  hallway  was  a  great  place  for  natural  reverb.  (Paul  &  Cochran,  
2008,  p.  250)  
 
Remarking  on  the  work  of  Les  Paul  and  Mary  Ford,  Bruce  Swedien  

(engineer  of  Michael  Jackson’s  Off  The  Wall,  Thriller,  and  Bad  albums)  

reflected:  “Up  to  that  point  the  goal  of  music  recording  had  been  to  capture  

an  unaltered  acoustic  event,  reproducing  the  music  of  big  bands  as  if  you  

were  in  the  best  seat  in  the  house”  (as  cited  in  Buskin,  1999,  p.  274).  

Originally  called  “sound-­‐on-­‐sound”  by  Paul,  overdubbing  is  the  technique  of  

playing  each  part  of  a  musical  piece  individually  and  layering  them  to  sound  

as  if  they  occurred  in  a  single  real  time  performance.  In  the  words  of  Brian  

Eno  (Producer  of  U2  and  Coldplay):  “You  could  make  a  piece  over  an  

extended  period  of  time…It  started  being  a  process  that  you  could  engage  in  

  45  
over  months,  even  years“  (as  cited  in  Crane  &  Baccigaluppi,  2011,  p.  40).  

Savage  (2009)  argues:  “The  implication  behind  'it  could  have  happened'  is,  of  

course,  that  it  didn't  happen.  That  is,  the  recording  presents  a  musical  

performance  that  did  not  happen  on  the  specific  time-­‐line  that  the  finished  

product  presents”  (p.  33).    

Katz  (2004)  details  that  in  1930  Paul  Hindemith  demonstrated  his  

“trick  music”  in  Berlin,  which  featured  himself  singing  a  three-­‐voice  chord,  

possibly  the  first  overdub  recorded.  Morton  (2004)  reports  that  engineers  at  

Bell  Labs  demonstrated  multi-­‐track  recording  with  film  in  the  early  1930s,  

and  Alan  Blumlein  who  worked  for  EMI  in  England  filed  for  a  patent  for  two-­‐

channel  recording  in  1931.  Paul  observed  the  use  of  overdubbing  in  

Hollywood  in  the  early  1930s  and  perfected  the  technique  using  a  homemade  

disk  cutter  (Shaughnessy,  1993).  According  to  Shaughnessy,  Sidney  Bechet  

was  the  first  musician  to  fully  exploit  overdubbing  using  disks  in  1941,  

singlehandedly  recording  the  multi-­‐instrumentals  “The  Sheik  of  Araby”  and  

“Blues  of  Bechet,”  but  it  was  Paul  who  popularized  the  technique  with  tape:  

Although  he  was  not  responsible  for  introducing  overdubbing  to  

commercial  recording,  he  was  certainly  the  first  to  make  it  a  major  
selling  point  of  his  disks.  This  studio  technique,  which  took  him  
roughly  two  years  to  perfect,  would  ultimately  force  the  industry  to  
reexamine  its  approach  to  recording.  (p.  143)  
       
Paul  claims  that  when  he  received  one  of  the  few  Ampex  Model  300  

tape  recorders  in  the  entire  country  from  Bing  Crosby  in  July  of  1949,  he  

knew  almost  immediately  how  to  retrofit  it  to  enable  overdubbing  (Paul  &  

  46  
Cochran,  2008).  Morton  (2004)  reports  that  the  Ampex  recorders  were  

modeled  on  the  German-­‐designed  Magnetophon,  which  was  first  

demonstrated  to  the  public  in  Paris,  1935.  After  the  war,  American  

intelligence  investigated  the  Magnetophon,  and  one  of  the  officers,  Jack  

Mullin,  introduced  Crosby  to  the  Ampex  derivative  when  he  was  hired  at  NBC  

to  tape  Crosby’s  show.  Morton  concludes:  “For  reasons  that  have  never  been  

clear,  the  more  creative  uses  of  tape  for  recording  music  did  not  begin  until  

the  tape  recorder  was  wrested  from  its  legitimate  corporate  and  institutional  

sponsors,  who  were  mainly  in  Germany”  (p.  142).    

Tape  afforded  other  ingenious  advents  and  advances  in  recording,  

many  of  which  were  pioneered  by  technological  tinkerers  like  Les  Paul.  Sam  

Phillips  has  been  lauded  in  the  audio  engineering  community  for  the  distinct  

tape  delay  (“slap  back”  echo)  he  applied  to  the  voice  of  Elvis  at  Sun  Studios.  

Floyd  (1998)  writes  that  Phillips  “helped  to  turn  the  recording  process  from  

one  that  simply  documented  the  sound  of  a  live  band  to  one  in  which  the  

studio  and  the  men  running  the  equipment  were  integral  components  of  the  

music”  (p.  xv).  Tape  even  enabled  a  completely  new  brand  of  singing  as  Ross  

(2010)  illustrates  with  the  example  of  Bing  Crosby:      

Crosby  was  a  pioneer  of  perhaps  the  most  famous  of  all  technological  
effects,  the  croon.  Magnetic  tape  meant  that  Bing  could  practically  
whisper  in  the  microphone  and  still  be  heard  across  America;  a  
marked  drop-­‐off  in  surface  noise  meant  that  vocal  murmurs  could  
register  as  readily  as  Louis  Armstrong’s  pealing  trumpet.  (p.  59)  
 

  47  
 As  the  craft  of  audio  engineering  continued  to  evolve  throughout  the  

1950s  and  1960s,  thanks  in  part  due  to  the  possibilities  of  tape,  different  

schools  of  thought  in  music  production  emerged.  New  production  styles  were  

pioneered  and  continue  to  leave  an  imprint  on  current  approaches  to  

recording  such  as  the  “wall  of  sound”  made  famous  by  Phil  Spector  (Williams,  

2003)  and  adopted  by  Brian  Wilson  (Lambert,  2007),  the  bass  heavy  

“Motown  Sound”  (Cogan  &  Clark,  2003;  George,  2007),  and  the  distinct  

production  style  of  the  Beatles.      

 
 
The  Wall  of  Sound  
 
  Tankel  (1990)  explains:  “Prior  to  the  invention  of  multi-­‐track  

recording  in  the  1950s,  the  relationships  between  sounds  were  controlled  at  

the  time  of  recording”  (p.  39).  The  idea  of  capturing  the  sound  at  the  time  of  

recording  rather  than  adjusting  it  after  carried  on  into  the  1960s  and  was  in  

part  a  necessity  as  the  number  of  tracks  that  could  be  utilized  were  limited.  

Once  the  tracks  were  recorded  they  could  not  be  “fixed,”  so  the  sound  had  to  

be  “correct”  when  initially  recorded.  In  this  method,  tracking  and  mixing  

were  not  two  distinct  processes,  they  were  interdependent.  The  description  

of  the  “wall  of  sound”  by  Larry  Levine  (2005),  Spector’s  longtime  engineer,  

provides  insight  into  how  important  the  intensity  of  the  performance  and  the  

physical  space  contributed  to  the  recording  of  a  song:  

  48  
 Here’s  how  we  built  the  wall:  we’d  fill  up  the  studio  with  20  to  
25  people.  The  room  was  very  small  and  there  would  hardly  be  
room  enough  for  the  musicians  to  move  around  one  another.  
The  room  was  filled  with  musicians  playing  their  hearts  out  
and  we’d  fill  every  available  space  on  that  tape  with  it…this  
was  the  basic  building  block  of  Phil’s  “wall.”  (p.  10)                      
 
Brian  Wilson  provides  a  similar  account  of  his  recording  sessions  with  

the  Beach  Boys  in  which  he  also  employed  Levine:  

I  would  gather  all  the  musicians  in  the  studio,  teach  them  the  
song,  and  my  arrangement.  They  would  play  it  live,  all  the  way  
though,  until  I  had  a  take  that  I  was  happy  with.  For  me,  the  key  
was  feel.  It  didn’t  just  have  to  be  perfect;  more  important,  it  
had  to  feel  right.  (as  cited  in  Buskin,  1999,  p.  xii)    
 
In  an  interview  with  Massey  (2009),  Levine  expanded  upon  his  

explanation  of  the  “wall  of  sound”:  “Another  big  part  of  the  wall  of  sound  was  

the  actual  air  pressure  in  the  room—it  was  a  very  small  room  with  a  lot  of  

musicians  playing  all  at  once,  quite  loudly,  too,  so  there  were  all  these  sound  

waves  bouncing  off  the  walls”  (p.  36).  The  session  musicians  that  Spector  and  

Wilson  hired  on  a  continual  basis  were  a  special  group  dubbed  the  Wrecking  

Crew  featuring  Hal  Blaine  on  drums,  Carol  Kaye  on  bass,  and  Glen  Campbell  

on  guitar.  This  group  of  musicians  was  absolutely  essential  to  the  success  of  

Spector  and  Wilson.  Using  the  Beach  Boys  as  an  example,  in  the  five  years  the  

Wrecking  Crew  worked  for  Wilson,  they  performed  on  22  top  40  hits  

including  the  landmark  1966  album  Pet  Sounds  (Hartman,  2012,  p.  157).    

Similarly,  Motown  had  its  own  studio  band  known  as  the  Funk  

Brothers:  

  49  
 In  most  cases  the  music  was  anchored  by  the  bottom  of  Benny  
Benjamin’s  bass  drum  and  tom-­‐tom.  James  Jamerson’s  bass  percolated  
over  these  rhythms,  buried  deep  enough  in  the  mix  so  that  they  were  
often  felt  more  than  heard.  The  guitars  of  Robert  White,  Eddie  Willis,  
or  Joe  Messina  often  stood  out  in  contrast,  picking  up  the  studios  tinny  
sound.  (Cogan  &  Clark,  2003,  p.  146).  
 
Like  the  Wrecking  Crew,  the  Funk  Brothers  played  a  pivotal  role  in  

creating  the  sound  associated  with  their  respective  producers.  The  other  

characteristic  trait  of  the  recordings  of  Spector  and  Wilson  was  that  they  

both  mixed  in  mono.  Wilson  reflected:  “I  mixed  in  mono  to  control  the  way  

the  listener  heard  my  records.  I  didn’t  want  speaker  placement  or  balance  

control  knobs  on  the  amplifier  to  change  what  you  heard”  (as  cited  in  Buskin,  

1999,  p.  xiii).  Levine  (2005)  said  the  same  of  Spector:  “He  believes  that  mono  

can  create  a  texture  that  will  remain  the  same  and  not  change  depending  on  

where  people  are  sitting”  (p.  15).      

The  Virtues  of  Microphone  Technique  

The  “wall  of  sound”  adherents  were  not  and  are  not  the  only  ones  to  

employ  the  strategy  of  getting  the  sound  “right”  on  input.  Many  producers  

and  engineers  who  started  their  careers  when  the  number  of  tracks  was  

limited  emphasize  the  importance  of  microphone  technique.    

Reflecting  on  his  early  years  as  a  producer  and  engineer,  Phil  Ramone  

(2005)  commented:  “A  successful  engineer  really  had  to  know  how  to  place  

their  mics  to  get  the  right  sounds”  (p.  37).  Sam  Phillips,  famous  for  Elvis’  “Sun  

  50  
sound,”  claimed,  “Micing  has  an  awful  lot  do  with  the  finished  product…I’m  

big  on  using  the  right  mic”  (as  cited  in  Buskin,  1999,  p.  10).  Al  Schmitt  

described  his  style  of  engineering  in  a  similar  way:  

I  worked  with  Tommy  Dowd,  and  I  learned  how  to  mic  –  how  
to  get  the  most  out  of  an  instrument  and  how  to  place  people  in  
the  room  to  capture  the  best  sound  with  as  few  microphones  
as  possible.  So  basically,  what  I  do  is  acoustic.  It’s  microphone  
technique  (as  cited  in  Droney,  2003,  p.  43).      
 
Jimi  Hendrix’s  engineer  Eddie  Kramer  related:  “I’m  a  great  believer  in  

getting  the  sound  right  then  and  there.  Put  it  on  tape,  and  don’t  think  about  it  

anymore”  (as  cited  in  Massey,  2000,  p.  130).  Elliot  Scheiner  summarized  this  

perspective  best:  “For  the  guys  from  my  era…we  always  made  sure  that  we  

recorded  it  correctly  going  in  because  we  felt  there  was  no  going  back”  (as  

cited  in  Droney,  2003,  p.  196).    

Abbey  Road  

The  most  comprehensive  and  exhaustive  research  that  exists  on  the  

recording  process  is  that  of  the  Beatles,  which  details  how  they  used  the  

recording  studio  as  a  compositional  tool  (Lewisohn,  1988;  MacFarlane,  2008;  

Ryan  &  Kehew,  2006).  Clarke  (2007)  explains  how  the  Beatles’  shift  to  being  

a  studio  band  was  made  possible  by  the  affordances  of  tape  recording:      

Tape  and  the  editing  process  made  possible  the  creation  of  an  entirely  
studio-­‐based  music  whose  sole  mode  of  existence  was  as  a  
recording…pop  music  soon  discovered  the  potential  of  the  studio  as  a  
place  to  make  music  rather  than  just  to  record  it…Studio  albums  
disseminated  a  kind  of  music  that  was  impossible  to  recreate  live,  and  

  51  
 for  some  bands  the  consequence  was  that  they  simply  stopped  trying  
to  do  so,  perhaps  the  most  famous  example  being  the  Beatles’  decision  
in  1967  to  cease  touring  and  concentrate  on  the  possibilities  afforded  
by  the  studio.  (p.  54)  
 
Abbey  Road  serves  as  a  prime  example  of  the  recording  complex  that  

existed  in  the  early  multi-­‐tracking  era.  The  Beatles  had  technicians  to  set  up  

microphones,  tape  machine  operators,  mixing  engineers,  mastering  

engineers,  and  a  producer/arranger  (George  Martin)  to  aid  and  facilitate  the  

realization  of  their  musical  ambitions  in  the  studio.  The  engineers  of  Abbey  

Road  were  pressed  to  use  recording  technology  to  achieve  the  desired  novel  

musical  ends.  Consider  the  example  of  the  orchestra’s  crescendo  in  “A  Day  in  

the  Life.”  Conducted  by  Paul  McCartney  and  orchestrated  by  George  Martin,  

McCartney’s  intent  was  to  have  each  instrument  ascend  a  semitone  at  the  

player’s  discretion.  John  Lennon  and  McCartney  wanted  a  chaotic  effect—

there  was  no  indication  of  how  long  each  note  should  be.  Martin  claims  to  

have  translated  Lennon’s  vague  ideas  into  a  score  for  the  musicians  that  

included  the  dynamic  markings  needed  to  create  the  desired  swell  (Martin  &  

Hornsby,  1979).  The  final  recording  communicates  the  desired  sense  of  

chaos,  but  it  was  the  balance  engineer  Geoff  Emerick  who  claims  to  have  

given  those  24  bars  its  dynamic  range  using  the  faders  on  the  mixing  board  

(Emerick  &  Massey,  2006).  In  short,  it  took  a  team  of  people  to  realize  this  

musical  moment.  

  52  
 Theoretically,  with  a  DAW,  one  individual  can  make  a  recording  with  a  

computer  what  a  team  of  people  used  to  do  with  an  entire  studio;  that  is,  

assuming  the  individual  has  the  capacity  and  knowledge  to  supplant  the  

musicians,  producers,  recording  engineers,  mixing  engineers,  mastering  

engineers,  and  even  the  receptionists  and  custodians  that  comprised  the  

roster  of  roles  within  a  studio.  How  did  the  climate  of  recording  change  from  

one  that  necessitated  collaboration  between  technicians  and  musicians  to  a  

new  incarnation  of  the  one-­‐man  band?  Historically,  studios  have  shrunk,  

weaning  dependence  on  spaces  with  desirable  acoustics  as  technological  

advancements  provided  surrogates  to  natural  reverberation.              

Shrinking  Studios  

Isolation  

Simons  (2004)  convincingly  conveys  that  multi-­‐tracking  led  to  a  

paradigm  shift  in  recording  practices,  which  directly  impacted  the  demand  

for  recording  studios  with  expansive  spaces.  As  the  number  of  available  

tracks  increased,  the  ability  to  record  one  instrument  per  track  became  more  

feasible,  leading  to  the  ability  to  scrutinize  individual  sounds  and  thereby  a  

demand  for  the  isolation  of  sounds.  Decreasing  physical  proximity  between  

instruments  (and  the  musicians  playing  them)  enabled  the  engineer  to  

isolate  sound  sources,  but  not  without  disturbing  the  natural  playing  

formation  of  a  group  or  ensemble.  Baffles  and  isolation  booths  

  53  
compartmentalize  the  studio  into  micro  recording  spaces.  Additionally,  

overdubbing  enables  a  group  to  record  their  parts  at  separate  times  to  

ensure  total  sound  isolation.  If  only  one  musician  plays  at  a  time,  the  need  for  

space  is  reduced.  If  the  musician  is  a  multi-­‐instrumentalist,  the  need  for  

multiple  musicians  melts.  In  contrast  to  recording  approaches  used  in  

ambient  spaces  such  as  The  Church,  the  aim  of  isolation  was  to  remove  the  

macro-­‐space  from  the  recording.  Audio  engineers  often  refer  to  the  idea  of  a  

microphone  from  one  instrument  picking  up  the  signal  from  other  

instruments  as  leaking  or  bleeding.  To  some  it  is  sought  after,  longtime  

recording  engineer  of  Paul  Simon,  Roy  Halee,  asserted,  “I’d  always  go  for  

leakage.  I  love  it,  it  makes  things  sound  fuller  and  more  alive”  (as  cited  in  

Simons,  2004,  p.  132).  Yet,  isolation  continues  to  be  used  as  a  standard  

practice  in  audio  engineering:  “Most  of  the  time  engineers  will  go  to  great  

lengths  to  hold  the  levels  of  loud  instruments  as  low  as  possible  in  order  to  

avoid  these  instruments  ‘leaking’  into  microphones  that  were  not  intended  

for  them”  (Huber,  1998,  p.  218).  

Plate  Reverb  

Contributing  further  to  the  reduction  of  space  was  the  introduction  of  

plate  reverb  in  the  late  1950s,  which  came  into  wide  use  in  the  1960s  and  

1970s.  Plate  reverb  works  on  the  same  principle  as  chamber  reverb,  but  

instead  of  sending  sound  to  a  room,  the  sound  is  sent  to  a  large  400-­‐pound  

  54  
steel  plate  measuring  3  feet  wide  and  6  feet  long,  suspended  by  springs  

within  a  metal  frame  and  housed  in  a  wooden  case.  While  hardly  portable,  

plate  reverb  ushered  in  a  new  era  of  recording.  Now,  any  studio  could  

purchase  a  unit,  making  the  unique  acoustic  properties  of  a  studio  less  

important  and  devaluing  the  natural  reverberation  of  a  studio  and  its  reverb  

chambers.  Simultaneously,  plate  reverb  led  to  the  homogenization  of  sound  

as  it  could  be  replicated  without  using  the  same  studio.  

Digital  Reverb  and  Instruments  

Digital  recording  technologies  are  frequently  lauded  as  the  reason  for  

the  demise  of  the  music  industry,  but  as  the  quote  by  Touzeau  (2009)  on  

page  3  explains,  digital  audio  democratized  the  recording  studio  by  making  it  

a  significantly  more  affordable  endeavor.  For  the  professional  studio,  the  

inception  of  digital  reverb  was  a  double-­‐edged  sword.  First  released  in  the  

late  1970s,  digital  reverb  continued  the  trend  of  supplanting  the  previous  

technology  with  a  more  compact  and  replicable  successor.  Using  algorithms  

to  model  a  surfeit  of  rooms,  digital  reverb  units  expanded  the  sound  arsenal  

of  recording  engineers,  displacing  the  need  for  older  bulkier  technologies.  

Using  digital  models  of  a  room  meant  that  different  performances  could  be  

recorded  in  a  single  room  and  yet  made  to  sound  as  if  each  was  recorded  in  a  

different  room,  all  with  a  turn  of  a  dial  or  push  of  a  button.  Further,  the  

desired  reverb  style  could  be  changed  quite  easily.  With  chamber  and  plate  

  55  
reverb,  there  was  one  sound  option—all  that  could  be  controlled  was  the  

amount  of  reverb  added  to  the  signal.  Digital  reverb  only  scratches  the  

surface  of  the  impact  of  digitization  on  the  music  industry  as  digital  

instruments  such  as  drums,  samples,  synthesizers,  and  sequencers  further  

reduced  the  need  for  acoustic  sounds  and  as  a  by-­‐product,  space:  

By  the  1990s,  nearly  all  of  New  York’s  largest  studios—RCA,  

Mediasound,  the  Pythian  Temple,  Webster  Hall  and  others—had  
ceased  to  exist,  their  equipment  sold  at  auction  in  the  buildings  
transformed  into  offices,  apartments  and  nightclubs.  (Simons,  2004,  p.  
160)      
 

 
Digital  Audio  Workstations  (DAWs)  

Released  in  1991,  Pro  Tools  became  the  industry  standard  for  

recording  by  the  2000s  and  coopted  the  role  of  the  multi-­‐track  tape  recorder.  

Conceptually,  Pro  Tools  was  quite  similar  to  the  tape  recorder;  instead  of  

storing  tracks  to  tape,  they  were  saved  to  a  computer’s  hard  drive.  Where  the  

technologies  differed  dramatically  was  in  regard  to  their  editing  capabilities.  

Pro  Tools  boasted  non-­‐destructive  editing  and  unlike  analog  audio,  digital  

audio  did  not  degenerate  with  every  passing  play  like  that  of  a  tape.  But  what  

really  dismantled  the  professional  studio  was  the  ability  to  mix  with  software  

or  “in-­‐the-­‐box.”  The  last  mainstay  of  the  professional  recording  studio  was  

the  mixing  console.  Although  Pro  Tools  was  used  to  record  almost  

universally  by  the  2000s,  summing  signals  on  a  large  console  remained  the  

primary  method  of  mixing  a  song,  and  thus  required  the  existence  of  studios  

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to  house  and  operate  them.  With  ever-­‐improving  computers  and  plugins  

(software-­‐based  signal  processors)  displacing  the  need  for  outboard  

processors  (compressors,  limiters,  equalizers,  reverb  units,  etc.),  the  only  

hardware  needed  was  the  computer  because  code  could  take  care  of  the  rest.  

For  example,  convolution-­‐based  reverbs  that  model  real  spaces  using  

impulse  responses  armed  the  home  studio  user  with  a  seemingly  endless  glut  

of  spaces  to  emulate  in  their  recordings.  Given  these  new  capacities  of  the  

computer,  “by  2007,  between  70  percent  and  80  percent  of  all  pop  music  

(and  probably  nearly  100  percent  of  all  hip-­‐hop,  R&B,  and  dance  music)  was  

mixed  in  the  box”  (Milner,  2009,  p.  338).    

Conclusions  

The  integration  of  recording  technology  in  the  compositional  

practices  of  musicians  has  been  well  documented  in  literature  aimed  at  the  

audio  engineering  and  home  recording  communities.  Music  educators’  

research  on  informally  trained  musicians’  learning  processes  does  not  

address  recording  technology’s  role  in  the  music-­‐making  process.  Home  

recording  is  a  viable  route  for  a  musician  to  make  professional-­‐quality  

recordings,  and  as  a  result  it  is  an  industry  unto  itself  (see  “NAMM  Global  

Report  -­‐  2009”).  While  professional  studios  throughout  the  country  have  

closed  their  doors  in  the  past  decade,  recordings  continue  to  be  made  

without  professional  audio  engineers  and  often  in  informal  settings.      

  57  
 This  newer  model  of  record  production  is  deserving  of  attention  in  the  

field  of  music  education  because  it  can  provide  new  insights  into  the  

practices  and  learning  processes  of  musicians  that  integrate  recording  

technology  into  their  music-­‐making  processes.  As  the  writings  of  Green  

(2001,  2008)  and  others  (e.g.,  Finney  &  Philpott,  2010;  Folkestad,  2006)  

attest,  music  education  research  on  informal  learning  is  in  its  infancy.  

Literature  related  to  audio  engineering  caters  to  musicians  that  record  in  

home  studios,  but  research  that  provides  a  close  analysis  of  how  they  work  

and  learn  are  scant  at  best.  

  58  
 CHAPTER  III  

METHODS  

Methodology  

Like  Eisner  (1998),  I  believe  that  “there  are  multiple  ways  in  which  

the  world  can  be  known”  and  that  “human  knowledge  is  a  constructed  form  

of  experience…knowledge  is  made,  not  simply  discovered”  (p.  7).  Further,  

“Knowing  is  locally,  socially,  and  temporally  situated;  knowledge  is  

provisional  and  complex”  (Barrett  &  Stauffer,  2009,  p.  21).  It  is  with  this  

world-­‐view  that  I  approached  the  case  studies.  My  focus  was  to  understand  

and  report  the  experiences  of  the  participants,  “to  preserve  the  multiple  

realities,  the  different  and  even  contradictory  views  of  what  is  happening”  

(Stake,  1995,  p.  12).  A  more  specific  categorization  of  my  study  would  be  an  

instrumental  case  study  because  “a  particular  case  is  examined  mainly  to  

provide  insight  into  an  issue  or  to  redraw  a  generalization”  (Stake,  2008,  p.  

445).  My  methodological  approach  draws  primarily  on  two  sources,  Stake’s  

The  Art  of  Case  Study  Research  (1995)  and  Eisner’s  The  Enlightened  Eye  

(1998).  Both  methodologists  subscribe  to  an  interpretive  research  paradigm  

and  outline  a  sequential  procedure  to  carry  out  a  case  study  using  

ethnographic  research  tools,  primarily  interviews  and  observations.    

  59  
Method  

Stake  (1995)  and  Eisner  (1998)  prescribe  a  similar  formula:  to  gain  

access  into  the  field  and  to  observe  without  disturbing  the  ordinary  activity  

of  the  people  involved.  In  the  words  of  Eisner  (1998):  “the  qualitative  study  

is  usually  non-­‐manipulative…it  tends  to  study  situations  and  objects  intact”  

(p.  33).  I  employed  what  Stake  calls  a  triangulated  approach,  collecting  data  

through  multiple  sources  as  outlined  in  the  section  Data  Sources  and  

Collection  Strategies.  

 
 
Recruitment  of  Participants  
 
My  study  had  two  phases.  In  the  first  phase  of  the  study,  participants  

were  recruited  via  flyers  (Appendix  A)  that  were  posted  in  relevant  online  

social  media  (e.g.,  Craigslist  Musicians'  Page).  Interested  persons  were  issued  

an  informational  statement  outlining  the  study’s  procedure  and  aims  

(Appendix  B),  and  consent  was  required  to  participate  (Appendix  C).  All  

participants  completed  an  online  survey  constructed  with  Qualtrics  software  

(Appendix  D).  The  survey  abided  by  HIPPA  regulations  by  keeping  the  data  

secure  and  annoymizing  all  responses.  The  survey  asked  participants  for  basic  

demographic  information  (age,  gender,  race,  occupation)  and  background  

information  on  their  music  experiences  (number  of  years  of  formal  or  

informal  training,  software/hardware  used  in  music-­‐making,  instruments  

played).  The  survey  was  estimated  to  take  no  more  than  10  minutes  to  

  60  
complete.  The  purpose  of  the  survey  was  to  assess  the  interested  

participants’  suitability  to  serve  as  case  studies  in  the  second  phase  of  the  

study  and  to  use  the  demographic  data  to  construct  a  sociocultural  context  

for  the  case  studies.  Participants  were  not  financially  compensated  for  

completing  the  survey,  but  were  presented  with  the  incentive  to  win  a  50  dollar  

gift  certificate  to  the  music  store  Guitar  Center  via  a  lottery.  The  last  item  of  the  

survey  asked  survey  participants  if  I  could  contact  them  to  volunteer  for  the  

second  phase  of  the  study.      

For  the  second  phase  of  the  study,  eight  participants  from  the  pool  of  

104  survey  respondents  were  invited  to  participate  as  individual  cases  for  

study  as  outlined  in  the  proceeding  section.  Of  the  eight  persons  contacted,  

four  committed  and  consented  to  participate  as  cases  for  the  second  phase.  

In  an  attempt  to  include  a  variety  of  musics,  I  employed  maximum  variation  

sampling  (Merriam,  2009)  by  selecting  participants  that  represented  a  

diverse  musical  spectrum.  Eligibility  criteria  stipulated  that  the  participants  

must  be  in  the  process  of  making  a  home  recording  or  soon  to  commence  a  

home  recording  of  their  music.  A  different  statement  (Appendix  E)  and  

consent  form  (Appendix  F)  was  utilized  for  this  phase  of  the  study.  There  was  

no  financial  compensation  for  participants  of  the  second  phase  of  the  study.    

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 Case  Study  Time  Frame  

Because  my  study  centered  on  the  artistic  practice  of  the  creation  of  

music,  a  fixed  timeline  on  the  case  studies  could  not  be  pre-­‐determined.  Case  

study  participants  were  asked  to  carry  on  in  their  typical  practice  of  music-­‐

making  with  the  exception  that  they  video-­‐record  it  for  the  purpose  of  

analysis.  Further,  they  were  asked  to  participate  in  interviews  (semi-­‐

structured  or  stimulated  recall,  discussed  in  Data  Sources  and  Collection  

Strategies)  with  the  researcher  for  every  5  to  10  hours  of  video  recorded.  

Interviews  about  a  specific  session  were  scheduled  as  close  as  possible  to  the  

date  of  the  session  to  maximize  memory  recall.  My  aim  was  to  collect  as  

much  data  from  the  participants  as  possible  without  interfering  with  their  

natural  music-­‐making  processes.  Participants  were  asked  to  commit  a  

minimum  of  25  hours  to  the  study.  Table  1  details  the  hours  of  each  data  

source  collected  from  the  participants.  It  does  not  include  the  amount  of  time  

participants  spent  meeting  with  me  before  committing  to  serve  as  case  

studies,  which  was  between  one  and  two  hours  on  average,  or  other  time  

invested  including:  meeting  with  me,  corresponding  with  me  (emailing,  

texting,  calling),  installing  software,  taking  photographs,  and  journaling.  

  62  
Table  1  
Hours  of  data  sources  collected  from  participants    
  Hours  of  Data  Source  Collected  
      Semi-­‐ Stimulated-­‐
    Screen   Structured   Recall  
Participant   Videos   Recordings   Interviews   Interviews  
Michael   20   18   4   2  
Tara   20   0   6   2  
Jimmy   10   0   7   2  
Tyler   10   10   7   2  
Note.  Tara  and  Jimmy  were  unable  to  use  screen  recording  software  due  to  
technical  limitations.  Their  computers  could  not  run  the  software  without  
interfering  with  their  recordings.  
 
 
 
Data  Sources  and  Collection  Strategies  

Survey  

  A  short  quantitative  online  survey  was  the  first  step  in  data  collection  

and  analysis  (Appendix  D).  Once  the  data  was  collected  it  was  analyzed  using  

SPSS  to  report  descriptive  statistics  such  as  means  and  standard  deviations  

for  each  variable  (Weinberg  &  Abramowitz,  2008).  The  survey  was  not  

assumed  to  be  representative  of  a  population,  but  it  served  to  provide  some  

context  of  those  who  engage  in  home  recording  in  New  York  City.  The  survey  

provided  critical  information  about  the  musical  backgrounds  of  the  

participants,  which  assisted  me  in  selecting  case  study  participants.  A  

limitation  of  using  an  online  survey  is  that  honest  and  accurate  responses  are  

assumed.  That  being  said,  an  online  recruiting  strategy  and  survey  seemed  

appropriate  considering  that  the  target  population  of  my  study  was  the  

music-­‐maker  who  uses  computer-­‐based  recording  technology  (i.e.,  a  DAW).  

  63  
Video  Observations  
 
  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  observe  each  participant  in  his  or  her  natural  

working  environment.  To  accomplish  this,  video  was  used  to  capture  the  

working  processes  of  the  musicians,  a  strategy  that  has  been  utilized  in  

studies  with  a  similar  approach  (Daniel,  2006;  Johansson,  2004;  Soderman  &  

Folkestad,  2004;  King,  2008;  Seddon  &  Biasutti,  2010).  In  this  approach,  

“videotapes  are  better  regarded  as  sources  for  data  than  as  data  in  

themselves.  Just  as  other  primary  documentary  records  in  qualitative  

research  are  not  data  but  are  information  sources  out  of  which  data  can  be  

constructed”  (Erickson,  2008,  p.  153).    

I  relied  on  video  to  document  the  music-­‐making  processes  of  the  

participants.  Each  participant  was  provided  with  a  handheld  digital  video  

camera  (Aiptek  AHD  T7  Pro)  and  a  32  GB  SD  card  to  record  himself  or  herself  

whenever  he  or  she  was  engaged  in  the  process  of  music-­‐making.  The  

participants  were  not  given  specific  instructions  on  how  or  what  to  film.  

These  decisions  were  left  to  their  discretion.    

Observations  were  utilized  to  learn  how  participants  used  recording  

technology  in  the  process  of  music-­‐making.  Using  Eisner’s  method  of  

descriptive  writing,  I  recorded  notes  aiming  to  “enable  readers  to  participate  

vicariously  in  the  events  described”  (1998,  p.  89).  Following  the  thick  

description  procedure  to  analyze  videos  (Goldman,  2007),  I  observed  and  

described  the  processes,  gestures,  interactions,  events,  and  actions  the  

  64  
participants  performed  as  they  recorded  their  music.  Denzin’s  Interpretive  

Interactionism  (2001)  provided  criteria  for  creating  thick  descriptions:  

(A)  It  gives  the  context  of  an  action,  (B)  it  states  the  intentions  and  
meanings  that  organize  the  action,  (C)  it  traces  the  evolution  and  
development  of  the  action,  and  (D)  it  presents  the  action  as  a  text  that  
can  be  interpreted.  A  thin  description  simply  reports  facts,  
independent  of  intentions  or  the  circumstances  that  surround  action.  
(p.  53)  
 
I  looked  at  what  technology  and  instruments  the  participants  

employed  and  how  they  incorporated  them  into  their  recordings.  Not  only  

did  I  watch  the  process,  but  I  heard  it  too.  I  made  notes  of  the  sounds  I  heard  

as  they  were  produced  in  the  compositional  processes  of  each  participant.    

There  are  some  issues  that  arise  when  replacing  live  observation  with  

video:  “Compared  to  a  live  observer,  a  camera  is  much  more  restricted.  

Whereas  an  observer  can  track  movements  across  the  room  or  quickly  focus  

on  an  object  near  at  hand  or  across  the  room,  the  camera  has  a  limited  depth  

of  field”  (Barron,  2007,  p.  171).  The  advantage  of  this  approach  is  that  the  

participant  is  given  the  power  of  the  camera,  making  the  study  more  

naturalistic.  The  participant  chooses  when  to  film  and  what  to  film,  without  

the  social  pressure  of  a  live  observer.      

Frequent  exchange  of  video  data  between  the  researcher  and  each  

participant  was  an  asset  to  ensure  that  video  data  could  be  analyzed  in  close  

succession  to  the  recording  of  sessions.  This  protocol  was  necessitated  to  

maximize  the  effect  of  stimulated  recall  interviewing.  

  65  
Stimulated  Recall  Interviews  

In  a  previous  study  I  conducted  (Bell,  2008),  I  employed  a  technique  

known  as  stimulated  recall  (Lyle,  2003).  This  is  a  type  of  interview  in  which  a  

participant  watches  a  previously  recorded  video  of  himself  or  herself  

engaged  in  a  learning  practice  and  then  answers  the  researcher’s  questions  

related  to  the  excerpt.  Tochon  (2007)  explains:  

Because  it  is  unfeasible  to  interview  people  about  their  thinking  while  
they  are  engaged  in  action,  the  interview  time  is  postponed  to  the  
moment  they  are  able  to  view  their  own  actions  on  a  
monitor…Viewing  past  actions  is  a  way  to  remember  one’s  past  
thoughts  with  greater  validity  than  recall  done  without  the  benefit  of  
video  feedback  stimulation.  (p.  59)  
 
For  each  case  study  I  selected  video  excerpts  that  served  as  a  way  to  

probe  further  and  ask  the  participants  about  their  music-­‐making  and  

recording  processes.  A  frequent  question  I  asked  was  simply,  “What  were  

you  doing  there?”  while  pointing  to  an  action  that  a  participant  performed.  

These  interviews  afforded  the  participants  the  opportunity  to  explain  their  

actions  in  a  play-­‐by-­‐play  approach.  The  stimulated  recall  technique  has  been  

employed  by  other  music  education  researchers  to  investigate  music-­‐making  

processes  including  Soderman  and  Folkestad  (2004),  Rowe  (2009),  and  

Tobias  (2010).      

  66  
Semi-­‐Structured  Interviews  

A  series  of  questions  was  addressed  through  semi-­‐structured  

interviews  to  help  answer  the  research  questions  posed  by  my  study  

(Appendix  G).  As  Denzin  (2001)  explains,  “the  use  of  open-­‐ended  

interviewing  is  based  on  the  assumption  that  meanings,  understandings,  and  

interpretations  cannot  be  standardized”  (p.  65).  The  interviews  were  framed  

as  conversations  between  the  researcher  and  participant;  in  the  words  of  

Kvale  (2009):  “It  is  an  inter-­‐view,  where  knowledge  is  constructed  in  the  

inter-­‐action  between  the  interviewer  and  the  interviewee”  (p.  2).  The  

questions  were  intended  to  “focus  on  concrete  examples  and  feelings  rather  

than  on  abstract  speculations,  which  are  less  likely  to  provide  genuinely  

meaningful  information”  (Eisner,  1998,  p.  183).  Each  interview  was  

transcribed  using  Dragon  Dictate  software.  Instead  of  transcribing  by  typing,  

I  opted  to  listen  to  each  interview  sentence-­‐by-­‐sentence,  and  then  repeat  the  

words  of  the  participants  and  myself  into  a  microphone,  which  was  then  

converted  to  text  by  Dragon.  This  approach  provided  two  advantages  over  

typing.  First,  it  reduced  the  transcription  time  in  half,  but  more  importantly  it  

prompted  me  to  think  more  critically  about  the  interview  data  as  I  voiced  

aloud  every  single  word  and  nuance  uttered  by  the  participants.  The  act  of  

repeating  someone  else’s  words  orally  instead  of  typing  them  was  a  novel  

approach  for  me  that  greatly  improved  and  expedited  my  data  collection.  The  

analysis  of  transcripts  is  explained  in  the  Analysis  section.  

  67  
Screenshots  and  Screen  Recordings  

Informally  trained  musicians  typically  work  in  sound  as  opposed  to  

writing  music  with  a  pencil  and  staff  paper  (Green,  2001).  Just  as  a  writer  

will  likely  produce  drafts  before  realizing  a  final  product,  so  too  will  the  

informally  trained  musician  produce  musical  sketches  in  the  aural  realm  

before  realizing  a  finished  piece  (Nilsson  &  Folkestad,  2005).  In  some  cases,  

these  musical  drafts  or  sketches  served  as  evidence  of  the  participants’  

music-­‐making  processes.  Whenever  possible,  screen  recording  software  was  

utilized  to  capture  every  action  performed  on  the  participants’  computers.  

Two  of  the  participants  were  unable  to  use  the  software  provided  due  to  

technical  limitations  (screen  recording  software  is  taxing  on  a  computer’s  

operational  capacity  and  can  interfere  with  music  recording).  The  benefit  of  

screen  recording  software  is  that  it  does  away  with  a  reliance  on  aural  

perception  techniques  to  evaluate  adjustments  in  the  participants’  works  

(e.g.,  Moylan,  2007;  Zak,  2001),  replacing  it  with  a  reliance  on  visual  data.  

This  technology  is  well  established  on  video-­‐based  websites  such  as  YouTube  

in  which  users  upload  instructional  videos  that  feature  a  voiceover  while  

demonstrating  what  actions  to  perform  on  a  computer  for  a  given  task.  

Interestingly,  without  my  instruction,  both  of  the  participants  that  used  

screen  recording  software  chose  to  narrate  their  actions.  Screen  recording  

software  was  incorporated  into  the  data  collection  method  of  studies  by  

Mellor  (2008)  and  Tobias  (2010)  and  aided  in  their  analysis  of  computer-­‐

  68  
based  compositions.  Both  approaches  place  emphasis  on  the  studio  

techniques  used  to  achieve  a  desired  sound.  I  adopted  the  procedure  used  by  

Mellor  (2008)  for  creating  a  detailed  written  description  of  the  screen  

recording  data.  In  this  method,  the  actions  of  the  music-­‐maker  are  coded  into  

five  categories:          

(a)  construction,  (b)  replay,  (c)  editing,  (d)  mouse  movement  (periods  
of  mouse  inactivity  longer  than  four  seconds  and  seemingly  ‘random’  
mouse  movement  which  was  longer  than  four  seconds)  and,  (e)  errors  
using  program  (problems  which  the  participants  encountered  using  
the  program  and  which  resulted  in  mouse  movement  which  was  not  
part  of  the  constructing  process).  (p.  458)  
 
DAW  screenshots  are  used  frequently  in  “how  to”  books,  but  less  often  

in  academic-­‐oriented  literature.  One  exception  to  this  is  the  dissertation  of  

Tobias  (2010).  A  DAW  screenshot  is  simply  a  picture  of  the  computer  

monitor  at  a  moment  in  time.  Using  a  Mac  app  called  Skitch,  screenshots  

were  helpful  in  freezing  a  frame  from  the  screen  recordings  to  document  a  

moment  in  time  when  a  participant  made  adjustments  with  their  DAW.  These  

images  help  to  illustrate  and  accompany  the  descriptive  text.      

Field  Notes  

  All  of  my  interactions  with  the  participants  were  one-­‐on-­‐one  and  I  felt  

it  would  be  socially  inappropriate  to  record  in-­‐depth  field  notes  in  their  

presence.  Using  a  small  discrete  notebook  I  recorded  the  brief  salient  points  

of  our  conversations  and  ensured  that  the  participants  were  informed  that  

  69  
this  was  simply  for  the  aid  of  my  memory.  After  meeting  with  a  participant  I  

recalled  and  recorded  my  “first  impressions  and  personal  reactions”  

(Emerson,  Fretz,  &  Shaw,  1995,  p.  18).  My  field  notes  focused  on  the  how  as  

opposed  to  the  why,  and  describe  “the  activities  and  the  meanings  associated  

with  them”  (p.  28).  Further,  they  “give  special  attention  to  the  indigenous  

meanings  and  concerns  of  the  people  studied”  (p.  11).  My  field  notes  served  

to  “detail  the  social  and  interactional  processes”  with  each  participant  and  

helped  to  support  other  forms  of  evidence.      

Journals,  Documents,  and  Photographs  

  While  not  initially  intended  as  sources  of  data,  participant  journals,  

documents,  and  photographs  were  helpful  sources  of  information  that  aided  

in  presenting  a  more  complete  portrait  of  the  case  studies.  These  data  

sources  provided  further  insight  into  how  the  participants  acquire  skills  and  

knowledge  in  the  realm  of  music  production  and  in  some  cases  corroborated  

evidence  from  interviews  and  video-­‐based  observations.  Additionally,  I  

visited  each  participant’s  primary  location  of  music-­‐making  to  take  

photographs  and  record  my  observations  in  order  to  create  a  site  

description,  to  enable  “readers  to  visualize  what  a  place  or  process  is  like”  

(Eisner,  1998,  p.  88).            

  70  
Analysis  

Tobias  (2010)  utilized  a  six-­‐stage  analysis  procedure  that  I  adapted  to  

analyze  my  case  studies.  The  first  stage,  narration  and  organization,  involved  

organizing  the  data  into  a  cohesive  storyline.  Applying  this  concept  to  video  

analysis,  Barron  (2007)  states:  “content  logs…develop  a  sense  of  the  corpus  

of  data  and  facilitate  the  selection  of  episodes  for  further  detailed  analysis”  

(p.  178).  The  second  stage,  transcription,  and  third  stage,  significant  event  

selection,  are  closely  related  and  were  reversed  in  my  analysis.  Before  

transcribing  video  excerpts  I  watched  the  unedited  videos  multiple  times  to  

select  and  extract  exemplary  episodes  that  helped  to  answer  the  research  

questions.  Following  the  selection  of  key  events,  a  narrative  transcription  

was  drafted  that  included  the  dialogue  and,      

A  finely  grained  description  that  concentrates  on  minute  details,  such  

as  the  turning  of  a  head,  the  raising  of  an  eyebrow,  a  slight  twitch  of  
the  nostrils.  What  emerges  is  a  story  that  often  reads  like  a  stage  play.  
Readers  can  become  virtual  actors,  knowing  about  the  gesture,  the  
colors  in  the  room,  the  harshness  of  light  reflected  off  the  desktop.    
(Goldman-­‐Segall,  1998,  p.  16)  
 
The  fourth  stage,  coding,  utilized  a  two-­‐pronged  approach.  When  

working  with  video  in  research  analysis,  Barron  (2007)  advises:  

It  would  be  wise  to  focus  first  on  theory-­‐driven  questions  and  develop  
concrete  plans  for  a  first  pass  at  using  the  video  records…At  the  same  
time,  one  should  anticipate  new  discoveries  and  be  ready  to  articulate  
questions  that  can  be  followed  and  refined  and  tested  through  
multiple  passes  of  the  video  records.  (p.  178)  
 

  71  
   Following  this  approach,  the  lenses  of  the  Conceptual  Framework  

were  used  initially  to  analyze  the  video,  interview,  and  screen  recording  data.  

The  criteria  of  each  model  were  used  as  codes  in  the  analysis  of  data  in  order  

to  develop  the  themes  that  are  presented  in  the  findings.  The  compositional  

approaches  of  the  participants  were  evaluated  for  characteristics  of  the  

vertical  and  horizontal  classifications  as  detailed  in  Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  

and  Lindstrom’s  “Compositional  strategies  in  computer-­‐based  music-­‐

making”  (1998).  This  lens  aided  in  answering  the  research  question  

regarding  how  recording  technology  is  involved  in  the  music-­‐making  

process.  Green’s  model  of  informal  learning  (2008)  was  used  to  evaluate  how  

the  participants  acquired  the  skills  and  knowhow  to  make  music.    

Extending  beyond  using  the  criteria  of  existing  models,  the  multiple  

sources  of  data  were  analyzed  thematically.  “Themes  are  the  dominant  

features  of  the  situation  or  person,  those  qualities  of  place,  person,  or  object  

that  define  or  describe  identity.  In  a  sense,  a  theme  is  like  a  pervasive  

quality”  (Eisner,  1998,  p.  189).  The  interview  transcripts,  video  observation  

logs,  screen  recording  logs,  and  any  other  relevant  data  were  examined  for  

their  pervasive  qualities  and  used  to  build  a  narrative.  I  followed  the  advice  

of  Riessman  (2008):  “A  good  narrative  analysis  prompts  the  reader  to  think  

beyond  the  surface  of  a  text,  and  there  is  a  move  toward  a  broader  

commentary”  (p.  13).  Writing  narrative  enlists  thick  description,  Denzin  

(2001)  explains:  “It  is  a  form  of  performative  writing.  It  creates  

  72  
verisimilitude,  a  space  for  the  reader  to  imagine  his  or  her  way  into  the  life  

experiences  of  another.  Thick  descriptions  capture  the  voices  of  lived  

experience”  (p.  99).  Jorgensen  (2009)  affirms:  “In  thickly  describing  music  

education,  it  would  be  helpful  to  discover  models  that  allow  rich  and  detailed  

descriptions  and  interpretations  of  the  broad  array  of  phenomena  that  count  

as  music  education”  (p.  79).  

Additionally  my  study  analyzed  the  musical  products  of  the  

participants  using  a  phonomusicologoical  approach:  “it  emphasizes  musical  

recordings  as  social  practice—the  collective  enterprise  of  performers,  

creative  practitioners,  engineers  and  so  on—rather  than  subscribing  to  the  

traditional  reliance  on  the  musical  score”  (Cottrell,  2010,  p.  21).  Mellor’s  

criteria  (2008)  were  used  to  analyze  one  of  the  participants’  screen  

recordings,  but  for  the  other  cases  a  descriptive  approach  proved  more  

insightful.  Liu-­‐Rosenbaum  (2009)  used  Zak’s  (2001)  descriptive  technique  to  

analyze  two  pieces  by  Led  Zeppelin,  which  offers  a  comprehensive  overview  

of  the  mixing  techniques  employed  in  the  making  of  “Stairway  to  Heaven”  

and  “When  the  Levee  Breaks.”  MacFarlane  (2008),  added  a  level  of  

descriptive  analysis,  recording  strategies,  to  Ferrara’s  eclectic  method  (1991)  

to  account  for  the  Beatles  use  of  the  recording  studio  as  a  compositional  tool  

in  the  making  of  Abbey  Road.  Similar  to  Zak’s  method,  MacFarlane  

incorporated  a  discussion  of  the  use  of  recording  technology  to  accomplish  

compositional  goals  such  as  microphone  placement  and  mixing  techniques.      

  73  
 The  fifth  stage,  code  verification,  served  as  a  system  of  checks  and  

balances  in  which  the  data  that  were  used  to  support  the  findings  were  

reviewed  with  the  participants  and  modified  to  more  accurately  reflect  their  

views.  The  sixth  and  final  stage,  interpretation  and  theorization,  considered  

the  implications  of  the  findings  as  they  relate  to  the  field  of  music  education.  

Additionally,  directions  for  future  investigations  regarding  music-­‐making  

and  learning  with  music  technology  are  suggested.  A  summative  figure  of  the  

analysis  procedure  is  provided  in  Appendix  I.  

Cross-­‐Case  Analysis  

The  individual  cases  share  a  common  characteristic  or  condition.  The  

cases  in  the  collection  are  somehow  categorically  bound  together.  They  
may  be  members  of  a  group  or  examples  of  a  phenomenon.  Let  us  call  
this  group,  category,  or  phenomenon  a  “quintain.”  A  quintain  
(pronounced  kwin′ton)  is  an  object  or  phenomenon  or  condition  to  be  
studied—a  target,  but  not  a  bull’s  eye.  In  multicase  study,  it  is  the  target  
collection.  (Stake,  2006,  p.  4)  
 
Eyeing  the  quintain,  I  conducted  analyses  across  cases  examining  two  

phenomena:  the  role  of  recording  technology  in  the  music-­‐making  process  

and  the  acquisition  of  skills  and  knowhow  to  make  music  with  recording  

technology.  Stake  asserts  a  cross-­‐case  analysis  “is  a  move  away  from  holistic  

viewing  of  the  cases  toward  constrained  viewing  of  the  cases—a  viewing  

constrained  by  the  dominion  of  the  quintain  over  the  cases”  (p.  6).    

Although  a  multiple  case  study  is  not  designed  for  comparing  cases  

(Stake,  2006,  p.  83),  comparison  is  inevitable  because  the  case  study  

  74  
researcher  is  caught  between  the  demands  of  science  that  privilege  the  

generalizable  and  the  demands  of  professional  work  that  privilege  the  

particular  (p.  7).  The  procedure  I  followed  entailed  “reviewing  the  cases  for  

examples  of  specified  codes  or  categories,  and  then  identifying  patterns  in  

codes  or  categories  that  apply  (i.e.,  generalize)  across  the  cases”  (Eisenhart,  

2009,  p.  58).  Eisner  (1998)  cautions:  “Recognize  the  similarity—but  not  

identity—between  one  situation  and  the  next  and  then  make  the  appropriate  

inference”  (p.  198).  The  ability  to  “recognize  the  similarity”  hinges  on  the  

ability  to  identify  the  particular.  Without  dissimilarity,  similarity  ceases  to  

exist.  To  dwell  on  only  the  commonalities  would  be  an  incomplete  telling  of  

the  story.  Eisner  posits,  “Revelation  of  the  particular  situation  requires,  first,  

awareness  of  its  distinctiveness”  (p.  38).  The  purpose  of  each  case  study  was  

to  illuminate  the  particulars  of  each  individual’s  approach  to  music-­‐making  

and  learning  with  recording  technology.  It  is  only  with  this  foundation  of  the  

particular  that  distinctions  can  be  made  between  the  similar  and  dissimilar.  

In  sum,  a  cross-­‐case  analysis  demands  a  balance  of  the  consonant  and  

dissonant.  In  recording  music,  balance  is  achieved  through  mixing.  I  liken  my  

cross-­‐case  analysis  to  mixing.  Izhaki  (2008)  stresses  that  mixing  is  an  art:  

Mixing,  to  large  extent,  entails  crafting  the  sonic  aspects  of  music.  We  
shape  sounds,  crystallize  soundscapes,  establish  sonic  harmony  
between  instruments  and  fabricate  sonic  impact  –  all  are  the  outcome  
of  many  artistic  and  creative  decisions  we  make,  all  are  down  to  the  
talent  and  vision  of  each  individual,  all  have  a  profound  influence  on  
how  the  music  is  perceived.  (p.  xiv)  
 

  75  
 In  framing  my  cross-­‐case  analysis  as  a  mixing  performance,  I  am  

eschewing  the  singular  aim  of  synthesis,  lending  an  ear  to  both  consonant  

and  dissonant  themes.  What  I  seek  is  a  greater  understanding  of  the  quintain,  

not  generalization.  As  Stake  (2006)  succinctly  summarizes,  “Often  the  

quintain  will  appear  increasingly  less  a  coordinated  system  and  more  a  loose  

confederation,  or  less  a  simple  pattern  and  more  a  mosaic”  (p.  40).  

Consensus  and  Instrumental  Utility  (Reliability  and  Validity)  

  “In  qualitative  research  there  is  no  statistical  test  of  significance  to  

determine  if  results  ‘count’;  in  the  end  what  counts  is  a  matter  of  judgment”  

(Eisner,  1998,  p.  39).  My  study  utilized  Eisner’s  criteria  of  coherence,  

consensus,  and  instrumental  utility  to  assess  ethics  and  trustworthiness.    

Eisner  provides  a  series  of  questions  to  assess  coherence:  “Does  the  

story  make  sense?  How  have  conclusions  been  supported?  To  what  extent  

have  multiple  data  sources  being  used  to  give  credence  to  the  interpretation  

that  has  been  made?  Are  the  observations  congruent  with  the  rest  of  the  

study?”  (p.  53).  The  case  study  narratives  weave  together  different  sources  of  

evidence:  interviews,  videos,  screen  recordings,  field  notes,  and  relevant  

supporting  documents.  Often  called  triangulation  in  qualitative  research,  

Eisner  employs  the  term  structural  corroboration  “to  describe  the  confluence  

of  multiple  data  sources  of  evidence  or  the  recurrence  of  instances  that  

support  a  conclusion”  (p.  55).      

  76  
   Secondly,  “consensus  is  the  condition  in  which…readers  of  the  work  

concur  that  the  findings  and/or  interpretations  reported  by  the  investigator  

are  consistent  with  their  own  experience  or  with  the  evidence  presented”  (p.  

56).  One  form  of  consensus  is  whether  or  not  readers  of  these  findings  will  

agree  with  the  narrative  I  have  presented  based  on  the  evidence  I  used  to  

support  it.  Another  form  of  consensus  I  used  was  to  have  the  participants  

read  the  interview  transcripts  and  the  final  draft  of  the  write  up  to  ensure  

that  they  are  accurate.      

  Lastly,  Eisner  suggests  evaluating  qualitative  research  on  the  basis  of  

its  usefulness,  or  its  instrumental  utility.  Eisner  employs  the  metaphor  of  a  

guide  to  explain  how  a  qualitative  study  can  be  useful:  

Guides  call  to  our  attention  aspects  of  the  situation  or  place  we  might  
otherwise  miss.  They  are  typically  prepared  by  people  who  have  
visited  a  place  before  and  know  a  great  deal  about  it.  If  the  guide  is  
useful,  we  are  likely  to  experience  what  we  otherwise  might  have  
missed,  and  we  may  understand  more  than  we  would  have  without  
benefit  of  the  guide.  A  good  guide  deepens  and  broadens  our  
experience  and  helps  us  understand  what  we  are  looking  at.  (p.  59)  
 
It  is  with  the  mentality  of  a  guide  that  I  report  the  findings  of  my  

study.  I  immersed  myself  in  the  world  of  the  participants,  getting  to  know  

them  as  music-­‐makers,  but  also  looking  at  the  broader  context  of  their  lives  

in  an  attempt  to  understand  their  music-­‐making  processes  and  their  thinking  

behind  it  based  on  the  evidence  I  collected.

  77  
 CHAPTER  IV  
 
A  STATISTICAL  PORTRAIT  OF  NEW  YORK  HOME  STUDIO  USERS  
 
 
 
Procedure  
 
  For  six  months,  an  advertisement  (Appendix  A)  to  complete  a  survey  

(Appendix  D)  was  posted  in  the  community  section  under  the  category  

“musicians”  of  the  online  classifieds  site  Craigslist.  The  ad  explicitly  stated  

that  anyone  wishing  to  participate  must  live  in  one  of  the  Burroughs  of  New  

York  City:  Manhattan,  Brooklyn,  The  Bronx,  Queens,  or  Staten  Island.  The  ad  

was  reposted  twice  weekly.  The  Craigslist  ad  yielded  an  average  of  five  

responses  per  repost.  It  is  critical  to  recognize  that  all  of  the  data  reported  

were  obtained  from  online  users.  As  is  the  case  with  all  online  surveys,  it  is  

assumed  that  the  respondents  provided  honest  answers.      

A  total  of  128  people  commenced  the  survey.  Duplicate  and  

incomplete  responses  were  removed,  and  the  survey  responses  received  

from  people  living  outside  of  New  York  City  were  not  factored  into  the  

analyses.  Following  the  removal  of  these  cases,  the  number  of  completed  

responses  was  104.  Applying  a  95%  confidence  level  to  a  sample  of  104  

carries  with  it  a  margin  of  error  of  9.6%.  In  some  instances,  participants  were  

not  required  to  respond  to  a  question  or  opted  not  to  answer  a  question.

  78  
As  a  result,  many  of  the  items  reported  on  were  answered  by  a  smaller  

sample,  typically  n  =  80,  which  carries  a  higher  margin  of  error,  

approximately  11%.  In  the  interest  of  transparency,  the  sample  size  is  

reported  for  all  items.  

 
 
Results  
 
Demographic  Information  

Eighty-­‐nine  percent  (n  =  93)  of  the  respondents  (N  =  104)  are  male.  

Employing  a  confidence  level  of  95%  with  the  associated  margin  of  error  of  

approximately  10%,  at  the  very  least,  79%  of  the  population  is  male.  Taking  a  

more  conservative  approach,  using  a  confidence  level  of  99%,  resulting  in  an  

increase  of  the  margin  of  error  to  13%,  the  smallest  possible  proportion  of  

males  amongst  this  population  is  76%.  

Gender  Distribution  of  the  Sample  

11%  

Male  

89%   Female  

Figure  1.  Gender  distribution  of  the  sample.  

  79  
 The  mean  age  of  the  participants  is  33.6  (SD  =  11.6),  higher  than  the  

median,  30,  and  the  mode,  26.  Taken  together  with  the  skewness  ratio  (0.9),  

Figure  2  confirms  the  distribution  is  skewed  right.      

Right  Skew  of  Age  Distribution    

25  

20  
Percent  

15  

10  

5  

0  
Under   20  -­‐   25  -­‐   30  -­‐   35  -­‐   40  -­‐   45  -­‐   50  -­‐   55  -­‐   60  -­‐  
20   24   29   34   39   44   49   54   59   64  
Age  

  Figure  2.  Right  skew  of  age  distribution.  

 
 

While  the  age  range  of  the  sample  is  large  (18  –  64),  almost  half  of  it  

(48%)  is  under  the  age  of  30,  and  65%  of  it  is  under  the  age  of  35.  Figure  3  

provides  a  graphical  representation  of  the  distribution  of  age.  

  80  
 Age  Distribution  of  the  Sample  
Under  20  
20  -­‐  24  
23%  
25  -­‐  29  
30  -­‐  34  
35  -­‐  39  
23%  
17%   40  -­‐  44  
45  -­‐  49  
50  -­‐  54  
55  -­‐  59  

Figure  3.  Age  distribution  of  the  sample.  

The  sample  (n  =  102)  is  dominated  by  respondents  identifying  as  

White/Caucasian  (71%,  n  =  72).  The  second  highest  race  represented  is  

African  American,  comprising  only  13%  (n  =  13)  of  the  sample.  “Other”  

responses—the  option  that  allowed  participants  to  enter  their  own  

category—included  “middle  eastern,”  “mixed  race,”  and  “BLACK  MAN.”  

Figure  4  depicts  the  racial  diversity,  or  lack  thereof  within  this  population.  

  81  
 Racial  Distribution  of  the  Sample  

6%  1%  
4%  
White/Caucasian  
6%  
African  American  

13%   Hispanic  
Asian  
Other  
70%  
Native  American  

Figure  4.  Racial  distribution  of  the  sample.  

 
 
 
Over  40%  of  the  respondents  reside  in  Brooklyn,  approximately  30%  

live  in  Manhattan,  and  20%  in  Queens.  Combined,  The  Bronx  and  Staten  

Island  only  account  for  approximately  10%  of  the  population.      

 
Distribution  of  the  Sample  by    
 
New  York  Borough    
1%    
Manhattan  
Brooklyn    
21%   29%  
9%   The  Bronx  
 
40%   Queens  
Staten  Island    

Figure  5.  Distribution  of  the  sample  by  New  York  Borough.  

  82  
 Over  half,  (51%,  n  =  50)  of  the  99  participants  that  answered  the  

question,  “In  which  industry  are  you  employed?”  chose  the  response,  “arts,  

entertainment,  or  recreation.”  Table  2  details  the  distribution  of  the  

occupations  held  by  the  respondents.      

 
 
Table  2  
In  which  industry  are  you  employed?  
  Frequency   Percent  
Construction   3   3  
Retail  trade   1   1  
Information   3   3  
Finance  or  insurance   3   3  
Real  estate  or  rental  and   3   3  
leasing  
Professional,  scientific  or   4   4  
technical  services  
Management  of  companies  or   3   3  
enterprises  
Educational  services   7   7.1  
Health  care  or  social  assistance   6   6.1  
Arts,  entertainment  or   50   50.5  
recreation  
Accommodation  or  food   7   7.1  
services  
Other  services  (except  public   7   7.1  
administration)  
Unclassified  establishments   2   2  
Total   99   100  
 
 
 
Of  the  94  participants  that  responded  to  the  question,  “Does  making  

music  contribute  to  your  income?”  approximately  64%  (n  =  60)  responded  in  

the  affirmative.  Of  the  60  respondents  that  earn  income  through  music,  22%  

indicated  music  comprises  0  to  10%  of  their  total  income,  while  18%  

  83  
reported  music  accounts  for  90  to  100%  of  their  total  income.  Table  3  

summarizes  the  proportion  of  income  distribution  amongst  the  sample  

population.  

 
 
Table  3  
Approximately  what  percentage  does  making  music  contribute  to  your  income?  
  Frequency   Percent  
0%  -­‐  10%   13   21.7  
11%  -­‐  20%   3   5  
21%  -­‐  30%   9   15  
31%  -­‐  40%   4   6.7  
41%  -­‐  50%   4   6.7  
51%  -­‐  60%   4   6.7  
61%  -­‐  70%   1   1.7  
71%  -­‐  80%   3   5  
81%  -­‐  90%   8   13.3  
91%  -­‐  100%   11   18.3  
Total   60   100  
     
 
 
Musical  Background  

Ninety  participants  reported  that  they  play  an  instrument  or  sing.  

Guitar  ranked  the  highest  with  49%  of  the  sample  (n  =  44)  listing  it  as  their  

primary  instrument.  Piano  was  the  second  most  frequent  response,  

accounting  for  19%  (n=  17)  of  the  sample,  followed  by  voice  (11%,  n  =  10),  

and  finally  bass  guitar  and  drums  each  tallying  9%  of  the  sample  (n  =  8;  n  =  

8).  Of  this  sample  (n  =  90),  88%  (n  =  79)  play  more  than  one  instrument.  

Again  guitar  was  the  most  common,  accounting  for  29%  of  this  group  (n  =  

23).  Interestingly,  24%  of  multi-­‐instrumentalists  listed  the  bass  guitar  as  

  84  
their  second  most  proficient  instrument  (n  =  19),  while  voice  accounted  for  

13%  (n  =  10),  piano  for  10%  (n  =  9),  and  drums  just  3%  (n  =  3).  Almost  all  of  

the  76  participants  that  play  two  instruments  also  play  a  third  instrument  (n  

=  67;  88%).  As  a  tertiary  instrument,  drums  accounted  for  the  biggest  

proportion,  22%  (n  =  15),  followed  by  the  bass  guitar,  18%  (n  =  12),  piano  

and  voice  each  accounting  for  12%  (n  =  8;  n  =  8),  and  guitar  10%  (n  =  7).  The  

guitar  is  by  far  the  most  played  instrument  amongst  the  sample,  82%  (n  =  

74)  play  it  whether  it  is  their  primary,  secondary,  or  tertiary  instrument.  Its  

closest  rival  is  the  bass  guitar,  accounting  for  43%  (n  =  39)  of  the  sample,  

closely  followed  by  the  piano,  38%  (n  =  34),  while  31%  (n  =  28)  listed  singing  

or  vocals  as  one  of  their  instruments.  Impressively  29%  (n  =  26)  of  the  

sample  also  plays  the  drums.  Participants  listed  an  assortment  of  

instruments  in  addition  to  the  guitar,  piano,  bass,  voice,  and  drums,  but  they  

constitute  a  very  small  proportion  of  instruments  played  by  those  surveyed  

(less  than  5%).  Examples  include:  “djembe,”  “sax,”  “trumpet,”  “trombone,”  

“DAW,”  “ukulele,”  “programming,”  “banjo,”  “mandolin,”  and  “MPC  2000XL.”      

  85  
 Instrument  Distribution    

100%  
90%  
80%  
drums  
70%  
60%   voice  
50%   piano  
40%  
bass  
30%  
20%   guitar  
10%  
0%  
Primary   Secondary   Tertiary  
Instrument   Instrument   Instrument  

  Figure  6.  Instrument  distribution.  

The  participants  were  asked  to  rank  their  ability  on  each  instrument  

on  a  scale  of  1  to  10,  with  10  being  the  highest.  Participants  rated  themselves  

highly  on  their  primary  instrument  with  a  mean  score  of  7.9  (SD  =  1.7)  out  of  

a  possible  high  score  of  10.  As  expected,  secondary  and  tertiary  instruments  

were  self-­‐rated  as  lower,  respectively  at  6.2  (SD  =  2.1)  and  5.5  (SD  =  2.3).  

Additionally  participants  were  asked  to  rate  their  overall  level  of  musical  

training  on  a  scale  of  1  (no  musical  training)  to  10  (professional)  and  the  

mean  score  for  the  91  respondents  was  6.8  (SD  =  2.8).  

In  response  to  the  question,  “Have  you  studied  music  performance  at  

the  college  level,  at  a  conservatory,  or  privately  with  a  teacher?”  79%  (n  =  

76)  of  the  sample  (n  =  96)  responded  “Yes.”  The  most  frequent  response  was  

  86  
“More  than  10  Years,”  totaling  almost  24%  (n  =  18)  of  the  sample.  Table  4  

provides  an  overview  of  the  distribution  of  the  number  of  years  of  private  

study  amongst  the  sample.      

 
 
Table  4  
How  many  years  total  have  you  studied  privately,  at  a  college,  or  at  a  
conservatory?  
  Frequency   Percent  
Less  than  1  Year   7   9.2  
1  Year   6   7.9  
2  Years   5   6.6  
3  Years   9   11.8  
4  Years   14   18.4  
5  Years   3   3.9  
6  Years   7   9.2  
7  Years   2   2.6  
8  Years   1   1.3  
9  Years   4   5.3  
More  than  10  Years   18   23.7  
Total   76   100  
 
 
 
 
Of  the  sample  (n  =  95),  74%  (n  =  70)  play  in  a  band  or  group,  and  of  

those  that  play  in  a  band  or  group,  51%  (n  =  36)  have  done  so  for  10  years  or  

more.  The  mean  response  for  the  number  of  years  played  in  a  band  was  7.8  

(SD  =  3.9),  and  the  second  highest  response  was  3  years,  which  accounts  for  

10%  (n  =  7)  of  the  sample  that  has  played  in  a  band.  

Participants  were  asked  to  describe  the  type  of  music  they  make  and  

of  the  92  responses,  63%  (n  =  58)  included  the  term  “rock”  or  “pop.”  The  

second  most  frequent  term  was  “jazz,”  accounting  for  just  12%  (n  =  10).  

  87  
Several  specific  music  types  were  provided  by  the  participants,  some  of  

which  include:  “New  York  Boom  Bap,”  “anthemic,  orchestral,  downtempo,”  

and  “Electropop-­‐soul-­‐funk-­‐hip-­‐hop-­‐rock-­‐and-­‐roll-­‐baroque.”      

 
 
Recording  Background  

Only  32%  (n  =  30)  of  the  sample  (n  =  93)  has  formal  training  in  audio  

engineering  or  music  production,  but  close  to  half,  48%  (n  =  45)  of  the  

sample  (n  =  94),  have  been  recording  music  for  more  than  10  years.  The  

second  more  frequent  response  was  four  years,  accounting  for  12%  (n  =  11).  

The  average  response  was  approximately  nine  years  (M  =  9.3,  SD  =  3.2).  

Ninety-­‐four  respondents  indicated  that  the  average  number  of  songs  

produced  per  person  to  date  is  62,  but  given  that  the  standard  deviation  is  

34,  and  the  range  is  8  to  “100  or  more,”  this  statistic  has  a  high  variability.  

However,  “100  or  more,”  was  selected  by  37%  (n  =  34)  of  the  sample.  Most  of  

the  sample,  85%  (n  =  80),  records  their  music  with  a  computer.  Forty-­‐nine  

percent  (n  =  39)  use  a  desktop,  44%  (n  =  35)  use  a  laptop,  and  the  remaining  

7%  (n  =  6)  use  a  tablet  such  as  an  iPad.      

  88  
 Computer  Type  

Other  
7%  

Desktop  
Laptop   49%  
44%  

  Figure  7.  Computer  type.  

Mac  users  command  the  sample,  67.5%  (n  =  54),  while  PC  users  

account  for  37.5%  (n  =  26).      

PC  Vs.  Mac  

PC  

Mac  

0  
20  
40  
60  
80  
Percent  

Figure  8.  PC  vs.  Mac.  

  89  
 The  most  popular  music  recording  software  packages  are  Logic  and  

Pro  Tools,  accounting  for  29%  (n  =  23)  and  24%  (n  =  19)  of  the  sample  (n  =  

79)  respectively.  Pro  Tools  is  multiplatform,  but  Logic  is  reserved  for  the  Mac  

operating  system,  meaning  that  43%  of  the  sample’s  Mac  users  also  use  

Logic.  While  the  sample  sizes  are  not  large  enough  to  establish  statistical  

significance,  it  is  worthwhile  noting  that  the  average  Logic  user  is  younger  

than  the  average  Pro  Tools  user.  The  mean  age  for  a  Logic  user  is  30  (SD  =  8)  

while  the  age  range  is  19  to  52.  In  comparison  the  mean  age  for  Pro  Tools  

users  is  36  (SD  =  11.5)  with  an  age  range  of  22  to  64.  Table  5  details  the  

distribution  of  software  use  amongst  the  sample.      

 
 
Table  5  
What  recording  software  do  you  typically  use  to  make  and  record  your  music?  
  Frequency   Percent  
Ableton  Live   6   7.6  
Audacity   6   7.6  
Cubase   4   5.1  
Digital  Performer   3   3.8  
FL  Studio   2   2.5  
GarageBand   5   6.3  
Logic   23   29.1  
Pro  Tools   19   24.1  
Sonar   1   1.3  
Other   10   12.7  
Total   79   100  
Note.  “Other”  responses  included:  Kristal,  Sequel  2,  Reaper,  Samplitude,  
Sibelius,  and  Digital  Orchestrator  Pro.  
 
 

  90  
Discussion  

The  survey  results  illuminate  severe  demographic  imbalances  

amongst  the  population  of  home  recorders  in  New  York  City.  The  glaring  

disparity  between  men  and  women  is  striking,  but  the  results  of  previous  

studies  are  consistent  with  my  findings.  Sanders  (1993)  found  only  five  

percent  of  117  audio  engineers  surveyed  in  New  York,  Los  Angeles,  and  

Nashville  were  women.  Walsh  (1996)  found  only  four  percent  of  73  

nationally  surveyed  recording  technology  educators  were  female.  More  

recently,  Tough  (2009)  surveyed  50  professionals  in  the  field  (engineers  and  

producers)  of  which  only  eleven  percent  were  women.  Sylvia  Massy,  who  has  

engineered  the  likes  of  Tool,  System  of  a  Down,  and  Johnny  Cash  reflected:  

When  I  first  got  into  the  business,  I  thought,  well,  maybe  there’s  some  
kind  of  unfairness  as  far  as  men  versus  women  in  the  business…that  is  
not  the  case.  It’s  that  women  biologically  have  other  things  to  do,  and  
by  the  time  their  career  really  gets  going,  it’s  time  to  think  about  other  
things!  (as  cited  in  Massey,  2000,  p.  295)  
 
Similarly,  Trina  Shoemaker  who  has  engineered  for  Queens  of  the  

Stone  Age  and  Sheryl  Crow  commented:    

For  a  woman,  you  absolutely  cannot  try  to  start  a  family  in  your  
twenties,  and  possibly  not  for  most  of  your  thirties.  You  have  to  accept  
that  you’re  going  to  be  alone  for  10  or  15  years,  and  you  may  miss  out  
on  ever  being  married  or  having  children  as  a  result  of  that.  Your  male  
counterparts  are  not  going  to  have  to  deal  with  that.  (as  cited  in  
Massey,  2009,  p.  261).  
 
Massy  and  Shoemaker  portray  a  grim  picture  of  the  field  of  audio  

engineering,  suggesting  that  women  have  to  choose  between  pursuing  their  

  91  
career  and  having  children.  Assessing  the  validity  of  this  view  extends  

beyond  the  scope  of  this  study,  but  regardless,  this  explanation  does  not  

suffice  to  explain  the  underrepresentation  of  women  using  recording  

technology  to  make  music  in  amateur  contexts.  Referring  to  “adolescent  

activities  that  lead  to  an  interest  in  professional  audio”  such  as  “stage  crew,”  

“electric  instrument  playing,”  “amateur  radio  operator,”  “stereo  buff,”  and  

“electronic  kit  building,”  Peterson  (1980,  May)  answered  her  own  question:  

“How  many  adolescent  girls  are  encouraged  to  take  up  these  kinds  of  hobbies  

and  activities?  Very,  very  few”  (p.  2).  Peterson  argues  that  after  the  industrial  

revolution  socioeconomic  pressures  forced  women  out  of  the  workforce,  

distancing  them  from  engaging  with  technology.  Horning  (2004)  explains  

why  audio  engineering  was  a  male-­‐dominated  occupation  until  relatively  

recently:  

The  field  of  audio  engineering  and  recording  studios  in  particular  
historically  has  comprised  a  profoundly  male-­‐centered  culture.  This  
is…due  to  the  fact  that  the  first  operators  of  recording  machines  were  
often  machinists  or  mechanical  engineers,  both  also  male-­‐dominated  
professions.  This  male  dominance  continued  through  the  generation  
of  World  War  II  veterans  who  built  the  recording  studios  of  the  
postwar  period.  Until  the  1970s,  with  very  few  exceptions,  women  in  
recording  were  to  be  found  behind  the  microphone  rather  than  seated  
at  the  control  board.  
 
It  is  critical  to  specify  that  it  was  white  men  who  dominated  the  

practice  of  audio  engineering.  Remarking  on  Les  Paul’s  contributions  to  the  

development  of  both  recording  and  the  electric  guitar,  Waksman  (1999)  

contextualizes  Paul’s  actions:  “They  were  but  one  manifestation  of  a  much  

  92  
broader  phenomenon,  the  growth  of  technological  enthusiasm  and  electric  

tinkering  among  white  middle-­‐class  boys  and  young  men  in  the  early  

decades  of  the  twentieth  century”  (p.  41).  Considering  that  70  percent  of  the  

sample  is  white,  far  exceeding  the  current  proportion  of  whites  in  New  York  

City,  which  is  44  percent  according  to  the  latest  census  (see  U.  S.  Department  

of  Commerce,  United  States  Census  Bureau,  2012),  it  seems  a  fair  assumption  

that  white  men  have  continued  to  engage  in  technological  tinkering,  while  

other  subpopulations  have  been  slow  to  infiltrate  these  practices.  

The  results  of  the  survey  reveal  some  significant  and  interesting  

patterns.  If  one  were  looking  for  a  representative  of  this  pool,  he  would  most  

likely  be  a  white  guitarist  approaching  30  who  lives  in  Brooklyn.  He  works  in  

the  arts  and  when  he  records  music,  he  does  so  on  a  Mac.  In  the  case  studies  I  

included  someone  who  fits  this  description,  Tyler,  but  I  also  purposely  

included  others  that  deviate  from  the  means.  Michael  a  53-­‐year-­‐old,  Tara  a  

female,  and  Jimmy  an  African  American  are  all  representative  of  groups  in  

the  margins  of  the  practice  of  home  recording.  Table  6  on  the  following  page  

presents  a  complete  overview  of  the  demographic  data  of  each  of  the  case  

study  participants.    

While  the  survey  is  useful  in  indicating  whom  typically  engages  in  the  

practice  of  home  recording,  that  is  the  extent  of  its  utility.  The  remaining  

chapters  shift  to  a  qualitative  method  to  investigate  the  case  study  

participants’  music-­‐making  processes  with  recording  technology.  

  93  
Table  6  
Case  study  participants’  responses  to  survey  items  
  Case  Study  Participant  
Survey  Item   Michael   Tara   Jimmy   Tyler  
Age   53   27   32   29  
Gender   Male   Female   Male   Male  
Race   Mixed  Race   White   African  American   White  
Borough   Brooklyn   Brooklyn   Manhattan   Brooklyn  
Occupational   Arts   Arts   Technical   Management  of  
Category   Services   Companies  
Instrument  1   Guitar   Piano   Guitar   Piano  
       Years  played   40   23   8   25  
       Self-­‐assessed                         9/10   8/10   10/10   8/10  
       skill  level    
Instrument  2   Piano   Voice   -­‐   Guitar  
       Years  played   20   -­‐   -­‐   19  
       Self-­‐assessed         2/10   5/10   -­‐   8/10  
       skill  level    
Instrument  3   Mandolin   -­‐   -­‐   Bass  
       Years  played   15   -­‐   -­‐   10  
       Self-­‐assessed           3/10   -­‐   -­‐   5/10  
       skill  level    
Instrument  4   -­‐   -­‐   -­‐   Drums  
       Years  played   -­‐   -­‐   -­‐   10  
       Self-­‐assessed             -­‐   -­‐   -­‐   2/10  
       skill  level    
Self-­‐assessed   10/10   9/10   2/10   3/10  
ranking  of  
musical  training    
Number  of  years   5   More  than  10   0   4  
of  formal  music  
training  
Number  of  years   More  than  10   0   Less  than  1   More  than  10  
played  in  a  band  
Music  type   Rock,  Classical   Pop   Pop,  Rock,  Dance   Electronic,  Pop  
Contribution  of   91-­‐100%   51-­‐60%   0-­‐10%   21-­‐30%  
music  to  income  
Years  of   More  than  10   4   8   More  than  10  
recording  music  
Musical  pieces   More  than  100   45   More  than  100   More  than  100  
recorded  
Computer   Laptop   Desktop   Desktop   Laptop  
Operating  system   Mac   Mac   Mac   Mac  
Music  software   Logic  &  Ableton   Logic   Pro  Tools   Ableton  
Soundcard   TASCAM  US-­‐122   Mbox   DIGI  192   MOTU  Traveller  

  94  
 CHAPTER  V  
 
TRACK  1:  MICHAEL  
 
 
 
Email  and  Starbucks:  Meeting  Michael  
 
From  his  survey  responses,  I  learned  that  Michael  was  a  53-­‐year-­‐old  

guitarist  from  Brooklyn.  I  hoped  he  would  agree  to  volunteer  as  a  case  study  

because  he  was  on  the  older  end  of  the  spectrum  of  survey  respondents.  As  I  

did  with  all  of  the  participants,  I  invited  Michael  to  participate  through  an  

email.  Below  is  the  exchange  of  emails  we  had  that  led  to  our  first  meeting.  

Michael’s  responses  are  italicized.        

Hi  Michael,  

I’m  a  research  student  at  NYU  and  within  the  past  month  you  
completed  a  survey  about  home  recording  (you  probably  saw  it  on  
Craigslist).      

I’m  doing  a  research  study  on  people  that  make  music  in  home  studios  
and  am  hoping  that  you’re  still  interested  in  being  involved.      

If  you’re  interested  I’ll  give  you  more  details,  but  for  now  I  just  wanted  
to  find  out  if  you’ll  be  working  on  any  music  in  the  next  month  and  if  
you’re  open  to  the  idea  of  being  interviewed  about  it.      

Thanks,  

Adam  Bell  
PhD  Candidate  in  Music  Education  
New  York  University

  95  
 *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

Sounds  interesting,  I'd  like  to  get  some  more  information  of  course  but  
yes,  I  will  be  working  on  music  from  home  over  the  next  month  and  right  
now  see  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  conduct  an  interview.  
Michael    

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

Hi  Michael,  
 
Thanks  for  getting  back  to  me  so  fast.  If  possible  I'd  like  to  meet  up  
with  you  so  I  can  explain  my  research  and  see  if  this  is  something  
you'd  be  interested  in  doing.  Do  you  have  any  availability  this  week?  I  
can  come  to  a  place  that's  convenient  for  you  whether  it  be  a  nearby  
coffee  shop  or  a  studio  space  if  you  use  one.  Whatever  is  easiest.      
 
Thanks,  
 
Adam.  

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

I'd  love  for  you  to  give  me  some  more  information  before  we  meet  
please.  Having  said  that,  I  am  still  interested  and  this  Friday  here  near  
Carroll  Gardens  Bklyn  could  work.  
Michael  

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

Hi  Michael  -­‐  of  course,  I  understand.  Here's  a  little  more  information:  

 
I'm  conducting  research  for  my  PhD  in  music  education.  My  interest  is  
in  people  that  utilize  recording  technologies  to  aid  them  in  music-­‐
making.  Previous  research  tells  us  a  lot  about  what  goes  on  inside  
music  classrooms,  but  much  less  is  known  about  what  happens  in  the  
home  or  personal  studio  as  it  is  difficult  to  document.  The  study  I'm  
proposing  would  involve  approximately  8  people  who  serve  as  case  
studies.  In  a  nutshell  I'm  asking  these  people  to  document  their  
working  processes  (such  as  song  writing)  that  involve  recording  
technology.  The  study  is  very  hands-­‐off,  flexible,  and  unobtrusive.  If  
you're  willing  to  meet  with  me  for  half  an  hour  I  could  explain  
everything  and  I  think  you  could  make  an  informed  decision  on  

  96  
 whether  or  not  this  is  something  you'd  be  interested  in  doing.  I'd  be  
happy  to  meet  you  this  Friday  if  you're  still  available.  Anytime  before  
3.      
 
Thanks  Again,  
 
Adam.  

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

OK,  sounds  pretty  cool,  thanks  for  clarifying.  I  can  meet  tomorrow  at  the  
Starbucks  near  the  Bergen  St.  F/G  stop  at  noon  if  that  is  good  for  you.    
mw  

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

Hi  Michael,  that's  great.  I'll  see  you  tomorrow  at  noon.  Adam.  
 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

  I  arrived  at  the  Starbucks  location  10  minutes  early  and  scanned  the  

patrons  seated  to  see  if  any  one  of  them  might  be  Michael;  I  looked  for  

someone  that  was  looking  for  me.  My  previous  experience  buying  

instruments  from  people  on  Craigslist  has  taught  me  that  when  meeting  

someone  at  a  public  place  they  tend  to  wait  near  the  door,  so  I  took  up  my  

post  beside  the  doorway  eyeing  the  comers  and  goers.  Michael  was  easy  to  

spot  as  he  looks  like  a  guitarist:  he  has  long  curly  hair  and  a  goatee.  I  scolded  

myself  for  social  profiling  and  assuming  what  a  53-­‐year-­‐old  guitarist  looked  

like;  surely  guitarists  don’t  have  “a  look.”  But  I  was  right.  I’m  a  guitarist  too,  

so  perhaps  we  can  sense  our  own.  Michael  was  operating  on  rock  and  roll  

time  (fashionably  late)  and  seemed  a  bit  disheveled.  He  greeted  me  with  an  

  97  
apology  for  being  late  and  offered  to  buy  me  a  coffee.  Every  table  and  chair  

was  occupied  so  we  opted  to  sit  outside  on  this  brisk  February  morning.  

Compared  to  my  neighborhood  in  Manhattan,  it  was  noticeably  quieter  in  

Carroll  Gardens  and  we  conversed  amid  the  usual  hum  of  New  York  traffic.  I  

reiterated  the  contents  of  my  emails  to  Michael  with  added  depth  and  he  

seemed  confused  as  to  what  it  is  I  wanted  to  find  out  by  interviewing  and  

observing  him.  Admittedly,  my  explanation  was  peppered  with  “ums”  and  

“ahs”  and  I  can’t  fault  him  for  the  perplexed  look  and  follow-­‐up  questions  

with  which  he  responded.  The  keyword  for  Michael  was  education;  his  guard  

eased  when  I  explained  that  my  study  was  about  learning  and  that  part  of  its  

value  was  that  it  could  help  other  music  learners.  After  explaining  my  

proposed  method,  Michael  warmed  up  to  me  and  agreed  in  principle  to  

participate  in  the  study,  but  expressed  concern  about  the  time  commitment  

because  of  his  busy  touring  schedule.  I  reassured  him  that  he  could  withdraw  

at  anytime  without  consequence  if  he  became  too  busy  and  that  the  study  

could  be  adapted  to  suit  his  other  commitments.  Despite  expressing  mild  

disappointment  that  such  an  investment  of  his  time  in  my  study  did  not  

garner  any  financial  compensation,  Michael  empathized  with  the  fact  that  as  

a  student  and  musician  I  was  operating  on  a  lean  budget.  He  liked  the  intent  

of  my  proposed  study  and  seemed  genuinely  invested  in  the  idea  of  

contributing  to  my  quest  of  gaining  insight  into  the  role  of  recording  

technology  in  the  music-­‐making  process.      

  98  
Michael’s  Home  Studio  
 
  A  few  days  later  I  met  with  Michael  outside  of  the  subway  stop  

nearest  his  home.  In  a  previous  email,  Michael  wrote  to  me,  “I  will  be  sitting  

in  my  ratty  old  car  at  10:30  making  sure  I  don't  get  a  ticket.  11:00?”  Not  being  

a  car  owner,  I  was  unfamiliar  with  the  parking  dance  that  many  New  Yorkers  

endure,  ritualistically  having  to  sit  in  their  cars  every  day  at  the  same  time  

during  the  hour-­‐long  window  of  no  parking  on  their  respective  streets.  

Michael  met  me  outside  the  subway  stop  and  walked  me  to  his  apartment.  He  

gave  me  a  walking  tour  of  the  neighborhood,  pointing  out  the  restaurants  he  

likes  and  making  a  detour  to  show  me  a  neighbors’  eclectic  home  front  that  is  

plastered  with  a  gaudy  mosaic  of  figurines.  

A  few  blocks  away  in  Michael’s  apartment,  we  sat  at  his  cluttered  

kitchen  table  (Figure  9)  and  discussed  some  logistics  of  the  study.  I  explained  

how  the  video  camera  operated  and  Michael  affirmed  that  this  seemed  easy  

enough,  so  we  shifted  our  focus  to  installing  Screenflick,  the  screen  recording  

software.  Michael  was  hesitant  to  install  the  software,  expressing  concerns  

about  its  potential  to  harm  his  relatively  new  MacBook  Pro,  but  the  test  run  

quelled  his  skepticism.  (Michael  later  chose  to  uninstall  Screenflick  in  favor  

of  using  QuickTime  to  make  screen  recordings  because  he  was  already  

familiar  with  it  and  found  it  easier  to  use.)  With  the  technical  details  taken  

care  of,  I  armed  my  battered  TASCAM  DR-­‐07  pocket  recorder,  ready  to  delve  

into  the  extensive  musical  history  of  Michael.  

  99  
  
Figure  9.  Michael’s  kitchen  table.  
 
 
 
Inadvertent  Lessons  Learned  from  a  Guitar  Teacher  

  Michael  grew  up  in  Savannah,  Georgia,  his  parents  were  lovers  of  

music  theatre  and  his  first  instrument  was  a  Sears  “crappy  little  drum  kit.”  He  

played  it  until  “it  fell  apart.”  His  father  conceded:  “Son,  you  got  everything  

you  could  out  of  it,”  and  Michael  did  not  pick  up  an  instrument  again  until  he  

was  13.  

My  father  had  remarried  and  his  second  wife  brought  home  a  guitar  
and  I  had  figured  out  a  couple  of  chords,  I  asked  some  of  her  friends,  
and  she  came  home  one  day  and  saw  me  figuring  out  a  song,  “I'd  Love  
to  Change  the  World”  by  Ten  Years  After,  dropping  the  needle  and  
stopping  it  and  figuring  out  what  the  chords  were.  
 

  100  
   Learning  the  names  and  shapes  of  the  chords  D,  C,  G,  A,  Em,  and  Am,  

from  a  friend,  along  with  using  a  record  player  to  deduce  the  chord  

progression  of  a  song,  exemplify  what  Green  (2008)  refers  to  as  informal  

music-­‐learning  strategies.  For  a  couple  of  years,  Michael  took  lessons  with  a  

local  guitarist.  I  asked  if  he  could  recall  what  he  gleaned  from  those  lessons,  

and  interestingly  his  most  salient  memory  had  more  to  do  with  technology:  

He  had  a  nice  car  and  an  8-­‐track  in  his  car,  and  something  I'd  never  
seen  before,  headphones  in  his  car,  which  was  probably  not  illegal  yet.  
He  goes,  “Hey  dig  this,  check  it  out!”  and  he  put  on  Santana's  Abraxas,  
and  you  know  the  spacey  thing  where  everything  is  panning  left  and  
right  and  I'm  sitting  there,  I'm  a  kid  and  going,  “This  is  the  coolest  
thing  I  have  ever  heard  in  my  life.”          
 
  The  term  panning,  meaning  the  placement  of  a  sound  in  the  stereo  

spectrum  from  left  to  right,  is  not  a  term  one  would  find  in  literature  

pertaining  to  guitar  pedagogy.  The  pan  knob  is  typically  located  above  the  

gain  sliders  on  a  mixing  console.  In  the  mixing  of  the  Abraxas  album,  the  

engineer  would  have  turned  the  pan  knob  intermittently  left  and  right  during  

the  mix-­‐down  to  achieve  “the  spacey  thing”  of  which  Michael  spoke.      

  Michael’s  mastery  of  guitar  and  recording  techniques  developed  in  

tandem  throughout  his  adolescence.  After  inheriting  his  uncle’s  record  

collection,  he  became  enamored  with  the  sound  of  early  70s  “golden  era”  

rock:  “I  loved  the  engineering,  especially  those  first  two  Led  Zeppelin  albums.  

They  were  just  fat  and  beautiful.”  Listening  to  a  record  went  beyond  listening  

to  the  musicians’  performances  and  took  into  account  recording  techniques.      

  101  
Cassette  Creativity  Since  1977  

Using  a  cassette-­‐tape  recorder,  Michael  wrote  and  recorded  his  own  

music:  “When  I  was  13,”  he  remembered,  “what  I  was  doing  during  that  time  

was  writing  my  own  music,  a  lot  of  which  I  still  have  on  cassette,  my  own  

little  songs.  I've  got  a  90-­‐minute  cassette  of  14  original  songs.”  Michael  

continued  this  practice  into  his  young  adulthood  and  his  technological  savvy  

continued  to  blossom.  His  tinkering  led  to  an  important  discovery:  

When  I  was  in  high  school  my  graduation  present  was  an  old  Akai  
cassette  deck.  It  had  a  mic  input  and  a  line  input  on  the  back  and  two  
microphone  inputs  in  the  front  and  a  line  input  on  the  back.  You  could  
blend  them  so  you  could  get  in  effect  multi-­‐track  recordings.  So  I  was  
doing  that  early  on  my  own  with  an  old  cassette,  putting  it  into  the  
back,  adding  effects,  doing  it  again,  doing  it  again...I’ve  been  doing  that  
with  microphones  on  my  own  since  1977.  
 
When  Michael  remarked  “doing  it  again,  doing  it  again,”  he  was  

referring  to  the  act  of  performing  multiple  guitar  parts  on  top  of  each  other,  

like  Les  Paul’s  sound-­‐on-­‐sound  technique.  As  Michael  intimated,  his  

approach  to  recording  had  increased  in  sophistication  since  his  early  forays  

with  the  tape  recorder  at  age  13.  Interestingly,  one  of  Michael’s  music  heroes,  

Jon  Brion,  reported  a  similar  experience:  “As  a  kid,  I  was  fascinated  with  tape  

recorders,  I  love  everything  about  them…I  was  13  years  old  and  realizing  the  

significance  of  an  overdub”  (as  cited  in  Crane,  2010,  p.  90).  Additionally,  

Daniel  Lanois  (2010),  longtime  producer  of  the  band  U2,  recollected  a  

strikingly  similar  account  of  discovering  overdubbing  with  one  of  his  first  

cassette  recorders:  

  102  
 It  had  a  “sound  on  sound”  feature.  I  had  now  found  my  secret  weapon.  
The  Sony  allowed  me  to  record  on  channel  1,  and  then  on  listening  
back  I  could  transfer  that  sound  onto  channel  2,  along  with  some  more  
singing  or  playing  in  the  room.  A  miracle!  I  could  now  stack  up  tracks  
by  bouncing  them  from  channel  to  channel.  (p.  17)  
 
Millard  (2004)  posits  young  men  developed  a  kinship  with  technology  

during  the  sales-­‐boom  era  of  the  electric  guitar  in  the  1960s:    

Electricity  was  one  of  the  important  symbols  of  modernity  in  the  
United  States  and  Western  Europe,  and  it  was  entirely  in  male  hands.    
Technology  was  considered  a  male  preserve…technological  
enthusiasm  was  seen  as  an  activity  of  boys  and  young  men.  (p.  157)      
 
In  the  span  of  five  years,  Michael’s  approach  to  recording  changed  

markedly,  much  of  it  due  to  technological  enthusiasm  and  tinkering.  This  

progression  was  paralleled  in  his  study  of  the  guitar.      

“That’s  the  Only  Way  it’s  Going  to  Happen”:  Going  Classical  

At  the  age  of  15,  Michael  was  introduced  to  classical  music  through  

rock  recordings  and  this,  along  with  the  influence  of  young  love,  greatly  

altered  his  guitar  studies:      

I  discovered  classical  music  brought  to  me  by  all  my  favorite  British  
art  rockers:  Keith  Emerson,  Rick  Wakeman,  the  keyboard  players  in  
particular.  Bands  like  Gentle  Giant,  Yes,  and  a  whole  bunch  of  obscure  
British  and  European  art  rock  bands—they  are  as  influenced  by  
classical  music  as  they  were  by  rock  and  jazz  and  I  loved  that  merging.      
 
My  first  girlfriend  played  flute  in  the  youth  orchestra  and  turned  me  
onto  a  couple  of  Bach  pieces  and  gave  me  recordings  to  listen  to.  Jean-­‐
Pierre  Rampal  playing  the  Prokofiev  flute  Sonata,  which  is  really  
beautiful,  a  pretty  priceless  recording.  The  Beethoven  nine  
symphonies,  Toscanini's  mono  recordings,  not  some  big  stereo  
recording.  You  didn't  listen  to  it  necessarily  on  the  headphones  you  

  103  
 listen  to  it  like  you  would  on  a  big  radio.  It  was  pretty  fascinating  to  
get  to  know  Beethoven  symphonies  that  way.  So  I'm  crazy  in  love  with  
this  girl  and  she's  like,  you  need  to  study,  because  she  was  going  to  go  
off  to  college  and  get  her  music  degree.  And  I  was  like,  “Well  I'm  going  
to  go  do  that  too.”  And  she  was  like,  “Well  you  need  to  learn  how  to  
play  classical  guitar  then  because  that's  the  only  way  it's  going  to  
happen.”    
 
  Even  Michael’s  explanation  of  transitioning  to  playing  classical  music  

ushers  in  some  aspect  of  recording.  Most  notable  is  the  distinction  he  makes  

between  listening  to  a  recording  like  a  Beethoven  symphony  in  mono  versus  

stereo.  Further,  it  is  important  to  note  that  at  this  point,  Michael’s  exposure  

to  classical  music  was  primarily  through  recordings.      

True  to  his  word,  Michael  sought  out  a  classical  guitar  teacher,  and  the  

closest  thing  he  could  find  was  a  pianist  who  composed  for  guitar.  These  

lessons  in  which  he  progressed  through  the  six  books  of  Mel  Bay’s  classical  

guitar  series  proved  sufficient  to  gain  entrance  into  college  where  he  studied  

Andres  Segovia’s  method  of  classical  guitar.  By  his  own  account,  Michael  was  

the  first  to  graduate  from  his  university  with  a  degree  in  classical  guitar  

performance  in  1980.  Walser  (1993)  suggests  that  Michael’s  experience  was  

representative  of  the  era:  

Classical  guitar  teachers  had  begun  to  appear  on  college  faculties  
around  the  time  heavy  metal  emerged  as  a  genre  in  the  early  1970s.  
The  classical  influence  owed  something  to  the  fact  that  virtually  all  of  
these  teachers  had  started  by  playing  some  kind  of  popular  music,  
turning  later  to  the  budding  field  of  classical  guitar,  which  had  been  
almost  single-­‐handedly  chartered  by  Andres  Segovia.  (p.  90)  
 

  104  
 After  finishing  school,  Michael  traveled  to  Europe  and  “continued  his  

education”  by  “taking  in  concerts,”  but  he  didn’t  work  as  a  classical  musician.  

“I  was  writing  my  own  stuff,  still  playing  and  singing,  doing  my  own  little  

thing,  but  also  busking  on  the  streets  mostly.  I  didn't  do  the  rock  'n’  roll  thing,  

didn't  pick  up  an  electric  much  until  I  was  maybe  26.”  

Electric  Era  

After  relocating  to  Atlanta  where  he  lived  for  15  years  before  vacating  

the  Peach  State  for  the  Big  Apple,  Michael  collaborated  with  various  other  

musicians:  “That's  where  I  learned  to  play  the  electric  guitar,  it  was  writing  

stuff  in  a  couple  of  bands  and  learning  other  people's  material.  Some  of  those  

people  went  on  to  become  somebody  and  some  of  them  didn't.”  Much  of  

Michael’s  time  in  Atlanta  was  spent  recording.  He  estimates  that  he  played  on  

20  CDs  during  that  15-­‐year  span,  one  of  which  includes  his  own  original  

material,  recorded  over  a  month  in  1994.  I  asked  Michael  if  he  had  a  lot  of  

input  in  the  process  and  he  responded:  

Not  when  it  comes  to  professional  EQing,  that's  where  I  referred  to  
the  engineer.  I  let  her  make  those  kinds  of  decisions,  like  the  mic  that  
sounded  the  best.  For  a  number  of  reasons:  she  had  been  doing  that  
for  a  long  time  with  this  gear  that  she  has  had,  and  she  had  acquired  it  
all  by  herself,  and  she  knew  what  worked  the  best.  Sometimes  I  might  
make  a  judgment  call  about  the  sound  of  something  and  when  it  
comes  to  the  mixing,  I  definitely  put  in  a  lot  in  the  mixing  process  
because  by  1989  I  was  pretty  darn  good  recording  with  4-­‐track  analog  
cassette  recorders.    
 

  105  
   Michael’s  response  to  this  question  typifies  what  I  would  expect  given  

the  era.  While  commercial  digital  recording  and  its  flag  carrier,  Pro  Tools,  

were  in  circulation  at  this  time,  it  hadn’t  yet  taken  root  in  the  mainstream  

recording  industry,  and  as  a  result,  tape  was  still  the  default  recording  

medium.  Operating  a  tape-­‐based  recording  studio  was  largely  left  in  the  

hands  of  professional  audio  engineers.  Michael’s  recollection  of  the  recording  

process  makes  it  clear  that  certain  decisions  (e.g.,  microphone  selection  and  

equalizing)  were  reserved  for  the  domain  of  the  audio  engineer.      

Mixing,  however,  is  a  different  story  because  Michael  sees  mixing  as  

weaving  the  musical  with  the  technical,  as  illustrated  by  his  glowing  

admiration  of  the  production  achievements  of  Jon  Brion:  “Aimee  Mann’s  

Whatever  was  produced  and  engineered  by  Jon  Brion  and  that  sound  blew  

my  brains  away.  What  is  he  doing?  Jon  Brion  is  a  genius!”  I  asked  Michael  

what  was  genius  about  Brion’s  production  and  he  elaborated:  

Just  the  way  he  would  have  melodic  lines  come  in  and  out,  
orchestration  colors,  panning  it.  Also,  being  at  times  not  afraid  to  be  
outlandish  if  he  felt  like  it  called  for  it.  I  couldn't  get  enough  of  some  of  
the  tunes.  In  terms  of  production,  each  song  having  its  own  
environment  that  it  lived  in.  Almost  like  all  of  a  sudden  you're  being  
dropped  inside  a  completely  new  world  for  the  duration  of  that  song.  
 
Michael’s  description  reveals  a  deep  appreciation  for  production  style,  

especially  the  melding  of  panning  and  orchestration  to  achieve  the  effect  of  

creating  a  unique  sonic  state.  Meanwhile,  outside  of  the  studio  operated  by  

professional  engineers  and  within  the  walls  of  his  home,  Michael  continued  

  106  
to  adopt  more  sophisticated  means  of  producing  recordings.  His  explanation  

of  using  a  MiniDisc  demonstrates  the  increased  complexity  of  his  approach:  

It  works  like  the  old  4-­‐track  cassette  recorders  except  it's  much  more  
precise.  You  can  be  much  more  accurate  with  where  your  punch-­‐ins  
and  punch-­‐outs  are  and  you  can  do  multiple  takes.  Say  there's  a  guitar  
solo,  and  you  want  to  do  the  guitar  solo  five  times  and  then  choose  the  
one  that  you  want  to  keep,  not  comping,  you  choose  the  one  take,  
listen  back  to  all  five,  and  just  choose  the  one  you  want  in  there  and  
boom  they’re  on  that  track.    
 
Although  Michael  replaced  the  cassette-­‐based  recording  system  with  

the  MiniDisc  in  his  studio,  the  MiniDisc  served  the  same  purpose;  the  

medium  changed,  but  the  approach  to  recording  did  not.  Michael’s  

explanation  contains  some  technical  terms  that  warrant  defining:  “punch-­‐ins  

and  punch-­‐outs”  and  “comping.”      

A  punch  refers  to  recording  a  part  that  occurs  mid-­‐song,  and  Michael  

provided  a  concrete  example  with  his  explanation  of  the  guitar  solo.  In  rock  

music,  guitar  solos  tend  to  happen  in  the  midst  of  a  song  and  tend  not  to  span  

an  entire  song,  making  it  a  part  that  could  be  punched-­‐in  and  punched-­‐out  in  

a  multi-­‐track  recording.  Typically  the  guitarist  is  cued  up  on  the  recording  

and  given  a  count  in  of  a  bar  before  they  are  to  start  playing  their  part  (the  

punch-­‐in).  After  the  guitarist  finishes  the  part,  the  recording  is  stopped  (the  

punch-­‐out).  Punching  is  a  time-­‐saving  approach;  the  instrumentalist  or  

vocalist  is  only  recorded  on  the  section(s)  of  the  song  on  which  they  perform.      

While  comping  can  be  defined  simply  as  the  assembly  of  multiple  

takes  of  a  performance  to  create  one  best  take,  Howlett  (2009)  sees  comping  

  107  
as  a  tool  for  interpreting  how  to  perform  a  piece  of  music.  Based  on  his  

experiences  working  with  vocalists  in  recording  studios,  Howlett  made  an  

important  observation:  

I  came  to  realize  that…through  hearing  themselves  over  and  over  

again,  these  singers  had  at  last  defined  their  approach  to  the  songs  in  
their  own  minds.  Something  that  is  not  often  recognized  about  the  
recording  process  is  that  songs  rarely  arrive  in  the  studio  fully  
formed.  The  melody  and  the  structure  will  have  been  loosely  defined,  
but  all  those  subtle  details  -­‐  the  particular  phrasing  of  a  line,  an  
emotional  emphasis  on  a  word,  all  the  minute  details  that  go  to  make  
a  powerful  rendition.  (p.  31)    
 
Using  a  studio  to  flesh  out  musical  ideas  that  are  loosely  defined  is  a  

common  practice  of  Michael’s.  He  often  works  on  ideas  or  exercises,  treating  

the  studio  like  a  lab  of  experimentation.  Michael  gave  an  example  of  

experimenting  with  a  computer-­‐based  program  called  Fruity  Loops:  

Things  that  I  enjoyed  about  working  with  that  old  Windows  98  
computer:  One  was  the  50  dollar  version  of  Fruity  Loops  software  that  
I  got  endless  entertainment  from,  especially  the  sampling  stuff,  like  
recording  myself  singing  something  and  then  triggering  it  on  the  
guitar.  I  could  play  the  guitar  and  it  plays  my  voice  singing  this  chord.      
 
  Michael  expanded  upon  his  explanation  on  how  he  was  able  to  play  

his  voice  with  his  guitar:  

When  I  say  guitar  I  also  mean  guitar  synthesizer.  The  GR-­‐30  is  the  
guitar  synthesizer  from  1997.  It  has  orchestral  sounds  on  it  like  
strings  and  timpani  and  piccolo  and  all  that.  But  it  also  MIDIs  out  to  
whatever  else  you  want.  You  can  MIDI  to  another  unit  that  has  better  
orchestral  sounds.  Or  just  keep  it  as  a  MIDI  file  and  find  one  later.    
 
The  steps  involved  in  playing  a  chord  on  the  guitar  with  the  resulting  

sound  of  Michael’s  voice  singing  that  chord  involve  some  innovative  uses  of  

  108  
recording  technology.  Fruity  Loops  is  a  software  program  that  is  primarily  

used  to  make  rhythmic  loops  and  beats  and  was  widely  used  in  the  early  

2000s,  especially  in  electronic-­‐based  music.  Using  a  microphone,  Michael  

recorded  his  voice  into  Fruity  Loops  to  create  a  sample.  The  pitch  of  that  

sample  can  be  shifted  to  represent  any  other  note  on  the  musical  staff.  Recall  

that  MIDI  on  its  own  does  not  produce  sound,  it  is  better  thought  off  as  a  set  

of  messages  that  carries  information  such  as  what  note  to  play  and  how  loud  

to  play  it.  In  order  to  send  the  MIDI  message  from  his  guitar  to  his  computer  

running  Fruity  Loops,  Michael  uses  a  Roland  GK-­‐2A  (Figure  10)  that  attaches  

to  his  guitar  and  is  connected  to  a  Roland  GR-­‐30  (Figure  11).      

 
Figure  10.  Roland  GK-­‐2A.  The  device  attaches  to  Michael’s  guitar  and  
connects  to  the  GR-­‐30  (Figure  11).  
 
 
 

  109  
  
Figure  11.  Roland  GR-­‐30  guitar  synthesizer.  
 
 

Together,  these  two  pieces  of  hardware  process  and  interpret  the  note  

values  and  velocities  (volumes)  of  each  note  Michael  plays  on  his  guitar.    

These  messages  are  relayed  to  an  M-­‐Audio  MIDISPORT  (Figure  12),  which  

connects  to  the  computer  via  USB,  finally  sending  the  information  to  Fruity  

Loops  where  the  samples  are  triggered  and  a  sound  is  produced—all  of  this  

occurs  in  milliseconds.    

 
 

  110  
  
Figure  12.  M-­‐Audio  MIDISPORT.  The  device  sends  MIDI  data  to  a  computer  
via  a  USB  connection.  
 
 
 
It  was  also  during  this  time  in  the  late  1990s  and  early  2000s  that  

Michael  tinkered  with  other  emerging  software  programs  such  as  Cool  Edit  

Pro  (now  called  Adobe  Audition):          

What  I  really  started  using  though  is  just  the  stereo  editing.  This  is  
when  I  got  my  Roland  UA-­‐30  audio  interface,  which  came  with  Cool  
Edit  Pro  software,  a  stereo  software  editor  of  audio.  I  would  take    
20-­‐minute  jams  and  do  these  edits  and  condense  it  down  to  10,  and  
then  take  that  and  put  that  on  two  tracks  of  the  MiniDisc,  adding  stuff  
while  I'm  doing  it.  
 
Even  in  the  era  of  computer-­‐based  recording,  Michael  hybridized  his  

studio,  integrating  the  old  (the  MiniDisc  recorder),  with  the  new  (Cool  Edit  

Pro),  to  enable  himself  to  improvise  with  existing  improvisations.  Again,  the  

goal  of  Michael’s  home  studio  in  this  instance  was  not  to  compose  anew,  but  

rather  to  facilitate  an  exercise.  Editing  down  an  improvisation,  or  “jam”  

requires  a  discerning  ear  to  be  able  to  detect  a  fitting  place  to  cut  out  a  

  111  
section  without  the  listener  being  able  to  tell  that  the  music  has  been  edited  

from  its  original  form.  Using  a  cross-­‐fade  (fading  one  track  out  while  another  

track  fades  in  at  equal  proportions)  in  Cool  Edit  Pro,  Michael  was  able  to  

achieve  this  illusion.  In  principle  this  task  seems  simple,  but  in  reality  

perfecting  the  timing  to  avoid  pops,  clips,  and  other  artifacts  of  audio  

manipulation  requires  both  skill  and  practice.  Recall  that  when  Michael  

recorded  his  album  in  1994  he  perceived  some  tasks  as  being  too  technical  

for  him  to  assume.  In  the  analog  era,  splicing  tape  to  edit  audio  was  

completely  unforgiving  and  reserved  for  the  recording  engineer,  but  the  

digital  realm  affords  the  likes  of  Michael  to  try  such  feats  without  negative  

consequence  because  of  its  non-­‐destructive  editing  capability.      

The  Skeuomorphic  Advantage:  Learning  Pro  Tools  

Two  years  ago,  Michael  purchased  a  MacBook  Pro  and  started  using  

GarageBand  and  Logic,  and  more  recently  Ableton  Live.  The  recording  

software  Michael  used  primarily  during  the  2000s  prior  to  2010,  was  the  

“industry  standard,”  Pro  Tools.  Michael’s  recording  rig  during  that  time  

consisted  of  a  Mac  G4,  Pro  Tools  6.4,  and  an  Mbox—Pro  Tools’  proprietary  

sound  card  (Figure  13).  

  112  
  
Figure  13.  DigiDesign  Mbox.  An  audio  interface  that  receives  analog  audio  
signals  and  converts  them  to  digital  data,  which  are  transmitted  to  the  
recording  software  via  a  USB  connection.  
 
 

Like  many  home  studio  users,  Michael  was  impressed  with  the  

capabilities  that  Pro  Tools  offered:  

As  far  as  an  audio  interface  it  was  far  superior  to  everything  I  had  ever  
worked  with  before.  It  took  me  a  long  time  to  get  used  to  because  I  
didn't  have  anybody  tutoring  me  and  I  didn't  have  any  help  files,  so  I  
just  had  to  figure  it  out  for  myself,  but  you  know  I  had  had  a  little  bit  
of  experience.  But  I  loved  it.  
 
  Symptoms  of  Green’s  criteria  of  the  informally  trained  musician  

(2008)  are  present  in  Michael’s  learning  approach  with  music  technology.    

Using  phrases  such  as  “I  didn’t  have  anybody  tutoring  me,”  and  “I  just  had  to  

figure  it  out  for  myself,”  Michael  made  it  clear  that  he  taught  himself  how  to  

use  Pro  Tools,  a  program  that  people  go  to  technical  schools  or  colleges  like  

NYU  to  learn.  Granted,  Michael  was  not  venturing  into  unfamiliar  territory.  

  113  
Saying  he  had  some  experience  was  an  understatement—Pro  Tools  is  based  

conceptually  on  the  same  multi-­‐track  recorders  Michael  had  utilized  since  his  

adolescent  years.  Additionally,  Pro  Tools  and  most  other  DAWs  incorporate  a  

high  degree  of  skeuomorphic  design.  According  to  Hayles  (2002),        

Skeuomorph  is  a  term  anthropologists  use  for  a  device  that  once  had  a  
functional  purpose  but  in  a  successor  artifact  loses  its  functionality  
and  is  retained  as  a  design  motif  or  decorative  element…Skeuomorphs  
are  everywhere  in  our  environment,  ranging  from  light  bulbs  
fashioned  in  the  shape  of  candles  to  Velcro  tennis  shoes  with  buckles  
to  flesh-­‐colored  prostheses  equipped  with  artificial  fingers.  (p.  119)  
   
A  great  advantage  of  software  incorporating  skeuomorphism  is  that  

new  users  are  provided  with  visual  cues  of  familiarity,  easing  the  difficulty  of  

making  the  transition  from  hardware  to  software.      

There  is  however  a  significant  downside  to  skeuomorphic  design  

philosophy,  namely  that  it  prevents  new  technologies  from  fully  harnessing  

their  potential  because  they  are  inhibited  and  weighed  down  by  old  ways  of  

thinking  and  doing.  This  becomes  very  apparent  when  considering  that  there  

now  exists  a  generation  of  music-­‐makers  who  will  never  encounter  a  mixing  

console  or  external  effects  like  the  ones  Michael  grew  up  using.  The  software  

this  new  generation  uses  is  based  on  and  in  some  ways  limited  by  preceding  

recording  technologies.  These  limitations  extend  beyond  the  restraints  they  

impose  on  the  technology  itself,  dictating  how  we  work  and  therefore  how  

we  make  music.  Most  DAWs,  such  as  GarageBand,  for  example,  encourage  the  

user  to  look  at  music  a  few  measures  at  a  time.  Such  thinking  is  akin  to  using  

  114  
a  GPS  unit  versus  a  map;  a  GPS  unit  presents  a  zoomed-­‐in  view  of  the  world,  

focusing  on  the  present  location,  whereas  maps  tend  to  be  limited  in  this  

respect,  offering  instead  a  macro-­‐view  of  the  entire  route.  (These  DAW  

settings  can  be  adjusted,  but  default  settings  have  a  particularly  strong  

influence  on  new  users  who  tend  to  refrain  from  adjusting  settings  initially.)      

For  Michael,  the  seasoned  home  recorder,  using  Pro  Tools  presented  

challenges,  but  his  learning  curve  was  flattened  by  skeuomorphic  design.  

Michael  knew  how  to  record;  what  he  didn’t  know  was  how  to  navigate  the  

software  and  access  the  tools  he  needed.  For  example,  prior  to  Pro  Tools,  

Michael  used  a  Mackie  1604  VLZ  (Figure  14),  a  16-­‐channel  analog  mixing  

console  to  mix  from  his  MiniDisc  recorder  to  a  CD  burner.      

 
 

 
Figure  14.  Mackie  1604  VLZ  mixing  console.  

  115  
 Most  mixers  follow  a  standardized  layout  and  the  software-­‐based  

virtual  mixer  in  Pro  Tools  is  no  different.  Instead  of  twisting  knobs  and  

sliding  faders  with  his  hands  on  a  console,  Michael  uses  a  mouse  to  perform  

the  same  actions  in  Pro  Tools,  a  process  that  has  been  popularly  termed  

mixing-­‐in-­‐the-­‐box.  In  his  analog  studio,  accompanying  his  Mackie  console,  

Michael  has  two  external  rack-­‐mount  multi-­‐effects  units,  an  Ensoniq  and  an  

Alesis.  If  Michael  wants  to  add  an  effect  such  as  reverb  or  delay  to  a  track,  he  

buses  the  signal  to  one  of  those  units  to  achieve  the  desired  effect.  Again,  Pro  

Tools  does  its  best  to  emulate  the  analog  studio,  and  with  the  click  of  a  

mouse,  Michael  can  bus  a  signal  internally  to  a  software-­‐based  effect,  

commonly  known  as  plugins  to  achieve  the  same  end.          

  Starting  in  2003,  Michael  recorded  a  series  of  compositions  for  

various  performing  arts  spaces  in  New  York,  showcasing  in  notable  venues  

such  as  La  Mama  E.T.C.  and  St.  Ann’s  Warehouse.  To  show  me  an  example,  

Michael  flipped  open  his  MacBook,  pulled  up  his  personal  webpage,  loaded  a  

clip  from  an  hour-­‐long  piece  he  did  in  2010  and  explained:  “They  wanted  

Busby  Berkeley  music,  you  know,  the  water-­‐dancing  stuff  from  the  1930s.  

That's  what  she  was  looking  for,  so  I  had  to  write  this.”  Michael  was  very  

nonchalant  about  what  he  presented  to  me,  underselling  it,  but  it  was  

immediately  clear  that  he  is  a  very  versatile  musician.  I  heard  the  sound  of  

muted  trumpets  in  the  section  of  music  he  played  and  asked  him  how  he  

made  this  piece  of  music.  There  was  so  much  music  and  it  must  have  taken  

  116  
him  a  long  time—how  did  he  do  it?  Michael  succinctly  explained  that  the  

muted  trumpets  were  produced  by  his  guitar  synthesizer.  He  writes  

everything  on  his  guitar,  then  records  several  takes  of  improvisations  and  

selects  the  best  ones.  This  is  a  thin  description,  and  it  is  difficult  to  fault  

Michael  for  not  providing  a  more  thorough  account  of  how  he  made  music  

with  his  computer;  it  was  two  years  ago  and  he  wasn’t  cognizant  of  the  

minutiae  of  the  recording  process.  Fortunately,  Michael  gave  me  hours  of  

screen  recordings  of  his  music-­‐making  to  sift  through  and  therein  lay  the  

crux  of  how  he  uses  recording  technology  to  achieve  his  compositional  goals.  

On  the  Road…Again  

Over  the  three-­‐month  period  of  data  collection,  Michael  was  very  

diligent  about  staying  in  touch  over  email,  letting  me  know  how  his  work  was  

progressing  and  making  time  for  an  interview  or  a  meet-­‐up  to  give  me  video  

files.  These  meetings  were  planned  around  his  tour  schedule.  Unlike  the  

other  participants  in  my  study,  Michael  makes  100  percent  of  his  income  

from  playing  music  and  much  of  that  entails  touring.  His  touring  career  has  

run  the  gamut  of  possible  music  venues,  taking  him  across  the  country  and  

across  the  world  to  crowds  large  and  small:  

The  largest  audience  I’ve  played  in  front  of  was  the  Pink  Pop  festival  
in  Holland,  which  was  10,000  people.  That  was  the  biggest—satellite  
feeds  everywhere…but  I  did  play  Irvine  Plaza  sold  out….  And  now  
we’re  playing  in  freaking  North  Dakota  bringing  our  own  PA,  
whatever.  

  117  
   During  the  final  month  of  the  study,  Michael  returned  from  a  tour  that  

took  him  to  Wisconsin,  North  Dakota,  Montana,  Portland,  and  Washington.  

He  played  most  nights  in  the  span  of  two  weeks,  including  one  stretch  of  gigs  

on  five  consecutive  nights.  Michael  sighed  and  said,  “Three  sets  a  night  man.  

That’s  hard  work,  sometimes  four.  That’s  four  hours,  8  p.m.  to  12  p.m.,  or  

something  like  that  usually.”  Michael  was  home  for  a  week  before  he  had  to  

travel  to  Australia  with  a  different  group  for  a  three-­‐week  tour  that  included  

a  transcontinental  drive  in  a  camper  van  from  Sydney  to  Perth.  While  this  

may  seem  tangential  from  the  subject  at  hand,  it  is  critical  to  take  into  

account  the  broader  context  of  Michael’s  life  as  a  musician.  My  discussion  of  

him  is  predominantly  as  a  home  studio  user,  but  the  reality  is  that  his  home  

is  often  on  the  road.  Being  a  MacBook  owner,  it  is  possible  for  Michael  to  

record  on  the  road,  but  his  energies  are  consumed  on  stage  and  his  personal  

recording  projects  are  relegated  to  his  time  spent  at  home  in  Brooklyn.  

 
 
Flying  Solo:  Learning  Ableton  Alone  
 
All  of  Michael’s  music-­‐making  that  was  filmed  during  the  data  

collection  period  took  place  in  his  kitchen  (Figure  9)  or  his  living  room  

(Figure  15).      

  118  
  
Figure  15.  Michael’s  living  room.  
 
 
With  his  laptop  parked  in  front  of  his  television,  Michael  morphed  his  

TV  cabinet  into  a  makeshift  workstation.  For  the  duration  of  the  video,  his  

living  room  was  repurposed  as  a  temporary  recording  studio.  As  a  courtesy  

to  me,  at  the  beginning  of  the  screen  recording,  Michael  announced:  “It’s  

12:32  p.m.,  April  3rd.”  I  was  his  sole  audience  and  he  talked  me  through  his  

thought  process  as  he  clicked  away  on  his  computer:  “I’m  going  to  Ableton  

Live  8,  which  I  downloaded  today  and  I’m  going  to  see  what  it  does…I  

registered  it  and  everything.  I  have  never  used  Ableton  Live  in  my  life.”  While  

I  have  seen  many  screen  recordings  of  people  exploring  software  on  sites  

such  as  YouTube,  this  screen  recording  made  by  Michael  using  QuickTime  on  

  119  
his  MacBook  Pro  is  particularly  unique  for  two  reasons:  First,  Michael  was  

learning  how  to  use  the  software,  and  second,  the  intended  audience  was  me.  

In  contrast,  the  legions  of  audio-­‐recording  aficionados  posting  their  tutorials  

to  YouTube  do  so  with  the  intent  of  teaching  and  disseminating  their  

expertise  to  someone  else,  and  that  someone  else  could  be  anybody  who  

stumbled  upon  it  as  the  result  of  a  simple  keyword  search.    

Getting  Connected  

Over  the  course  of  an  hour,  Michael  navigated  through  the  software’s  

text-­‐based  tutorials  that  appear  onscreen  in  a  window  alongside  the  other  

windows  that  comprise  the  Ableton  interface  (Figure  16),  often  reading  the  

instructions  aloud.    

 
Figure  16.  Ableton  interface.  Instructions  are  in  the  right  hand  window.  

  120  
 From  this  screen  recording  we  get  a  firsthand  look  at  what  learning  a  

new  Digital  Audio  Workstation  (DAW)  looks  and  sounds  like.  Minute-­‐long  

stretches  of  silence  that  are  only  interspersed  by  sighs  and  “hmms”  occur  

frequently  throughout  the  hour  as  Michael  digested  the  information  he  

consumed.  After  reading  the  first  set  of  instructions  on  how  to  connect  his  

external  audio  device  to  Ableton,  his  first  reaction  was  one  of  frustrated  

bewilderment:  “10  minutes?!  Okay,  man!…it  says  it’s  going  to  take  10  

minutes!”  Despite  his  initial  grievance,  his  tone  quickly  changed  as  he  was  

able  to  easily  connect  his  device,  a  TASCAM  US-­‐122  (Figure  17).      

 
Figure  17.  TASCAM  US-­‐122.  An  Audio/MIDI  Interface  that  connects  to  a  
computer  via  USB.  
 

  121  
 The  hardware  connection  itself  was  simple,  the  TASCAM  US-­‐122  

connects  via  a  USB  cable,  but  ensuring  that  the  software  recognized  the  

hardware  was  more  complicated.  Michael’s  tone  returned  to  frustration  

again  as  he  tried  to  find  out  how  to  configure  MIDI  in  Ableton,  venting,  “Well,  

I’m  sorry,  that’s  bad  design.  That’s  just  really  clumsy.”  Despite  the  stumbling  

block,  Michael  intuitively  sifted  through  the  next  set  of  instructions,  and  

announced  that  he  was  ready  to  see  if  he  could  get  his  guitar  to  connect  with  

Ableton:  “Lets  see  if  we  have  a  signal  from  my  guitar  synthesizer…that’s  

debatable  right?  Yeah  definitely  not…oh  dear.”  The  sound  of  the  guitar  was  

audible  when  Michael  plucked  a  string,  but  it  was  the  acoustic  sound  picked  

up  by  the  laptop’s  microphone,  not  the  sound  of  Ableton  processing  his  

guitar  as  he  had  hoped.  With  some  more  explorative  persistence,  Michael  

clicked  with  purpose  on  his  screen  finding  an  option  called  “Live  

Instruments,”  which  presented  a  series  of  options.  The  path  he  chose  was  as  

follows:  Instruments-­‐-­‐>instrument  rack-­‐-­‐>ambient  and  evolving-­‐-­‐>ambient-­‐

alien  riches  (Figure  18).  

  122  
Figure  18.  Michael  chooses  “Ambient-­‐Alien  Riches.”  

Michael  strummed  his  guitar  and  the  resultant  sound  was  a  swirl  of  

electronic  polyphony  that  bore  absolutely  no  resemblance  to  the  chord  he  

played.  “I  love  that  stuff!”  Michael  exclaimed,  and  he  became  more  playful.  He  

put  on  a  French  accent  as  he  talked  through  the  process  of  saving  a  file  for  

the  first  time:  “Make  a  new  folder,  call  it  Ableton.”  He  figured  out  how  to  

change  sounds  as  he  selected  a  different  option  under  “ambient  and  

evolving”  called  “Ambient-­‐Bells  and  Formants.”  He  reacted  excitedly  to  the  

sounds  he  produced:  “Wow  this  is  some  beautiful  stuff,  this  is  great!”  The  

triumphs  during  Michael’s  Ableton  expedition  came  in  ebbs  and  flows.    

  123  
 Clicks  of  Intent  

In  his  attempts  to  produce  sound  in  Ableton  with  his  guitar,  Michael  

vocalized  his  thoughts,  which  reveal  that  he  was  using  a  trial  and  error  

approach  to  working  with  Ableton:  

“I’m  trying  the  guitar  sustain  pedal  now  to  see  what  it  does.”  
 
“Here  goes  nothing.”  
 
“Lets  figure  it  out  here.  If  I  double-­‐click  on  that,  what  do  I  get?”  
 
“Lets  just  see  if  I  drag  it  there…okee  dokee.”  
 
Green’s  label  of  haphazard  learning  (2008),  seems  more  apt  as  there  

is  a  disorganized  chaos  to  Michael’s  approach.  Green’s  use  of  the  term  

haphazard  helps  to  describe  the  seemingly  endless  possibilities  of  how,  

when,  and  where  music  learning  takes  place,  but  the  word  haphazard  also  

implies  that  the  intent  to  learn  is  not  necessarily  present.  This  is  problematic  

because  there  are  many  instances  in  which  Michael’s  actions  were  motivated  

by  the  expectation  that  learning  would  occur  and  new  skills  would  be  

assimilated.  To  her  credit,  Green’s  discussion  of  musical  immersion  and  

enculturation,  clearly  convey  the  presence  of  intent  in  informal  learning:      

This  includes  early  experimentation  with  an  instrument  or  the  voice,  
and  discovering  what  different  sounds  they  can  make  through  trial  
and  error,  before  stringing  sounds  together  into  embryonic  musical  
phrases,  rhythms  or  harmonies.  (p.  6)  
 
“Experimentation”  and  “trial  and  error”  better  describe  Michael’s  

approach  to  learning  Ableton.  Every  action  he  performed  had  purpose  

  124  
behind  it.  He  may  have  seemed  disoriented  in  the  maze  that  is  Ableton,  but  

every  click  of  the  mouse  had  purpose;  his  actions  were  not  aimless.  The  

learning  and  music-­‐making  that  took  place  were  not  happenstance.    

It  took  approximately  45  minutes  until  Michael  was  able  to  record  an  

audio  signal.  En  route  to  this  miniature  milestone,  Michael  was  repeatedly  

frustrated  with  the  software.  He  was  obviously  bewildered  and  annoyed  at  

times  with  Ableton,  but  his  expletives  should  not  be  equated  with  anger,  and  

in  fact  Michael  often  accompanied  these  comments  with  a  laugh  of  disbelief.  

Here  are  some  examples:        

“That’s  not  recording,  it’s  not  recording  a  bloody  thing.”  (Spoken  in  an  
English  accent  imitating  Ringo  Starr)  
 
“It’s  not  designed  to  record,  how  fucking  weird!...A  gigabyte  and  a  half  
and  you  can’t  record.”  
 
“No,  delete,  I  just  want  to  delete  this  son  of  a  bitch.”      
 
“I’m  completely  lost.”  
 
“See,  I  don’t  understand.”  
 
“It  was  not  doing  that,  it  was  doing  that,  son  of  a  bitch.”  
 
“It’s  irritating.”  
 
“I  don’t  know.  It’s  a  little  weird.”  
 
“Yeah,  it’s  not  doing  it,  it’s  not  giving  me  this  drum  rack  thing.”  
 
Michael  was  willing  to  be  transparent  on  the  video  and  screen  

recordings,  expressing  himself  honestly.  I  did  not  ask  Michael  to  narrate  his  

thought  process,  this  was  something  he  did  of  his  own  free  will.  I  later  asked  

  125  
Michael  what  he  thought  about  talking  through  his  process  and  he  

responded,  “I  liked  it,  it  was  a  way  for  me  to  focus,  it  helped  me  focus.”      

For  his  first  hour  spent  learning  Ableton,  Michael  had  little  to  show  or  

hear  for  his  efforts  and  before  stopping  the  video  recording  he  announced:  

“Boy  that’s  a  horrible  drum  part,  I’m  stopping  now.”  Scrolling  back  through  

the  screen  recording,  I  found  brief  moments  of  accomplishment  that  were  

overshadowed  by  Michael’s  pangs  of  frustration.  For  example,  Michael  was  

successful  in  playing  a  drum  pattern  on  his  guitar.  He  recognized  that  the  

looping  function  in  Ableton  worked  like  an  old  drum  machine  he  was  familiar  

with,  and  succeeded  in  recording  a  MIDI  pattern  with  his  guitar.  After  playing  

his  pattern  he  was  able  to  edit  and  adjust  the  timing  of  some  of  the  notes.  

What  Michael  figured  out  through  trial  and  error  was  that  he  could  select  just  

one  note  at  a  time  and  move  it  to  the  appropriate  time  within  the  loop.  First  

he  asked  the  question  aloud,  “Okay,  so  here’s  the  question,  can  I  actually  

move  these  guys  from  the  map  over  and  make  it  quantized?”  He  clicked  on  

the  drum  map  (Figure  19)  and  the  whole  pattern  shifted;  this  was  not  what  

he  wanted  to  happen.  He  reported:  “No,  it’s  doing  the  whole  thing,  that’s  not  

what  I  wanted.”  He  tried  again,  and  at  the  moment  when  he  said,  “Just  that  

guy?”  he  clicked  his  mouse  on  the  note  he  wanted  to  edit.  To  his  satisfaction,  

it  moved.  The  small  victory  produced  a  eureka  moment  and  with  an  

exhalation  of  contentment  he  said,  “Ah,  very  nice.  Ah  magic.”    

  126  
  
Figure  19.  Ableton  drum  map.  
 
 

I  posed  the  question  to  Michael  about  using  Ableton  for  the  first  time:  

“What  did  you  think  of  its  ease  of  use  to  do  what  you  wanted  it  to  do?”  He  

responded:  “I  have  since  tried  some  things,  trying  to  bring  in  some  other  

audio  and  throw  effects  on  there  and  get  rid  of  those  effects  and  that  kind  of  

thing  and  it's  not  as  easy  as  I  thought  it  was.”  Ableton  integrates  instructional  

materials  into  its  layout  in  an  effort  to  facilitate  the  learning  process,  but  

Michael  found  this  to  be  an  annoyance:  “I  wanted  it  to  go  away  so  that  I  could  

focus  on  the  other  bells  and  whistles  that  were  available...I  don't  necessarily  

need  it  to  be  a  part  of  my  peripheral  vision  all  the  time  in  this  program.”  

Michael  prefers  to  reference  a  separate  text-­‐based  file  such  as  a  PDF  and  in  

later  sessions  he  discovered  this  feature  in  Ableton  and  utilized  it  

intermittently.  Michael’s  approach  to  learning  to  use  Ableton  is  characteristic  

of  the  “Digital  Immigrant”  as  described  by  Prensky  (2001):  

As  Digital  Immigrants  learn…they  always  retain,  to  some  degree,  their  

“accent”…The  “digital  immigrant  accent”  can  be  seen  in  such  things  as  
turning  to  the  Internet  for  information  second  rather  than  first,  or  in  
reading  the  manual  for  a  program  rather  than  assuming  that  the  
program  itself  will  teach  us  to  use  it.  (p.  1)  

  127  
 Ableton  offers  video  tutorials,  but  Michael  opts  to  forgo  watching  

them,  preferring  the  click  and  consequence  method,  where  he  uses  his  mouse  

to  explore  an  option  in  the  program,  evaluates  the  consequence  of  his  mouse  

click,  and  then  proceeds  accordingly  by  either  undoing  the  previous  action  or  

continuing  on  in  his  current  trajectory.  

Following  the  Timbre  Trail  

A  day  later  Michael  was  back  in  his  living  room,  guitar  in  lap,  staring  

at  the  Ableton  interface  on  his  MacBook.  Throughout  the  session,  Michael’s  

right  hand  alternated  between  clicking  the  mouse  and  strumming  his  guitar.  

He  chose  to  position  the  camera  such  that  it  was  always  centered  on  his  

guitar,  keeping  his  face  out  of  frame.  For  30  consecutive  minutes,  Michael  

scrolled  through  the  exhaustive  list  of  Live  Devices  in  Ableton  trying  to  find  a  

guitar  effect  that  caught  his  ear.  He  auditioned  each  effect,  sometimes  making  

comments,  such  as:  “This  would  be  good  for  dub,”  or  “Needs  more  gain.”  

Other  times  he  simply  strummed  a  chord,  listened  for  a  moment,  and  without  

hesitation  clicked  on  the  next  effect.  Table  7  lists  the  effects  that  Michael  

auditioned.  

 
 
 
 
 

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Table  7  
Ableton  guitar  effects  auditioned  by  Michael  
Effect      
FluxedRhythmTrem   RisingReverb   Dizzy  Freq  
Six  String  Ambience   Synced  Phaseverb   Elastic  Cube  
Guitar  Space   Echo  Speak  2   Intimate&Colorful  
Rich  Acoustic  Guitar   Spectral  Spank   Ritmo  Standard  
Acoustic  Guitar  Hall  2   Wabbler   Annihilator  
Crystal  Reverb   Circularity   Vocal  Choir  
PolyRhythm      
 
 

Michael  shared  his  thoughts  on  the  sounds  packaged  in  Ableton:  

I'm  sometimes  baffled  by  how  somebody  could  write  this  and  expect  it  
to  be  used  as  a  preset…With  Ableton  the  presets  are  so  crazy  anyway,  
half  the  time  it’s  just  like,  “What  the  fuck  is  that?  Wow!”  Maybe  they  
were  thinking  this  would  be  great,  then  you  can  plug  a  voice  into  it  or  
violin  or  keyboard,  but  maybe  not  an  acoustic  guitar  or  electric  guitar  
so  you  have  to  change  it  to  fit.  
 
Michael  did  not  record  the  sounds  he  auditioned,  but  “Crystal  Reverb”  

must  have  left  a  good  taste  on  his  sound  palate  because  he  left  it  in  his  signal  

chain  for  the  entire  exploratory  period.  Ableton’s  help  file  describes  Crystal  

Reverb  as  “stuttering  ambient  delays  with  a  lot  of  control  possibilities.”  

Michael  reacted  to  the  sound  exclaiming,  “Oh  my  God,  that’s  so  cool!”    

Eight  days  later,  Michael  opened  up  a  new  file  in  Ableton  and  in  this  

session,  his  aims  were  less  enigmatic.  He  started  by  importing  an  existing  

audio  file  (Figure  20).      

  129  
Figure  20.  Michael  imports  audio.    

Next,  Michael  scrolled  through  the  Live  Devices  to  find  the  Crystal  

Reverb  setting,  praising  it  as  “outstanding  and  strange”  (Figure  21).      

 
Figure  21.  “Crystal  Reverb”  
 
 
 
Michael’s  goal  was  to  apply  Crystal  Reverb  to  the  pre-­‐recorded  

material,  a  short  four-­‐bar  loop  of  a  guitar-­‐picking  pattern.  Michael  found  the  

appropriate  proportion  of  the  mix  that  he  wanted  to  apply  to  the  guitar  track,  

commenting,  “that’s  pretty  cool,”  but  he  detected  a  problem:  “It’s  a  little  low  

  130  
end-­‐y.”  To  circumvent  the  issue,  Michael  loaded  another  effect  in  his  signal  

chain,  Multiband  EQ  (Figure  22),  and  proceeded  to  “twist”  the  virtual  dials,  

Low  Freq,  Mid  Freq  Band,  and  Hi  Freq  Band,  until  he  was  satisfied  with  the  

resultant  sound.      

 
Figure  22.  Multiband  EQ.  
 

Michael  described  how  he  uses  equalization  (EQ):  

It  was  always  hit  and  miss  for  me  with  EQ…When  I  hear  something  
that  ain't  working  I  to  try  to  figure  out  what  that  is  and  duck  it.  When  I  
hear  something  that  is  missing  I  try  to  find  it  and  bring  it  in.  That's  the  
end  of  my  EQ  knowledge  to  be  honest  with  you.  
 
This  method  of  equalization  entails  a  process  of  elimination:  the  

problematic  frequency  is  reduced  until  the  effected  sound  is  improved  in  the  

ears  of  the  beholder.  Michael  explained  how  he  learned  this  technique:    

That  goes  back  to  when  I  first  started  learning  how  to  work  with  
external  effects  units  like  the  Alesis,  where  they  have  a  preset  that  
you're  given  and  you're  playing  a  song  with  a  group  and  you  need  to  
change  the  time  of  the  delay  or  the  amount  of  the  delay  for  the  EQ  to  
fit  in  with  the  sound  of  the  band…I  would  work  with  the  given  preset  
and  then  tweak  it  so  that  it  fit  the  song  specifically  for  the  band  or  
maybe  multiple  songs  even.    
 

  131  
   Satisfied  with  the  effect  he  applied  to  his  guitar  track,  Michael  

exported  the  files  into  a  single  audio  file.  A  day’s  work  done  and  most  of  it  

was  spent  sifting  through  sounds.  The  end  product  was  a  short  loop  that  

Michael  had  no  intention  of  selling  or  distributing.  In  contrast  to  working  in  a  

professional  studio,  music-­‐making  with  a  DAW  at  home  is  a  personal  

experience  that  affords  Michael  the  opportunity  to  explore  without  bounds:  

You  can  really  create  your  own  sonic  landscapes  and  just  go  off  into  
your  own.  It's  a  very  exploratory  experience  and  you  don't  have  to  
have  anybody  else  telling  you  what  you're  supposed  to  be  doing  and  
what  you're  not  doing  right  or  whatever.  I'm  not  a  professional  
engineer.  I  will  make  certain  choices  that  will  be  a  little  bit  outside  of  
what  a  professional  engineer  would  do,  but  to  me  they  sound  great,  so  
that's  the  fun  part.  I  don't  have  anybody  saying,  “Man,  how  could  you  
put  the  microphone  there?”  or  “What  the  hell  is  that  effect?”  or  “Boy,  
that’s  really  noisy.”    
 
 
 
“For  My  Own  Edification”:  Lonely  Learning  

Much  of  Michael’s  learning  background  is  what  Green  (2008)  would  

label  as  informal.  For  example,  Michael  taught  himself  guitar  and  learned  bits  

and  pieces  from  family  acquaintances  before  he  ever  took  a  lesson,  satisfying  

the  criterion,  “Learns  alongside  friends  or  by  themselves.”  Further,  he  

learned  by  listening  and  copying  recordings  that  he  chose  himself.      

However,  Green’s  model  is  a  better  fit  for  describing  how  Michael  

learned  to  use  recording  technology  than  how  he  learned  to  play  the  guitar.  

He  has  never  received  a  formal  lesson;  anything  he  knows  about  audio  

engineering  he  taught  himself  by  reading  a  manual  or  through  trial  and  error.  

  132  
Certainly  his  pedigree  of  recording  experience  in  professional  studios  must  

have  had  some  implicit  influence  on  his  recording  knowledge  and  skills—

learning  by  osmosis—but  Michael  makes  no  such  claim.  His  greatest  teacher  

was  himself.  The  same  principle  holds  true  for  Michael’s  learning  during  the  

digital  era  of  recording.  Despite  the  bounty  of  online  resources  and  sheer  

number  of  people  engaged  in  the  practice  of  home  recording,  Michael  

chooses  to  go  it  alone.  Click  and  consequence  composition,  a  modern  

adaptation  of  the  trial  and  error  descriptor,  best  characterizes  Michael’s  

approach  to  music-­‐making  with  a  DAW.              

Michael  is  a  particularly  interesting  case  because  he  has  had  hands-­‐on  

experience  with  the  leading  recording  technologies  over  the  last  four  

decades.  He  has  lived  through  and  adapted  to  the  technological  advances  in  

recording.  Further,  Michael  has  maintained  a  home  recording  studio  

throughout  his  career,  while  continuing  to  record  in  professional  studios  for  

other  artists.  He  estimates  that  he  has  appeared  on  72  recordings,  but  this  

tally  does  not  include  his  own  recordings,  of  which  he  says:  “Mostly  those  

were  for  my  own  edification  to  be  honest  with  you.  I'm  inspired  to  do  so  and  I  

will  always  record  my  own  music  at  home.”  

From  an  early  age,  Michael  engaged  in  recording  his  own  songs  and  

musical  ideas  with  a  makeshift  multi-­‐track  recorder.  He  became  very  adept  at  

mixing  his  own  music  and  is  keenly  aware  of  mixing  techniques  and  their  

impact  on  the  overall  sound  of  a  recording.  Engaging  with  recording  

  133  
technology  is  a  constant  theme  that  runs  through  Michael’s  life.  He  uses  it  

frequently,  methodically,  and  enthusiastically.  A  final  product  is  not  

necessary  for  Michael  to  feel  that  his  time  is  well  spent;  the  act  of  recording  is  

in  and  of  itself  a  gratifying  pursuit.  We’ve  been  conditioned  to  think  that  

recording  produces  an  artifact  akin  to  a  photograph.  Michael  reminds  us  that  

a  recording  is  a  noun,  but  recording  is  an  act.  Recording  is  intertwined  with  

being  a  musician,  and  being  a  musician  is  a  choice  that  Michael  takes  very  

seriously:            

You've  seen  Schindler's  List.  When  the  gentleman  pipes  up  he's  asking,  
“What  can  you  do,  what  skills  do  you  have?”  The  gentleman  pipes  up  
and  says,  “I  play  clarinet,”  and  there  is  that  sort  of  embarrassed  
silence.  We  don't  have  time  for  that,  we  don't  have  time  for  your  art,  
we  don't  have  time  for  your  life…So  in  a  sense  maybe  I  owe  it  to  all  of  
the  other  musicians  to  not  stop  because  I'm  not  in  the  middle  of  a  war.  
I  have  a  choice.  He  didn't  have  a  choice.

  134  
 CHAPTER  VI  
 
TRACK  2:  TARA  
 
 
 
The  Williamsburg  Bridge  
 
Heart  pounding  and  legs  throbbing,  I  pedaled  my  bicycle  up  the  half-­‐

mile-­‐long  incline  of  the  Williamsburg  Bridge,  crossing  from  Manhattan  to  

Brooklyn  to  meet  Tara.  The  payoff:  an  adrenaline-­‐inducing  descent,  which  

only  takes  a  few  minutes  travelling  at  eye-­‐tearing  speeds.    

Many  New  Yorkers  have  told  me  that  Williamsburg  in  the  1980s  was  a  

very  different  and  much  less  safe  place.  Since  that  time  the  area  around  the  

bridge  and  north  of  it  into  Greenpoint  has  witnessed  a  period  of  rapid  

gentrification.  Williamsburg  now  boasts  a  burgeoning  live-­‐music  scene  and  

many  industrial  spaces  have  been  converted  into  rehearsal  spaces  and  

studios.  Along  the  East  River,  what  was  once  primarily  an  industrial  zone  is  

now  home  to  luxury  condominiums.  Tara’s  apartment  building  is  a  few  

blocks  east  of  the  river  and  north  of  the  bridge.  

  Upon  arrival,  Tara,  a  27-­‐year-­‐old  newlywed  who  lives  with  her  

husband  Nathan,  buzzed  me  into  her  building.  Opening  her  door,  she  said,

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  “You  made  good  time,  that  took  less  than  20  minutes!”  She  offered  me  a  glass  

of  water  and  invited  me  to  sit  at  her  kitchen  table,  where  she  cradled  a  cup  of  

tea  in  her  hands.  The  kitchen  table  was  the  central  point  of  Tara’s  750-­‐

square-­‐foot  open-­‐concept  studio  apartment.  The  kitchen,  a  baby  grand  piano,  

and  a  king-­‐size  bed,  all  within  a  few  feet  of  each  other  constituted  the  feng  

shui  of  Tara’s  apartment.  Despite  being  contained  in  one  room,  the  

apartment  was  not  cramped  and  had  the  benefit  of  twelve-­‐foot  ceilings  that  

made  it  feel  roomy.  Draped  from  the  ceiling  like  a  series  of  hammocks  were  

three  blue  moving  blankets  that  Tara  temporarily  installed  as  a  means  of  

sound  treatment  for  her  apartment-­‐turned-­‐recording  studio.    

While  Nathan  was  away  working  in  Europe,  Tara  decided  that  his  

month-­‐long  absence  would  be  the  ideal  time  to  record  an  album.  Given  that  

Tara’s  recording  schedule  took  place  over  seven  days,  I  was  fortunate  to  

catch  her  mid-­‐process.  I  gave  Tara  a  video  camera  two  days  into  the  

recording  of  her  album,  and  a  week  later  she  returned  it  to  me  packed  with  

footage  to  review,  having  filmed  8  to  10  hours  per  day  for  five  days.  A  week  

after  Tara  finished  her  recording,  I  met  with  her  and  she  looked  a  little  

weary.  I  asked  the  obvious  question,  “How  did  the  recording  go?”  to  which  

she  gave  a  somewhat  dejected  response:  

Umm.  I  don’t  know,  I  don’t  have  a…kind  of  one  of  those  things  that  I  
just  wanted  to  do,  I  don’t  know,  I  mean  I  don’t  really  know  if  I  have  
any  hope,  high  hopes  for  it  or  something  like  that.  
 

  136  
   After  finishing  her  recordings,  Tara  took  three  days  off  before  

resuming  the  process  of  listening  and  evaluating  what  had  been  done.  I  asked  

her  about  her  first  impressions,  and  her  tone  was  noticeably  more  chipper:  

“Yeah  my  first  impression  was  that  it  was  better  than  I  thought  it  was  going  

to  be.  Overall  it  was  a  fun  test  for  me  because  I  was  really  impressed  with  

areas  that  I  improved.”  On  the  surface,  Tara  seemed  to  have  mixed  feelings  

about  the  recordings  she  had  just  finished.  I  wondered  why  she  didn’t  have  

“high  hopes”  if  the  recordings  were  better  than  she  thought  they  were  going  

to  be.  As  I  would  come  to  discover  in  my  conservations  with  Tara,  her  

expectations  of  herself  as  a  performer  are  very  high  and  she  held  similarly  

high  expectations  for  her  album—an  album  that  almost  didn’t  happen.  Until  a  

few  years  ago,  Tara  was  on  a  very  different  path.  

Tara’s  Meandering  Migration  to  Music  

  Tara  commenced  Suzuki  piano  lessons  at  age  four  initially  under  the  

guidance  of  her  mother.  Her  family  moved  frequently  because  of  her  father’s  

line  of  work,  and  as  a  result  Tara  had  a  handful  of  different  piano  teachers  

growing  up  and  was  exposed  to  different  pedagogical  approaches.  She  

estimated  that  she  practiced  a  half  an  hour  a  day,  enough  to  learn  the  piece  

she  was  working  on,  but  didn’t  become  serious  about  piano  until  age  12,  

when  she  committed  to  obtaining  her  Grade  Eight  certification  in  the  

Canadian  Royal  Conservatory  of  Music  (RCM)  while  living  in  Winnipeg.  It  

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seemed  at  the  time  that  Tara  would  continue  on  in  the  RCM  system,  but  

moving  back  to  the  U.S.,  combined  with  shifting  musical  interests,  pulled  Tara  

away  from  formal  lessons  and  classical  repertoire:      

It  was  really  weird.  I  remember  even  as  a  kid  I  thought  piano  is  the  
one  thing  I'm  never  going  to  quit…They  didn't  do  Royal  Conservatory  
and  I  just  finished  my  Grade  Eight,  so  I  stopped.  But  I  remember  every  
night  that  I  played  the  piano.  I  played  piano  a  lot  but  didn't  take  
lessons  all  through  high  school,  which  was  really  strange  when  I  think  
back  on  it.  I  realized  I  could  play  lots  of  stuff.  I'd  hear  stuff  on  the  radio  
and  say,  “I  can  play  that.”  For  the  first  time  I  started  to  realize.  I  
opened  up  more  to  music  and  its  accessibility.  
 
Tara  channeled  her  energies  at  school  towards  athletics,  and  she  

excelled  at  volleyball:  “I  remember  I  was  just  totally  obsessed  with  volleyball  

and  fitness  to  a  fault.  I’d  get  up  every  day  and  run  to  school  and  practiced  by  

myself  in  the  gym  before  school  started  and  then  practice  after  school.  I  was  

mono-­‐focused.”  Although  Tara  continued  to  play  piano  recreationally  when  

she  could,  her  commitments  to  volleyball  dictated  her  life  decisions,  

including  where  she  attended  college:  “Basically  I  was  deciding  on  volleyball,  

that  was  the  main  criteria.”  After  her  first  year  of  college,  Tara  contemplated  

withdrawing,  citing  reasons  such  as  her  disinterest  in  academic  studies  and  

her  disappointment  with  the  volleyball  team’s  performance:      

I  went  back  and  majored  in  music.  In  my  second  year  I  remember  
taking  all  the  courses  and  thinking,  “Why  didn't  I  study  music  in  the  
first  place?”  I  don't  think  anyone  presented  to  me,  “Oh  you  can  study  
music  in  college.”  I  never  thought  of  it  once.  So  I  started  taking  the  
classes  and  I  thought,  “This  is  the  greatest  thing  ever!”      
     

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 Tara  had  come  full  circle,  returning  to  her  classical  piano  performance  

roots,  taking  classes  in  keyboard  harmony,  theory,  history,  and  ear  training.  

But  volleyball  remained  her  first  priority:  “I  didn't  have  that  much  time  to  

devote  to  it,  maybe  an  hour  or  two  a  day…sometimes  I  would  only  practice  

three  times  a  week  or  not  even.”  Music  remained  in  the  backdrop  as  Tara  

contemplated  future  directions  after  college,  with  the  assumption  that  

volleyball  would  guide  her  career  path.      

From  Scoring  Points  to  Scoring  Films  

“I  was  going  to  play  pro  volleyball  and  then  I  suddenly  made  this  giant  

switch…one  of  these  rash  emotional  decisions.”  Tara  decided  that  she  wanted  

to  score  music  for  films  and  that  her  best  path  to  that  end  was  to  attend  the  

masters  program  at  NYU.  On  the  recommendation  of  a  professor  at  NYU,  Tara  

inquired  about  studying  with  a  local  teacher:  

She  said  she  would  teach  me.  She  lived  in  Queens,  and  sent  me  a  huge  
long  list  of  everything  to  buy  if  I  was  serious  about  film  scoring.  I  went  
for  my  first  lesson  in  September  and  I  literally  bought  a  desktop,  a  
MIDI  controller,  Logic,  Sibelius,  East-­‐West,  monitors,  and  a  desk.  I  
didn’t  have  anything.  I  didn’t  own  a  computer.  I  bought  tons  of  stuff,  
and  I  had  never  even  met  her.  
 
This  was  a  crucial  turning  point  in  Tara’s  life  as  far  as  music  

technology  is  concerned.  In  contrast  to  the  other  case  study  participants,  

Tara  made  no  mention  of  the  role  of  music  technology  in  her  life  until  at  the  

age  of  23  when  she  decided  to  be  a  composer  of  film  music.      

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 “I  Just  Learned  As  I  Had  To”:  Karaoke  Composition  

Once  a  week  Tara  drove  from  Connecticut  to  Queens  for  an  hour-­‐long  

lesson  and  her  homework  was  always  the  same:  “She  had  me  writing  songs  a  

lot.  I  wrote  two  songs  a  week  then  came  back  every  Thursday.”  

Accompanying  the  challenge  of  her  teacher’s  expectation  of  prolific  

songwriting,  Tara  was  left  to  her  own  devices  to  assay  how  to  record  her  

songs  with  all  of  the  seemingly  alien  technology  she  had  recently  acquired:  

Well,  no  one  taught  me.  Any  of  the  software  that  I  know,  no  one  taught  
me.  Logic—I  just  remember  reading  the  manual.  I  didn't  read  the  
whole  thing,  just  starting  a  new  project.  I  still  feel  kind  of  limited  in  it,  
but  I’d  always  learn  whenever  I  needed  to  do  a  new  thing,  I  just  
learned  as  I  had  to.  
 
Using  Logic  and  a  MIDI  keyboard  with  her  “learned  as  I  had  to”  

approach,  Tara  detailed  the  process  of  how  she  used  to  make  her  new  

compositions  with  Logic,  recording  them  as  MIDI  files  and  then  exporting  

them  as  audio  files  to  bring  to  her  lessons.  Tara  explained  to  me,  “At  that  

point  I  did  not  have  a  microphone  so  I  would  just  play  her  whatever  tracks  I  

came  up  with  at  home  and  sing-­‐along  in  her  office.”  Tara  described  for  me  

her  karaoke  approach  to  integrating  recording  into  her  composition.  While  

the  recorded  piano  part  remained  unchanged,  Tara’s  vocal  performance  

could  be  altered  with  every  performance.  As  a  live  performer,  Tara  always  

accompanies  herself  on  the  piano  when  she  sings;  the  karaoke  composition  

technique  disembodies  her  singing  from  her  playing.  Tara  explained  that  for  

the  purpose  of  her  lessons,  a  recording  was  not  meant  to  be  a  finalized  

  140  
performance  that  could  be  scrutinized;  it  was  a  means  of  “writing  down,”  

with  the  understanding  that  the  song  was  in  a  state  of  gestation,  allowing  her  

to  concentrate  solely  on  the  vocal  performance  when  she  presented  a  song  to  

her  teacher.  In  Tara’s  words,  “it  was  never  really  that  thought  through;  it  was  

just  more  to  present,  to  take  to  my  lesson  and  she  understood  that  this  

wasn’t  a  proper  demo.”  In  its  developing  stages,  the  vocal  part  retains  

plasticity;  lyrics  can  be  rewritten,  phrasing  can  be  reshaped,  and  the  melody  

can  be  retooled.  The  song  is  in  a  cyborg  state,  half  of  it  performed  by  a  

machine  and  the  other  half  performed  by  its  human  programmer.      

“It  Was  Very  Ad  Hoc”:  Reflexive  Recording  With  Mindful  Technology  

Using  Logic  was  a  new  experience  for  Tara  and  afforded  her  a  method  

of  composition  that  was  very  experimental:  

I  suddenly  had  Logic,  it  was  very  ad  hoc.  I  didn’t  feel  like  I  knew  what  I  
was  doing,  so  I  would  just  load  up  instruments  and  it’s  not  like  I  had  
proper  chords  underneath  them.  When  I  made  demos  I  wasn’t  trying  
to  create  piano  parts  or  be  a  piano  player,  I  was  just  putting  anything  
underneath  the  voice.  Sometimes  I  think  it  worked  and  sometimes  I  
think  it  didn’t.  I  would  just  load  up  a  drum  kit  and  play  things  in  
without  even  knowing  basic  drum  patterns.  I  almost  don’t  know  what  
I  did.  I  was  just  trying  things  out.  I  really  was  just  trying  to  write  two  
songs  a  week,  whatever  that  meant.  I  would  write  melodies  first  and  
then  I  would  journal  about  what  it  should  be  about  and  then  I  would  
put  things  underneath  it.    
 
Tara  used  the  phrases  “ad  hoc”  and  “I  was  just  trying  things  out”  to  

describe  her  approach  to  writing  songs  with  Logic.  Applying  the  model  of  

Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998),  Tara  described  a  vertical  

  141  
approach  to  composition,  integrating  composition,  arrangement,  and  

recording  into  a  singular  act.  To  reiterate  from  the  Conceptual  Framework  

section  on  page  10,  I  prefer  the  term  reflexive  recording,  because  it  better  

describes  the  act  of  recording  something  and  playing  it  back  in  order  to  

determine  next  steps.  Lebler  (2008)  explains,  “Recording  also  allows  a  

performer  to  reflect  on  a  performance  after  the  act,  and  repeatedly  if  

necessary,  allowing  a  greater  degree  of  reflection  than  would  otherwise  be  

possible.”  (p.  195).  In  Tara’s  description  she  said,  “I  was  just  putting  anything  

underneath  the  voice.  Sometimes  I  think  it  worked  and  sometimes  I  think  it  

didn’t,”  evidence  of  the  reflexive  recording  approach.  Reflexive  recording  is  

only  possible  because  digital  audio  can  be  edited,  manipulated,  and  saved  in  

infinite  incarnations  limited  only  by  imagination.  I  asked  Tara  if  she  could  

play  me  a  song  that  exemplified  this  approach  to  her  songwriting  and  she  

opened  up  iTunes,  pressed  play  on  a  song,  and  started  explaining  it  to  me:      

This  is  an  old  version  of  the  song  and  it’s  not  really  thought  through  as  
much  harmonically.  I  see  this  as  a  really  over-­‐the-­‐top  song,  like  I’m  
picturing  the  music  video,  like  at  a  jungle  gym  or  with  a  marching  
band,  roller  skates,  and  weird  stuff…This  is  a  good  example  of  me  with  
ideas  without  a  framework.  Even  rhythmically  it  sounds  like  a  giant  
mess  when  everything  starts  coming  in.  I  didn’t  have  as  clear  of  an  
idea  of  what  I’m  doing,  but  actually  it’s  sometimes  fun  to  think  about  
the  ideas  I  had,  really  raw  ideas…It’s  so  home-­‐done,  I  put  in  these  
beats  and  then  the  snaps  are  off  and  then  everything  goes  to  waste.  In  
a  sense  that  is  still  the  original  feel  I  have  for  that  song,  so  it’s  
important  to  look  back  and  see  this  is  the  idea…This  song  has  many  
versions,  I  changed  the  lyrics,  I  got  really  carried  away  and  changed  
the  lyrics  and  made  them  really  cheerleader  and  sports-­‐themed,  too  
carried  away.        
 

  142  
 The  poignant  particle  to  extract  from  Tara’s  description  of  composing  

this  song  is  that  Logic  facilitates,  even  encourages,  the  kind  of  experimenting  

and  recording  of  “really  raw  ideas”  that  are  rooted  in  sound.  Elements  that  

are  not  easily  notated  in  a  score  are  accessed  in  seconds  with  the  click  of  a  

mouse  in  a  DAW  such  as  Logic  because  it  provides  gigabytes  upon  gigabytes  

of  prerecorded  samples  for  the  user.  Tara  described  her  song  as  “not  really  

thought  through,”  “Ideas  without  a  framework,”  and  “a  giant  mess,”  and  yet  

through  the  cacophony  of  snaps,  boings,  and  whistles,  I  can  envision  the  

jungle  gym,  marching  band,  and  roller  skates.  DAWs  like  Logic  are  mindful  

technologies.  Unlike  their  inferior  mono-­‐functional  mindless  technology  

relatives,  mindful  technologies  are  not  self-­‐limiting  and  allow  the  user  to  

realize  a  vision.  In  Tara’s  case,  a  song  idea  that  seemed  abstract  with  “no  

framework,”  took  shape  when  she  integrated  the  first  few  building  blocks.      

The  DAW  Double-­‐Edged  Sword  

Tara  is  classically  trained,  she  can  compose  and  read  an  orchestral  

score,  but  this  song  would  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  realize  using  Sibelius,  a  

score-­‐writing  program.  Tara  showed  me  an  example  of  something  she  

recently  tried  to  write  with  Sibelius,  adding,  “I  don't  even  know  if  musically  

that's  right,  these  rhythms  are  kind  of  weird  and  I  don't  even  know  if  it's  

right,  it's  typical  pop  stuff,  if  you  play  it  exactly  as  written  it  won't  quite  

capture  the  feeling  of  it  live.”  The  issue  is  not  music  literacy;  it  is  music  

  143  
translation.  DAWs  provide  a  solution  to  the  problem  because  they  produce  

sound,  doing  away  with  the  intermediary  (the  printed  score)  and  the  need  

for  an  interpreter.  Cutler  (2004)  argues:    

On  the  one  hand  it  offers  control  of  musical  parameters  beyond  even  
the  wildest  dreams  of  the  most  radical  mid-­‐twentieth  century  
composer;  on  the  other  it  terminally  threatens  the  deepest  roots  of  
the  inherited  art  music  paradigm,  replacing  notation  with  the  direct  
transcription  of  performances  and  rendering  the  clear  distinction  
between  performance  and  composition  null.  (p.  140)  
 
In  essence,  DAWs  model,  a  time-­‐tested  pedagogical  approach.  Some  

concepts  are  better  modeled  than  explained,  and  this  may  depend  on  the  

learner.  Regardless,  while  Logic  provides  a  platform  for  Tara  to  translate  her  

abstractions  into  music,  writing  songs  in  this  way  presents  a  problem:  “If  I  

tried  to  play  it  on  piano  I’d  have  no  idea  how  to  play  the  song,  so  I  guess  

when  I  realized  I  couldn’t  even  play  my  own  songs,  like  I’d  never  performed  

them.  I  didn’t  know  how,  I  didn’t  know  what  key  they  were  in.”      

Tara’s  conundrum  begs  the  question:  How  can  a  DAW-­‐dependent  

piece  of  music  be  processed  and  interpreted  by  other  performers?  Can  Tara  

keep  her  compositions  breathing  if  she  attempts  to  arrange  them  for  the  

piano,  or  is  this  akin  to  taking  her  songs  off  life  support?  Can  they  survive  

without  the  computer  and  DAW?  For  Tara,  that  question  remained  

unanswered  as  she  explored  methods  of  translation.      

During  the  recording  process  Tara’s  music  was  in  a  state  of  flux  as  she  

performed  actions  such  as  adding,  deleting,  muting,  boosting,  cutting,  

  144  
pasting,  adjusting,  etc.,  but  eventually  these  actions  lost  their  momentum  and  

grinded  to  a  halt  until  the  song  was  frozen  temporarily,  entering  a  state  of  

hibernation.  For  humans,  to  be  still  is  bizarre  and  unnatural;  even  in  our  

most  still  state  of  sleep,  our  bodies  cycle  on.  What  is  particularly  unique  

about  DAW-­‐based  composition  is  that  it  allows  the  user  to  reboot  the  music  

and  explore  new  possibilities  between  remixing  and  reimagining.  The  

composer  can  endlessly  edit  and  rigorously  revise  one  version  or  create  

several  versions.  DAWs  have  given  rise  to  cryogenic  composition.    

Walking  and  Writing  

Tara’s  process  of  realizing  her  goals  for  her  album  entailed  six  distinct  

stages:  writing,  recording  preparation,  piano  recording,  vocal  recording,  

comping,  and  mixing.  For  at  least  three  years,  Tara  had  been  thinking  about  

making  an  album  of  10  songs  and  decided  that  she  would  finish  it  by  the  start  

of  the  summer  of  2012.  On  the  whole,  Tara  did  not  integrate  recording  into  

her  songwriting  process;  songs  were  written  and  then  recorded  in  a  two-­‐step  

horizontal  process.  Tara’s  songwriting  often  started  without  her  primary  

instrument,  the  piano;  she  prefers  to  lace  up  her  running  shoes  and  “write”  

while  she  walks.  During  one  of  my  many  treks  across  the  Williamsburg  

Bridge  on  my  bicycle  I  may  have  crossed  paths  with  Tara,  who  traverses  it  

frequently.  For  Tara,  the  bridge  provides  more  than  a  means  to  get  from  

  145  
Williamsburg  to  the  Lower  East  Side  of  Manhattan—it  is  the  platform  for  her  

songwriting.  Tara  explained  her  process  of  walking  and  writing:      

If  I’m  really  trying  to  write  a  new  song,  I  usually  go  for  a  walk.  So  I  
often  walk  the  bridge  in  this  area…I  find  if  I’m  walking…I’m  relaxed.  It  
happens  naturally;  I’ll  just  sing  a  lot  or  hum  little  things  or  think  about  
things  I  want  to  write  about…If  you  were  walking  with  me  I  would  at  
least  be  singing  lightly…In  general  I  do  lyrics  first,  or  melody  and  
lyrics  at  the  same  time.  
 
It  is  only  after  Tara  has  developed  her  initial  melodies  and  written  

some  rough  sketches  of  lyrics  in  her  journal  that  she  proceeds  to  her  

instrument  to  write  the  accompanying  music.  “Once  I  have  something  

established  that  I  like  then  I  find  I’ll  go  to  the  piano  and  work  with  that.”  To  

assist  with  her  writing,  Tara  started  taking  pop  piano  lessons  because  as  she  

explained,  “I  just  realized  that  when  it  came  to  pop-­‐style  I  didn't  really  know  

what  I  was  doing.”  Armed  with  new  knowledge  and  skills  in  pop  composition,  

Tara  prepared  for  the  recording  of  her  album  by  finalizing  her  songs:    

I  basically  picked  12  or  13  songs  and  then  had  started  writing  formal  
arrangements  for  them  on  piano  and  practicing  a  lot  of  singing,  
actually  figuring  out  what  melody  I  sing…basically  nailing  down  the  
melodies  and  a  piano  part.  
 
Using  Sibelius  software,  Tara  wrote  scores  for  each  song.  While  

technically  not  a  part  of  the  recording  of  her  album,  Tara  was  reliant  on  

recording  technology  in  order  to  create  her  scores.  She  used  an  88-­‐key  M-­‐

Audio  MIDI  controller  (Figure  23)  connected  to  a  Digidesign  MBox2  (Figure  

24)  to  record  her  piano  parts  into  Logic  on  either  her  iMac  or  MacBook  Pro.  

  146  
  
Figure  23.  M-­‐Audio  ProKeys  88  MIDI  controller.  
 
 
 

 
Figure  24.  DigiDesign  Mbox  2.  

Stumbling  With  Sibelius  

As  Tara  explained,  in  theory,  she  should  be  able  to  export  a  MIDI  file  

created  in  Logic  and  import  it  into  Sibelius,  producing  a  perfect  score  

instantly,  but  to  her  dismay,  it  is  not  so  simple:  “You  would  think  it  would  be  

an  easy  thing,  export  as  MIDI,  import  as  MIDI,  and  then  it  comes  out  as  the  

score  you  created  as  a  MIDI  file,  but  I  always  found  there  were  such  annoying  

problems.”  Tara  provided  an  example  of  one  of  the  “annoying  problems”  she  

encountered:  “In  Logic  you  can  quantize  everything  at  the  beginning,  but  at  

the  end  you  can't,  so  when  you  put  it  into  a  score  everything  has  three  dots  

and  three  flags.”  Tara  found  a  solution  to  making  scores  in  Sibelius,  but  it  

wasn’t  without  trial:        

  147  
 For  the  songs  I  just  recorded,  in  Sibelius  it  was  a  combination  of  
putting  in  everything  manually  or  sometimes  playing  it  in,  but  that  
almost  has  a  similar  problem,  if  you  don't  play  it  in  perfectly  you  get  
all  these  wacky  values.  I  used  to  always  do  it  with  the  mouse,  I  really  
didn't  know  how  to  play  it  in.  Whenever  I  pressed  something  and  
notes  would  appear  I  would  start  freaking  out.    
 
Freaking  out  aside,  Tara  managed  to  assemble  her  scores  and  

committed  them  to  memory  by  practicing,  on  average,  four  hours  a  day  for  

two  months,  in  preparation  for  her  anticipated  recording.  

Finding  the  Studio  at  Home  

Tara  looked  into  professional  studios  and  even  considered  flying  out  

to  Oregon  to  record  at  a  studio  that  came  highly  recommended  by  her  aunt.  It  

was  Tara’s  husband  who  suggested  the  idea  of  recording  at  home.  Tara  

recalled,  “Nathan  mentioned  that  some  people  just  do  this  in  their  

apartment—like,  David  Gray’s  first  album  was  in  his  apartment—so  I  started  

thinking  about  that.  I’ll  just  work  with  what  I  have.”      

Preparation  (Saturday  and  Monday  Morning)  

To  prepare  for  her  recording,  Tara  took  a  week  off  of  work  and  hired  

an  acquaintance,  Felix,  to  assist  her.  Additionally,  Tara  hired  a  professional  

audio  engineer,  Tony,  as  a  consultant  to  evaluate  her  apartment’s  suitability  

for  recording.  In  her  journal  Tara  wrote  about  this  process:  

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 Felix  arrived  at  3  p.m.  We  set  up  his  interface  and  got  a  little  situated.  
Tony  arrived  and  began  to  take  command.  He  immediately  
commented  on  the  room  and  assumed  I  heard  what  he  heard.  I  told  
him  not  to  assume,  because  I  am  often  focused  on  other  things  besides  
acoustics.  He  recommended  acoustic  treatment  but  said  that  I  would  
need  a  lot  of  it—and  it  can  be  expensive,  not  to  mention  ugly.      
 
The  “interface”  is  a  Presonus  FireStudio  Project  (Figure  25)  that  

connects  to  Tara’s  MacBook  Pro  with  a  firewire  cable.  It  can  record  up  to  

eight  sound  sources  simultaneously.    

 
Figure  25.  Felix  working  on  a  Logic  session.  The  Presonus  Firestudio  audio  
interface  sits  to  his  right  with  four  microphone  cables  plugged  into  it.  
 
 

Tony  provided  some  specific  advice  on  acoustic  treatment,  which  Tara  

explained:  “Tony  suggested  to  push  the  piano  against  the  bed  and  told  me  

that  this  space  was  really  problematic  because  of  all  the  noise,  that  constant  

buzzing,  He  said  the  room  was  super  alive.”  After  providing  Tara  with  some  

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guidance  on  how  to  optimally  set  up  her  apartment  as  a  recording  studio,  

Tony  spent  four  hours  with  Felix  testing  out  different  possible  microphone  

techniques,  which  Tara  documented  in  her  journal:  

We  began  to  do  mic  setup.  The  Sennheisers  in  the  piano.  After  a  few  
takes,  we  decided  to  take  the  lid  off  the  piano  entirely,  and  push  the  
piano  right  against  the  bed.  The  bed  is  apparently  the  best  thing  going  
on  in  our  apartment.  We  turned  on  the  high  filters  and  had  the  mics  
exaggerated  out  to  help  the  stereo  effect.  We  tried  a  room  mic  at  
Nathan's  bedside  table  area.  No  good.  We  tried  one  about  7  feet  away  
from  the  piano.  No  good.  We  tried  one  about  13  feet  from  piano.  Good.  
We  did  many  many  takes,  and  he  developed  some  standard  EQ  
settings  for  the  three  mics.  We're  now  using  those  as  starting  points.    
 
 

Headaches  of  the  Home  Studio  

  I  asked  Tara  about  her  involvement  in  the  process  of  setting  up  the  

microphones  for  recording  the  piano.  Her  explanation  made  it  clear  that  she  

didn’t  perceive  herself  as  being  active  in  the  decision-­‐making,  choosing  to  

rely  on  the  expertise  of  Tony  and  Felix:  

Well,  I  didn’t  make  any  of  those  decisions  really.  We  first  started  
micing  the  piano  with  the  lid  on  it,  and  it  was  getting  tons  of  phasing  
from  the  lid,  so  then  we  took  the  lid  off  and  that  seemed  to  help  a  lot,  
plus  the  strings  are  pretty  noisy  with  the  pedal.  The  pedal  dampers  
are  noisy  so  that  was  bouncing  off.  We  tried  a  room  mic  in  that  corner  
and  a  few  other  places  and  basically  Tony  thought  it  wasn’t  making  
much  of  a  difference.  I  wasn’t  making  those  decisions.    
 
Tara  delegated  the  decisions  of  microphone  technique  and  placement  

to  Felix  and  Tony,  but  her  description  demonstrates  that  she  was  able  to  

identify  sound  problems  such  as  “phasing,”  and  reflection  issues  (“bouncing  

off”).  Nisbett  (1989)  provides  a  succinct  and  clear  explanation  of  phase:  

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 Phase  is  a  term  used  in  describing  subdivisions  of  one  wavelength  of  a  
tone…The  mathematical  jargon  is  not  important  to  the  microphone  
user,  but  the  concept  of  waves  being  in  or  out  of  phase  is  vital.  Signals  
that  are  in  phase  reinforce  each  other;  those  that  are  out  of  phase  
subtract  from  or  tend  to  cancel  each  other.  (p.  14)  
 
While  Tara  may  not  have  been  able  to  describe  the  sound  that  she  

wanted,  she  was  able  to  identify  aural  characteristics  that  she  wanted  to  

eliminate  or  improve  in  the  sound  of  the  piano:  

I  was  more  frustrated  with  the  piano.  It  sounded  like  a  home  
recording  because  it  sounded  like  it  wasn’t  a  proper  piano.  You  can  
really  hear  it.  It’s  one  thing  to  hear  the  pedal  damper,  which  you  can  
hear  in  all  of  my  songs,  which  is  authentic,  but  this,  like,  knocking  
noise  did  it  for  me.  Plus  it  just  felt  not  like  how  I  hear  it  playing.  I  
couldn’t  even  hear  the  real  articulation  of  the  bass  part.  The  bass  was  
getting  left  out  initially—there  was  a  lot  in  the  middle  register.  I  need  
to  hear  the  bass  part  to  know  when  to  enter  and  how  to  articulate.      
 
Capturing  the  sound  of  an  instrument  can  be  an  elusive  quest  because  

it  entails  multiple  factors.  In  Tara’s  description,  the  first  attempt  at  

improving  the  overall  sound  of  the  piano  was  adjusting  the  positioning  of  the  

microphones.  d’Escrivan  (2012)  provides  an  insightful  explanation  of  why  

microphone  placement  is  not  a  simple  task:  

A  microphone  on  its  own  is  rather  like  one  ear  on  its  own  with  no  
head,  yet  by  combining  microphones  we  can  build  an  “image”  of  the  
sound  we  are  trying  to  capture  and  this  is,  of  course,  where  all  
subjectivity  comes  in  and  why  recording  is  an  art  form  (p.  48)  
 
Another  factor  in  the  overall  sound  of  the  recording  is  the  quality  of  

the  instrument  itself.  To  remedy  the  problematic  sounds  of  the  piano,  Tara  

hired  “these  big  Russian  guys,”  extending  the  preparation  phase  into  another  

day.  To  further  improve  the  acoustics  of  her  apartment-­‐turned-­‐recording  

  151  
studio,  Tara  and  Felix  strategically  hung  blue  moving  blankets  from  the  

ceiling  (Figure  26).  Tara’s  journal  entry  summarizes  the  day’s  activities:          

I'm  fairly  exhausted.  Drove  through  the  Hasidic  neighborhood  and  

picked  up  Felix  in  Crown  Heights  (blankets  and  acoustic  panels  also).  I  
stood  on  a  chair  on  top  of  our  kitchen  table  and  threw  a  string  
attached  to  a  bolt  over  the  pipes  on  our  rafters  and  began  to  hang  
packing  blankets.  It's  amazing  what  you  do  when  no  one  else  is  
there/willing/able  to  do  it.  We  also  hung  blankets  on  the  sidewalls  
and  above  the  bed.  The  Russians  came  and  tuned.  They  also  told  me  
that  my  piano  was  kind  of  a  toy—and  okay  for  children—but  not  for  a  
professional  pianist.  They  really  went  to  town—as  the  pictures  show.      
 
 
 

 
Figure  26.  “The  big  Russian  guys”  tune  the  piano.  Felix  looks  on  standing  
beneath  the  blue  moving  blankets  that  he  hung  with  Tara.  
   
 
 
  I  appreciate  how  Tara  took  the  time  to  document  the  hours  of  careful  

planning  and  preparation  that  go  into  the  making  of  a  home  recording.  In  a  

professional  studio,  typically  an  intern  would  be  assigned  the  task  of  picking  

  152  
up  items  for  the  studio  such  as  blankets  and  baffles  and  a  maintenance  

person  would  be  responsible  for  hanging  acoustic  treatment  from  the  ceiling.  

In  the  budget-­‐conscious  home  studio,  the  talent  has  no  choice  but  to  do  it  all.  

Recording  Piano  (Monday  Afternoon,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday)  

  On  Day  2  of  7,  with  the  apartment  set  up  and  the  piano  freshly  tuned,  

Tara  and  Felix  transitioned  to  the  next  phase:  recording  the  piano.  Tara  

managed  to  record  three  of  her  songs  on  the  piano,  but  noted  some  

difficulties  in  her  journal  that  evening  about  the  early  goings:  “All  the  noises  

and  trains  make  it  difficult.  I'm  not  sold  on  the  way  Felix  organizes  the  tracks,  

but  it's  a  combined  effort.”  It  was  a  long  day  for  Tara,  and  her  final  sentence  

captures  the  blend  of  exhaustion  and  optimism  that  she  felt:  “I'm  exhausted,  

and  my  back  hurts…but  am  feeling  better  than  yesterday  about  things.”      

   

Finding  Faults  With  Felix  

  Tuesday  was  the  first  full  day  of  recording  piano  and  Tara’s  journal  

entry  both  describes  and  captures  the  feeling  of  the  9-­‐hour  session:  

It  was  a  rough  start.  We  did  “Fire  Drill”  again  at  the  beginning,  and  I  
wasn't  playing  well  in  time.  It's  a  challenging  song  to  begin  with,  but  I  
wasn't  properly  warmed  up.  I  continued  to  get  aggravated  some  at  
things  that  were  being  deleted.  But  I  think  we've  started  to  norm  into  
a  bit  of  a  system.  Basically  we  do  at  least  five  full  takes.  I  figure  it  will  
mean  I'll  need  to  go  through  and  make  decisions  about  sections  (I  
wish  that  was  being  done  along  the  way),  and  there's  not  really  a  
guarantee  that  we  have  everything  down,  but  I  think  I  have  some  
sense  of  the  parts  I  have  or  still  need.      

  153  
   Tara  spoke  of  her  aggravation  towards  Felix  regarding  his  judgment  

of  what  takes  were  kept  and  what  takes  were  deleted.  Because  Felix  served  

as  the  engineer  of  the  project,  he  was  given  the  ability  to  keep  or  delete  

tracks  as  they  were  recorded.  Tara  had  hoped  everything  she  recorded  

would  be  saved,  but  Felix  acted  as  the  judge,  jury,  and  executioner  of  what  

was  deemed  worth  saving.  She  described  how  the  act  of  Felix  deleting  a  track  

impacted  her  piano  performances  on  proceeding  takes:  

For  me,  if  we  spent  10  hours  on  three  songs  I  want  to  have  10  hours  of  
recordings…I  suppose  for  him,  especially  since  they're  not  his  songs,  
he  would  like  to  see  things  his  way,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  a  clear  one  
take…That  actually  threw  me  mentally  sometimes,  I’d  look  back  and  
he  would  erase  the  take  we  just  did.  I  would  get  frustrated  and  I  
would  actually  mess  up  and  that's  my  own  mental  weakness.  We  
never  fought  or  anything,  but  personally  there  was  some  tension  
sometimes  or  I  would  get  frustrated.  That  happened  and  I  could  tell  it  
was  getting  to  my  mental  state.  I  could  tell  it  directly  affected  me  a  
little.  It  could  be  him;  it  could  be  me  not  being  able  to  get  over  it.    
       
  In  my  final  interview  with  Tara,  I  followed  up  with  her  again  on  this  

issue,  asking  what  she  thought  about  working  with  Felix  on  her  album.  Her  

explanation  demonstrates  that  she  had  a  preconceived  idea  of  how  the  

recording  process  would  work  and  it  did  not  align  with  Felix’s:  

That  dynamic—he  did  mention  it  at  the  end  of  the  week—I  think  it  
takes  time  getting  to  know  how  someone  works.  He  found  it  
surprising  how  I  wanted  to  work  and  vice  versa.  I  thought  by  the  end  
we  had  each  other  figured  out.  He  didn't  think  we  would  have  so  many  
takes  to  go  through.  If  you  didn't  like  it  you  would  just  scratch  it  and  
we  would  just  start  from  that  point  and  that's  not  at  all  what  I  was  
thinking.    
 

  154  
 The  tension  that  Tara  felt  between  herself  and  Felix  helps  to  explain  

her  journal  entry  from  that  evening.  It  is  evident  that  the  day’s  activities  took  

their  toll:  

My  brain  is  tired.  I  like  the  stress  and  pressure  of  having  to  do  take  
after  take  (all  with  the  expectation  to  be  without  error),  but  it  gets  
exhausting  too.  I  feel  like  now  I'm  kind  of  in  the  swing  of  it,  which  is  
nice,  but  also  a  bit  like  free-­‐falling.  I  can't  really  tell  how  things  are  
going  anymore  and  I  don't  know  if  I  have  it  in  me  to  step  back  enough  
to  try  and  tell  at  this  point.  I  think  just  keep  going.      
 
  That  same  evening  I  took  the  subway  to  Tara’s  apartment  and  

dropped  off  a  video  camera  for  her  to  capture  the  recording  sessions.  She  had  

been  so  busy  that  we  were  not  able  to  meet  in  time  for  the  beginning  of  the  

sessions.  In  retrospect,  Tara’s  apparent  frustration  on  that  day  was  not  so  

apparent  to  me.  She  seemed  a  bit  tired,  but  was  happy  to  talk  for  a  moment  

as  I  couldn’t  help  myself  from  examining  how  her  apartment  had  morphed  

into  a  studio.  I  explained  to  her  how  to  use  the  camera  and  didn’t  see  her  

again  until  after  the  recording  sessions  had  finished.  

 
 
Wednesday:  Recording  the  Piano  for  “Grandpa”  
 
  Tara’s  journal  documented  that  she  recorded  the  piano  parts  for  three  

songs  on  Wednesday,  one  of  which  is  the  focus  of  this  discussion,  “Grandpa”:  

We  started  late  and  ended  early.  I'm  hoping  this  left  enough  time  for  
Felix  to  edit/comp  three  tunes  so  vocals  can  begin  Thursday.  We  did  
“Get  Well,”  “Grandpa,”  and  “Danish  Dynasty.”  These  are  three  that  I  
haven't  practiced  as  much.  I  was  able  to  get  in  the  zone  for  the  most  
part.  The  constant  running  eighth  notes  in  “Grandpa”  can  be  difficult  if  
not  totally  relaxed.  

  155  
   Tara’s  stimulated  recall  interview  and  journal  entries  were  crucial  to  

documenting  her  case  because  the  video  camera  footage  is  almost  static,  like  

a  still  image.  The  video  camera  was  placed  on  a  nearby  table  and  provides  a  

profile  view  of  Tara  playing  at  her  piano  while  Felix  sits  at  a  desk  watching  

the  computer  screen  (Figure  27).      

 
 
 

 
Figure  27.  The  camera  view  of  Tara  playing  the  piano  and  Felix  engineering.  
   
 

  Together,  Tara  and  I  watched  the  video  footage  of  her  recording  the  

piano  part  for  “Grandpa.”  I  hoped  to  gain  some  added  insight  from  her.      

Adam:  So  when  the  video  starts  you’re  already  playing,  did  you  just  
turn  the  camera  on?  
 
Tara:  I  think  the  first  day  I  may  have  forgotten  to  turn  it  on  right  away,  
but  I  have  a  feeling—since  we  have  three  long  videos  here—this  is  
very  near  the  beginning  of  the  session.  I  would  have  warmed  up  or  
something.  

  156  
 A:  Are  you  recording  at  this  point?  
 
T:  Yeah,  I  think  so.  I  can  see  that  little  recording  ‘grey’  thing  there  
(points  to  the  computer  screen  in  the  video  frame).  
 
In  the  video  Tara  said  to  Felix,  “All  right,  let’s  stop  and  punch  in  at  

chorus  1B,”  and  Felix  responded,  “All  right,  I’ll  give  you  two  bars.”  Although  

Tara  handed  over  the  reins  of  engineering  to  Felix,  Tara  provided  specific  

engineering  instructions  to  Felix:        

I’d  tell  him  where  to  put  markers  so  that  when  we  would  have  to  do  
re-­‐starts,  and  then  in  the  comping  stuff,  it’s  much  clearer.  So  if  there  is  
a  noise  here,  let’s  just  take  it  from  the  6/4  bar  or  let’s  just  take  it  from  
the  pre-­‐chorus.  
     
Sitting  beside  me,  Tara  laughed  as  she  watched  herself  stretch  her  

hands  on  camera.  In  the  video,  Tara  resumed  playing  the  piano.  As  she  

listened  to  the  steady  click  of  a  metronome  in  her  headphones,  partially  

obscured  by  a  microphone  stand,  Tara  rocked  slowly  back  and  forth  as  she  

played  “Grandpa.”  Her  eyes  were  closed  and  she  appeared  to  be  in  a  Zen  

state,  focusing  solely  on  the  task  at  hand.      

Adam:  Are  you  used  to  watching  yourself  play?  

 
Tara:  On  a  video?  
 
A:  What  do  you  think  of  it?  
 
T:  I  don’t  love  it.  I  don’t  think  I  want  to  stare  at  my  posture  and  my  
head  rocking  back  and  forth  forever,  but  yeah  it’s  okay.      
 
It  was  difficult  to  discern  what  Felix  was  doing,  but  he  appeared  to  be  

equally  focused,  listening  to  the  recordings  on  his  headphones  and  staring  

  157  
intently  at  the  MacBook  Pro’s  screen,  watching  the  audio  waveforms  take  

shape  as  they  were  recorded.  Tara  abruptly  stopped  playing  piano,  as  if  

halting  a  speeding  vehicle,  and  exclaimed,  “I  wasn’t  thinking.”  “What?”  asked  

Felix.  Tara  repeated  herself,  “I  wasn’t  thinking.”  “Oh,”  laughed  Felix.  

Adam:  You  stopped  that  one,  what  didn’t  you  like?  

 
Tara:  My  rhythm  was  a  little  off.  (Tara  emitted  a  subtle  laugh  of  
amusement.)  So  this  was  a  new  way  of  playing  piano  in  this  song.  It’s  
not  that  hard—it’s  just  kind  of  like  a  pick-­‐guitar  type,  imitative  of  
guitar-­‐style  playing,  so  I  just  feel  like  if  you’re  not  totally  even  you  can  
just  really  mess  up  a  lot.      
 
A:  So  that’s  why  you’re  stopping  yourself,  you  don’t  have  that  feel?  
 
T:  Yeah.  That  time  I  got  it.  
   
  Seven  stops  and  starts  later,  Tara  completed  her  first  take  of  

“Grandpa.”  Sometimes  she  stopped  herself  because  she  wasn’t  happy  with  

how  she  executed  a  passage,  and  in  hindsight,  Tara  thought  she  may  have  

been  hypercritical  of  her  piano-­‐playing  in  the  moment,  commenting,  “In  a  

sense  it’s  a  mistake,  but  when  I  watch  this  it’s  not  that  big  of  a  deal”  and  “It’s  

funny  because  what  I  just  did  was  really,  really,  minor.”  Tara’s  actions  are  

demonstrative  of  Clarke’s  (2007)  argument  that  recording  drives  the  

performer  to  adopt  a  perfectionist  attitude  toward  their  playing:  

Repeatability  and  semi-­‐permanence  mean  that  the  slips  and  risks  that  
either  go  unnoticed  in  live  performance,  or  are  quickly  forgotten,  have  
been  regarded  (rightly  or  wrongly)  as  unacceptable  in  a  recording.  
And  so  the  drive  towards  technical  perfection  begins:  fidelity  of  the  
medium  and  fidelity  to  the  score.  (p.  53)  
     
 

  158  
“Trains  and  Stuff”:  Battling  Environmental  Noise  

Contributing  to  the  start-­‐and-­‐stop  nature  of  the  recording  sessions  

was  the  uncontrollable  factor  of  unwanted  environmental  sounds.  A  

reoccurring  scene  in  the  videos  shows  Felix  interrupting  a  take,  suspending  

Tara’s  playing  with,  “there  was  a  noise”  or  “that  thing,”  referring  to  

environmental  sounds  that  bled  into  the  recording  and  tarnished  the  

otherwise  pristine  performance.      

Adam:  I  didn’t  realize  how  big  of  an  issue  that  kind  of  thing  was.  It  was  
hard  to  hear  and  I  wasn’t  always  sure  why  you  were  stopping  because  
you  weren’t  happy  with  it.  But  it’s  these  environmental  noises.  
 
Tara:  Especially  because  there  is  just  a  lot  of  noise  with  trains  and  
stuff,  especially  like  the  endings  of  songs,  like  when  you  know  there  is  
nothing  to  be  heard  but  the  sound  of  the  piano  fading  out.  That  sort  of  
thing  is  when  it  really  became  a  problem  just  because  during  a  great  
take  or  ending  there  would  be  a  train.  You’d  have  to  do  it  again.  There  
was  one  time  when  we  went  upstairs  and  asked  a  guy  to  turn  down  
the  music—he  started  blaring  music  upstairs  in  the  middle  of  the  
day—so  he  was  really  nice  about  it.  And  one  day  we  had  to  quit  
because  they  were  re-­‐flooring  an  apartment.  It  was  like  a  chainsaw.      
 
  Tomes  (2009)  claims  that  recording  makes  musicians  hypercritical  of  

their  performance  and  the  noises  of  the  environment:  “We  become  extremely  

conscious  not  only  of  our  playing,  but  of  every  little  cough  and  scrape,  page-­‐

turn,  pedal  noise,  and  squeak  of  the  piano  stool”  (p.  10).    

 
 
Felix  As  Producer  
 
Aside  from  identifying  unwanted  noises,  Felix  intermittently  assumed  

the  role  of  producer,  giving  Tara  occasional  feedback  on  her  playing.  Ramone  

  159  
(2007)  details  the  multifarious  responsibilities  that  comprise  the  role  of  a  

producer:  “Because  he  or  she  is  involved  in  nearly  every  aspect  of  a  

production,  the  producer  serves  as  friend,  cheerleader,  psychologist,  

taskmaster,  court  jester,  troubleshooter,  secretary,  traffic  cop,  judge,  and  jury  

rolled  into  one”  (p.  15).  The  following  excerpt  of  dialogue  exemplifies  Felix  

serving  the  role  of  psychologist  as  he  questioned  Tara  after  her  first  complete  

take:  

Felix:  How  do  you  feel  the  little  things  were  working  out  last  time?  
 
Tara:  Tempo  wise  or…  
 
F:  Yeah,  timing  wise.  
 
T:  Um  I  don’t  know.  I’m  trying  it  out  for  the  first  time,  I  think  we  
should  do  a  few  more  full  takes  and  then  I’ll  see  if  I  should  use  that  
thing  maybe.  
 
F:  All  right.  
 
  While  watching  this  excerpt  of  the  video,  Tara  interjected  and  

explained  to  me  what  their  conversation  was  about:  

Tara:  Oh,  so  there’s  this  little  fill  that  I  was  doing  on  the  piano  that  I  
was  basically,  I  was  playing  two  different  rhythmic  versions  of  it  in  the  
same  song,  so  I  think  one  was  sounding  like  a  mistake.  
 
Adam:  To  him?  
 
T:  I  think  maybe,  I  can  tell  that  I  was  slightly  offended  when  he  asked,  
“How  do  I  feel  about  that  take?”  I  think  I  took  that  as,  “That  sounds  
weird,”  you  know?  I’m  trying  to  think  of  what  version  I  ended  up  
taking.  Should  I  keep  going?  
 

  160  
   Tara  resumed  play  on  the  video  and  the  dialogue  between  her  and  

Felix  continued:  

Tara:  What  do  you  think?  

 
Felix:  No,  it’s  beautiful.  Maybe  it  wasn’t  that  confident.  The  first  time  it  
was  great,  second  time  it  was  a  bit  sloppy.  
 
  Tara  paused  the  video  again  and  provided  some  insight:  
 
Tara:  Yeah  so  that’s  the  thing,  he  thinks  the  first  time  is  great  and  the  
second  one  wasn’t  great,  which  is  probably  a  good  point.  It  was  just  
that  the  second  one  was  like  an  anticipated  rhythm  so  if  you’re  
expecting  the  first  riff  then  it  was  like,  “Oh,  she  flubbed  that  one  up.”  
 
Adam:  When  actually  it  was  a  variation?  
 
T:  It  was  a  good  point  he  made  even  though  I  didn’t  make  a  mistake,  
it’s  probably  not  a  good  idea  to  make  a  small  variation  of  this  little  riff  
because  then  it  sounds  like  a  mistake,  apparently.    
 
  I  sensed  a  tone  of  mild  annoyance  in  Tara’s  voice  when  she  finished  

her  sentence  with  “apparently,”  but  I  think  that  she  was  genuine  in  her  

appreciation  for  Felix’s  feedback.  As  Tara  explained,  any  residual  irritation  

she  harbored  could  be  attributed  to  the  fact  that  she  and  Felix  were  spending  

long  days  together:  “I  mean  it  is  a  lot  of  time  with  one  person  so  you  get  that  

feeling  of  a  week,  or  even  after  every  day  I  needed  to  clear  my  head.  When  

you’re  used  to  being  by  yourself  a  lot,  you  just  need  to  go  for  a  walk.”      

  Further,  Tara’s  journal  entry  points  to  the  fact  that  she  relished  the  

opportunity  to  execute  her  music  at  the  high  standard  that  she  sets  for  

herself.  Gone  were  the  grumblings  about  Felix,  replaced  by  a  revitalized  spirit  

of  enthusiasm  for  challenges  that  the  recording  process  presents:  

  161  
 I  find  that  hours  of  trying  to  do  perfect  takes  is  very  exhausting,  but  it  
also  feeds  me.  I  love  this  sort  of  thing  and  can  tell  now  that  I've  missed  
this  sort  of  “work.”  Perhaps  this  is  the  sort  of  situation  where  I'll  be  
able  to  find  that  "cut  and  dry"  critique  I  miss  from  not  being  in  a  sport.  
I've  often  said  that  the  switch  to  music  and  particularly  composition,  
has  been  challenging,  because  it  is  so  subjective.  In  sports  you  always  
know  if  you're  good  or  not,  strong  or  not,  won  or  lost.  But  in  this  
situation,  I'm  starting  to  love  the  objective  parts  about  it:  did  I  play  
perfectly  in  time,  can  I  sing  in  pitch,  can  I  make  it  through  the  song  
without  a  noticeable  mistake?  Maybe  being  an  artist  or  performer—or  
at  least  that  pursuit—has  the  balance.      
     
 
 
Thursday:  Technical  Difficulties  
 
  The  fifth  day  of  recording  was  intended  to  be  a  full  day  of  singing,  but  

technical  problems  combined  with  construction  in  her  building  prevented  

Tara  and  Felix  from  being  able  to  record.  “We  had  some  problems,”  she  said.  

“We  attempted  vocals  for  a  while,  but  kept  getting  latency  issues.  Then  

construction  started  on  the  floor  and  we  had  to  call  it  a  day  around  2:30  p.m.”  

  Refusing  to  let  a  snag  in  their  plans  impede  their  progress,  Tara  and  

Felix  used  the  rest  of  the  day  to  prepare  for  the  remaining  two  days  of  

recording.  Tara’s  journal  reveals  that  she  wished  she  had  the  ability  to  do  the  

comping  independently:  

Felix  had  lots  of  comping  to  do  anyways.  I  took  notes  and  did  comping  
notes  for  six  songs.  I  should  just  learn  to  do  comps  better  and  edits  
and  fades,  it  can't  be  that  hard.  Anyways,  hopefully  the  notes  make  
sense  to  him  and  he's  able  to  get  some  sleep.  Right  now,  everything  is  
still  basically  in  one  session.  I  need  to  learn  a  better  system  of  
organization!  Tired,  and  should  rest  my  voice/drink  tea...  
 
 
 

  162  
 Friday:  Vocals  
 
  In  Friday’s  journal  Tara  wrote:  “Began  around  11:40  a.m.  My  voice  

didn't  feel  too  hot,  but  we  did  five  or  six  songs  anyways.  Actually  six  or  

seven.”  Amid  the  hours  of  singing,  “Grandpa”  was  second  on  the  docket.  After  

cueing  up  a  new  video  file  on  my  MacBook,  Tara  and  I  settled  in  our  chairs  to  

watch  the  vocal  recording  session  of  “Grandpa”  together.  The  video  captured  

a  side  profile  of  Tara  as  she  sang.  In  the  video’s  frame,  Tara  stood  in  front  of  a  

white  wooden  baffle  with  grey  jagged  foam  on  one  side  that  partially  

surrounded  her.  Tara  explained,  “Felix  brought  that.  It  keeps  the  sound  from  

the  outside.  We  just  tried  to  make  it  as  closed  as  possible.”      

Tara  sang  directly  against  a  pop  filter,  a  device  that  reduces  sibilance  

and  plosives  such  as  the  “p”  and  “s”  consonants.  The  pop  filter  was  placed  six  

inches  in  front  of  the  microphone.  Tara  mentioned  that  she  tried  out  a  few  

different  vocal  mics,  but  ended  up  using  one  belonging  to  her  husband.  

Enclosing  the  back  of  the  microphone  was  a  concave-­‐shaped  lightweight  

perforated  steel  baffle  that  Tara  referred  to  as  a  vocal  windscreen:  

I  bought  that  vocal  windscreen,  it  actually  worked  really  well.  It  
makes  a  little  sound  booth  as  long  as  you  sing  into  it,  it  really  
eliminates  everything.  It  attaches  to  a  mic  stand.  Felix  thought  it  
worked  amazingly.  This  thing  made  the  vocals.  We  didn’t  have  a  noise  
problem  with  the  vocals.  Maybe  the  tiniest  bit  and  there’s  a  little  
bleeding  and  stuff  like  that,  but  this  thing  really  helped.  With  the  
piano  if  there  was  any  train  we’d  have  to  start  the  whole  section  over.  
With  this  if  there  was  a  train  in  the  middle  of  the  song,  you’d  never  
know.      
 
 

  163  
  
Figure  28.  Tara  sings  into  the  mic.  In  front  of  the  mic  is  the  pop  filter  and  
behind  it  is  the  windscreen.    
 
 
 
We  cued  up  the  video  to  the  point  before  Tara  started  singing  

“Grandpa,”  and  after  finishing  the  first  song  of  the  day,  “Sunburn,”  Tara’s  

conversation  with  Felix  revealed  that  she  was  feeling  nervous  about  her  

ability  to  sing  all  day:  

Tara:  Well,  I  know  don’t  know  if  it’s  perfect,  but  I  think  we  should  
keep  going.  
 
Felix:  Yeah.  
 
T:  Because  I  don’t  know  how  long  it  will  last.  
 
F:  Yeah,  it  will  be  a  long  day  of  singing.  You’re  doing  great.  If  I  notice  
something  I’ll  let  you  know.  All  right,  so  can  you  tell  me  what  one  you  
want  to  do  next?  
 
T:  Let’s  do  Grandpa.  And  looking  at  the  list  they  all  feel  challenging  
right  now.  
 
F:  Really?!  
 

  164  
 T  (mimicking  going  through  a  list):  I  don’t  know  if  I  can  sing  that  one,  I  
don’t  know  if  I  can  sing  that  one…  
 
F:  Come  on!  
 
Tara  explained  that  there  was  a  rationale  behind  the  singing  order  of  

her  songs:  “It  was  mostly  vocally  the  range  you  know,  so  the  first  time  I  sang  I  

made  sure  it  wasn’t  like  a  song  that  I  really  wanted  my  voice  all  there  for.”  In  

contrast  to  the  nervous  trepidation  Tara  expressed  to  Felix  before  singing  

“Grandpa,”  Tara  clarified  that  singing  this  song  was  not  as  demanding  vocally  

as  some  of  her  other  songs:  

It’s  not  that  challenging  of  a  song  I  think.  I  can  sing  it  pretty  lightly.  
There  was  a  couple  of  songs  that  I  didn’t  get  what  I  wanted.  I’m  not  
sure  that  this  is  one  of  them.  Like  one  of  those  songs  that  on  a  good  
day  you  can  get  the  sound  you  want,  and  I’m  just  not  good  enough  to  
consistently  get  it.      
   
The  origins  of  the  song  “Grandpa”  are  interesting  because  Tara  started  

writing  it  on  a  family  trip  as  she  explained:  

This  happens  to  be  one  of  those  songs  where  I  saved  this  random  
piece  of  paper  literally  when  I  was  going  to  see  my  Grandpa’s  grave  I  
jotted  in  the  van,  my  aunt’s  van  on  the  farm  or  something.  I  literally  
had  this  piece  of  paper  in  my  makeup  bag  for  two  years.  It  was  one  of  
those  things  that  would  be  an  interesting  idea  sometime.  
 
I  asked  Tara  is  she  still  had  it  and  she  pulled  out  a  Black  and  Red  

notebook  and  showed  me  the  scrap  paper  (Figure  29).  Tara  is  an  immaculate  

record  keeper  and  proceeded  to  show  me  five  more  pages  of  lyric  sketches  

that  were  eventually  whittled  down  to  the  final  draft.  

  165  
  
Figure  29.  Original  “Grandpa”  lyrics.  
 
 
 
Technical  Details  

Before  the  singing  of  “Grandpa”  commenced,  Tara  and  Felix  went  over  

some  technical  details.  Tara  asked,  “Is  my  proximity  to  the  mic  okay?”  Felix  

strolled  back  to  check  her  distance  from  the  microphone  and  deemed  it  good.  

Felix  then  walked  out  of  frame  to  take  his  post  at  the  computer  and  

announced,  “All  right,  here  we  go.”  Tara  confirmed  her  readiness  with  an  

“mmm  hmm,”  and  listened  to  the  playback  in  her  headphones.  “Would  you  

mind  cutting  the  click?”  Tara  requested.  She  started  to  sing  the  first  few  lines  

of  the  song:  “‘Just  another  mile  left  to  go,’  mama  said  as  she  looked  out  the  

window,”  before  interrupting  herself:  “Um,  lets  start  one  more  time,  could  I  

have  a  little  bit  more  piano?”  Felix  proceeded  by  going  through  a  technical  

checklist  with  Tara,  “All  right,  and  the  vocals  are  good?”  “The  vocals  are  fine,”  

  166  
Tara  retorted  matter-­‐of-­‐factly.  Making  sure,  Felix  confirmed,  “Just  piano?”  

“Yeah,”  followed  Tara’s  instant  approval.  Felix  started  to  raise  the  volume  of  

the  piano  in  Tara’s  headphones  asking,  “Is  this  ok?  More?”  Tara  motioned  

upwards  with  her  thumb,  the  universal  signal  for  more  until  she  was  content  

with  the  piano  level  and  informed  Felix,  “Ok,  that’s  good.”  Tara  answered  

Felix’s  final  item  on  the  checklist,  “You  don’t  need  a  click  at  all,  right?”  with  a  

nod  and  once  again  she  resumed  singing:  

Just  another  mile  left  to  go,  Mama  says  as  she  looked  out  the  window…  

Self-­‐Consciousness  in  Recording  

As  Tara  sang,  her  eyes  were  closed  and  her  posture  was  upright.  Her  

right  hand  grasped  the  fingers  of  her  left  hand  and  she  made  a  circular  

dipping  motion  with  her  hands,  as  if  summoning  an  imaginary  object  from  

the  ground.  Pointing  at  the  computer  screen,  I  asked  Tara,  “What’s  this  kind  

of  thing?”  Tara  explained,  “I  actually  was  conscious  of  it.  That’s  like,  trying  to  

pull  up  if  I  know  I’m  going  to  be  flat.  I  was  conscious  of  it,  but  I  don’t  

necessarily  think  it  helps.  I  knew  I  was  doing  that  a  lot.”  Tara  continued,  

“Now  this  is  much  stranger  to  watch.”  “Why?”  I  questioned.  Tara  elaborated:  

Well  part  of  it  is  I  think  it  looks  unnatural  and  I  think  it  is  unnatural  
because  I  never  sing  like  that.  You  know,  you  never  sing  in  a  booth  
without  playing  anything  or  hearing  a  band  or  feeling,  but  oh  well.  I  
know  I  feel  relaxed  because  I  look  I  weird,  I  didn’t  feel  self-­‐conscious.  
       

  167  
 Following  up  I  asked,  “Did  you  ever  think  about  the  camera?”  Tara  

admitted:  “Yeah  a  couple  of  times.  Not  much,  but  I  guess  a  little  bit.  But  not  

thinking  about  and  really  doing  anything  about  it.”  Tara  cited  a  few  physical  

actions  as  “weird,”  referring  to  a  moment  when  she  propped  her  right  leg  up  

on  a  nearby  table,  performing  a  hamstring  stretch,  all  while  singing.      

“Gotta  Hit  That”:  Singing  Perfection  

Compared  to  the  piano  recording  of  “Grandpa,”  the  vocal  recording  

took  considerably  less  time,  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  the  recordings  were  

not  interrupted  by  environmental  sounds.  Yet  Tara’s  drive  for  perfection  

spurred  her  on  to  get  perfect  vocal  takes.  After  completing  the  vocals  for  

“Grandpa”  in  two  halves,  Tara  took  a  drink  of  hot  water  from  her  mug  and  

muttered,  “Ah,  gotta  hit  that,”  and  repeatedly  sang  the  three  notes  outlining  

an  Eb-­‐minor  triad:  Bb4,  Eb4,  and  Gb4  with  the  lyrics  “Dust-­‐y  brow.”  The  leap  

down  of  a  perfect  fifth  from  the  Bb4  to  the  Eb4  gave  her  some  problems,  as  

she  had  a  tendency  to  sing  the  Eb  slightly  flat.  Tara  walked  out  of  the  

camera’s  frame,  but  she  could  be  heard  playing  the  notes  at  the  piano  and  

singing  them  back  trying  to  match  the  pitches  precisely.  Tara  commented  to  

me  that  singing  perfectly  in  tune  is  a  point  of  pride  for  her:  “To  me,  if  I  hit  a  

note  really  in  tune,  but  it  wasn't  the  best  take,  I  would  be  happy  about  how  I  

hit  that  note  the  way  I  wanted.”  This  sentiment  was  echoed  in  Tara’s  journal:  

  168  
“I  really  like  this  sort  of  thing  more  and  more,  because  it's  motivating  for  

me—I  want  to  sing  better,  more  in  tune,  play  more  accurately.”    

Tara  and  Felix  took  a  quick  recess  while  she  sipped  from  her  mug  and  

rehearsed  “Dust-­‐y  brow”  a  few  more  times.  When  recording  resumed  Tara  

sped  through  “Grandpa,”  and  marched  onto  the  next  song.  In  total  Tara  sang  

six  songs  in  one  day—not  bad  for  someone  who  didn’t  think  she  had  it  in  her  

when  the  day  began.  The  challenges  she  encountered  recording  vocals  are  

not  uncommon,  as  Producer  Bob  Rock  (Metallica,  Aerosmith,  Bon  Jovi)  

affirms:  “I  truly  believe  that  recording  vocals  is  the  hardest  skill  to  master  in  

all  of  recording.”  (as  cited  in  Hatschek,  2005,  p.  184).  

Saturday  and  Beyond:  Comping  

 
There  was  a  tone  of  relief  in  Tara’s  journal  entry  from  Saturday:  
   
The  apartment  is  almost  back  to  normal.  In  a  hurry,  I've  kind  of  tried  
to  clean  up.  I  feel  like  I  do  after  a  trip—that  even  though  I  want  to  
relax,  I  want  to  put  everything  back  in  order  and  really  be  finished  and  
just  move  on  to  the  next  thing.  But  I  remember  the  importance  of  
giving  thanks  for  something  that's  happened  and  taking  a  break  from  
it,  and  celebrating  it.  We  finished  the  vocals  today.      
 
  With  the  vocals  done  and  the  recording  stage  completed  in  a  furiously  

paced  seven  days,  Tara  was  cognizant  that  there  was  more  work  to  be  done:  

I  have  my  work  cut  out  for  me  with  regards  to  making  comping  notes.  
I  wish  that  there  had  been  more  of  a  system  in  place  and/or  that  Felix  
had  been  very  clear  with  takes  and  what  he  was  using.  But  I  don't  
think  he's  used  to  working  with  so  many  different  takes/tracks.  And  I  
don't  have  a  lot  of  experience  with  how  to  organize  projects  in  that  
regard.  So,  I  think  the  best  bet  will  be  to  take  tomorrow  off  and  maybe  

  169  
 Monday  too,  but  then  listen  and  do  comping  notes  right  away  -­‐  before  
the  projects  become  too  distant  from  my  memory  and  ears.  I'm  going  
to  do  very  rough  bounces  right  now  of  the  songs  we  did  today,  and  the  
songs  with  harmony.  Felix  thought  he  could  do  comps  in  about  a  
week.  I'll  then  need  to  decide  on  a  mixer,  next  step,  etc.    
   
  Understandably,  after  the  recording  was  finished  Tara  was  in  need  of  

some  respite  from  the  project,  but  she  quickly  resumed  after  a  few  days  rest:  

“I  didn’t  want  to  listen  to  it  for  three  days  and  then  I  listened  to  it  for  a  week  

starting  that  Wednesday  and  did  comping  notes.  I  didn’t  do  the  comping  but  I  

did  really  detailed  notes  and  sent  them  to  Felix.”  Working  for  anywhere  from  

2  to  7  hours  a  day  for  seven  days,  Tara  made  detailed  notes  on  the  recordings  

and  sent  them  to  Felix.      

  To  start  this  process  Tara  first  made  a  set  of  notes  for  comping  the  

piano  and  the  vocals.  These  notes  were  prepared  separately.  To  make  these  

notes,  Tara  meticulously  listened  to  every  take  recorded  and  selected  her  

favorite  performances.  With  a  cut  and  paste  mentality,  Tara’s  notes  to  Felix  

instructed  him  on  which  part  of  which  take  to  keep  and  join  to  another  take.  

Her  notes  on  the  piano  takes  were  color-­‐coded  in  purple,  yellow,  rust,  blue,  

dark  blue,  and  green,  because  in  Logic  Felix  assigned  each  new  take  a  

different  color.  Conceptually,  the  song  is  a  rainbow  of  Tara’s  takes;  only  the  

bright  moments  are  presented  and  the  dull  moments  remain  obscured.  “V”  

stands  for  verse,  “C”  for  chorus,  and  “Pre”  for  pre-­‐chorus:      

 
 
 

  170  
 Intro:  Purple  
V1:  Yellow  (but  see  if  bar  8  can  be  fixed  or  replaced  because  the  
timing  is  off  
V1B:  Rust  or  Blue  (but  see  if  it  has  too  much  room  noise**)  
Pre  1:  Rust  
C1A:  dark  blue  for  bars  18  and  19;  yellow  for  the  rest  of  C1  or  yellow  
for  all  of  it  
C1B:  Purple      
C1C:  Purple  
Intro  2:  Purple  
V2A:  Yellow  
V2B:  bars  36  and  37  -­‐  Yellow  
                   bars  38  and  39  -­‐  Green  
Pre  2:  Green  
C2A:  Green  
C2B:  Rust  
C2C:  Rust  or  Purple  
Outro:  Rust  take  4  
                     or  Purple  take  5  
**  the  ritard  is  better  in  the  purple  take,  but  there's  a  little  noise  in  
purple.  
Maybe  rust  is  better  
 
 
 

Figure  30.  Screenshot  of  the  “Grandpa”  Logic  session.  

  171  
 Tara  prepared  a  similar  set  of  instructions  for  comping  the  vocals,  but  

they  were  more  specific,  indicating  to  Felix  when  to  merge  one  audio  file  

with  another  file  at  a  precise  beat.  In  some  instances,  Tara  instructed  Felix  to  

use  only  two  bars  of  a  take  at  a  time.  The  color-­‐coded  system  was  not  

employed,  instead  each  vocal  recording  had  a  number  and  in  some  cases  a  

take  assigned  to  it  (e.g.,  Vox  3  Take  4).  In  total,  the  final  vocal  rendition  of  

Grandpa  included  at  least  six  different  takes  that  will  end  up  sounding  as  one  

seamless  take.  

Bar  1  to  bar  19  beat  2    -­‐  Vox  1  

bar  19  beat  2(“in  the  ground”)  to  C1B  :  Vox  6  take  2  
C1B:  to  bar  27:  Vox  1  (but  the  word  “grandpa”  in  bar  26  either  needs  
tuned  or  take  the  phrase  “honey  your  grandpa”  (basically  around  bar  
26)  from  Track  8  pink    
bar  27  and  28:  Vox  5  
V2A  and  V2B  :  Vox  1      
bar  40:  Vox  4  (just  for  the  phrase  “as  the  sun  begins  to  set  on  us”)  
middle  of  bar  41  (“standing  in  his  memory”)  –  end  of  bar  45:  Vox  1  
bar  46:  take  Vox  6  Take  2  from  the  C1  and  put  it  here  beginning  with  
“in  the  ground”  up  until  bar  49.      
Bar  49  and  50:  Vox  1  
bar  51  to  end:  Vox  3  Take  4  
 
Felix  followed  Tara’s  instructions  and  was  able  to  send  her  the  

comped  files  she  requested  after  a  day’s  work:    

He  sent  me  three  comps  on  the  piano,  three  audio  files  for  each  song  
on  the  piano.  Then  he  sent  me  a  tuned  vocals  and  an  untuned  vocals,  
so  I  just  listened  to  both  I  guess.  I  thought  my  tuning  was  ok,  but  I  
know  that  there  were  some  parts  that  weren’t.    
 

  172  
 The  process  of  editing  continued  with  Tara  listening  to  what  Felix  had  

done  and  making  more  notes.  Her  notes  start  with  general  points  that  apply  

to  all  of  the  songs:  

-­‐noise  in  the  beginning  of  the  vocals.  Some  have  it  and  some  don’t  
have  it.  In  general,  I  would  want  the  tracks  to  be  as  clean  and  succinct  
as  possible  before  delivering  them  to  be  mixed.      
If  you  have  time.  Could  you  get  rid  of  the  noise  that’s  in  the  beginning  
of  the  lead  vocals?      
-­‐should  all  the  tracks  end  in  the  same  place?    
-­‐there  is  a  lot  of  noise  in  the  vocal  tracks  (between  verse  and  chorus  
etc.).  I  think  that  should  be  fixed  before  being  delivered  to  a  mixer  (as  
in  cleaning  up  the  dead  space  where  I’m  not  singing).    
-­‐regarding  the  tuning,  it  seems  when  I  play  the  tuned  versions  and  the  
un-­‐tuned  versions  that  it  produces  quite  a  funny  sound.  I  assume  this  
means  that  in  the  tuned  versions,  most  of  the  notes  have  been  tuned  
slightly?  Do  you  have  an  estimate  of  what  percentage  of  the  vocals  you  
tuned  in  the  “tuned  versions”?  
-­‐we  need  to  figure  out  why  those  tuned  vocal  tracks  won’t  import.    
Hmmm–strange  that  they  imported  for  some  songs  but  not  for  others.  
       
Tara  explained  to  me  that  in  comping  it  is  critical  to  have  the  audio  

files  prepared  as  best  as  possible  for  the  mixing  stage:  “In  delivering  them  to  

a  mixer  if  there  was  a  lot  of  pops,  like  literally  pops  in  the  edit  and  stuff  like  

that…they’d  be  sending  them  back.”    

In  addition  to  the  general  notes,  Tara  produced  two  sets  of  notes  

specific  to  each  song.  Her  notes  on  “Grandpa”  gave  very  specific  references,  

citing  measures  in  the  music  where  the  errors  occur.  Additionally  she  

provided  directions  to  Felix  on  how  to  go  about  correcting  these  mistakes:  

 
 
 
 

  173  
 GRANDPA  –  Notes:  
-­‐  there’s  a  noticeable  vocal  pop  in  bar  26  after  “grandpa”  
-­‐  The  C2,  measure  45  is  for  some  reason  a  bit  late.…not  quite  sure  why  
–  but  you  can  take  Vox  1  from  the  middle  of  measure  41  to  end  of  
measure  50,  and  that  should  fix  it.  But  let  me  know  what  you  think  –  
the  main  thing  is  that  measure  45  seems  be  out  of  time.  
   
With  her  “I’s”  dotted  and  “T’s”  crossed,  Tara  did  everything  in  her  

power  to  ensure  that  her  seven  days  of  recording  represented  the  best  of  her  

performances.  At  last  she  was  ready  to  move  into  the  final  stage,  mixing.    

Ongoing:  Shopping  for  a  Mixer  

Tara  revealed  to  me  her  plans  for  mixing:  

I’m  going  to  shop  out  a  mixer.  That  Tony  person  that  came  over  said  
he’d  be  willing  to  work  on  it,  but  I  think  he  might  be  too  expensive.  
I’ve  had  a  couple  of  other  people  offer  for  hire,  but  I  don’t  know.  In  
reading  about  it,  in  a  sense,  it’s  not  going  to  be  that  complicated  for  a  
mixer,  but  I  don’t  know  that  much  about  mixing.    
 
A  few  weeks  later,  Tara  received  two  mixes  from  two  different  people,  

neither  of  which  she  was  very  happy  about.  She  played  for  me  the  first  mix  of  

“Hooked”  done  by  Felix.  My  first  impressions  of  the  recording  were  that  her  

voice  sounded  very  crisp  and  professional,  just  like  what  you  would  hear  on  

the  radio.  In  contrast  the  piano  sounded  murky  and  lacked  definition.  

Combined,  the  mix  sounded  like  there  was  a  singer  in  one  room  and  a  pianist  

in  a  separate  distant  room.  Tony  Visconti,  longtime  producer  of  David  Bowie,  

remarked,  “The  vocal  is  probably  the  most  important  part  of  the  mix.  If  the  

  174  
vocal  is  poorly  placed  in  the  mix,  it’s  going  to  defeat  the  purpose”  (p.  153).  I  

asked  Tara,  “So  you  don’t  like  it?”  

Tara:  I  don’t  totally  dislike  it  but…Well,  for  one,  I’m  trying  to  figure  out  
if  every  song  sounded  like  that,  why  I  wouldn’t  like  it  mix-­‐wise.  In  
general  the  voice  is  so  prominent  and  hot  sounding  and  the  piano  
sounds  underwater.  But  he  was  just  doing  a  basic  mix  of  what  he  
would  do.      
 
A:  Do  you  like  the  performance?  
 
T:  Yeah,  for  the  most  part.  
 
A:  So  it’s  more  the  sounds?  
 
T:  I  guess  so.  There  are  a  couple  of  edits  in  there  that  I  can  hear  little  
cuts,  but  that’s  not  really  the  mix.  The  other  mix  I  will  show  you.  I  was  
talking  to  Jim  yesterday  on  the  phone  and  he  said  I  wish  I  hadn’t  sent  
that  to  you  now  that  I  know  what  you  want.  You’ll  hear  there  is  a  lot  of  
reverb  and  I  wanted  more  of  a  dry,  clean  sound.  
 
Tara  played  me  the  mix  of  “Sunburn”  done  by  Jim,  someone  whom  she  

had  met  at  school  and  would  be  willing  to  mix  her  album  for  a  more  

reasonable  price  than  some  of  the  other  quotes  she  had  been  getting.  “His  

rate  is  so  much  more  affordable,  it  would  be  a  few  hundred  dollars,  which  is  

much  better  than  thousands.”  In  comparison,  the  consultant  she  initially  

hired,  Tony,  would  charge  Tara  500  dollars  per  song,  tallying  a  price  tag  of  

5,500  dollars  to  mix  the  entire  album.      

It  was  almost  difficult  to  believe  that  these  two  mixes  were  made  with  

recordings  done  in  the  same  room  by  the  same  person;  they  were  radically  

different.  As  opposed  to  the  dry-­‐style  vocal  treatment  on  “Hooked,”  Tara’s  

  175  
voice  sounded  distant  in  “Sunburn,”  drenched  in  synthetic  reverb.  Further,  

the  piano  sounded  even  more  distant.  Tara  shared  the  same  criticism:      

That  one,  to  me  the  voice  seems  reverby  and  big  and  going  for  that  
feel.  I  don’t  really  know  until  I  hear  a  balance  I  really  like.  It  could  just  
be  inherently  problematic;  the  piano  isn’t  that  great  if  you  listen  to  it.  
That’s  what  a  couple  other  people  have  said—it’s  going  to  be  hard  to  
make  it  feel  balanced  and  have  a  good  stereo  sound.    
 
  While  Tara  had  not  been  able  to  find  someone  to  produce  a  mix  to  her  

satisfaction,  she  knew  what  she  was  waiting  to  hear:  “I  feel  there  is  not  a  

sense  of  ‘here  is  someone  performing,’  and  that  is  the  nature  of  this,  or  it  

should  be,  because  there  aren’t  any  other  instruments  on  it.”  Tara  wanted  the  

mix  to  evoke  an  image  of  her  playing  the  piano  and  singing  at  the  same  time,  

something  that  of  course  did  not  happen.    

 
 
To  Be  Continued:  Conclusions  
 
  Recording  technology  plays  different  and  distinct  roles  in  Tara’s  life.  

Unlike  the  other  case  study  participants,  Tara  did  not  engage  with  recording  

technology  until  her  mid-­‐20s.  She  described  her  early  interactions  with  

recording  software  as  “ad  hoc,”  employing  the  click  and  consequence  

technique  of  sifting  through  sounds  and  layering  them  against  one  another,  

taking  advantage  of  the  multi-­‐tracking  capabilities  of  a  DAW.  Her  mode  of  

music-­‐making  fits  the  description  of  vertical,  assembling  songs  in  chunks,  

one  section  at  a  time.  A  more  accurate  label  for  her  music-­‐making  during  this  

stage  is  reflexive,  as  the  playback  of  sound  was  integral  to  her  proceeding  

  176  
musical  actions.  Tara  also  adopted  an  approach  to  music-­‐making  with  

recording  technology  that  pitted  it  as  her  accompanist.  For  the  purpose  of  

making  demos,  Tara  recorded  her  music,  but  not  her  voice,  creating  a  type  of  

karaoke  composition  in  which  she  sang  along  while  her  computer  played  her  

pre-­‐composed  files.  

  In  contrast  to  this  interactive  approach,  Tara’s  most  recent  project  

involving  recording  technology  resembled  a  more  traditional  (horizontal)  

approach  to  recording  in  which  the  music  is  first  composed  and  then  

recorded.  There  was  no  integration  of  the  two  processes  of  composition  and  

recording.  Her  goal  was  to  have  a  finished  product,  an  album  that  people  

could  purchase  and  listen  to.  What  is  particularly  unique  about  this  scenario  

is  that  Tara  has  attempted  to  create  a  mélange  of  the  professional  and  home-­‐

studio  models  by  hiring  consultants,  mixers,  and  an  engineer  to  work  within  

her  home  system.  Forgoing  the  model  of  the  solitary  studio  in  which  an  

individual  shoulders  all  of  the  responsibilities  of  production,  Tara  functioned  

more  like  a  producer:  “A  record  producer  is  responsible  for  every  aspect  of  

her  recording.  In  the  early  days  the  word  ‘producer’  was  more  descriptive  

because  the  record  producer  put  up  the  money  for  the  recording  and  hired  a  

team  of  experts  to  execute  the  various  creative  jobs”  (Visconti,  2007,  p.  50).  

    Employing  Felix  to  engineer  allowed  Tara  to  focus  solely  on  her  

performance,  almost  to  a  fault  with  her  drive  to  attain  perfection.  The  

downside  of  her  collaboration  was  that  introducing  Felix  into  the  equation  

  177  
ushered  in  a  new  set  of  complications:  human  dynamics.  In  distributing  the  

workload,  Tara  relinquished  total  control,  whether  it  was  solicited  or  not,  she  

subjected  herself  to  the  feedback  of  another  person.  Tara  made  it  quite  clear  

that  there  were  times  when  she  wished  she  had  greater  technical  proficiency  

in  the  home  studio  so  that  she  could  circumvent  some  of  the  frustrations  she  

experienced  working  alongside  Felix.  Despite  the  friction,  Tara  was  able  to  

efficiently  record  her  songs  by  working  collaboratively  in  her  home  studio.  

The  tradeoff  of  collaboration  in  this  case  was  power  for  expertise.      

  Tara’s  recount  of  her  own  learning  history  revealed  that  much  of  it  

could  be  classified  as  informal.  Green’s  criteria  of  self-­‐directed  learning  and  

learning  by  copying  recordings  are  clearly  met  (2008),  but  Tara  also  

dedicated  much  of  her  busy  schedule  to  formal  lessons,  especially  during  her  

college  years.  Tara  seems  not  to  have  straddled,  but  rather,  defected  back  

and  forth  between  the  formal  and  informal  camps  of  music  learning.  Like  

Michael,  she  shares  some  similarities;  she  has  a  university  degree  in  musical  

performance,  and  referd  to  herself  as  “classically  trained,”  but  the  reality  of  

her  learning  history  is  that  it  has  an  identity  crisis.  Tara’s  case  evinces  

characteristics  of  both  formal  and  informal  learning  approaches.        

Tara’s  music  technology  skills  and  knowhow  were  nonexistent  until  a  

few  years  ago.  She  now  has  the  ability  to  record  a  complete  song  using  Logic  

and  write  an  orchestral  score  using  Sibelius.  Claiming,  “no  one  taught  me,”  

Tara  embodies  the  spirit  of  the  self-­‐taught  learner.  Learning  as  she  had  to  

  178  
with  only  the  aid  of  manuals,  Tara  was  able  to  gradually  learn  how  to  use  the  

various  pieces  of  music  software  and  hardware  she  had  purchased  on  the  

recommendation  of  her  teacher.  Initially  purchased  with  the  expectation  of  

pursuing  a  career  as  a  film  scorer,  Tara  has  applied  the  technological  skills  

she  acquired  studying  that  discipline  to  songwriting.  Whether  she  is  shaping  

raw  ideas  into  music  using  Logic  by  herself  or  sourcing  out  services  for  her  

sweatshop  studio,  Tara  utilizes  recording  technology  as  an  integral  

component  in  her  music-­‐making  process.

  179  
 CHAPTER  VII    

TRACK  3:  JIMMY    

Bicycling  Through  Bushwick  

I  sent  Jimmy  the  same  email  that  I  sent  Michael  to  invite  him  to  

participate  in  the  study,  and  received  a  very  concise  response:  “Im  open.”  

Following  a  few  email  exchanges,  Jimmy  invited  me  to  meet  him  at  his  

rehearsal  space  in  Bushwick,  telling  me  to  text  him  when  I  arrived.  Feeling  

adventurous,  I  decided  to  forgo  the  subway  and  hop  back  on  my  bicycle,  

riding  south  on  the  east  side  of  Manhattan,  through  the  East  Village  along  

Avenue  B  to  the  Lower  East  Side,  where  Delancey  Street  connects  to  the  

Williamsburg  Bridge.  Once  across  the  bridge,  instead  of  making  the  U-­‐turn  

into  Williamsburg  that  I  would  normally  do  to  meet  with  Tara,  I  continued  

east  under  the  Brooklyn  Queens  Expressway  towards  Bushwick.  The  

profusion  of  restaurants,  bars,  coffee  shops,  and  boutiques  diminished  and  I  

was  in  more  familiar  territory:  a  predominantly  Hispanic  neighborhood  

where  I  spotted  Puerto  Rican  flags,  a  group  of  older  men  talking  and  listening  

to  salsa  outside  of  a  bodega,  and  what  appeared  to  be  a  father  and  his  son  

scouring  for  bottles  and  cans  outside  of  a  grocery  store.  As  I  progressed  east,

  180  
riding  parallel  to  Grand  Street  a  few  blocks  south,  I  weaved  my  way  through  

the  streets  lined  with  industrial  buildings.  Some  of  the  buildings  appeared  to  

be  used  for  manufacturing  and  shipping,  but  it  was  evident  that  many  had  

been  converted  to  art  studios  of  one  kind  or  another.  There  was  hardly  

anyone  on  the  streets  and  a  nearby  high  school  had  two  police  cruisers  

stationed  outside  of  it,  which  made  me  feel  more  concerned  than  safe.  When  I  

submitted  the  proposal  to  do  this  research  I  didn’t  envision  myself  waiting  on  

a  dimly  lit  street  outside  of  a  cinderblock  building  with  its  address  clumsily  

spray-­‐painted  on  the  steel  door.    

 
Figure  31.  The  exterior  of  Jimmy’s  rehearsal  building.  
 
 

  181  
The  Cell:  Inside  Jimmy’s  Rehearsal  Space  

  I  made  a  phone  call  to  Jimmy  and  he  came  outside  to  let  me  in.  He  

shook  my  hand  saying,  “What’s  up?”  and  led  me  down  a  maze  of  halls  

towards  his  practice  room.  The  floors  and  walls  of  the  building  are  made  of  

concrete,  which  only  serves  to  intensify  the  barrage  of  sounds  that  blare  from  

the  deluge  of  practicing  bands.  Each  hallway  is  lined  evenly  with  steel  doors  

indicating  the  hallway  number  and  room  letter  (e.g.,  4E).  Jimmy  opened  up  

his  room  and  invited  me  to  sit  down,  but  there  was  nowhere  to  sit  down.  The  

room  lacked  room;  “cell”  better  describes  the  confines  of  the  claustrophobic  

room  Jimmy  refers  to  as  his  rehearsal  space.  I  failed  to  recognize  the  

multipurpose  potential  of  musical  instruments,  so  Jimmy  motioned  for  me  to  

sit  on  his  guitar  amplifier,  the  seat  for  guests.  Jimmy,  being  a  gracious  host,  

sat  on  the  floor.  We  were  in  close  quarters:  the  dimensions  of  the  room  are  5  

feet  wide  and  11  feet  long:  a  mere  55  square  feet.  Most  of  the  room  was  

packed  with  Jimmy’s  gear.  Across  from  me  was  a  large  Hartke  guitar  cabinet  

and  beside  it,  on  a  wire  cart,  sat  a  white  MacBook  with  a  cracked  screen.  

Resourcefully,  Jimmy  hooked  up  an  old  Dell  computer  monitor  to  it  so  he  

could  edit  a  video  using  iMovie.  On  the  lower  racks  of  the  wire  cart  sat  a  few  

bottles  of  vitamins,  a  jar  of  peanut  better,  and  a  loaf  of  white  bread.  Together  

the  cart  and  speaker  cabinet  occupied  the  width  of  the  wall.  Behind  these  

items  were  stacked  guitar  cases,  an  acoustic  guitar,  a  keyboard,  some  

bedding,  and  a  pillow.    

  182  
    
Figure  32.  Jimmy’s  rehearsal  room.  

Jimmy  is  very  soft  spoken  and  has  a  low  smooth  baritone  speaking  

voice  that  was  easily  washed  out  by  the  tsunami  of  sounds  pounding  through  

the  door  from  the  practice  occurring  in  the  adjacent  room.  Heavily  distorted  

guitars,  floor-­‐shaking  bass,  thundering  drums,  and  shrill  cymbals  amassed  to  

cover  the  full  frequency  spectrum,  which  made  it  difficult  for  me  to  hear.  It  

was  not  as  loud  as  a  construction  site—not  painful  to  the  ear,  but  bordering  

on  uncomfortable.  How  did  Jimmy  practice  through  this?  I  could  barely  hear  

myself  talk.  One  of  the  first  things  that  Jimmy  mentioned  to  me  is  that  he  

loves  this  place,  finds  it  inspiring,  and  enjoys  being  bombarded  with  the  

cornucopia  of  musical  styles:  “Something  captivates  me  in  here.  Sometimes  I  

have  to  go  to  the  door  and  say,  ‘what  is  this?’”  

  183  
 Jimmy  had  no  questions  for  me  and  his  responses  were  succinct:  

“yeah,”  “all  right,”  “cool,  cool,”  or  a  subtle  physical  gesture  such  as  a  nod  of  

the  head.  Initially  his  serious  demeanor  made  him  difficult  to  read,  but  as  we  

conversed  and  found  common  ground  talking  about  the  travails  of  playing  in  

a  band,  he  became  more  animated,  cracking  a  smile  or  two,  and  when  I  least  

expected  it,  he’d  expel  a  hardy  guttural  laugh.  It  took  no  convincing  on  my  

part  for  Jimmy  to  volunteer  to  be  in  my  study  and  we  made  arrangements  to  

meet  again  at  a  different  rehearsal  spot  on  the  west  side  of  Manhattan  in  two  

day’s  time  to  give  him  a  video  camera.  

From  Scratching  to  Picking:  Jimmy’s  Transition  from  DJ  to  Guitarist  

  Jimmy  moved  back  to  New  York  from  Pennsylvania  with  the  hope  of  

launching  his  music  career.  By  day  he  works  as  a  manual  laborer  in  shipping  

and  receiving.  By  night  he  devotes  himself  wholly  to  music.  Every  day  after  

work  Jimmy  takes  the  subway  from  downtown  Brooklyn  to  his  rehearsal  

space  in  Bushwick.  Like  clockwork,  Jimmy  practices  guitar  for  at  least  three  

hours  every  weekday  evening  starting  at  6  p.m.  and  going  as  late  as  1  a.m.  On  

weekends  he  doesn’t  work,  so  he’ll  start  earlier,  around  noon,  and  play  into  

the  early  evening,  making  the  most  of  the  200  dollars  it  costs  him  to  rent  his  

room  for  the  month.  He  estimated  that  he  has  kept  up  this  practice  since  he  

graduated  from  college  as  an  economics  major  in  2004.  Throughout  college  

he  had  been  very  serious  about  DJing  (Jimmy  says  “heavy,  heavy,  heavy  into  

  184  
DJing”),  so  much  so  that  his  studies  became  a  lesser  priority,  extending  his  

four-­‐year  degree  to  six:  “I  know  I  went  pretty  hard,  that’s  probably  the  

reason  why  it  took  me  so  long  to  graduate.”  Jimmy  explained  the  origins  of  

his  relationship  to  DJing:        

I  became  fascinated  with  turntable-­‐style  music  and  especially  coming  

from  New  York  you  hear  hip-­‐hop  radio  stations  towards  the  end  of  the  
night.  DJs  come  on  and  I  wondered:  how  do  they  do  these  kinds  of  
things?  I  know  you  guys  are  using  records  but  how  do  you  do  it  if  
you're  only  using  one  record?  Then  I  found  out  that  they  used  two  
records  of  the  same  thing  and  all  this  other  stuff,  so  I’m  like,  “You  
know  what,  I'm  going  to  be  a  DJ!”  There  was  just  a  whim  that  drove  
me  to  it.  Once  I  started  it  didn't  really  stop  until  I  started  playing  the  
guitar.  Then  it  kind  of  slowed  down.  
 
Jimmy’s  DJ  side  is  fascinating  to  me  because  it  was  a  big  part  of  his  life,  

yet  he  was  reticent  to  talk  about  it.  He  sees  himself  primarily  as  a  guitarist,  

but  in  listening  to  his  compositions,  the  influence  of  hip-­‐hop  is  blatantly  

apparent.  Jimmy’s  blend  of  rock  and  hip-­‐hip  does  not  come  as  a  surprise  

when  you  consider  his  musical  influences  as  a  teenager:    

In  the  early  90s,  Nirvana  was  definitely  one  group  that  stuck  out,  like,  
what  is  this,  and  how  are  they  doing  this,  and  why  do  I  love  this  so  
much?  I  was  able  to  really  consciously  think  about  music.  Even  on  the  
hip-­‐hop  side—like  Method  man,  and  Redman,  and  Biggie  when  he  was  
just  first  coming  out—all  this  stuff  was  just  so  captivating.      
 
As  Jimmy  later  explained  to  me,  conceptually,  as  a  DJ,  he  approaches  

making  music  differently:  “I  was  using  my  DJ  side  when  I  was  producing  that.  

It's  not  like  I  wrote  it  and  produced  it,  I  did  it  all  at  the  same  time.”  

Integrating  the  DAW  as  part  of  the  composition  process  and  writing  section  

by  section  is  what  Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998)  would  refer  

  185  
to  as  a  vertical  approach.  Schloss  (2004)  writes  that  in  hip-­‐hop  music  the  

instrument  is  the  studio;  recording  is  integrated  in  the  composition  process,  

making  hip-­‐hop  composition  inherently  “vertical”:  

The  hip-­‐hop  musician’s  instrument,  the  sampler,  is  a  piece  of  studio  
equipment.  This  simple  fact  totally  obliterates  conventional  
distinctions  between  performing  (or  practicing)  and  recording.  
Everything  that  is  done  with  a  sampler  is  almost  always  transferred  to  
a  conventional  medium…At  the  most  basic  level,  the  hip-­‐hop  
producer’s  “instrument”  (sampler/sequencer/mixer,  and  recording  
device)  is  a  rudimentary  home  studio.  (p.  46)  
 
In  contrast  to  his  DJ  approach,  when  Jimmy  writes  and  records  music  

with  his  guitar,  it  resembles  a  more  traditional  horizontal  approach:  first  the  

music  is  written  and  then  it  is  recorded.  

It  is  logical  that  Jimmy  would  conceptualize  recording  guitar-­‐based  

music  and  DJ-­‐based  music  differently  because  he  perceives  DJs  to  be  musical  

people,  but  not  necessarily  musicians:        

For  one,  to  be  a  DJ  you  have  to  have  a  good  musical  mind,  a  solid  
musical  mind.  It's  definitely  not  as  skilled  as  far  as  a  musician,  but  it's  
a  music  skill  for  sure.  You  have  to  learn  how  to  mix,  you  have  to  know  
how  to  scratch,  and  not  just  how  to  mix  and  scratch;  you  have  to  know  
how  to  do  it  and  do  it  seamlessly  because  that's  what  makes  a  good  DJ.  
Pretty  much  that's  the  skills  it  takes  to  be  a  DJ.  You  discover,  learn  
how  to  mix,  learn  how  to  scratch,  and  hear  the  songs  in  your  head  
before  you  actually  physically  program  them  out.  
 
I  asked  Jimmy  how  he  picked  up  a  skill  like  scratching  and  he  

provided  a  straightforward  answer:  “By  listening  to  other  DJs  really.  Just  like  

a  guitarist  listens  to  other  guitarists.”  Another  intriguing  response  as  Jimmy  

revealed  that  his  approach  to  learning  the  guitar  is  based  on  how  he  learned  

  186  
to  DJ;  it  is  rooted  in  listening.  According  to  Green  (2008),  listening  and  

copying  recordings  is  a  hallmark  of  the  informal  learning  approach  exhibited  

by  popular  musicians.  As  an  aspiring  DJ,  Jimmy  did  not  have  anyone  to  take  

him  under  his  wing  and  model  the  techniques  of  turntablism,  so  he  sought  

instruction  online  for  his  tuition:        

With  YouTube  and  the  Internet  you  can  pretty  much  pick  up  on  
anything  like  a  typical  scratch,  your  normal  “chicka  chicka”  that  you  
hear  in  a  commercial  song.  The  baby  scratch,  obviously,  because  a  
baby  can  do  it,  it's  your  simplest  scratch.  Then  you  get  to  more  
complex  ones  like  the  scribble,  the  chirp,  the  Transformer.  The  reason  
why  they  called  it  the  Transformer  is  because  of  the  sound  
Transformers  make  that's  how  the  scratch  sounds.  It's  a  cool  thing.  
 
Bearing  in  mind  that  YouTube  was  not  launched  until  2005  and  Jimmy  

stopped  DJing  in  2004,  he  must  have  found  instructional  videos  on  other  

websites.  Describing  his  DJing  style  Jimmy  acknowledged  that  he  did  not  

master  all  of  the  scratches  because  he  was  “more  of  a  club-­‐party-­‐playing-­‐

party-­‐rocking  DJ.”  Impressively,  he  played  weekly  gigs  on  his  college  campus  

to  800  people,  and  once  opened  for  a  renowned  platinum-­‐selling  rapper,  

performing  his  music  to  an  audience  of  5,000.  Given  his  success  as  a  DJ,  I  was  

curious  why  Jimmy  didn’t  continue  in  this  direction.  The  gist  of  Jimmy’s  

explanation  is  that  his  love  of  the  guitar  supplanted  his  passion  for  DJing:    

It’s  fun,  it’s  fun  now,  it’s  not  like  guitar,  guitar  is  my  thing,  but  it’s  like,  
it’s  hard  to  describe.  You  love  it  and  you  hate  it,  you  know  what  I  
mean?  It’s  just  so  much  greater  than  being  able  to  have  fun  and  not  
care.  Because  I  care,  I  care  way  too  much.  It’s  like  my  heart  is  invested  
in  it,  whereas  DJing,  where  I  was  like  that  before  at  that  time,  now  I’m  
not.      
 

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 “I  Just  Found  It  So  Hard”:  Learning  to  Play  the  Guitar  
 
Deciding  to  take  up  the  guitar  after  college  was  Jimmy’s  second  

attempt  at  doing  so.  His  first  encounter  with  the  guitar  came  courtesy  of  his  

aunt  who  gave  him  lessons.  He  remembered:  “That’s  how  I  learned  your  

basic  G,  C,  D,  you  know  what  I  mean?  I  was  12.  I  didn’t  play  much.  Around  

that  time  I  was  playing  everyday  for  maybe  three  months  and  then  I  just  

stopped.”  “Why  did  you  stop?”  I  asked.  Jimmy  responded,  

I  just  found  it  so  hard  because  the  action  was  so  high  on  the  guitar  and  
I  always  thought  like  that’s  how  the  guitar  is  supposed  to  be.  That’s  
what  deterred  me  so  much.  I  didn’t  realize  you  can  lower  action.  It’s  
an  easy  experience  to  play  the  guitar.  I  didn’t  know  that.  I  always  
thought,  how  does  that  guy  do  that?  How  does  he  do  that  when  he  has  
to  press  so  hard  on  those  strings?  It’s  impossible.  I  didn’t  even  realize  
until  I  was  damn  near  25  that  you  can  actually  adjust  the  action.  
 
It  would  seem  that  the  guitar  drove  Jimmy  to  another  instrument,  the  

turntable,  but  only  temporarily.  Jimmy  held  onto  his  first  electric  guitar  with  

the  hope  that  he  would  eventually  pick  it  up  again:        

I  had  a  black  Strat,  like  your  first  200-­‐dollar-­‐Strat,  and  I  would  just  
carry  it  around  wherever  I  lived,  only  because  it  was  mine  and  I  
always  looked  at  it,  like,  I’m  sure  I’ll  figure  you  out  one  day,  but  I  don’t  
know.  Other  people  used  to  come  and  play  and  they  would  sound  
great  and  I  thought,  “I’m  never  going  to  sound  like  that.”      
 
 

Three  Hours  A  Day:  Practice      

After  finishing  college,  Jimmy  made  a  conscious  decision  to  commit  

himself  to  music-­‐making,  especially  with  his  guitar,  telling  himself:  “I'm  going  

to  be  a  guitarist  and  producer  and  use  the  elements  of  being  a  musician  to  

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produce  good  music.”  If  Jimmy’s  estimation  of  how  much  he  practices  is  

accurate,  three  hours  a  day  of  practicing  amounts  to  over  1,000  hours  a  year.  

Adherents  of  the  “10,000  hour  rule”  should  take  note  that  Jimmy  will  soon  

approach  expert  status  if  he  is  able  to  sustain  his  practicing  regimen.  In  his  

practice,  Jimmy  set  out  to  develop  an  understanding  of  chord  combinations  

as  well  as  master  the  art  of  the  guitar  solo.  Evoking  the  idea  of  speaking  

through  his  guitar,  Jimmy  detailed,  “The  more  and  more  I  play  it,  it’s  like  the  

more  and  more  I  see  where  I  am  now.  I  can  talk,  in  a  sense,  communicate  

with  the  instrument.”  Having  gained  proficiency  playing  his  instrument,  

Jimmy  explained  how  his  focus  shifted  from  guitar  mastery  to  his  other  

music-­‐centered  goals:  

I  started  slowing  down  not  even  six  months  ago.  It  got  to  a  point  
where  it  was  like,  all  right,  I  have  accepted  the  fact  that  I  can  play  the  
guitar.  I’m  not  saying  I’m  great,  but  I  can  play  it  though,  you  know  
what  I’m  saying?  I  need  to  move  on  now,  I  need  to  put  a  band  
together,  I  need  to  do  this,  I  need  to  do  that,  I  don’t  have  the  time  to  
just  sit  there  and  study  the  guitar.  Just  as  long  as  I’m  playing  it  
everyday:  that’s  all  that  really  matters.  If  I  get  to  a  higher  level  then  I  
can  get  back  to  concentrating  on  the  guitar,  because  I  want  to  learn  
jazz  guitar  and  all  that  other  stuff,  more  complex  forms.  All  of  which  is  
not  necessary  now,  but  for  me  to  feel  like  a  complete  guitar  player.  
 
  The  “higher  level”  that  Jimmy  spoke  of  is  part  of  a  bigger  plan:  he  

wants  to  build  a  following  for  his  music  and  have  a  record  deal.  But  he  

recognizes,  “I  have  to  become  something  on  my  own  before  I  can  even  deal  

with  a  record  company.”  Given  his  experience  as  a  DJ  and  his  father’s  

background  as  a  music  producer,  Jimmy  has  had  some  bad  experiences  

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dealing  with  record  labels  and  has  some  misgivings  about  their  judgment  of  

talent:  “It’s  like  every  breakthrough  artist  is  always  that  person  who  nobody  

on  the  record  label  ever  wanted.”  Until  the  record  labels  come  around,  Jimmy  

plans  to  make  recordings  to  distribute  on  Facebook,  SoundCloud,  YouTube,  

ReverbNation,  iTunes,  and  any  other  way  he  can.  Having  a  deep  appreciation  

for  the  music  of  his  parent’s  generation,  Jimmy  suggested  that  the  future  of  

recorded  music  is  bright  and  that  the  key  is  harnessing  the  technologies  we  

have  at  our  disposal:      

I  think  with  all  these  technological  advances  we  have  now,  I  think  
music  can  be  at  its  best  point  now.  Talking  about  better  than  the  
Motown  days,  it  has  to  be.  It  can't  be  that  our  parents  had  it,  but  what  
do  we  have?  Even  though  we  have  some  great  artists  right  now,  we  
are  at  a  point  where  we  can  be  making  the  best  music  possible.  Once  
people  start  finding  the  mediums  between  these  advances  and  actual  
music  itself,  I  think  we’ll  be  on  our  way.  It's  happening,  it's  definitely  
happening.  
   
 

“It  Was  Never,  Never,  Never  Serious”:  Learning  by  Osmosis  

It  was  difficult  for  Jimmy  to  recollect  when  he  started  using  recording  

technology  because  it  has  always  been  a  part  of  his  life.  Jimmy’s  father  was  a  

DJ  and  a  record  producer  who  maintained  a  professional  recording  studio  in  

their  home,  and  Jimmy  and  his  brother  were  free  to  explore  and  experiment  

in  it.  According  to  Jimmy’s  professional  biography,  he  “has  been  in  the  studio  

absorbing  the  eclectic  and  expansive  audio  created  by  his  own  father—one  of  

  190  
the  most  heavily-­‐sampled  producers  in  music.”  I  asked  Jimmy  what  

equipment  his  father’s  studio  had.  

Jimmy:  He  had  a  keyboard,  a  drum  machine  and  the  Yamaha  NS10s,  
those  studio  monitors  I  was  telling  you  about  with  the  natural  sound.  
That’s  the  setup  that  he  basically  had,  he  always  had  a  mixing  board  
also  so  he  could  record  and  do  stuff  like  that.  
 
Adam:  Was  that  to  tape?  
 
J:  It  was  earlier.  Earlier  ones  were  recorded  to  tape  and  then  down  the  
line  we’d  get  the  digital  ones,  but  like  a  physical  board  that  recorded  
digitally.  
 
A:  You  guys  played  with  it  and  that’s  how  you  learned  it?  
 
J:  Something  like  that,  I  mean  my  brother  was  more  into  it  when  we  
were  younger,  especially  like  real  younger  and  into  the  teens.  I  didn’t,  
really.  I  would  always  mess  around  with  it  once  in  a  while  when  I  felt  
like,  “hmmm  maybe  I’m  just  a  little  bit  too  far  away,  let  me  just  kind  of  
jump  in  here  a  little  bit,”  but  it  was  never,  never,  never  serious.  It  was  
kind  of  weird  because  the  tides  have  turned.  My  brother  was  the  one  
that  was  super  on  it  and  now  I’m  the  one  who’s  super  on  it.  It’s  funny  
how  things  work.  
 
Jimmy  is  very  nonchalant  about  the  significance  of  the  fact  that  he  has  

the  knowhow  to  operate  a  sophisticated  DAW  like  Pro  Tools.  Given  that  

Jimmy  grew  up  through  the  recording  industry’s  transition  from  analog  to  

digital  mediums  and  that  his  father  always  had  the  most  current  

technologies,  it  appears  that  his  learning  occurred  by  immersion.  I  asked  if  

he’d  spent  a  lot  of  time  in  his  father’s  studio.  

Jimmy:  Nah.  I  didn’t  really  spend  time  in  the  studio,  I  would  just  go  
there.  If  maybe  I  wanted  to  record  something  DJ-­‐wise  or  if  I  had  a  
friend—a  couple  of  my  friends  are  rappers  that  throw  together  beats.  
Nothing  that  was  ever  good.  But  that  was  it  though.  
 

  191  
 Adam:  But  you  knew  enough  that  you  could  record  your  friends.  And  
you  were  making  the  beats  then.  
 
J:  I  always  had  a  solid  idea  of  how  to  do  it.  But  as  far  as  really  going  for  
it  and  trying  to  make  things  that  sound  good,  that  came  later.      
 
  Jimmy’s  responses  to  my  questions  and  redirects  baffle  me;  he  claims  

not  to  have  spent  much  time  in  the  studio  and  yet  he  could  program  beats  on  

a  drum  machine  and  record  his  friends’  rapping.  His  explanation  was  simple:  

he  “always  had  a  solid  idea  of  how  to  do  it.”  It  had  only  been  eight  years,  the  

same  amount  of  time  he’d  spent  learning  the  guitar,  since  Jimmy  had  

committed  to  learning  how  to  record  his  own  music  with  Pro  Tools.  “I  didn’t  

really  get  into  it  until  after  I  graduated  college,”  he  said.  “I  mean  I  knew  how  

to  do  it  from  being  around  it  all  the  time,  but  I  didn’t  really  get  serious  until  I  

was  24.”  

 
 
“I  Woke  Up  With  the  Melody”:  Writing  and  Recording  “Kingdom  Come”  
 
Hands  in  the  air,  if  you  don't  care    
This  is  for  freedom,  I  need  my  freedom    
So  put  on  your  nightshades,  stunt  with  your  goggles    
Let  it  Shine...    
 
Chorus:    
You  can  never  sell  it,  sell  your  soul    
So  let  it  go  and  let  your  kingdom  come    
You  can  never  sell  it,  sell  your  soul    
So  take  control  and  let  your  kingdom  come    
This  ain't  fa'  showbiz,  this  is  for  us    
Taking  control  now,  walking  the  road    
I  thank  all  my  past  scars,  for  making  me  strong    
Let  it  shine...    
 

  192  
 Work  for  my  pasture,  get  up  and  go    
Stick  to  the  gameplan,  gimme  the  ball    
Rockin'  all  nite  now,  straight  to  the  bone    
Let  it  shine...    
 
Chorus    
 
Hustle,  hustle,  hustle    
Everyday  we  hustle    
The  world  it  keeps  on  spinning    
DJ  drop  the  needle    
Future  becomes  past,  past  the  things  I'm  used  to    
and  there's  no  way  out,  there's  not  a  good  way  out    
SUMMON  ALL  YOUR  LOVE,  SING  IT,  SUMMON  ALL  YOUR  LOVE    
SUMMON  ALL  YOUR  LOVE  YEAH!    
 
  “Kingdom  Come,”  is  part  of  a  larger  pool  of  songs  that  Jimmy  wrote  

and  recorded  for  his  debut  solo  album.  He  recollected  how  he  wrote  it:  

I  was  dating  this  girl  at  the  time  and  we  were  just  napping  and  I  woke  
up  with  the  melody  and  I'm  trying  to  figure  out  what  the  song  is  
telling  me.  I  just  heard  “sell  your  soul”  and  that  was  the  only  part  I  
had.  I  was  hearing  the  chords  in  my  head  from  G  to  B—then  that's  it.  
Now  I  have  to  figure  this  out  somehow,  you  know.  That's  how  it  
started,  the  “sell  your  soul”  part,  which  was  the  only  part  I  heard  that  I  
was  able  to  make  sense  of.  
 
Jimmy  described  songwriting  as  a  fluid  process,  one  that  comes  

naturally  and  cannot  be  forced:  “Every  time  I've  tried  to  write  a  song,  it  

doesn't  work—it  never  works—but  when  I  write  songs  it  always  comes  from  

somewhere  and  it  always  happens  when  I'm  not  expecting  it.”  Jimmy’s  

approach  to  songwriting  is  to  craft  songs  that  possess  a  universal  appeal,  

with  a  central  message  of  self-­‐empowerment:  

  193  
 I  try  to  let  it  flow  out.  I  try  to  write  from  the  perspective  that  other  
people  can  relate  to  in  some  sort  of  way,  you  know  what  I'm  saying?  
Because  you  can  never  sell  it,  you  can  never  sell  your  soul,  a  prostitute  
can't  even  sell  her  soul,  you  know  what  I'm  saying?  We  take  a  lot  of  
things  lightly  and  take  them  more  seriously  then  we  need  to  at  the  
same  time  and  that's  the  kind  of  things  I  try  to  write  about.  I  try  not  to  
make  it  so  much  about  myself.  It's  more  about  living  life  and  being  
who  you  are,  just  allow  yourself  to  be  who  you  are.  I  just  try  to  write  
songs  that  people  can  relate  to.  As  much  as  we  like  to  think  that  we’re  
all  different  and  separated  we’re  really  not.  Everyone  has  a  connection  
whether  you  realize  it  or  not.  I  try  to  tap  into  that  connection  and  see  
what  comes  out.  
 
 
 
“Everyday  We  Hustle”:  Writing  Lyrics  

Jimmy  indicated  that  the  first  lyrical  line  to  come  to  mind  was  “sell  

your  soul,”  and  the  song  was  built  around  that  idea,  with  the  musical  ideas  

coming  first.  Curious  to  know  what  inspired  the  other  lyrics,  I  asked,  “The  

lyrics,  how  did  the  rest  come  about?”    

Jimmy:  The  first  part  of  it,  being  that  I  was  a  DJ—and  I  still  consider  
myself  a  DJ—“Hands  in  the  air  if  you  don't  care.”  That's  been  said  a  
million  and  one  times,  but  not  on  a  song  like  this.  Let's  do  it  like  this,  
you  know?  The  rest  was  just  saying,  hey,  this  is  for  freedom,  this  is  for  
us,  this  is  not  really  for  the  record  industry.  
 
Adam:  What  about  the  part  “hustle,  hustle?”  
 
J:  You  ever  heard  of  a  rapper  Rick  Ross?  Remember  the  song  he  had,  
“Every  Damn  Hustler?”  “Hustle,  hustle,  hustle.  Every  day  we  hustle,”  
That's  one  of  the  lines  of  his  song.  I  took  that  because  yeah,  every  day  
we  hustle  and  not  even  like  some  sort  of  criminal  hustle.  Like  get  up  
out  of  your  bed  and  go  to  work,  you  have  to  go  to  school,  you  have  to  
do  something,  you  have  to  hustle,  you  have  to  do  something,  you  
know?  Sometimes  we  get  so  caught  up  in  that  circle  that  we  don't  take  
the  time  to  reflect  and  enjoy  life.    
 

  194  
 Jimmy  accentuated  a  recurring  theme  in  the  lyrics  of  his  album:  

celebrating  personal  independence  and  finding  social  solidarity  through  that  

common  bond.  He  perceives  the  “hustle”  of  life  to  be  something  that  detracts  

from  the  human  ability  to  enjoy  it.  He  wants  to  inspire  and  sees  himself  as  a  

“forward  thinker.”      

 
 
“It  Just  Happens,  You  Know,  It  Just  Happens,  It  Just  Happens”:    

Recording  Ideas  

Typically  when  Jimmy  is  struck  with  a  moment  of  inspiration,  he  looks  

to  record  the  idea  one  way  or  another  before  he  forgets  it:  “Yeah  I  definitely  

do  write  it  down  or  I’ll  just  record  it  on  my  phone,  depending  on  whatever  is  

the  case.  If  it’s  a  guitar  riff  I’ll  record  it  on  the  phone.  Even  if  it’s  some  song  

lyrics,  but  usually  I  write  the  lyrics  down.”  The  strategy  of  “writing  down”  by  

recording  is  one  that  Green  (2001)  found  to  be  characteristic  of  popular  

musicians.  One  problem  Jimmy  encountered  during  the  few  months  I  

followed  his  process  was  the  loss  of  his  phone,  which  consequently  meant  

the  loss  of  some  song  sketches  that  he  had  recorded.  The  phone  serves  as  a  

temporary  vessel  for  Jimmy’s  songs;  ideally  he  is  able  to  commit  his  sonic  

ideas  to  a  more  finished  form  using  Pro  Tools  in  his  father’s  studio.      

Jimmy’s  father  has  upgraded  his  professional  studio  throughout  the  

years  and  given  Jimmy  free  access  to  this  facility  to  use  at  his  convenience.  

The  studio  is  equipped  with  a  PowerMac  G5,  Pro  Tools,  DigiDesign  192  audio  

  195  
interface,  professional-­‐grade  Waves  and  Bomb  Factory  plugins,  Genelec  and  

Yamaha  monitors,  Avalon  737  Preamplifier,  Neumann  U87  microphone,  

Yahama  Motif  MIDI  controller,  and  Native  Instruments  soft-­‐synth  plugins.  

  Jimmy  recorded  “Kingdom  Come”  in  a  flurry  of  activity:  

I  laid  the  music  down  as  soon  as  I  got  home  from  visiting  with  her  
[Jimmy’s  girlfriend].  As  soon  as  I  got  home  I  rushed  straight  to  the  
studio  and  started  laying  down  the  music.  I  had  the  music  and  then  I  
started  writing  “hands  in  the  air,”  just  trying  to  feel  it  out,  and  it  came  
together.  That's  how  it  usually  happens—I  don't  really  know—it  just  
happens,  you  know,  it  just  happens,  it  just  happens.    
 
“Kingdom  Come”  sounds  like  a  Foo  Fighters-­‐style,  heavy  rock  song  

that  contrasts  soft  verses  with  heavy  choruses.  Jimmy  listed  the  

instrumentation:  “Well  for  this  particular  one  we  have  drums,  bass,  guitar,  

some  synths  in  there,  light  synths  though  and  that’s  pretty  much  it.  Vocals  

obviously,  vocal  layers  and  stuff  like  that.”      

 
 
“Drums”  

Jimmy  recorded  the  drums  first;  they  are  synthetic  as  opposed  to  a  

live  recording  of  an  acoustic  drum  set.  I  asked  Jimmy,  “So  when  you  program  

a  drumbeat  how  do  you  do  it?”  Jimmy  explained:  

It  depends.  If  I'm  going  in  without  an  idea  at  all,  then  I  will  try  to  play  
the  whole  thing.  This  song  just  came  to  me:  I  was  laying  with  the  girl  I  
was  seeing  at  the  time,  just  napping,  and  I  woke  up  with  this  idea  in  
my  head.  It  was  like  the  chorus  part  but  half  of  it,  and  I'm  just  like,  oh  
man,  I’ve  got  to  lay  it  down.  And  when  I  went  home  to  lay  it  down,  I  
just  kind  of  separated  all  of  the  drums  because  I  already  knew  what  it  
was  going  to  be.      
 

  196  
 In  writing  the  drums,  Jimmy  took  a  horizontal  approach,  knowing  

already  in  advance  how  the  music  was  supposed  to  sound  and  programming  

it  to  match  his  vision.  To  “play”  the  drum  part,  Jimmy  used  a  MIDI  keyboard,  

on  which  each  key  was  assigned  a  different  drum  sound.  The  drum  part  was  

played  with  his  fingers  substituting  as  drumsticks  and  the  keys  of  the  

keyboard  serving  as  drums  and  cymbals.  One  of  the  parameters  that  MIDI  

records  is  velocity,  enabling  Jimmy  to  provide  a  varying  dynamic  to  his  

performance.  The  drum  part  was  further  edited  by  altering  the  timing  of  

some  of  the  notes  to  give  it  the  feel  of  a  “natural  drummer”:  

We  have  a  couple  of  virtual  drum  programs,  one  is  called  the  Stylus  
RMX  and  the  other  is  from  Native  Instruments,  who  made  this  bundle  
which  has  a  ton  of  freaking  sounds,  called  the  Battery.  Basically  the  
people  who  made  it  sampled  a  lot  of  drums,  live  drums,  recorded  it,  
and  made  it  into  a  program.  Some  of  them  are  like  synthetic  drums,  
but  I  kind  of  wanted  to  give  it  a  little  bit  of  an  alive  feel  and  a  little  bit  
of  an  electronic  feel  at  the  same  time,  so  a  lot  of  the  snares  may  sound  
like  a  drummer  is  playing  it.  But  you  can't  necessarily  do  that  because  
you  only  get  one  key  on  a  keyboard,  so  you're  not  really  going  to  get  
that  feel.  So  sometimes  you  have  to  take  the  edit  window,  grab  your  
notes  or  grab  that  MIDI,  and  move  it  around  physically.  Even  if  it's  not  
right  on  the  bar  you  want  it  to  be  a  little  bit  off  because  that's  how  a  
natural  drummer  is  going  to  play.    
 
 
 

  197  
  
Figure  33.  Native  Instruments  Battery  interface.  
 
 

Tracking  Bass  and  Guitar      

Aside  from  the  voice,  the  most  prominent  instrument  in  the  mix  of  

“Kingdom  Come”  is  the  guitar.  Jimmy  had  little  to  say  about  recording  the  

bass,  but  he  did  recall  that  for  “Kingdom  Come,”  he  used  an  electric  bass.  

When  making  songs  that  are  less  rock-­‐oriented,  he  often  uses  his  MIDI  

controller  keyboard  to  program  the  bass  lines  in  the  same  way  he  would  

program  the  drums.  The  advantage  of  using  MIDI  is  that  Jimmy  can  change  

the  sound  of  the  bass  at  anytime  or  rewrite  the  bass  line  completely  if  he  

chooses.  For  “Kingdom  Come,”  Jimmy  opted  to  record  an  electric  bass  hoping  

it  would  lend  a  “live”  feel  to  the  song.  

   

  198  
 Tinkering  With  Timbre  

Because  Jimmy  sees  himself  primarily  as  a  guitarist,  he  pays  a  lot  of  

attention  to  the  timbre  of  his  guitar  sound  in  his  recordings.  While  listening  

to  the  final  mix  of  “Kingdom  Come,”  Jimmy  drew  my  attention  to  the  guitar  

sound,  a  sound  that  he  felt  could  be  improved  upon,  but  not  to  the  extent  that  

the  average  listener  would  notice:  

All  of  this  was  done,  the  guitar,  with  a  Fender  Champ,  a  small  little  
solid-­‐state  amp.  It's  decent  but  it's  thin,  you  know?  And  then  I  used  
this  Hartke  as  a  bottom.  There  are  a  few  guitar  layers;  I  think  there  are  
four.  I  still  had  the  other  amp  that  I  sold—I  had  that  and  I'm  thinking,  
man,  I  should  have  taken  this  home  and  run  it  through  this  because  it  
has  the  tubes,  it  has  that  thick  sound,  but  at  the  end  of  the  day  most  
people  are  not  going  to  know  the  difference,  so  I  just  let  it  go  like  this.  
 
Millard  (2004)  writes  that  guitar  amplifiers  are  “not  just  adjuncts  to  

the  instrument.  They  are  the  sound  of  rock.”  Over  time  rock  musicians  have  

grown  “highly  discerning  in  evaluating  the  tone  of  their  amps,  analyzing  the  

sound  and  using  terms  like  crunchy,  swirly,  smoky,  booming,  fat,  flubby,  

doinky,  dirty,  greasy,  and  country  clean  to  describe  it.”  (p.  133).  Clearly  Jimmy  

fits  this  trait  of  the  electric  guitarist  and  attaining  the  right  sound  is  critical  

for  him  to  be  satisfied  with  the  recording.  

Central  to  Jimmy’s  guitar  sound  are  distorted  power  chords,  a  staple  

of  heavy  metal  and  alternative  rock.  Walser  (1993)  explains  how  the  

combination  of  a  power  chord  and  distortion  amount  to  an  amalgamated  

sound  that  covers  a  large  range  of  the  audible  frequency  spectrum:  

  199  
 Distortion  also  results  in  a  timbral  change  toward  brightness,  toward  
a  more  complex  waveform,  since  distorting  a  signal  increases  the  
energy  of  its  higher  harmonics.  Power  chords,  on  the  other  hand,  
produce  powerful  signals  below  the  actual  pitches  being  sent  to  the  
amplifier.  Thus,  the  distorted  guitar  signal  is  expanded  in  both  
directions:  the  higher  harmonics  produced  by  distortion  add  
brilliance  and  edge  (and  what  guitarists  sometimes  call  “presence”)  to  
the  sound,  and  the  resultant  tones  produced  by  the  interval  
combinations  of  power  chords  create  additional  low  frequencies,  
adding  weight  to  the  sound.  (p.  43)  
 
In  my  first  listening  I  could  discern  three  distinct  guitar  parts:  a  

rhythm  guitar,  a  lead  guitar  playing  a  solo  before  the  bridge,  and  a  guitar  

playing  octaves  during  the  chorus  alongside  the  rhythm  guitar.  The  rhythm  

guitar  during  the  chorus  is  heavily  distorted  and  adds  what  Walser  describes  

as  “weight  to  the  sound.”  The  sonic  impact  at  this  moment  of  the  song  is  

complemented  by  the  heavier  lyrics,  “You  can  never  sell  your  soul,”  which  is  

contrasted  with  lighter  lyrics  like  “Hands  in  the  air,  if  you  don’t  care.”      

Layering  Guitars  

 In  addition  to  the  added  timbral  change  in  the  guitar  sound  during  

the  chorus,  Jimmy  explained  to  me  his  technique  of  recording  multiple  layers  

of  the  same  rhythm  guitar  part  to  add  impact  to  the  chorus:  

It  is  definitely  doubled.  It's  tripled.  What  we  usually  do  is,  whenever  
you  track  certain  things  that  you  want  to  have  extra  sounds  on,  
sounds  that  have  a  certain  thickness,  like  vocals  and  stuff  like  that,  
always  record  at  least  three  so  you  can  center  one  and  pan  out  the  
other  two  so  you  get  that  kind  of  sound  and  that's  what  we  did.  And  
that's  what  I  always  do  now.  
 

  200  
 When  Jimmy  recorded  guitar,  he  had  a  preconception  of  how  the  

different  parts  would  be  mixed.  Taking  the  example  of  the  rhythm  guitar,  he  

played  the  same  part  three  times  and  panned  them  differently  to  cover  the  

stereo  field  of  the  recording  from  left  to  right.  Chanan  (1995)  theorizes  that  

conceptualizing  a  piece  of  music  based  on  how  the  recording  will  sound  

shifts  the  paradigm  of  what  it  means  to  be  a  musician:  “A  new  kind  of  

performer  is  needed,  the  virtuoso  of  the  repeated  take…In  pop  music,  this  

tendency  leads  to  products  that  depend  entirely  on  recording  technique,  and  

which  cannot  be  performed  live  at  all”  (p.  18).  In  order  to  replicate  the  

performance  of  the  recording  on  a  stage,  Jimmy  would  have  to  triplicate.      

The  technique  of  recording  multiple  rhythm  tracks  with  slight  

differences,  the  “natural  double,”  was  brought  to  the  forefront  of  the  

recording  industry  with  the  Sex  Pistols’  Never  Mind  the  Bollocks,  Here’s  the  

Sex  Pistols  (1977).  Producer  Chris  Thomas  claimed,  “One  of  the  things  I  did  

was  sort  of  orchestrate  it  guitar-­‐wise.”  Guitarist  Steve  Jones  explained  the  

process:  “The  initial  track  went  down  on  the  guitar,  then  that  would  be  

copied  on  the  right  hand  side,  you  know  so  that  it  was,  like  it  wasn't  stereo,  it  

was  like  mono  deluxe”  (as  cited  in  Longfellow,  2002).  This  technique  was  

later  exploited  and  popularized  on  one  of  Jimmy’s  favorite  albums,  Nirvana’s  

Nevermind.  Doubling  and  panning  two  guitars  left  and  right  in  the  stereo  field  

creates  a  sense  of  engulfment  for  the  listener  and  is  central  to  Nirvana’s  

sound.  d’Escrivan  (2012)  explains:    

  201  
 Envelopment  is  pleasing  to  the  listener  partly  because  it  transmits  a  
sense  of  what  it  must  be  like  to  actually  be  in  the  live  presence  of  that  
sound  source  as  opposed  to  just  a  recording,  and  partly  because  it  
places  the  listener  somehow  inside  the  soundfield.  (p.  57)  
 
While  Jimmy  employed  many  different  technical  strategies  to  achieve  

his  guitar  sound,  it  is  important  to  recognize  the  uniqueness  of  his  playing  

that  is  elemental  to  his  sound.  Engineer  Jack  Joseph  Puig  (John  Mayer,  No  

Doubt,  U2)  stresses:  

All  guitar  tones  start  at  the  musician’s  hand,  and  you  have  to  realize  
this.  From  there,  each  part  of  the  chain  contributes  to  the  end  result,  
and  that  chain  includes  the  way  the  musician  plays,  the  guitar  itself,  
the  pick,  the  voicings,  the  cable,  amp,  room,  position  of  the  amp  in  the  
room,  and  even  the  way  the  musician  holds  the  instrument.  (2005,  p.  
237).  
 
 

Layering  Vocals      

Jimmy  has  a  system  for  recording  vocals  similar  to  his  system  of  

recording  guitars,  which  entails  tracking  several  layers  of  the  same  part:  “The  

regulars,  the  doubles,  and  triples  of  that,  then  there's  the  octaves,  so  there's  

two  of  those  and  then  harmonies,  so  that's  about  seven.  And  all  of  that  gets  

panned  left  and  right.”  Being  more  specific  regarding  the  placement  of  the  

vocal  tracks  in  the  stereo  field,  Jimmy  explained  the  general  guidelines  to  

which  he  adheres:  “Main  vocal:  left,  right,  and  center.  Harmony  and  octave:  

left  and  right.  That's  usually  how  we  do  it.  Sometimes  they  don't  get  panned  

hard  left  and  right,  they  will  be  more  to  the  middle.”  Again,  the  reference  to  

Nirvana  surfaces  as  layering  vocals  was  technique  that  engineer  Butch  Vig  

  202  
employed  in  the  recording  of  Nevermind:  “I’m  a  big  fan  of  doubling,  

particularly  on  choruses,  and  he  [Kurt  Cobain]  did  that  quite  a  bit  on  the  

record,  and  that’s  part  of  what  the  sound  is”  (as  cited  in  Buskin,  1999,  p.  

346).    

To  record  his  vocals,  Jimmy  used  some  expensive  professional-­‐grade  

equipment,  a  Neumann  U87  microphone  and  an  Avalon  737  preamp.  Guiding  

me  through  a  video  tour  of  his  father’s  studio,  he  froze  the  frame  to  call  my  

attention  to  the  Avalon  preamp:  

That  right  there,  that's  a  mic  preamp  I  was  telling  you  about.  That's  
the  vacuum  tube  that  we  run  all  the  vocals  through.  Avalon  737.  We  
run  everything  through,  all  the  guitars,  everything.  It's  pretty  much  
industry-­‐standard.  Everything  you've  heard  on  the  radio—if  it's  not  
done  by  that,  it's  done  by  something  better.    
 
  Jimmy  gave  me  an  overview  of  the  different  parameters  that  can  be  

adjusted  using  the  Avalon,  and  explained  how  it  was  used  to  process  every  

track  that  he  recorded:  “What  I  do  when  I'm  getting  ready  to  get  a  song  sent  

to  mixing,  I  will  run  all  the  music  through  these  tubes  to  give  it  a  more  

authentic  real  sound.”  Once  all  of  the  recorded  tracks  were  processed  

through  the  Avalon,  Jimmy’s  recording  session  was  complete.  With  all  of  the  

instruments  recorded  in  the  span  of  a  single  day,  Jimmy’s  focus  shifted  to  

having  his  song  mixed.  

  203  
  
Figure  34.  Avalon  737  preamp.  

“Me  and  Him  Have  This  Synergy”:  Mixing  with  Bill  

    The  production  of  “Kingdom  Come”  spanned  several  months.  When  I  

first  met  Jimmy,  he  had  already  recorded  the  tracks  and  was  in  the  midst  of  

arranging  a  mixing  session  for  “Kingdom  Come”  at  his  father’s  studio  where  

his  friend  Bill  would  serve  as  the  mixing  engineer.  A  week  after  we  met,  

Jimmy  was  able  to  coordinate  the  mixing  date  and  brought  along  the  video  

camera  to  the  session  to  capture  the  day’s  events.  Jimmy  did  not  film  

continuously;  he  selectively  captured  aspects  of  the  mixing  session  that  he  

thought  were  the  most  important  for  me  to  see.  He  explained  the  camera’s  

presence  and  purpose  to  his  friend  Bill:  “This  isn’t  really  for  me.  This  kid  is  

doing  an  interview  of  me  and  he’s  trying  to,  I  guess  he’s  doing  a  thesis  on  like,  

audio,  home  audio  recording  and  mixing  and  stuff  like  that.”              

  Curious  as  to  why  Jimmy  didn’t  mix  his  own  music,  I  asked  him  why  

he  hired  his  friend  Bill  for  the  task.  First,  Bill  is  a  professional  audio  engineer  

and  Jimmy  has  a  rapport  with  him,  having  collaborated  on  previous  projects,  

they  have  developed  a  trusting  relationship;  second,  there  is  a  style  to  Bill’s  

mixing  that  suits  Jimmy’s  musical  tastes.  Bruce  Swedien  (2009),  the  

  204  
renowned  mixing  engineer  whose  body  of  work  includes  the  best-­‐selling  

album  of  all  time,  Michael  Jackson’s  Thriller,  explains  how  mixing  sound  is  

like  cooking.  They  both  are  dependent  on  taste:      

Mixing  can  in  parts  can  be  compared  to  making  food.  It  really  doesn’t  
matter  how  good  the  quality  of  the  individual  ingredients  are—if  they  
are  not  put  together  in  the  right  manner  it  will  never  please  the  eater.  
Different  cooks  make  very  different  meals  with  the  very  same  
ingredients,  and  the  same  can  be  said  for  sound  engineers—no  two  
will  give  you  the  same  result.  But  one  thing  they  will  give  you  is  their  
own  sonic  personality.  (p.  126)  
 
Third,  Jimmy  sees  himself  as  a  producer,  a  role  that  encompasses  

more  of  a  holistic  vision  for  the  music  and  delegates  the  technical  

responsibilities  to  the  mixing  engineer.  Blake  (2010)  posits  that  producers  

historically  “have  been  listeners,  able  to  decode  what  happens  in  the  

recording  and  mixing  studios  in  order  to  represent  the  eventual  listening  

customer”  (p.  36).  Zak  (2009)  notes  that  the  relationship  between  the  

engineer  and  producer  is  “analogous  to  that  of  a  film’s  cinematographer  (and  

editor)  and  its  director.  The  former  is  charged  with  the  actualization  of  the  

latter’s  imagined  visions,  ideas,  and  speculations”  (p.  74).  Jimmy  described  

what  kind  of  input  he  communicated  to  Bill  in  the  mixing  session:      

With  him  I  usually  kind  of  not  say  so  much,  only  because  it’s  like  me  
and  him  have  this  synergy,  so  it’s  like  we  know  each  other  and  we  
know  what  we’re  looking  for.  I  mean  if  it  comes  to  production,  per  se,  
I’ll  be  like,  all  right,  make  it  do  this  or  make  it  do  that,  you  know  what  
I’m  saying?  If  I  want  a  specific  sound,  like,  make  it  sound  like  a  radio  
kind  of  effect,  take  all  the  bass  out,  or  just  have  it  run  everything  on  
the  high  pass  or  something  like  that.  But  other  than  that  I  pretty  much  
just  try  to  produce  it  in  a  way  to  where  this  is  what  it  is,  all  you  have  
to  do  is  bounce  it.  

  205  
  
Figure  35.  Bill  at  the  helm  of  the  Pro  Tools  session  for  “Kingdom  Come.”  
 
 
 
Analog  Vs.  Digital  According  to  Jimmy  

Before  Jimmy  walked  me  through  his  mixing  session,  he  distilled  his  

views  on  the  difference  between  mixing  a  song  with  a  DAW  (i.e.,  Pro  Tools)  

and  the  more  traditional  approach  of  using  a  mixing  console,  in  this  case  a  

SSL  (Solid  Stage  Logic)  console.  Jimmy  compared  the  software,  the  Waves  

SSL  4000  E-­‐Channel  plugin  (Figure  36),  to  the  original  hardware  that  the  

software  was  modeled  on,  a  SSL  4000  E  series  channel  strip:        

Jimmy:  When  you  get  something  mixed—I  have  something  that  was  
mixed  on  an  actual  SSL  board—it's  so  big,  so  grand,  so  thick.  With  [a  
DAW],  it  sounds  good  and  it's  good,  but  it's  not  like,  man,  did  you  hear  
that,  you  know?  A  lot  of  guys  would  tell  you  it's  the  same  thing.  It's  not  
the  same  thing.  It's  good.  You  can  get  your  stuff  on  the  radio.  People  
won't  be  able  to  tell  the  difference,  but  people  can  subconsciously  tell  
the  difference:  so  they  hear  a  song  that's  mixed  on  an  SSL  simulator  
compared  to  an  actual  SSL  and  people  feel  the  one  done  on  the  SSL  
more  than  the  emulator.  Sound  is  really  important—that's  one  thing  
people  don't  realize—sound  is  very,  very  important  and  it  affects  us  
very  intricately  and  people  don't  realize  it.  It  really  does.  
 
 

  206  
 Adam:  What  do  you  think  the  difference  is?  
 
J:  I  think  the  thickness  of  it,  the  feel  of  it,  the  more  you  can  actually  
capture  because  even  though  when  you're  recording,  you're  not  
capturing  everything.  The  SSL  captures  the  most.  If  I'm  in  the  club  and  
I'm  hearing  the  same  song  I  might  subconsciously  dance  harder  to  the  
one  that's  done  on  the  SSL  even  though  it  sounds  crazy.  
 
A:  What  did  you  mean  by  when  you  record  something  you  don't  
capture  all  of  it?  
 
J:  Well  nothing  is  perfect.  I  run  my  guitar  through  a  good  mic,  my  ear  
is  going  to  be  able  to  catch  everything  but  the  microphone  will  not  be  
able  to  catch  everything.  Certain  elements  are  going  to  be  missed,  
because  nothing's  perfect.  You  definitely  want  to  use  the  best  
equipment  so  you  capture  the  most  that  you  can.  
 
 
 

 
Figure  36.  Waves  SSL  4000-­‐E  plugin.  This  plugin  utilizes  skeuomorphism  to  
emulate  the  look  of  the  original  SSL  4000  channel  strip.  
 
 
 
Jimmy  demonstrated  that  he  has  engaged  in  critical  thought  about  the  

process  of  recording,  recognizing  that  something  gets  lost  along  the  way  

when  sound  is  recorded.  Microphones  process  sound  differently  than  the  

  207  
human  ear;  in  Jimmy’s  view  the  ear  captures  everything,  but  the  microphone  

cannot.  Milner  (2009)  concurs:  

Our  auditory  systems  make  adjustments  in  perspective  that  a  

microphone  cannot.  When  we  hear  solos,  we  move  that  sound  to  the  
forefront  of  our  consciousness;  a  microphone  just  reads  it  as  another  
sound—more  distinct  than  the  others,  perhaps,  but  still  part  of  a  two-­‐
dimensional  picture.  The  microphone  passively  receives  sound,  but  
we  use  it  to  create  a  multifaceted  tonal  picture.  (p.  64)  
 
 
 
Getting  Guitar  Sounds  in  Mixing  

Jimmy  spoke  of  a  subconscious  feeling  people  have  for  music  that  

mixing  technology  can  influence.  Part  of  the  task  of  mixing  is  ensuring  that  

the  intended  emotion  of  a  performance  is  preserved  or  even  accentuated.  

This  is  best  exemplified  in  the  processing  of  Jimmy’s  guitar  sounds  in  the  

mixing  process.  Jimmy’s  engineer  used  different  plugins  to  alter  the  timbre  of  

the  guitar  tone  to  draw  out  its  emotion.  Walser  (1993)  argues,  “of  all  musical  

parameters,  timbre  is  least  often  analyzed,  but  its  significance  can  hardly  be  

overstated”  (p.  41).  

In  the  video  of  the  mixing  session,  Bill  pulled  up  a  plugin  on  screen  

called  Waves  Renaissance  Equalizer  (Figure  37)  and  started  to  make  

adjustments.  Swedien  (2009)  provides  a  lucid  explanation  of  the  role  of  an  

equalizer:    

The  role  of  the  equalizer  is  to  control  the  gain,  or  volume,  of  one  or  
more  parts  of  the  audio  spectrum  while  leaving  the  other  parts  
relatively  unchanged.  An  equalizer  is  in  actuality  a  frequency  selective  
volume  control.  (p.  134)  

  208  
 Jimmy  explained  Bill’s  use  of  the  equalizer:    

This  is  EQ.  You  get  a  flat  line  once  you  pull  it  up.  But  now  he's  adjusted  
it.  This  is  the  bottom,  this  is  the  high,  so  obviously  you  can  take  it  
down  or  go  up.  It's  looking  like  he's  added  a  lot  of  bottom  to  it.  
 
Adam:  How  would  he  decide  to  do  that?  
 
Jimmy:  It  would  be  based  on  the  guitar  sounds  at  its  current  state.  
What  needs  to  be  taken  out,  left  in,  what  needs  to  be  more.  And  a  lot  of  
the  time  you're  doing  that  kind  of  stuff,  it's  not  based  on  what  you  
think  or  what  you  like,  it's  more  or  less  based  on  what  is  the  best  
frequency  it  is  going  to  be  heard  at.  He's  running  the  guitar  through  
that,  that  is  the  octave.  He's  adjusting  the  way  highs,  obviously  it’s  a  
guitar.  I  think  he's  trying  to  capture  the  feeling  that  the  octave  guitars  
are  supposed  to  have.  
 
A:  What  would  you  say  that  feeling  is?  
 
J:  The  octave  guitar  is  supposed  to  be  a  reinforcement  of  adding  
motion.  Like  that  kind  of  I-­‐can-­‐overcome  emotion.  Whatever  I  said  in  
the  verses  then  that  is  the  solidifier.  Like  I  said  this,  and  now  music  
says  this  you  know  what  I'm  saying,  yeah.  It's  always  hard  to  explain  
music.    
 
 
 

 
Figure  37.  Waves  Renaissance  EQ  plugin.  
 

 
While  Jimmy  sensed  that  he  was  struggling  to  put  into  words  how  the  

equalizer  was  used  to  illuminate  the  emotion  of  the  octaves  he  played  on  the  

  209  
guitar,  he  managed  to  explain  that  the  function  of  the  octave  guitar  part  is  to  

reinforce  the  message  of  the  lyrics.  Once  the  line  “let  it  shine,”  is  sung,  the  

music  is  structured  such  that  the  guitar  reinforces  the  lyrical  message.  

Gibson  (2006)  advises  that  a  mix  be  given  a  constant  focal  point  or  else  risk  

being  identified  as  unprofessional:    

It's  common  to  hear  an  unprofessional-­‐sounding  mix  in  which  the  mix  
is  all  right  as  long  as  the  vocals  are  active.  However,  the  spaces  
between  the  lyrics  lose  interest—the  momentum  drops  and  the  
listener  is  left  without  a  point  of  interest.  (p.  71)  
 
 
 
Compressing  the  Guitar  Solo  

A  key  component  of  “Kingdom  Come”  is  the  guitar  solo.  With  a  

noticeably  wide  dynamic  range,  it  is  susceptible  to  being  masked  by  other  

instruments.  To  circumvent  this  issue,  Bill  employed  compression.  According  

to  Swedien  (2009),  “Most  compressors  are  threshold  sensitive,  which  means  

that  signals  below  a  certain  volume  level  are  not  affected  by  the  device.  The  

user  sets  this  threshold  level.  Signals  above  this  threshold  level  are  reduced  

in  gain”  (p.  134).  Jimmy  described  the  Bomb  Factory  BF-­‐3A  Classic  

Compressor  plugin  (Figure  38)  that  Bill  used  to  compress  the  guitar  solo:  

This  one  only  has  two  knobs:  input  and  output,  pretty  much.  The  
production  is  pretty  much  when  [the  guitar  signal]  goes  into  the  red,  
[the  compressor]  plays  like  an  equalizer.  So  every  time  the  signal  goes  
to  a  point  where  it  will  peak,  [the  compressor]  will  automatically  pull  
[the  signal]  down.  With  digital  you  can't  flirt  with  the  red  too  much;  
analog,  you  could  totally  flirt  with  the  red  just  as  long  as  it  doesn't  get  
ridiculous.  
 

  210  
 Adam:  Why  do  you  want  to  flirt  with  the  red?  
 
Jimmy:  Only  because  that's  as  loud  as  it  gets,  pretty  much,  so  if  it's  too  
low  it's  not  going  to  be  good.  You  could  always  pull  it  down  but  
sometimes  you  can't  make  things  louder.  Even  if  you  do,  you  have  to  
process  it  so  many  times  it's  not  going  to  sound  good  anymore.  
 
Gibson  (2006)  concurs  with  Jimmy’s  assertion  that  low  input  levels  in  

digital  recording  can  be  problematic—it  is  preferable  to  “flirt  with  the  reds”:  

The  result  of  low  digital  levels  is  decreased  accuracy  at  low  levels.  As  
the  signal  decreases  there  are  fewer  bits  to  define  amplitude  
quantization;  therefore,  it  is  desirable  to  record  at  full  digital  levels.  
The  advantage  of  increased  digital  levels  is  increased  clarity  not  so  
much  in  the  louder  passages,  but  in  the  softer  passages.  (p.  73)  
 
 
 

 
Figure  38.  Bomb  Factory  compressor  plugin.  

Technical  descriptions  aside,  Jimmy  perceived  the  compressor  as  

serving  an  artistic  function  within  the  mix:  “You  use  it  to  give  the  sound  of  

the  guitar  more  beef,  a  little  more  body,  so  that's  what  he's  doing.”  Employing  

adjectives  such  as  “beef”  and  “body”  to  describe  sound  in  this  case  translates  

to  the  compression  of  the  dynamic  range  of  the  guitar  signal.  Jimmy’s  word  

choices  are  logical  considering  that  beef  is  synonymous  with  brawn,  

robustness,  and  power.  Both  Walser  (1993)  and  Millard  (2004)  convincingly  

  211  
argue  that  during  the  twentieth  century  the  electric  guitar  came  to  be  seen  as  

a  symbol  of  masculinity  and  strength.  Compressing  a  signal  makes  it  more  

dense  and  thick,  giving  it  more  body.  For  Bill  to  be  able  to  translate  Jimmy’s  

descriptors  such  as  beef  and  body  into  manipulations  of  audio  resulting  in  

the  desired  sonic  result  is  impressive  to  say  the  least.  Jimmy  is  not  alone  in  

struggling  to  describe  sounds  in  musical  or  technical  terms.  Longtime  

recording  engineer  of  the  Beatles,  Geoff  Emerick  claims  John  Lennon  

floundered  when  he  had  to  verbalize  his  musical  ideas:    

John  always  had  plenty  of  ideas  about  how  he  wanted  his  songs  to  
sound;  he  knew  in  his  mind  what  he  wanted  to  hear.  The  problem  was  
that,  unlike  Paul,  he  had  great  difficulty  expressing  those  thoughts  in  
anything  but  the  most  abstract  terms.  Whereas  Paul  might  say,  "This  
song  needs  brass  and  timpani,"  John's  direction  might  be  more  like,  
"Give  me  the  feel  of  James  Dean  gunning  his  motorcycle  down  a  
highway.”  (p.  8)  
 
Velvert  Turner,  a  friend  of  Jimi  Hendrix  describes  a  similar  

phenomenon:  “Jimi  talked  about  colors  a  lot  and  sounds.  He'd  say  make  it  

sound  like  the  ocean.  I  want  it  to  sound  like  the  wind  here"  (as  cited  in  

Pomphrey,  1999).  Zak  (2009)  praises  the  role  of  the  audio  engineer:  “In  

interpreting  the  ideas,  complaints,  and  aural  fantasies  of  the  recording  team,  

engineers  serve  as  facilitators  of  both  performance  and  creativity  in  the  

recording  studio”  (p.  75).                

   
 
 
 
 

  212  
 “I  Never  Thought  I  Would  Be  A  Singer”:  Processing  the  Voice  

Much  has  been  made  of  Jimmy  as  a  guitarist  and  DJ,  but  my  conviction  

is  that  Jimmy’s  greatest  talent  is  his  singing  ability.  In  the  final  mix  of  

“Kingdom  Come,”  his  voice  is  the  central  focus.  While  the  guitars  are  certainly  

accentuated  during  the  sections  of  the  song  without  vocals  and  provide  a  

powerful  backbone  to  the  chorus,  it  is  the  voice  that  carries  the  song  

throughout.  Jimmy  has  an  impressively  versatile  voice.  Reflecting  his  musical  

influences,  he  can  holler  hard  rock  growls,  rap  with  a  rasp,  and  serenade  with  

soul.  Reflecting  on  his  development  as  a  singer,  Jimmy  described  his  

revelation:          

It's  definitely  a  work  in  progress  because  I  never  thought  I  would  be  a  
singer  ever,  ever,  ever,  ever.  The  first  song  I  actually  recorded  was  
two  years  ago  and  that's  when  I  knew  I  think  I  can  do  this…And  then  it  
started  growing  and  growing  and  it's  like,  wow,  I  guess  I  can  sing  
pretty  well!  
 
  In  the  video,  Bill  said  to  Jimmy:  “Since  you  already  have  some  of  the  

delays  set  up,  I’ll  use  that  as  a  base  and  tweak  it  from  there.”  I  asked  Jimmy  

how  the  delay  was  used  in  the  song  and  he  explained,  “It  is  used  basically  

everywhere  because  there  is  a  lot  of  space  in  the  song.  It's  not  a  filler,  but  

kind  of  like  a  filler  in  the  sense.  It's  used  on  the  vocals  and  the  soloing  it  is  

definitely  used  also.”  Swedien  (2009)  writes:      

Used  cleverly  in  a  mix,  delay  can  be  subtle  enough  that  it  is  not  
obvious  when  swallowed  by  the  rest  of  the  instruments  and  can  be  
used  to  just  change  the  feel  of  a  track  and  giving  it  life  and  space;  or  it  
can  simply  be  used  to  give  a  dramatic  edge  to  an  instrumental  part.  (p.  
139)  

  213  
   The  use  of  delay  in  “Kingdom  Come”  is  purposely  audible  during  the  

verses.  Jimmy  has  rests  of  two  beats  between  lyrical  lines,  which  translates  to  

a  couple  of  seconds  in  real  time.  Delay  serves  to  fill  these  spaces  with  a  clear  

echo  of  the  line  just  sung.  In  this  way  delay  serves  to  provide  the  song  with  

momentum,  keeping  it  from  being  derailed  by  silence.  

  In  addition  to  delay,  Bill  applied  distortion  to  the  various  vocal  takes:  

“For  the  layers  of  voxes  a  lot  of  the  times  we  would  put  a  guitar  amp  on  it,  a  

virtual  guitar  amp  on  the  voxes.”  The  “virtual  guitar  amp”  that  Jimmy  

referred  to  is  called  Amp  Farm,  which  gives  the  user  several  different  options  

of  software-­‐modeled  guitar  amplifiers.  Pointing  at  the  plugin  that  Bill  called  

up  on  the  video,  Jimmy  explained,  “These  are  the  cab  simulators,  if  you  want  

a  different  type  of  head,  what  kind  of  cab  it's  going  to  come  out  through,  and  

what  kind  of  mic  that  you're  simulating.”  Jimmy  explained  that  filtering  his  

voice  through  Amp  Farm,  “will  give  it  that  raspiness  and  then  bring  it  down  

so  it  mixes  nicely.”  

Evaluating  the  Final  Mix  

With  every  element  of  “Kingdom  Come”  receiving  a  critical  ear  from  

Jimmy  and  Bill,  the  four-­‐minute  song  took  six  hours  to  mix.  While  that  may  

seem  an  eternity  to  dedicate  to  four  minutes  of  music,  Jimmy  remarked,  

“That's  pretty  fast  actually,  usually  it  will  take  half  a  day,  12  hours.”  Every  

sound  was  scrutinized,  processed,  and  tweaked  such  that  the  amalgamation  

  214  
of  sounds  formed  a  cohesive  unit.  As  Gibson  (2007)  affirms,  “mixing  is  where  

everything  comes  together—it's  where  you  should  be  able  to  spend  enough  

time  to  create  a  musically  and  sonically  powerful  work  of  art”  (p.  77).      

The  end  product  that  Jimmy  received  from  the  mixing  session  was  a  

digital  WAV  file  that  he  compressed  to  an  MP3  file  and  emailed  to  his  band  

and  his  dad  for  feedback:  

My  dad  pointed  out  to  me,  I  think  your  vocals  are  low,  so  I  sent  it  to  
my  band  members  and  I  didn’t  tell  them  anything,  so  I  just  said,  “Hey  
listen  to  it.”  Sara  said,  “I  think  the  vocals  are  a  little  low.”  So  that’s  
what  made  me  think,  okay,  let  me  take  another  listen  to  it,  but  it’s  not  
going  to  be  adjusted  that  much—it  will  probably  go  up  by  .3  to  .7  of  a  
decibel.  It’s  not  going  to  go  up  so  much.  
 
  Having  had  some  time  to  evaluate  the  mix  for  himself,  Jimmy  was  

satisfied  with  Bill’s  work:  “It  sounds  good,  it's  mixed,  it's  fully  good  enough  to  

hear.  But  once  it's  mastered  it  will  be  louder  and  bigger—pretty  much  that  

mix,  just  louder  and  bigger.”    

 
 
Distributing  “Kingdom  Come”  

While  Jimmy  weighed  his  options  regarding  where  to  have  “Kingdom  

Come”  mastered,  he  had  already  uploaded  the  mp3  to  various  websites  for  

people  to  stream  and  posted  it  as  a  free  download  on  his  website.      

Considering  the  time,  energy,  and  money  he  put  into  the  recording,  I  asked  

Jimmy  why  he  opted  to  give  it  away  instead  of  selling  it.  Drawing  on  his  

background  in  economics,  Jimmy  presented  his  rationale:      

  215  
 Let’s  say  everybody  in  New  York  has  it.  Let's  say  the  record  takes  off.  I  
could  still  sell  it  even  though  I  gave  it  away,  and  if  a  record  label  wants  
to  come  in,  what  would  be  their  incentive  to  want  to  work  with  me  if  
I’m  already  selling  my  own  records?  So  I’m  thinking  about  it,  maybe  I  
should  fall  back  and  give  it  away,  give  it  away  to  all  the  people  that  are  
going  to  listen  to  it,  and  then  once  we’re  in  a  good  place,  then  we’ll  sell  
it.    
 
 
 
Second  Nature    

  Recording  technology  is  part  of  Jimmy’s  identity.  Having  been  around  

a  recording  studio  his  entire  life,  Jimmy  expects  to  continue  in  the  family  

business  of  being  a  music  producer.  Musical  ideas  come  naturally  to  him;  as  

he  described,  “it  just  happens.”  Jimmy’s  compositional  process  is  similar  to  

that  of  Meat  Loaf,  Hall  and  Oates,  and  The  Band  producer  Todd  Rundgren:  

Rundgren  describes  self-­‐production  as  more  of  “an  evolutionary  

process”  and  relates  the  process  to  different  approaches  in  art  and  
sculpture.  “Working  alone  is  for  the  most  part,  additive,”  he  says,  “like  
sculpting  with  clay…When  I’m  composing,  by  myself,  it’s  just  my  own  
sort  of  internal  process.  I’ll  start  with  something  very  rudimentary,  a  
rhythm  pattern  or  a  bassline  or  something  and,  over  time,  that  gets  
layered  up  and  evolves  into  something  more  complete  sounding.  It’s  
not  strictly  trial  and  error;  I  usually  start  out  with  some  sort  of  overall  
feeling  of  where  I  want  to  go…I’m  just  kind  of  wandering  around  in  a  
musical  area,  waiting  for  whatever  it  is  that  I  come  up  with  to  start  
coalescing  and  tell  me  where  it’s  supposed  to  go.  (Myers,  2010,  p.  42)  
 
Once  a  musical  idea  is  conceived,  Jimmy’s  first  instinct  is  to  record  it.  

Recording  entails  Jimmy  orchestrating  an  entire  song  in  a  single  session  and  

scrambling  to  commit  his  ideas  to  a  medium  of  permanence  in  a  matter  of  

hours.  Using  MIDI  instruments  such  as  Battery,  a  drum  sequencer,  Jimmy  is  

able  to  program  a  drum  pattern  and  lay  the  foundation  for  what  constitutes  

  216  
the  core  of  his  songs,  guitars,  and  vocals.  Guitars  and  vocals  are  recorded  in  

layers  with  the  foresight  of  how  these  different  layers  will  be  mixed.  This  

strategy  involves  thinking  about  the  finished  final  product  and  working  

sequentially  backward.  Jimmy  realizes  that  if  he  wants  his  guitar  and  voice  to  

sound  a  certain  way  on  the  final  recording,  they  need  to  be  recorded  multiple  

times  and  mixed  a  certain  way.  In  the  same  vein,  with  the  help  of  his  

engineering  friend  Bill,  Jimmy  agonizes  over  the  timbral  qualities  of  the  

guitar,  ensuring  that  they  translate  the  emotion  of  his  songs.  Recording  is  

second  nature  to  Jimmy;  he  is  comfortable  with  the  technology  he  uses  and  is  

able  to  efficiently  use  it  to  facilitate  the  realization  of  his  songs  to  a  

distributable  format.    

Jimmy  has  never  taken  a  formal  music  lesson,  but  in  his  learning  

journey  he  has  received  lessons  from  online  videos  and  people  passing  

through  his  life.  Influenced  by  his  DJ  background,  Jimmy  has  learned  to  play  

the  guitar  primarily  by  listening  to  other  guitarists  and  trying  to  emulate  

them.  Jimmy  spends  most  of  his  time  outside  of  work  alone,  diligently  

mastering  the  guitar,  trying  to  match  the  likes  of  his  musical  idols  Jimi  

Hendrix,  Jimmy  Page,  and  Eric  Clapton.  As  someone  who  is  almost  entirely  

self-­‐taught,  he  meets  all  of  Green’s  criteria  that  characterize  how  popular  

musicians  learn  (2008),  including  the  complex  process  of  integrating  

listening,  performing,  improvising,  and  composing  simultaneously  while  

learning.          

  217  
   With  regard  to  recording  technology,  Jimmy  has  acquired  an  

impressive  array  of  skills  to  be  able  to  use  a  semi-­‐professional  recording  

studio.  He  is  fluent  in  Pro  Tools  and  can  navigate  both  external  and  plugin  

signal  processors.  He  uses  a  MIDI  controller  to  play  keyboard  parts  and  

synthetic  drum  parts.  He  can  explain  the  workings  of  an  equalizer,  reverb,  

delay,  and  compressor.  Amazingly,  he  cannot  recall  a  single  moment  when  he  

acquired  these  skills.  By  his  own  account,  Jimmy  absorbed  this  skill  set  as  a  

young  child  and  it  has  stayed  with  him.  Engineer  Ed  Cherney  explains  that  

audio  engineering  has  a  lineage  of  being  absorbed:  

Traditionally,  it  was  taught  by  osmosis—you  would  be  in  a  room  with  
people  who  are  striving  to  make  the  best  sounding  records  they  
possibly  could.  Things  that  were  dynamic  and  wide  range  and  true,  
and  sounds  as  you  could  almost  step  into.  And  sitting  behind  these  
guys,  you  would  get  that  perspective,  you  would  learn  how  to  listen  
critically.  (as  cited  in  Gottleib,  2010,  p.  36)

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 CHAPTER  VIII  

TRACK  4:  TYLER  

Just  Blocks  Away:  Tyler’s  Apartment  

Tyler’s  apartment  is  just  blocks  away  from  Tara’s  building.  He  lives  

with  three  roommates  on  the  ground  floor  of  an  apartment  in  a  

predominantly  Hispanic  neighborhood.  It  was  a  particularly  warm  day  when  

I  first  visited  Tyler,  and  some  of  his  neighbors  were  playing  dominos  in  front  

of  the  building.  Tyler  admitted  that  if  he  didn’t  have  a  rehearsal  that  evening  

he  probably  would  have  cancelled  on  me  in  favor  of  spending  some  time  

outside  in  the  sun.  Cohabitation  has  its  benefits,  such  as  reduced  rent,  but  

with  that  comes  limited  private  space.  Tyler’s  room  is  modest  in  size,  a  

couple  hundred  square  feet,  and  he  spends  most  of  his  time  confined  to  his  

room  when  he’s  home.  His  desk  is  comprised  of  an  abandoned  door  that  is  

perched  on  two  stacks  of  cinderblocks.  Above  his  desk  hangs  a  piece  of  

pegboard  from  which  various  audio  cables  hang.  He  commented  that  most  

things  in  his  room  are  modular.  For  example,  he  sleeps  on  a  futon,  a  sofa  by  

day  and  a  bed  by  night.  He  he  was  particularly  proud  of  his  projector  that  he  

uses  to  watch  videos  on  his  wall.  “This  is  how  I  survive  having  three  

roommates,  I  can  just  stay  in  my  room,”  he  said,  grinning.

  219  
   Tyler  warned  me  that  he  is  obsessive-­‐compulsive.  This  might  explain  

why  during  the  course  of  our  interviews  he  paced  around  his  room  tidying  

and  dusting  while  answering  my  questions  diligently  and  insightfully.  Our  

first  interview  fell  upon  a  momentous  day  for  Tyler  because  he  was  expecting  

to  resume  recording  again  after  a  prolonged  hiatus  due  to  technical  

difficulties:  “Because  you're  the  engineer  and  the  musician,  if  something  goes  

wrong  technically,  it  can  create  this  impasse.  Certainly  I’m  using  my  technical  

impasses  as  an  excuse  for  procrastination.”    

Expecting  a  delivery,  Tyler  was  waiting  for  an  item  that  would  allow  

him  to  record  again.  In  the  interim,  Tyler  showed  me  his  brand  new  MacBook  

Pro  and  launched  into  an  anecdote  about  the  frustration  he  experienced  

trying  to  make  music  with  his  previous  aging  and  ailing  MacBook:    

I  was  using  this  older  computer.  On  the  surface  it  seems  like  there  
should  not  be  anything  wrong  with  it,  I  reinstalled  the  operating  
system.  Whenever  I  try  to  play  the  stuff  I  was  working  on,  it  would  
skip  a  lot  and  not  really  get  through,  and  even  if  I  managed  to  get  it  
working,  it  would  kill  any  creative  energy  I  had  going  into  working  on  
it.    
 
  The  buzzer  for  Tyler’s  apartment  rang  and  he  popped  out  the  front  

door  to  sign  for  a  package  from  UPS.  Inside  the  familiar  Amazon-­‐logoed  box  

was  the  adapter  that  Tyler  had  been  waiting  for.  The  adapter  enabled  Tyler  

to  connect  his  audio  interface  to  his  new  MacBook  Pro  and  revive  his  music-­‐

making.      

  220  
Bubble  Wrap:  A  Guided  Tour  Through  Tyler’s  Bedroom  Studio  

Tyler  cut  open  the  box  and  pulled  out  what  appeared  to  be  an  

excessively  long  piece  of  bubble  wrap  given  the  tiny  size  of  the  adapter  it  

blanketed.  He  offered  me  some  bubble  wrap  to  pop  but  I  declined,  since  it  

seemed  to  me  that  he  would  derive  more  pleasure  from  the  experience  than  I  

would.  “My  girlfriend  would  get  really  jealous!”  he  said.  After  popping  a  few  

rows  of  bubbles,  Tyler  continued  his  explanation  of  the  significance  of  the  

adapter  and  gave  me  an  overview  of  his  audio  interface  (Figure  39):    

And  now  the  adapter  showed  up  which  would  make  it  possible  to  
connect  my  audio  interface.  This  is  called  a  MOTU  Traveller.  What's  
great  about  it  is  it's  powered  off  of  the  bus.  This  is  eight  channels,  
phantom  power  on  each  one.  Its  got  eight  isolated  distinct  outputs.  It's  
very  light.  This  is  the  first  time  I  plugged  it  into  this  computer  but  I  
already  installed  the  drivers.  It  looks  like  a  mission  control  space  
launcher!  
 
 
 

   
Figure  39.  MOTU  Traveller.  
 
 
 
Tyler’s  explanation  is  laced  with  technical  terminology,  “powered  off  

the  bus,”  “phantom  power,”  and  “eight  isolated  distinct  outputs.”  Installing  

drivers  is  a  simple  task  for  Tyler,  a  child  of  the  computer  age.  He  understands  

how  a  computer  and  audio  interface  interact  and  what  is  required  to  ensure  

  221  
that  his  equipment  works  properly.  In  tour-­‐guide  fashion,  Tyler  proceeded  to  

give  me  an  introduction  to  each  component  of  his  studio:    

I  have  the  audio  interface,  which  is  connected  to  the  computer.  I  have  
a  tuning  pedal  (Figure  40).  I  plug  my  guitar  into  the  tuning  pedal  and  
the  tuning  pedal  goes  to  the  audio  interface.  There’s  an  output  in  the  
audio  interface  that  goes  to  this  reverb  pedal  (Figure  41).  Basically  a  
dry  guitar  signal  will  go  to  this  interface  and  then  something  will  
come  out  of  that  interface.  
 
 
 

 
Figure  40.  BOSS  TU-­‐2  chromatic  tuning  pedal.  
 
 
 

  222  
  
Figure  41.  Electro  Harmonix  Holy  Grail  reverb  pedal.  
 
 
 
Despite  being  an  accomplished  keyboard  player,  Tyler  writes  most  of  

his  songs  on  guitar.  His  studio  is  efficiently  configured  so  that  he  can  practice  

for  a  live  gig  or  record  music  with  the  same  setup.  The  MOTU  Traveller  is  the  

central  hub  of  his  studio,  all  audio  signals  come  and  go  through  it.  Tyler  

detailed  how  and  why  he  records  his  guitar  with  two  different  inputs,  a  direct  

input  from  the  Fishman  piezoelectric  transducer  (pickup)  in  his  Martin  0015  

acoustic  guitar  and  an  acoustic  signal  that  is  recorded  with  a  microphone:      

As  soon  as  I  plug  the  guitar  into  the  tuner  I'm  getting  a  clean  signal  
into  this  audio  interface.  I  can  also  set  up  a  mic  and  get  an  acoustic  
signal.  But  if  I  wanted  later  to  re-­‐amp  it  to  see  what  it  sounded  like  
through  an  amp,  and  since  this  is  just  one  room,  I  can't  isolate  it,  I  
can't  put  the  amp  on  the  other  side  of  the  house.  It  would  just  be  too  
much  work.  I  have  more  flexibility  in  just  recording  an  acoustic  sound  
while  I'm  recording  a  direct  sound  and  then  later  I  want  to  run  that  
direct  sound  to  the  amp  and  mic  that  I  can  change  whatever  settings  I  
want.    
 

  223  
 Tyler’s  bedroom  studio  is  humble  in  appearance,  but  the  routing  alone  

evinces  the  technical  sophistication  involved  and  his  thinking  behind  it.  In  his  

discussion  of  the  difficulty  of  “re-­‐amping,”  Tyler  indicated  that  having  a  

bedroom  studio  is  limiting  and  forces  him  into  a  scenario  in  which  he  cannot  

record  both  an  acoustic  signal  and  an  amplified  signal  from  his  guitar  

simultaneously  without  the  amplified  sound  bleeding  into  and  marring  the  

acoustic  signal.  Instead,  he  records  a  direct  signal  that  can  later  be  routed  to  

an  amplifier  and  re-­‐recorded:  re-­‐amping.                  

   

Fading  Into  Mixing      

Like  a  real  estate  agent  taking  me  from  room  to  room,  Tyler  briefed  

me  on  a  few  other  items  of  note  including  a  ukulele  and  a  toy  piano  he  

purchased  for  60  dollars,  justifying  it  by  saying,  “I  just  like  toy  pianos.”  

Galloping  along,  Tyler  explained  the  next  piece  of  equipment  in  his  quiver:  

This  is  called  an  Akai  MPD  32  (Figure  42)  and  it  is  a  USB  and  MIDI  pad  
control  unit.  It's  very  flexible,  it  has  faders.  One  reason  I  would  use  it  
is  if  I  was  mixing  a  song,  I  would  like  to  get  it  down  to  a  few  groups.  So  
I  will  have  like  drums  maybe  and  then  bass,  keyboards,  vocals,  and  
backup  vocals.  This  is  eight  channels—the  greatest  songs  that  were  
ever  recorded  were  mixed  down  to  eight  channels  at  some  point  in  my  
mind.  One  thing  I  use  these  for  is  like  a  mixing  board  because  I  
actually  get  a  tactile  response.  To  me  it's  just  way  different  than  if  I'm  
here  with  the  mouse  trying  to  do  it.  It  just  feels  more  natural.    
 
 
 

  224  
    
Figure  42.  AKAI  MPD  32  MIDI  pad.      
 
 
 
Using  the  Akai  MPD  32  as  a  mixing  console  evinces  Tyler’s  preference  

for  an  analog  approach  to  mixing.  From  the  dawn  of  electrical  recording,  

audio  engineers  used  broadcaster  consoles  that  employed  large  rotary  knobs  

to  sum  multiple  signals  to  a  single  mix.  It  was  not  until  around  1960  that  the  

linear  fader  was  integrated  into  a  custom-­‐made  console  for  Atlantic  records  

by  engineer  Tom  Dowd,  single-­‐handedly  reinventing  mixing.  Dowd  recalls:        

The  equipment  most  places  were  using  in  those  days  consisted  of  
hand-­‐me-­‐down  stuff  from  broadcast  facilities,  including  consoles  that  
had  these  big  fat  three-­‐inch  knobs…The  problem  was  that  you  
couldn’t  get  two  or  three  under  your  hands.  It  just  wasn’t  accurate,  it  
was  plain  stupid.  Eventually  I  found  a  manufacturer  who  was  making  
slide  wires–faders  that  were  linear  instead  of  cylindrical  and  traveled  
5  inches  up  and  down.  Because  of  the  narrow  width  of  these  things,  I  
could  fit  them  into  a  board  half  as  wide.  Which  enabled  me  to  put  a  
whole  group  of  faders  in  two  hands,  which  is  what  I  wanted  to  do  all  
along.  Finally,  I  could  play  the  faders  like  you  could  play  a  piano.  (as  
cited  in  Simons,  2004,  p.  53).  
 

  225  
 With  most  manufacturers  of  mixing  consoles  adopting  Dowd’s  

innovation,  the  fader  or  slider  came  to  be  a  standard  feature  of  a  mixing  desk.  

As  Dowd  explained,  his  invention  was  spurred  by  ergonomic  concerns.  

Because  a  mouse  can  only  click  one  object  at  a  time,  using  a  mouse  to  mix  

multiple  signals  on  a  virtual  console  requires  the  user  to  select  the  virtual  

faders  one-­‐by-­‐one,  first  to  group  them  before  they  can  be  controlled  as  a  unit.  

Using  a  mouse  it  is  not  possible  to  select  multiple  faders  and  move  them  with  

one  fell  swoop  like  a  hand  can  on  a  physical  console.  (This  could  however  be  

accomplished  virtually  with  a  touchscreen  device  such  as  an  iPad.)  For  audio  

engineers  that  are  accustomed  to  mixing  on  a  console,  a  common-­‐voiced  

sentiment  is  that  mixing  in-­‐the-­‐box  is  a  frustrating  experience.  The  criticisms  

voiced  by  recording  engineer  John  Cornfield  (The  Stone  Roses,  Muse)  capture  

the  essence  of  the  argument  against  DAW-­‐based  mixing:  

I  still  mix  on  the  desk.  I  don't  use  Pro  Tools  by  the  way.  I  have  done  
some  internal  mixing,  and  I  have  done  a  couple  of  albums  mixing  
within  the  computer.  It's  all  right  if  you  have  time  to  do  it.  It  takes  
longer  to  get  the  sound,  whereas  most  of  the  stuff  is  right  on  the  
board.  It's  just  more  hands  on,  isn't  it?  Mixing  with  the  mouse  drives  
you  up  the  wall  after  awhile.  (as  cited  in  Touzeau,  2006,  p.  188)  
 
Mixing  on  a  physical  console  requires  gross  motor  movement  such  as  

rolling  around  in  a  desk  chair  to  maneuver  around  the  mixing  board  and  

reaching  at  arms’  length  to  adjust  a  fader  or  knob.  It  is  a  kinesthetic  

experience  that  occurs  at  the  macro-­‐level,  requiring  the  whole  body.  Mixing  

with  a  mouse  requires  micro-­‐movements  of  the  hand;  all  mixing  actions  are  

  226  
performed  with  fine  motor  skills.  As  mixing  consoles  have  been  pushed  

towards  obsoletion,  mixing  in-­‐the-­‐box  has  become  the  rule  rather  than  the  

exception,  and  Cornfield’s  sentiment  will  soon  have  little  relevance  to  the  up-­‐

and-­‐coming  generations  of  music-­‐makers  who  will  never  have  experienced  a  

mixing  console.      

The  mixing  console  has  been  in  use  for  approximately  50  years  and  

the  virtual  console  20  years,  which  puts  29-­‐year-­‐old  Tyler  medially  in  the  

zone  of  transition  between  the  two  technologies.  Using  a  device  such  as  the  

Akai  MPD  32  to  mix  allows  him  to  experience  the  tactile  response  of  the  

physical  console  while  mixing  in-­‐the-­‐box.  It  is  an  intermediary  technology:  it  

is  not  necessary,  but  it  helps  make  the  transition  from  the  dying  technology  

to  the  emerging  technology  easier.  

Stems  

Tyler’s  songs  invariably  have  more  than  eight  tracks,  preventing  him  

from  using  his  Akai  MPD  32  as  a  mixer  in  the  traditional  sense,  in  which  

every  instrument  is  assigned  to  a  different  fader.  Instead,  Tyler  employs  a  

hybridized  approach  to  mixing,  doing  some  preliminary  mixing  in-­‐the-­‐box  

with  a  mouse  and  performing  the  final  mix  in-­‐the-­‐box  with  the  Akai  MPD  32.  

Tyler  surmised,  “the  greatest  songs  that  were  ever  recorded  were  mixed  

down  to  eight  channels,”  and  so  it  follows  that  he  creates  stems:      

  227  
 Well  these  are  all  stems.  You  could  mix  everything  down  individually  
but  usually  there's  not  enough  time  to  do  that,  so  you  would  just  mix  
guitars  and  ukuleles  together,  things  that  are  treated  similarly.  So  that  
later  you  know  their  volume  relationship  to  each  other  at  least  and  
you  can  decide  the  overall  relationship  of  different  things  to  each  
other  in  the  song,  volume-­‐wise.  After  you’re  out  of  the  studio,  that’s  
just  one  way  of  doing  it.  If  you  don’t  have  very  much  money,  it  gives  
you  more  options  later.  
 
Tyler’s  description  of  stems  was  somewhat  convoluted,  but  he  

delineated  the  distinction  between  a  track  and  a  stem.  First,  a  single  track  can  

be  considered  a  stem.  For  example,  a  single  vocal  track  may  be  preserved  as  a  

stem  so  that  it  can  be  isolated  from  the  other  instrumentation  during  mixing.  

Many  musics  privilege  vocals  as  the  focal  point,  making  it  critical  that  the  

mixer  be  able  to  treat  and  control  the  vocal  independently.  Alternatively,  a  

stem  can  represent  several  individual  tracks,  an  arrangement  that  requires  

grouping  together  multiple  tracks  and  assigning  them  to  a  single  channel  or  

fader.  Essentially  this  is  a  process  of  mixing  by  clustering.  Take  for  example  

the  recording  of  a  drum  set:  the  drum  set  is  typically  thought  of  as  a  single  

instrument,  but  it  is  often  recorded  with  many  microphones  because  it  

houses  multiple  distinct  sources  of  sound.  The  kick  drum,  snare,  toms,  

cymbals  (overheads),  and  the  room  are  typically  mic’d  individually.  In  the  

mixing  stage,  once  a  relative  balance  between  the  components  of  the  drum  

set  is  achieved,  a  single  stem  of  the  drum  set  can  be  created,  allowing  the  

engineer  to  control  the  entire  kit  with  one  fader.    

  228  
Microphone  Selection      

Zak  (2001)  stresses  the  importance  of  microphones:  

The  first  step  in  the  signal  path  is  the  microphone.  In  many  ways  
microphones  are  the  technological  soul  of  any  recording  project;  the  
effectiveness  of  all  other  tools  and  techniques  depend  upon  the  
quality  of  the  image  that  the  microphone  is  able  to  deliver.  (p.  108)  
 
To  record  acoustic  guitar,  Tyler  typically  uses  a  Shure  SM57  dynamic  

mic  (Figure  43).  For  recording  vocals  Tyler  uses  an  AKG  C  414-­‐XLS  

condenser  mic  (Figure  44),  “Which  is  a  great  mic,  it’s  one  of  my  prized  

possessions,  but  for  my  voice,  well,  typically  I  would  sing  lower  on  my  real  

music  and  I  want  to  get  a  different  mic  for  that.  This  one  has  limitations.”  The  

limitations  that  Tyler  experiences  could  be  due  to  technique  as  Robair  

(2007)  explains:  

Condenser  mics,  for  example,  sound  brighter  and  harsher  when  the  
capsule  is  positioned  directly  on-­‐axis  with  the  singer's  mouth.  As  the  
capsule  is  tilted  forward,  the  sound  tends  to  get  warmer,  darker  and  
less  strident.  This  is  because  the  sound  hits  the  capsule  less  directly  
and  the  capsule  captures  more  of  the  singer's  chest  resonance.  An  off  
axis  tilt  can  also  help  reduce  sibilance  and  popping  caused  by  plosives.  
(p.  154)  
 
 
 

 
Figure  43.  Shure  SM57  dynamic  microphone.  

  229  
  
Figure  44.  AKG  C  414  XLS  condenser  microphone.  

Allsup  (2003)  labels  the  microphone,  “a  tool  of  deception,”  because  “it  

can  allow  a  singer  to  whisper  loudly”  (p.  11).  Katz  (2004)  reminds:  “Crooning  

was  only  possible  with  the  microphone,  for  without  amplification  such  

singing  would  be  expressively  flat  and  nearly  inaudible…Crooning  is  akin  to  

whispering.”  I  would  not  describe  Tyler  as  a  crooner,  but  he  sings  softly,  

almost  at  a  whisper  volume,  necessitating  a  microphone  to  capture  his  vocal  

nuances.  Tyler  suspected  that  a  different  microphone  would  better  suit  the  

quality  of  his  voice,  allowing  him  to  better  capture  his  soft  singing  voice:  

  230  
 I  want  to  get  a  Shure  SM7B  microphone  (Figure  45),  which  would  be  
good  for  recording  my  voice,  a  lower  voice.  I  had  some  friends  and  
heard  some  recordings  on  that  mic  for  the  recordings  that  I'm  doing  
that  are  a  rip-­‐off  of  Leonard  Cohen,  and  they  are  more  mellow  and  
baritone-­‐ish.  That  mic  would  work  so  well.  I'm  thinking  about  pulling  
out  the  credit  card  and  buying  that.    
 
 
 

 
Figure  45.  Shure  SM7B  condenser  microphone.  

Tyler  may  have  a  valid  reason  for  thinking  that  a  different  microphone  

altogether  could  make  the  difference.  The  inherent  properties  of  the  mic  

itself  could  be  the  culprit.  Different  microphones  have  different  frequency  

responses,  meaning  that  they  will  uniquely  boost  (accentuate)  or  cut  (mask)  

specific  frequencies.  This  helps  to  explain  why  one  microphone  might  be  

excellent  for  one  singer  and  not  another;  it  depends  on  the  quality  of  the  

singer’s  voice.  Figures  46  and  47  display  the  frequency  responses  of  the  414  

and  the  SM7B  respectively.    

  231  
  

Figure  46.  Frequency  response  graph  of  the  AKG  C  414  XLS.  Note  the  flat  
response  in  the  low  frequencies  compared  to  that  of  the  SM7B  in  Figure  47.  
The  414  also  has  a  cut  from  1  kilohertz  to  2  kilohertz.      
 

Figure  47.  Frequency  response  graph  of  the  Shure  SM7B.  Note  the  boost  at  
150  hertz  and  the  cut  between  1  kilohertz  and  1.5  kilohertz.      
 
 
 
Tyler  recognizes  the  critical  role  of  the  microphone.  His  AKG  C  414  is  

one  of  his  “prized  possessions.”  Grieg  (2009)  observes:  “The  microphone  is  

the  representative  of  potentially  countless  future  audiences”  (p.  16).  Bruce  

Swedien’s  (2003)  proclamation  distills  the  vital  role  that  microphones  play  in  

his  profession,  an  attitude  that  has  been  adopted  by  home  studio  users  like  

Tyler:  

  232  
 Microphones  are  very  special  things  to  me.  My  microphones  are  
prized  possessions.  Microphones  are  artifacts  of  our  culture:  modern  
symbols  of  the  human  urge  to  capture  a  bit  of  the  living  world  and  
then  examine  it  carefully  at  our  leisure.  Microphones  are  our  
entryways  to  the  temporal  or  sensual  universe  of  sound.  They  are  the  
voodoo,  the  magic  wand,  the  secret  weapon  of  the  music  recording  
engineer’s  or  producer’s  trade  and  craft.  (p.  174)  
 
 
 
A  Master  Plan  
 
  While  the  other  case  study  participants  use  recording  technology  to  

pursue  current  projects,  Tyler  has  mapped  out  a  lifetime’s  worth  of  music  

that  he  will  record.  The  project  that  I  was  able  to  eavesdrop  on  is  but  one  of  a  

multitude  of  recordings  that  he  plans  on  releasing  for  decades  to  come.  

Tyler’s  rationale  for  his  life  plan  of  music  recording  stems  from  his  reasoning  

that  there  is  a  need  for  newness  in  the  music  industry:      

I  started  thinking  of  how  I  wanted  to  release  music  and  what  would  
make  it  interesting  to  me  because  I  just  felt  like  it  lost  a  lot  of  what  I  
felt  was  interesting  about  it…Music  hasn't  changed  a  lot  in  50  
years…I'm  sure  there  has  always  been  a  genealogy  that  you  can  
follow,  but  it  seems  like  with  a  lot  of  things  you  reach  this  postmodern  
dead-­‐end  where  a  lot  of  it  is  rehashing  things  that  have  been  done  
before.  And  bands  are  doing  this  thing  where  they  play  music  and  tour  
and  sell  music  between  the  hours  of  10  p.m.  and  2  a.m.—and  this  is  
kind  of  a  twentieth  century  invention  in  a  way—and  I  don't  know  that  
it's  like  a  permanent  thing.    
 
Tyler’s  perception  that  the  music  industry  is  stagnant  is  in  part  based  

on  his  own  experiences  of  touring  and  recording  with  an  indie  rock  band  for  

seven  years  throughout  the  early  2000s.  He  realized  that  his  band  was  

perpetuating  a  cyclical  model  of  touring  and  recording  that  has  been  

  233  
entrenched  in  the  music  industry  since  the  dawn  of  recording  capability:  “To  

some  extent  when  you  get  the  curtains  pulled  back  and  you  tour  and  you  

play,  the  people  that  I  thought  were  doing  magic,  they  were  doing  pretty  

obvious  things.”      

In  an  attempt  to  deviate  from  the  status  quo,  Tyler  devised  a  new  way  

to  go  about  music-­‐making  that  is  influenced  by  the  distributive  

characteristics  of  the  Internet,  specifically  social  networking:  

I  started  thinking  about  how  music  is  consumed  and  distributed  now,  
and  I  think  that  music  hasn't  really  adjusted  to  the  changes  in  
technology  and  the  Internet.  When  I  think  about  what  changes  with  
the  Internet,  there  are  two  kinds  of  things  that  people  talk  about.  One  
of  them,  which  I  think  is  talked  about  the  most,  is  that  it  is  a  network  
of  people  and  it's  a  web  of  content  so  that  you  are  able  to  have  users  
and  people  all  around  the  world  contribute,  it's  a  network.    
 
The  second  thing  about  the  Internet  to  me  is  that  it  is  constantly  
changing.  It's  dynamic.  Nothing  on  it  is  static.  You  find  the  occasional  
page  from  1997  but  even  that  probably  has  a  little  animated  GIF  that  
says  under  construction.  It's  fighting  against  its  actual  static  state.  
That  I  found  really  interesting  and  the  more  that  we  start  to  
experience  music  not  through  physical  discs,  not  even  through  
downloads,  but  through  streaming,  through  just  being  given  access  to  
music  that  is  somewhere  else  seems  like  it  should  be  reflected  in  the  
music.    
 
So  I  started  thinking  of  albums  not  as  this  permanent  thing  but  rather  
as  a  fluid  collection  of  songs.  More  like  how  a  photo  album  is  on  
Facebook.  People  might  remove  photos  or  add  new  photos  to  it,  but  it  
is  a  collection  that  makes  sense  at  any  specific  given  time.  So  that's  
what  I  think  I  want  my  albums  eventually  to  be  like.  I  want  them  to  be  
like  collections  and  projects  that  are  ongoing  indefinitely.  Maybe  the  
songs  are  remixed  in  different  times.  I  want  to  tear  down  at  least  for  
my  own  music  the  idea  of  sacred  recording,  like  this  is  the  song.    
 

  234  
   Tyler  presented  a  reasoned  rationale  for  his  musical  projects,  his  

framing  of  recorded  music  as  a  process  of  petrification  evinces  his  critical  

thinking.  His  tone  resembles  that  of  Cutler  (2004),  who  argues,    

Until  1877,  when  the  first  sound  recording  was  made,  sound  was  a  
thing  predicated  on  its  own  immediate  disappearance;  today  it  is  
increasingly  an  object  that  will  outlast  its  makers  and  consumers.  It  
declines  to  disappear,  causing  a  great  weight  of  dead  music  to  press  
upon  the  living.  (p.  138)  
   
  With  the  impetus  of  social  networking  driving  Tyler  to  think  

differently  about  the  production  and  distribution  of  music,  he  dreamt  up  a  

novel  concept  of  presenting  his  music  to  the  web,  first  incorporating  the  

premise  that  his  music  will  not  succumb  to  a  state  of  stasis:  

I  decided  I  wanted  to  release  music  in  the  form  of  a  blog.  Just  put  it  
out,  give  it  tags  or  different  categories,  and  be  like,  this  is  one  kind  of  
album,  this  is  another  album,  and  then  release  songs  incrementally  
and  say  this  is  being  added  to  that  album  or  to  this  one.    
 
  The  second  concept  that  Tyler  adopted  from  his  observations  of  the  

workings  of  the  Internet  and  applied  to  his  music-­‐making  was  the  idea  of  a  

web  of  characters.  Assimilating  the  added  influence  of  the  Portuguese  writer  

Fernando  Pessoa,  Tyler  promulgated  Pessoa’s  literary  conventions  to  create  

a  fictional  web  of  characters:  

I  started  to  incorporate  the  other  idea  that  I  had—I  mentioned  about  
the  Internet—which  is  that  it  is  a  web,  a  network  of  people.  Instead  of  
having  a  pseudonym,  Pessoa  had  what  he  called  heteronyms  and  
there  are  all  these  characters  with  their  own  biographies  and  their  
own  religious  and  political  views  and  they  sometimes  disagreed  with  
each  other,  but  he  would  write  in  all  these  different  voices  and  I  
thought  that  was  pretty  interesting.  What  he  did  for  personhood  and  
authorship  I  find  fascinating.  Having  all  this  music  that  I  felt  

  235  
 represented  different  people  to  me  in  different  parts  of  my  
personality,  I  thought  that  would  be  a  great  thing  to  carry  into  the  
realm  of  music  and  that  the  Internet  really  facilitates  that.  So  I  created  
this  fake  label  that  is  run  by  a  fake  person  whose  artists  are  fake  
people,  they  are  heteronyms.  But  all  the  songs  are  me.    
 
Embracing  the  ghostwriter  model,  as  an  anonymous  author  Tyler  has  

concocted  a  village  of  characters.  The  relationship  that  he  has  to  each  

character  is  unique;  reality  in  this  imaginary  realm  is  blurred:    

Three  of  the  characters  are  me,  but  the  other  characters  that  I'm  
writing  aren't  really  me.  I  will  write  songs  for  them  but  they're  not  
really  me,  so  I  think  I  might  cast  them  the  way  somebody  would  cast  a  
play  or  a  musical  and  find  musicians  that  would  want  to  be  this  band  
and  I  would  pay  them…All  of  these  things,  any  one  of  them  could  seem  
gimmicky,  except  that  to  me  they  are  all  connected  by  an  ideology,  the  
way  we  make  music  needs  to  be  reflective  of  the  way  it  is  listened  to.  I  
think  that  is  starting  to  change  and  music  has  been  slow  to  recognize  
that.  That's  the  basic  rundown  and  now  it  seems  like  pretty  weird,  not  
weird  but  just  delusions  of  grandeur,  like  a  grotesquely  ambitious  
kind  of  project,  but  I  think  the  beauty  of  it  is  I  don't  have  to  create  all  
this  at  once.    
 
 
 
The  Fictional  Family  Tree:  Tyler’s  Characters  
 
  Tyler  has  six  different  bands  that  he  writes  for,  one  being  himself,  and  

five  others  that  he  serves  as  the  puppeteer.  Some  of  the  bands  include  more  

than  one  member;  in  total  he  has  created  12  characters.  Currently  he  has  11  

different  albums  in  progress.  Initially  this  idea  seemed  confusing,  but  framing  

Tyler’s  musical  projects  as  a  series  of  novels  in  which  the  author  plays  

multiple  characters  helped  me  to  grasp  his  invented  world.  Figure  48  

presents  a  tree  of  Tyler’s  characters  to  aid  orientation.  

  236  
 Tyler  
"Me"   "Not  Me"  
Tyler  (as   Scandinavian  
himself)   Otter   Sumac   Totem   Robots   Children  

6  Characters   2  Characters  

Figure  48.  Tyler’s  tree  of  characters.  

Tyler  cites  practical  reasons  for  writing  characters  that  are  not  him,  

such  as,  “I'm  not  a  great  singer  or  performer  and  I  write  songs  with  big  

ranges,  so  it's  great,  it  gives  me  an  excuse  to  have  other  people  sing  songs.”  

Additionally,  Tyler  hopes  to  marry  old  and  new  ways  of  producing  music:  

It's  doing  two  things  at  once.  In  a  way  it's  the  ultimate  manifestation  
of  the  narcissism  of  modern  music  where  people  record  stuff  
themselves  and  write  stuff  themselves  and  are  expected  to  be  10  hats  
all  at  once—the  idea  behind  this  is  I'm  going  to  control  10  different  
bands.  But  on  the  other  hand  it's  also  a  return  to  the  old  way  of  doing  
things  when  there  was  a  division  of  labor  and  you  had  different  
people  perform  songs  than  the  ones  that  wrote  them,  and  you  didn't  
have  the  artist  or  the  songwriter  necessarily  tied  to  the  things  being  
said  in  the  song…This  is  kind  of  doing  both  of  those  things,  both  very  
controlling,  solipsistic,  and  at  the  same  time  it's  very  collaborative  and  
embraces  the  division  of  labor,  I  think,  I  hope.  
 

  237  
   Tyler’s  description  demonstrates  his  awareness  of  the  changing  

practices  in  recording  music.  The  shift  to  the  “narcissism  of  modern  music,”  

in  which  the  musician  controls  the  production  process  has  roots  in  the  era  of  

the  “old  way  of  doing  things,”  as  exemplified  by  Brian  Wilson,  but  he  was  a  

rare  exception.  Gradually,  throughout  the  latter  half  of  the  twentieth  century,  

many  musicians  began  to  infiltrate  the  engineers’  empire,  abandoning  

comparative  advantage  in  favor  of  control.  Damian  Kulash,  front-­‐man  of  OK  

GO  (notorious  for  their  YouTube  savvy  music  videos  such  as  “A  Million  

Ways,”  and  “Here  It  Goes  Again”)  asserts  that  “anyone  with  access  to  a  decent  

computer  now  has  recording  tools  that  the  professionals  of  my  parents’  

generation  couldn’t  have  dreamed  of—making  high  quality  recordings  is  now  

nearly  as  easy  as  word  processing”  (as  cited  in  Kot,  2009,  p.  216).  

Singing  Robots      

An  example  of  one  of  Tyler’s  bands  that  is  not  him,  but  performed  by  

him,  is  his  band  of  singing  robots.  He  explained  his  concept  that  aims  to  

contrast  humor  with  sentimentality:      

The  idea  of  this  kind  of  a  band  in  a  way—first  of  all,  it  gives  me  an  
excuse  to  make  a  band  with  robots  singing  because  I  love  that.  But  
secondly  it's  designed  to  demonstrate  the  uncanny  valley,  which  is  
what  is  talked  about  when  robots  become  so  real,  but  not  quite  real  
and  that  weirds  us  out.  That  and  other  things  like  the  gap  between  
where  we  think  we  are  at  with  technology.  To  get  a  robot  singing  
sentimental  things  is  inherently  funny.  So  this  is  a  band  where  I  can  be  
funny  but  also  try  to  do  beautiful  music  to  some  extent.  
 

  238  
   Tyler  played  a  song  by  his  fictional  robot  band  on  his  MacBook  Pro  

and  we  listened  to  it.  It  is  apparent  that  the  music  is  purposefully  kitschy,  a  

cover  of  a  popular  artist.  The  song  features  simple  instrumentation,  a  country  

shuffle  drum  beat  at  a  moderate  tempo,  galloping  acoustic  guitar,  a  honky-­‐

tonk  piano  playing  a  triplet  rhythm  of  the  chords  giving  the  song  a  12/8  feel,  

and  a  reverb-­‐laden  guitar  solo  playing  the  main  melody  predictably  midway  

through  the  song.  The  focal  point  of  the  song  is  the  robot  singing  

mechanically  along,  juxtaposing  the  vocal  performance  that  is  void  of  

emotion  with  the  song’s  inherent  sad  sentiment.  Tyler’s  creation  sounds  

simple  and  that  was  intended.  He  explained  that  his  aim  was  to  make  a  

recording  with  a  “classic”  sound,  and  to  accomplish  this  he  purposely  used  

GarageBand  to  limit  himself:  “I  don't  have  the  expertise  to  do  something  that  

pushes  any  boundaries.  I  wouldn't  know  how  to  use  it  in  a  creative  way.  I  

only  know  how  to  use  it  in  a  formulaic  way.  So  therefore  it  forces  me  to  make  

formulaic  music  with  it.”  Formulaic  structure  aside,  it  required  great  

ingenuity,  integrating  multiple  technologies  in  the  recording  process:  

This  is  using  a  vocoder  and  autotune,  as  well  as  this  program  called  
vocal  writer.  It's  like  text-­‐to-­‐speech  except  it  sings  so  you  type  in  the  
text  and  then  you  play  on  the  keyboard  what  the  notes  are  going  to  be  
and  it  sings  the  song,  robots  sing  the  song.  It's  very  popular  in  Japan  
but  hardly  used  here  at  all.  Robots  have  been  able  to  sing  for  a  long  
time.  In  1961  the  IBM  7094,  I  became  obsessed  with  this  when  I  first  
heard  it.  I  thought  it  was  beautiful,  there  is  something  strange  about  
it—we  created  this  computer,  a  computational  device  that  does  math  
and  we’re  asking  it  to  do  something  very  emotional  and  not  
mathematical,  to  sing  a  love  song.    
 

  239  
 Following  up  on  Tyler’s  explanation,  I  was  curious  to  know  how  he  

went  about  making  the  song  and  asked  him  how  it  was  done.  Tyler’s  

response  demonstrates  that  he  saw  the  musical  potential  in  a  technology  not  

intended  for  music  (text-­‐to-­‐speech).  Interestingly,  this  was  precisely  the  

point  he  just  emphasized  to  me  about  robots  in  general:    

Using  the  Mac  text-­‐to-­‐speech  thing.  Text  Edit  is  designed  for  people  
with  disabilities,  you  can  go  into  settings  or  preferences  and  it  reads  
the  text.  So  I  recorded  that  and  cut  it  up  to  fit  rhythmically  with  the  
song  and  then  I  played  all  the  instruments.  This  is  just  done  in  
GarageBand.  I  just  plugged  my  acoustic  [guitar]  in  and  my  little  
keyboard.  The  drums  was  just  a  loop  on  GarageBand  and  I  played  the  
bass  with  the  Korg  [MIDI  keyboard].  This  is  a  vocoder,  this  is  me  
singing  through  using  this  to  do  the  harmonies.  
 
This  was  the  point  in  our  conversation  when  I  realized  that  Tyler’s  

technical  proficiency  surpassed  mine.  My  familiarity  with  voice  manipulating  

technologies  is  weak,  so  I  posed  the  question,  “What  is  a  vocoder?”  Tyler  

revealed  the  depth  of  his  technical  knowledge,  explaining  the  difference  

between  a  carrier  signal  and  a  modulator  and  how  a  vocoder,  harmonizer,  

and  autotune  are  different  devices  that  can  be  used  to  make  a  robot  sing.      

As  ingenuous  as  his  singing  robot  concept  is,  impressively  

demonstrating  mastery  of  several  complex  music  technologies,  Tyler’s  other  

projects  are  much  more  involved,  both  in  time  and  technical  sophistication.  

The  remainder  of  this  chapter  will  focus  on  the  making  of  a  song  Tyler  

worked  on  during  the  data  collection  period,  a  song  by  Tyler’s  longest  living  

character,  Otter.      

  240  
A  Design  for  Life:  Otter,  Sumac,  and  Totem  
   
  Otter  is  part  of  a  triumvirate  of  characters  that  are  related  to  each  

other  and  in  Tyler’s  words,  “are  represented  versions  of  me  at  different  

points  in  my  life.”  Each  character  has  a  biography  that  has  purposely  been  

underdeveloped  because,  as  Tyler  explained,  “I  also  want  to  discover  things  

about  the  characters  later.  I’ll  probably  get  bored  and  want  to  change  things  

about  them  too.”  As  Tyler  purported,  the  characters  were  created  with  a  

long-­‐term  plan  in  mind:  

Ideally  I  would  be  able  to  record  using  these  names  for  the  rest  of  my  
life  and  all  the  different  characters  because  there  is  enough  variation  
in  them  that  it  should  suit  any  kind  of  mood.  It's  designed  to  be  future  
proof,  I  can  just  keep  changing  these  characters  and  they  can  continue  
to  evolve.    
 
In  2006,  Tyler  released  his  first  EP  under  the  name  Otter.  Otter  is  from  

Montreal,  he  is  a  lover,  he  is  naïve,  melodramatic,  and  his  lyrics  are  

romanticized;  Otter  romanticizes  romantic  subjects.  Tyler  disclosed,  “Otter  is  

probably  closer  to  my  songs  than  any  of  the  other  stuff  that  I’m  doing,  but  

hopefully  it  sounds  pretty  stylistically  dissimilar  from  my  own  songs.”  The  

second  character  is  Sumac,  a  bison.  Sumac  is  a  soldier,  a  more  pragmatic  

character,  who  roams  the  plains  of  Alberta:  

His  lyrics  are  more  concerned  with,  certainly  not  romantic  issues,  
mostly  political  issues,  the  body  politic,  concerned  with  issues  of  
society,  the  social  issues.  I  have  a  collection  of  songs  for  that  one  that  
are  related  to  social  inequality  in  America  or  income  inequality.    
 

  241  
 Sumac’s  album  is  a  “country-­‐tinged  record,  Dust  Bowl  record  about  

social  inequality.”  Beyond  lyrical  content,  Tyler  attempts  to  make  each  

character  distinct  musically  by  varying  the  vocal  ranges  he  uses:  “The  Sumac  

stuff  is  going  to  be  projecting  really  high,  almost  like  Chris  Martin  (lead  

singer  of  Coldplay).  That's  part  of  how  I'm  going  to  differentiate  the  

characters,  different  singing  styles.  Otter  is  this  doubled  sound,  my  own  voice  

this  Leonard  Cohen  thing.”  The  third  character  is  Totem,  “a  mysterious  guy  

that  Totem,  he  doesn't  talk  so  how  would  we  know?!  Maybe  later  I  will  know  

where  he's  from,”  Tyler  said  with  a  smirk.  Totem  is  an  eagle  that  symbolizes  

justice  and  patrols  the  west  coast,  but  has  no  fixed  address,    

It's  the  only  wise  character  and  because  I'm  not  old  enough  to  
presume  I  would  know  what  that  sort  of  wisdom  is,  all  the  music  I'm  
making  for  Totem  is  instrumental.  And  it  probably  will  be  for  a  long  
time  it  may  be  50  years  from  now  I  will  decide  when  I'm  confident.    
 
Tyler  reminded  me  that  the  concept  of  his  project  is  influenced  by  two  

core  underpinnings  of  the  Internet:  interconnectivity  and  mutability:  

The  way  I  want  to  go  about  releasing  music  is  through  this  network  of  
avatars,  essentially  online  and  not  only  that,  by  creating  a  network  of  
things.  Everybody  has  a  few  Facebook  accounts  and  that’s  what  I  find  
funny  about  music.  And  then  the  other  aspect  of  course  which  I’ve  
talked  about  is  that  the  internet  is  the  prime  example  of  a  dynamic,  
progressive  work  of  art,  something  that  is  constantly  changing  yet  has  
a  static  page.  There  is  this  thing  you  keep  referring  to,  but  it  never  
stops  changing.      
 
 
 
 
 
 

  242  
“Just  Learned  It  From  Doing  It”:  Musical  Origins  
 
Raised  in  a  small  town  in  Georgia,  Tyler  recalled  that  he  started  

playing  his  grandmother’s  piano  when  he  was  very  young,  “like  four  or  five,  

just  self-­‐taught.”  A  year  later  his  family  inherited  a  piano  from  their  

neighbors  and  Tyler  look  lessons  for  a  year  and  a  half.  Reflecting  on  his  only  

experience  with  formal  piano  lessons,  Tyler  claimed,  “I  didn't  get  very  good  

from  that,  but  the  piano  was  in  the  house  and  I  just  played  all  the  time.  I  

learned  what  chords  were  before  I  knew  what  they  were.  Just  learned  it  from  

doing  it.”    

  Tyler’s  recollection  of  learning  to  play  the  guitar  is  similarly  scant  on  

details:    

I  saved  up  my  money  from  mowing  yards  to  buy  a  guitar  when  I  was  
12.  I  took  guitar  lessons  for  about  four  months,  five  months,  
somewhere  around  there,  and  that's  when  I  learned  chords.  Actually  I  
learned  chords  from  a  book—at  first  I  was  teaching  myself  guitar  too.    
 
Tyler  concluded,  “Really  my  knowledge  about  those  instruments  was  

self-­‐taught,  but  I  played  all  the  time.”    

   

Enter  Recording  Technology  

Tyler’s  relationship  with  recording  technology  started  at  a  relatively  

young  age  with  the  use  of  two  cassette  recorders  to  simulate  the  experience  

of  multi-­‐tracking.  Tyler’s  recount  of  his  process  is  strikingly  similar  to  the  

account  that  Michael  recalled  (p.  102):    

  243  
 The  very  first  recordings  I  did  was  in  the  fifth  grade  using  my  
keyboard.  I  had  two  different  tape  players  and  I  would  play  and  
record  into  one,  and  I  would  press  play  on  that  one  and  play  the  
keyboard  at  the  same  time  and  record  on  the  other,  and  I  would  go  
back  and  forth.  
 
Later,  while  in  middle  school  at  the  age  of  14,  Tyler  saved  up  his  

money  so  he  could  buy  a  four-­‐track  cassette  recorder,  again  similar  to  the  

one  that  Michael  used  as  a  teenager:      

With  the  four-­‐track,  it  was  magical—wow,  I  don't  have  to  do  that  but  I  
still  did  it  anyways.  Instead  now  I  just  started  making  32-­‐track  songs  
so  I  would  bounce  it  down  to  one  track.  Guitar,  vocals,  and  keyboard.  
Actually  my  dad  bought  my  sister  a  drum  set,  basically  a  toy  when  I  
was  in  middle  school  so  I  played  some  drums  too,  which  is  again  
teaching  myself.    
 
Tyler  continued  to  record  with  his  4-­‐track  in  high  school,  but  he  also  

started  to  record  on  his  PC  using  Cakewalk  Home  Studio,  a  ninety  dollar  

piece  of  software  that  he  “really  liked”  because  he  “could  do  MIDI  and  real  

instruments.”    

“Cracks”  In  College  

 By  the  time  Tyler  entered  college  the  following  year  in  2000  at  age  

17,  his  musical  tastes  had  expanded:  “A  lot  of  drum  sequencers  and  loops—

that's  what  was  popular  at  the  time,  IDM  (intelligent  dance  music)  was  big  

and  pop  bands  like  Radiohead  were  doing  the  sequence-­‐based  things.”  

Further,  the  digital  recording  boom  had  already  begun  to  trickle  down  to  the  

consumer  market  and  Tyler  and  his  friends  reaped  the  benefits  of  available  

  244  
technologies:  “A  lot  of  times  it’s  exposure  and  me  just  hanging  out  with  

friends  freshman  year  is  why  I  started  listening  to  a  lot  of  music  and  why  I  

ended  up  downloading  Acid  and  Fruity  Loops  to  begin  with.”  Tyler  learned  to  

use  DAWs  like  Cakewalk  and  Acid,  and  drum  sequencing  programs  like  

Hammerhead  and  Fruity  Loops.  All  of  these  programs  were  cracks,  

downloaded  from  file  sharing  sites  on  the  Internet.  While  the  Internet  has  

been  widely  criticized  for  its  use  as  a  distribution  ring  of  pirated  software,  it  

attracted  new  legions  of  music-­‐makers  like  Tyler.  Tyler  assessed  his  past  

experiences  and  presented  me  with  a  response  that  sounds  similar  to  some  

of  the  other  case  study  participants:      

I  would  say  that  it  just  happened  over  time  and  over  trial  and  error  
more  than  anything.  Through  doing  a  lot  of  music  you  get  exposed  to  
enough  stuff  you  learn  the  vocabulary  and  ask  enough  questions  
where  you  figure  out  some  of  the  answers.  
 
   

“I  Would  Get  Together  With  Myself”:  Using  Acid  

While  Tyler  cannot  recall  how  he  learned  to  use  the  program  Acid,  he  

can  recollect  how  he  used  it.  To  aid  his  explanation,  Tyler  retrieved  an  

external  hard  drive  from  his  bookshelf,  connected  it  to  his  MacBook  Pro  and  

sifted  through  some  audio  files  so  he  could  play  me  some  examples:  

“Somewhere  I  would  have  one  of  my  earliest  songs  that  I  finished,  I  don't  

know  if  this  is  the  version  of  it,  yes  this  is  it.  This  is  2003.  One  of  the  first  

songs  I  wrote  all  the  way  through  and  recorded  on  my  computer.”  Tyler  

  245  
played  the  file  and  offered  a  critique:  “It  sounds  like  Granddaddy  covering  

the  Eagles.  My  voice  was  much  higher  then.  There's  so  much  Belle  and  

Sebastian  in  it.  I  was  using  sound  effects  and  stuff  in  it  like  wind.”  Tyler  

recalled  how  he  would  write  his  songs  during  this  time:  “I  would  get  together  

with  myself  and  record  40  seconds  of  guitar  just  to  get  the  basic  idea  and  I  

would  do  some  vocals  with  no  lyrics  to  kind  of  get  the  two  different  vocal  

parts  down.”  Tyler  detected  a  neat  trick  he  incorporated  into  his  practice  of  

making  song  sketches:  place  holder  lyrics.  “So  here's  an  example  of  fake  

lyrics:  ‘nothing  I  will  write  here  will  stay,  only  the  rhythm  and  meter,  no  

choruses  either.’”      

While  I  was  impressed  with  the  quality  of  the  recording,  Tyler  offered  

a  technical  critique  of  himself:  “I  was  using  cheap  microphones,  so  much  of  it  

is  that,  just  the  basics.  I  wasn't  getting  the  right  sound  and  then  to  make  up  

for  the  noise  I  would  take  off  some  of  the  high-­‐end  in  the  EQ,  but  then  it  just  

makes  it  sound  kind  of  weird.”  Returning  to  my  initial  question  of  how  he  

learned  to  use  the  recording  software,  Tyler  assessed  that  there  was  a  lot  

that  he  didn’t  understand:  

When  I  started  out  I  didn't  understand  how  to  use  effects  in  Acid,  I  
understood  how  to  use  effects  in  Fruity  Loops,  so  I  used  to  bounce  
down  the  track  from  Acid  and  move  it  into  Fruity  Loops  add  reverb  to  
it  and  bring  it  back  into  Acid.  Everything  I  did  I  learned  the  hard  way.  I  
think  it  was  only  six  or  seven  years  ago  when  I  discovered  that  I  could  
put  effects  in  Acid.  I  just  didn't  know,  I  never  read  things,  I  didn't  
watch  tutorials,  YouTube  wasn't  around  at  that  time.  It's  crazy  to  
think  about  how  I  did  things  so  wrong.  
 

  246  
 Using  Acid  as  his  primary  DAW  from  2000  up  until  2009,  Tyler’s  

competency  with  the  software  advanced  with  time  and  he  has  plenty  of  

samples  to  show  for  it.  Recorded  in  2006,  Tyler  played  a  song  that  

demonstrated  a  marked  increase  in  technical  prowess.  The  song  features  

beats  he  made  with  Fruity  Loops  and  GrooveAgent,  a  beat  he  sampled  from  

an  Elliott  Smith  song,  and  “cut  up  samples  of  Yo-­‐Yo  Ma  playing  cello.”  

Combined,  it’s  an  impressive  show  of  the  melding  of  Tyler’s  musical  vision  

and  software  mastery.      

For  three  consecutive  hours,  Tyler  guided  me  through  his  recording  

history,  playing  me  songs  that  date  back  nearly  10  years  and  many,  many  

unfinished  songs  that  were  never  completely  recorded  or  released  to  the  

public.  At  points,  Tyler  shifted  into  karaoke  mode,  singing  along  to  the  tracks  

so  that  I  could  get  a  sense  of  what  the  completed  song  would  sound  like  with  

lyrics  and  melodies.  Caught  in  a  moment  of  self-­‐consciousness,  Tyler  

interrupted  himself  telling  me:    

By  the  way  I  think  the  funny  thing  about  your  project  is,  “Oh,  I’ll  get  
them  to  record  themselves  because  no  one  would  ever  feel  
comfortable  just  doing  this  stuff  in  front  of  me,”  and  I  feel  like  every  
time  we  get  together  that’s  what  I  do.  This  is  literally  what  I  do,  I  sit  in  
front  of  it  and  I  think  about  how  cool  it’s  going  to  sound  at  one  point  
and  I  get  excited  by  it  and  it’s  very  egocentric.  Solipsistic,  like  I  am  the  
only  person  making  stuff  at  this  moment.  I  am  not  concerned  about  
any  of  my  other  favorite  things  that  if  I  listen  to  them  I  realize  they’re  
much  better  than  anything  I’ve  ever  done  or  would  have  a  chance  of  
making.  I  put  all  of  that  out  of  mind  and  it’s  like  the  only  thing  I’m  
doing  is  this,  which  I  would  imagine  to  an  observer  would  come  
across  as  really  full  of  myself.  
 

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 I  think  Tyler’s  editorial  comment  is  a  harbinger  of  a  video-­‐based  

generation  that  is  being  reared  on  smart  phones  and  webcams  where  being  

on  display  is  becoming  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception.    

Digital  technology  has  been  a  double-­‐edged  sword  for  Tyler;  he  has  

recorded  hundreds  of  songs  thanks  to  “free”  software,  but  he  has  also  lost  

many  of  his  early  recordings  due  to  corrupted  or  crashed  hard  drives.  I  am  

one  of  the  few  people  that  have  heard  his  hidden  gems.  Tyler  joked,  “I  haven't  

even  shown  my  girlfriend  all  of  this,  but  you're  probably  the  only  person  that  

could  do  it.”  As  Tyler  traveled  back  in  time  listening  to  his  old  recordings,  he  

voiced  a  range  of  emotions,  some  of  them  downtrodden.  “I  feel  like  I’m  

becoming  a  cliché,”  he  said,  “like  the  consummate  underachiever.  I  have  all  

these  songs  on  their  own  that  should  have  been  released,  that  could've  been  

done.”  Countering  his  own  argument,  Tyler  later  expressed  relief  that  he  

didn’t  complete  and  distribute  his  older  songs:  

I  feel  like  I  was  too  naïve  as  an  artist  to  know  what  I  wanted  to  say,  I  
just  spent  all  this  time  trying  to  figure  out  how  to  do  things  and  I  was  
excited  if  I  could  make  a  song  that  sounded  catchy  regardless  of  what  
it  meant.  I  almost  feel  glad  that  I  didn't  put  myself  out  there,  doing  
stuff  that  wasn't  as  developed.  
 
Further,  Tyler  saw  a  silver  lining:  there  is  much  work  to  be  done:  

“I'm  getting  inspired  by  myself,  just  listening  to  all  the  stuff  that's  not  done  

and  realizing,  remembering  that  there  are  50  songs  that  can  be  followed  to  

their  fruition.”  

  248  
 From  Acid  To  Ableton  

Tyler  played  keyboard  in  a  band  he  joined  in  college  until  2010  and  

has  since  sold  his  touring  gear  in  favor  of  equipment  that  better  supports  his  

personal  projects.  One  of  the  first  steps  he  took  toward  fostering  the  

development  of  his  recordings  was  purchasing  Ableton  Live  in  2008  

(hereafter  referred  to  as  Ableton).  He  knew  immediately  that  it  would  change  

the  way  he  made  music  and  quickly  switched  from  Acid  to  Ableton,  especially  

enamored  with  the  latter’s  looping  capabilities  and  flexibility.  Tyler  recalled  

that  he  spent  a  year  watching  tutorials  on  Ableton  before  he  started  using  the  

software  and  credits  the  Internet  as  his  foremost  teacher:    

I  think  it's  a  cliché  but  the  aspects  of  the  Internet  that  have  enabled  
autodidacticism  have  really  influenced  my  own  knowledge  about  
music  and  I'm  more  inclined  to  learn  about  stuff  because  I  can  learn  it  
at  my  own  pace.  I  could  watch  a  YouTube  tutorial  about  a  very  specific  
thing  in  Ableton,  or  a  very  general  thing  about  mixing  and  those  things  
all  feed  into  this.  Social  media  and  social  circles—it's  not  been  an  
isolated  journey  in  a  way.    
 
With  his  enthusiasm  Ableton,  Tyler  could  be  mistaken  for  a  sales  

representative.  He  spouted  praise  for  the  profusion  of  features  it  boasts:  

What  comes  bundled  in  Ableton  is  already  great.  A  lot  of  great  
samples—not  just  effects,  but  samples—so  for  using  a  MIDI  keyboard  
it's  great.  But  the  effects  are  also  awesome.  It  has  an  amp  modeler  so  I  
can  record  a  clean  guitar  signal  and  model  amps  in  there.  It  has  the  
vocoder,  the  ability  to  loop.  It's  kind  of  an  all-­‐in-­‐one  package.    
 
  In  addition  to  the  features  that  it  offers,  much  of  Tyler’s  ardor  for  

Ableton  has  to  do  with  its  design:  “It  is  just  so  smooth  and  clean,  the  

interface,  and  I  like  looking  at  it.  I  think  that's  the  case  with  anything;  if  you  

  249  
like  the  process  of  using  it,  you  are  going  to  use  it  a  lot  more.”  In  contrast  to  

Pro  Tools  and  Cubase,  which  more  closely  resemble  an  analog  multi-­‐track  

recorder  in  some  regards,  Ableton  was  simply  a  better  fit  for  Tyler.  “The  

design,”  he  continued,  “has  as  an  interface  that  really  fits  with  how  I  make  

music  or  think  about  music.”    

 
 
“This  Is  Me  Watching  Me  Talking  About  Me”:  Stimulated  Recall  With    

ScreenFlow      

A  week  after  our  first  interview,  I  received  the  following  email  from  

Tyler:  

I  have  some  possibly  good  news  for  you...If  you  still  have  the  receipt  
for  your  camera,  you  may  be  able  to  return  it.  I  downloaded  a  trial  
version  of  a  screen  capture  software  called  ScreenFlow,  and  it  records  
video  off  of  my  webcam  while  it's  capturing  the  screen,  so  you  can  see  
them  synced  up  together.  It  also  shows  keystrokes  for  when  I  do  
keyboard  shortcuts  and  things  like  that.  I  wanted  to  test  this  out  
because  I've  considered  doing  tutorials  in  the  future...I've  also  thought  
that  I  might  look  at  this  as  a  sort  of  journal,  so  I'm  thinking  I'll  talk  
over  what  I'm  doing  and  kind  of  explain  it.  
 
I  actually  recorded  an  entire  song  on  Wednesday  but  completely  
forgot  about  recording  myself  doing  it.  I  was  just  inspired  and  had  an  
idea  and  put  the  whole  thing  together.  It's  a  bummer  that  I  didn't  
think  to  record  that,  but  on  the  plus  side,  it's  kicked  off  a  bit  of  a  
working  spree,  so  I  should  be  getting  plenty  of  other  material.  
 
I  should  be  able  to  talk  again  some  time  next  week...let  me  know  when  
is  good  for  you,  my  schedule  is  pretty  flexible.  
 
The  song  Tyler  recorded  on  that  Wednesday  was  a  gem,  a  catchy  pop  

song  completed  in  a  single  day.  Although  I  wish  he  had  filmed  this  session,  

  250  
I’m  glad  Tyler  did  not  feel  pressured  to  film  for  the  sake  of  the  study.  Bearing  

in  mind  it  had  been  almost  a  year  since  Tyler  had  recorded  anything,  I  

suspect  that  he  got  swept  up  in  a  moment  of  flow  as  he  admitted,  “It’s  a  

bummer  that  I  didn’t  think  to  record  that.”      

Missed  opportunity  aside,  the  good  news  about  ScreenFlow  was  that  

Tyler  singlehandedly  improved  upon  my  data  collection  design.  With  

ScreenFlow  Tyler  devised  a  way  to  record  everything  that  occurred  in  

Ableton  as  he  worked  away  on  his  music  and  also  everything  recorded  by  his  

webcam  with  one  software  program.  True  to  his  word,  Tyler  captured  some  

music-­‐making  for  me  using  ScreenFlow  and  we  sat  down  together  and  

watched  it.  Making  it  more  interesting,  we  recorded  that  interview  with  

ScreenFlow.  The  bemused  Tyler  gushed,  “This  is  me  watching  me  talking  

about  me.  It's  kind  of  funny  because  I’m  at  the  same  desk  that  I  was  at.”  

Referring  to  the  fact  that  we’re  both  in  the  camera’s  frame,  Tyler  beamed,  

“This  is  great  because  you  get  both  the  scientist  and  the  subject.”      

Editing  MIDI  

Serving  me  tortilla  chips  and  hummus,  Tyler  navigated  me  through  

the  screen  recording.  In  it,  Tyler  spoke  aloud,  presumably  to  me:  “I’m  just  

going  to  jump  in  and  not  explain  anything  at  first.”  His  first  reaction  to  

hearing  himself  speak  was  candid.  “I  was  really  mumbling,  wasn't  I?”  he  said.  

“And  there's  a  shadow  over  my  mouth  so  you  can't  read  my  lips!”  After  re-­‐

  251  
familiarizing  himself  with  the  screen  recording,  Tyler  recalled  what  he  was  

doing:  “I  was  just  figuring  out  this  harpsichord  part.  So  I  took  that  thing  and  

copied  it  five  times,  the  melody.  Consolidating  just  makes  the  small  little  

clips,  glues  them  together.”  In  the  screen  recording  Tyler  clicked  on  these  

little  red  blocks  and  at  first  it  was  difficult  to  discern  what  he  was  doing,  but  

it  became  clear  that  each  block  represented  a  musical  note.  He  was  editing  a  

MIDI  part  he  wrote  earlier.  As  he  clicked  on  the  blocks,  Tyler  explained  his  

mouse  actions:  “Maybe  I’ll  change  both  of  them  to  see  if  that  makes  any  

difference.  I  don’t  know,  I  think  I  need  to  take  out  that  and  that.”  With  a  few  

quick  clicks  Tyler  deleted  a  note,  E3,  and  replaced  it  with  a  different  pitch,  

G#3.  He  then  pressed  play  and  listened,  saying,  “Let  me  test  this  out.”  

Something  sounded  amiss,  and  Tyler  calmly  admitted,  “Oh,  wrong  place.”  He  

had  edited  the  wrong  beat,  the  second  eighth  note  at  134.1  (bar  134,  beat  1)  

instead  of  the  second  eighth  note  at  134.3.  Realizing  his  mistake,  Tyler  made  

the  change,  claiming,  “That’s  better  and  this  can  come  out,  I  think,”  and  

deleted  a  bass  note  in  the  pattern,  B2  at  bar  131.  “That’s  definitely  better,”  he  

said.  “This  pattern  just  doesn’t  work  with  two  keys  being  hit  at  the  same  

time.”  

  After  watching  this  part  of  the  video,  Tyler  turned  to  me  and  offered  a  

more  overarching  explanation  of  his  actions  on  screen:  

I  think  I  first  wanted  the  melody  with  (sings  E3)  and  then  changed  it  
to  this  note  (sings  G#3)…I  didn't  really  know  what  I  was  writing  when  
I  started  doing  it  at  first;  I  just  started  filling  in  notes  in  the  chords  

  252  
 very  arbitrarily  just  trying  to  see  what  it  would  look  like,  and  I  knew  
which  notes  would  be  in  the  chords  and  which  notes  wouldn’t.  In  a  lot  
of  Baroque  music  where  they  use  the  harpsichord  a  lot,  there's  just  a  
lot  of  eighth  notes,  or  sixteenth  notes.    
 
Adam:  So  you  didn't  play  this  in  on  a  keyboard?  
 
Tyler:  Not  this  part.  I  started  making  a  pattern  and  then  I  started  
hearing  little  melodies  out  of  it.  Once  I  heard  that  melody  I  adjusted  it  
to  fit  that,  but  it's  still  very  mechanical.  (In  Ableton,  Tyler  uses  a  pencil  
tool  to  “draw”  in  the  notes  on  the  MIDI  grid,  often  called  the  piano  
roll.)  
 
 

Figure  49.  Tyler  edits  the  MIDI  notes  for  his  harpsichord  part.  

In  the  playback  of  the  screen  recording,  Tyler  moved  onto  other  

matters  of  concern:  “So  let  me  start  bringing  in  the  beats…let  me  just  do  

harpsichord  and  beats.”  Tyler  pressed  the  solo  button  on  the  harpsichord  

and  instantly  the  rhythm  section  appeared.  There  seemed  to  be  a  lot  going  

on,  polyrhythms  of  electronic  drum  kits  and  other  pitched  sounds  as  well.  

Tyler  gave  an  itemized  overview  of  the  sounds  being  played:  “First  of  all,  

actually  this  stuff  here  I  recorded  10  years  ago.  I  just  chopped  up  a  bunch  of  

  253  
guitar  chords  and  made  this  pattern  for  the  end  of  this  song,  this  is  an  old  

song.”  Tyler  pressed  play  in  Ableton  and  the  sound  he  referred  to  sounded  

nothing  like  a  guitar,  it  sounded  more  like  a  skipping  CD.  Tyler  analyzed  the  

sound:  “You  can  hear  the  thing  clipping,  you  know,  that  pop  that  you  hear—

that’s  where  the  waveform  wasn’t  at  zero  where  it’s  looped,  but  I  kind  of  like  

that.  It’s  very  unnatural  sounding.”  As  we  were  watching  this  section  of  the  

screen  recording  I  asked  Tyler,  “Do  you  remember  what  you  used  to  do  that  

10  years  ago?”  Tyler  responded,  “I  just  cut  part  of  the  guitar  and  pasted  it  

next  to  itself  over  and  over  again.  It  was  like  10  milliseconds  or  something  

and  I  just  kept  pasting  it.  When  you  cut  something  you  know  it  has  a  click.”  

Equalizing  Beats  

Meanwhile,  the  taxonomy  of  sounds  in  the  video  continued  with  Tyler  

explaining  the  multitude  of  different  software  packages  and  approaches  that  

were  used  in  making  the  complex  rhythm  section:  “The  beats  are  constructed  

from  a  lot  of  different  things  layered  together.  There’s  this,”  Tyler  played  a  

track  labeled  “elecbeat”  and  continued,  “which  has  got  some  heavy  EQ  on  it  

and  it  also  was  made  about  10  years  ago  in  a  program  called  Fruity  Loops.”  

Next,  Tyler  muted  “elecbeat”  and  played  a  different  beat,  explaining,  “This  is  

the  same  loop,  but  EQ’d  differently.  So  I’m  emphasizing  different  EQs  at  

different  volumes.”    

  254  
  
Figure  50.  The  two  EQ  shapes  that  Tyler  used  on  “elecbeat.”  Both  shapes  
feature  significant  cuts  to  the  high  frequencies.  
 
 
 
Zak  (2001)  describes  equalization  as:    
 
The  manipulation  of  particular  areas  of  the  frequency  spectrum  
whereby  bands  of  frequencies  are  selected  and  then  incrementally  
boosted  or  cut  in  order  to  precisely  tailor  a  sound  color,  which,  in  
turn,  affects  its  place  in  the  overall  frequency  structure  of  the  track.  (p.  
120)  
 
Tyler  explained  his  rationale  for  cutting  high  frequencies:  “That  gives  

us  a  bit  of  a  lighter  touch.  I  just  didn’t  want  to  hear  too  much  of  the  hi-­‐hat,  

and  the  thing  is,  I  don’t  have  the  different  components  that  made  up  this  

rhythm  anymore.  It’s  on  an  old,  old  hard  drive.”  Tyler’s  equalization  curves  

may  appear  extreme,  but  Gibson  (2006)  claims,  “An  experienced  mix  

engineer  allocates  equalization  boosts  and  cuts  across  broad  frequency  

bands  with  the  tracks  fitting  neatly  together  like  puzzle  pieces”  (p.  130).  

  255  
 Making  Loops  

 Continuing  on,  Tyler  played  another  beat  called  “funmachine”  and  

explained  that  it  was  something  he  recorded  from  an  old  organ  he’d  had.  I  

asked  Tyler  how  he  matched  the  tempo  of  the  beat  recorded  from  the  organ  

to  the  other  beats  and  he  explained,  “I  just  cut  it  to  be  a  perfect  loop  and  then  

you  can  set  that  loop  to  any  tempo.”  He  said  this  so  nonchalantly  as  if  it  took  

no  effort,  but  making  a  loop  requires  precise  editing  and  a  keen  ear.  Perhaps  

Tyler  recognized  that  looping  material  is  considerably  easier  in  the  digital  

domain  with  non-­‐destructive  editing  and  auto  syncing.  In  the  analog  era  

making  loops  was  a  more  difficult  process  as  Beastie  Boy  MCA  explained:  

On  Licensed  to  Ill,  we  didn't  even  have  any  samplers.  So  the  stuff  that's  
looped,  we  actually  made  tape  loops.  We'd  record  [Led  Zeppelin's]  
“When  the  Levee  Breaks”  beat  onto  a  quarter-­‐inch  tape,  and  then  we'd  
make  the  loop…And  then,  in  order  to  layer  that  with  something  else,  
we'd  have  to  actually  synch  it  up,  physically.  (as  cited  in  Brown,  2009,  
p.  45)  
   
Rounding  up  Tyler’s  list  comprising  the  rhythm  section  were  a  few  

more  sounds,  one  labeled  “ride,”  “a  ride  cymbal  thing,  this  was  added  forever  

ago,”  “tambourine,”  and  in  Tyler’s  words,  “some  beat  I  made  in  GrooveAgent  

five  or  six  years  ago.”  While  watching  the  deconstruction  of  the  rhythm  

section  on  the  screen  recording,  Tyler  provided  some  insight  into  how  he  

goes  about  compiling  beats:  “I  have  a  lot  of  different  loops,  a  lot  of  these  

loops  might  have  been  made  at  different  times  for  different  things  and  then  I  

will  pair  them  up  and  see  which  ones  sound  different  together  in  different  

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ways.”  Tyler  provisions  for  himself  by  making  beats  that  are  not  intended  for  

a  specific  song.  With  stores  of  loops  to  call  upon,  he  can  audition  his  library  of  

beats  for  the  song  at  hand.  

The  five  loops  stacked  together  create  a  dense  texture  of  rhythm,  

which  Tyler  explained  helped  to  characterize  the  sound  of  Otter:  “It’s  a  lot  of  

rhythm,  too  much  rhythm,  but  again  I  kind  of  like  that  too.  It  sort  of  creates  

this  nerdy  version  of  an  African  drum  circle  thing,  definitely  this  character—  

his  music  is  kind  of  contrived  in  that  way.”    

   

Shifting  Pitch  

Having  completed  the  tour  of  the  rhythm  section,  Tyler  proceeded  by  

playing  the  few  remaining  tracks  that  were  previously  recorded.  One  of  the  

sounds  is  a  chorus  of  “oohs”;  the  harmonies  are  close  and  clear  like  

something  from  the  Beach  Boys,  but  it  is  strangely  perfect-­‐sounding.  

Allowing  the  screen  recording  to  continue  playing,  Tyler  clarified  that  his  aim  

was  to  achieve  an  inhuman  sound:    

This  was  intended  to  sound  very  unnatural  because  the  pitch  is  being  
shifted  down  so  many  times  that  it  doesn't  sound  human.  You  know  
when  a  voice  is  shifted  down  to  mask  the  identity  of  the  person  or  
something  like  (in  a  low  voice)  “Where  is  my  daughter?”  It's  the  same  
principle.  
 
In  tutorial-­‐like  style,  in  the  screen  recording  Tyler  deconstructed  how  

he  created  the  harmony  using  Acid:  

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 I  sang  the  part  once  and  I  copied  it  several  times  and  I  would  just  cut  a  
little  section  like  that  and  pitch  shift  that  down  to  the  next  thing  and  
then  cut  another  section  and  pitch  shift  that  down.  It’s  basically  the  
least  efficient  form  of  sampling  ever.  And  that’s  how  I  constructed  the  
three-­‐part  harmony.  It’s  just  from  one  voice,  which  is  why  it  sounds  
funny,  but  again  I  like  the  funny  sound.    
 
   

“If  I  Can  Get  Myself  Feeling  Good  About  It,  Singing  And  Dancing,  That’s  

Always  A  Good  Sign”  

In  the  screen  recording  Tyler  played  the  song  from  the  beginning  and  

started  to  sing  along:  “I  stood  clean  before  the  sun,  in  another  world,  2001.”  

For  two  minutes  Tyler  sang  along,  it  appeared  that  the  webcam  was  not  

inhibiting  him  from  acting  naturally:  he  rocked  subtly  to  the  music,  focused  

on  the  Ableton  interface  as  the  music  played.  When  his  concentration  on  

singing  broke,  he  morphed  back  into  explanation  mode,  confessing,  “I  think  a  

lot  of  the  time  I  spend  singing  to  instrumental  tracks  and/or  dancing,  if  I  can  

get  myself  feeling  good  about  it,  singing  and  dancing,  that’s  always  a  good  

sign.”  To  improve  the  overall  sound,  Tyler  used  an  effect  on  the  master  track.  

He  let  me  hear  the  difference  with  the  effect  on  and  then  off.  

 
Figure  51.  “Analog  Warmth.”  The  effect  Tyler  uses  on  the  master  track.  
 

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 “This  is  what  the  track  should  really  sound  like,”  he  said,  “but  it  gets  

me  more  into  it  to  hear  it  pre-­‐mastered  in  a  way.”  With  the  effect  on,  the  

overall  sound  was  remarkably  different  and  sounded  instantly  clearer  and  

crisper.  Tyler  divulged,  “This  is  just  an  audio  effect  rack  that  includes  a  lot  of  

different  stuff.  Saturator,  EQ,  compressor,  I’m  just  using  the  presets,  just  

something  quick  and  easy  to  get  us  there.”  

 
Figure  52.  The  saturator,  EQ,  and  compressor  that  comprise  the  plugin  
“Analog  Warmth.”  Tyler  used  “Analog  Warmth”  on  the  master  track  “to  
improve  the  overall  sound  of  the  song.”  
 
 
 
Commenting  on  having  just  watched  himself  sing  along,  Tyler  

explained  this  behavior  is  par  for  the  course:  “A  lot  of  the  time  is  probably  

spent  trying  to  dance  or  kind  of  get  into  it.  That's  all  you  can  really  know,  is  

whether  or  not  you  like  it.”  Following  up,  I  asked,  “Do  you  write  stuff  that  you  

don't  like?”  and  in  his  response  Tyler  compared  his  songwriting  to  speaking,  

explaining  that  in  retrospect  his  opinion  may  change:  “Yeah,  but  it  takes  a  

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while  before  I  can  be  honest  about  that,  because  I  usually  like  it  at  first.  We  

all  like  what  we  say  at  first,  but  everyone  says  things  that  make  them  cringe  

later  when  they  remember  them.  It's  similar  to  that.”      

  Considering  that  this  song  has  been  under  construction  for  10  years,  

Tyler  has  sung  along  many  times,  with  both  the  lyrics  and  melody  

undergoing  constant  revisions.  Tyler  confided,  “You're  getting  a  bit  of  how  I  

write.  In  fact,  the  melody  I  just  recently  changed.  It  used  to  be  something  that  

I  did  not  feel  was  dark  enough.”  He  dug  up  an  older  recording  of  the  same  

song  that  was  slightly  faster  and  featured  a  completely  different  set  of  lyrics:  

I  climbed  the  Douglas  fir,  the  fall  of  ‘93  

And  he  harbored  all  my  resentment  
The  falls  ran  dry,  no  hydro  for  the  mill  
So  now  we  wait  until…  
 
Tyler  reflected,  “I  don’t  know  what  those  meant,  I  wrote  lyrics  that  

didn’t  make  sense  back  then.  So  that  changed  to:”  

Our  faces  glowed  red  around  the  burning  tree  

When  the  winter  slayed  spring  in  2003  
The  cold  air  burned  my  lungs,    
My  limbs  went  numb  to  keep  my  body  warm  
And  death  crept  in  like  the  calm  before  the  storm.  
 
  Having  spent  25  minutes  scrutinizing  single  notes  out  of  a  64-­‐note  

pattern  that  will  ultimately  serve  as  a  backdrop  in  the  song,  Tyler’s  time  of  

singing  along  serves  as  respite,  an  interval  of  recess  from  the  painstaking  

editing  he  labors  over.  Singing  along  is  a  means  of  surveying  his  song  

holistically,  gauging  its  readiness  for  future  steps.      

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Writing  Strings  

In  a  later  screen  recording,  tilting  the  screen  of  his  MacBook  Pro  

forward  to  get  his  MIDI  keyboard  in  the  webcam’s  frame,  Tyler  talked  me  

through  his  thought  process  on  what  was  to  come:  

I  have  a  keyboard  here,  I  should  be  able  to  play  along  with  it.  I  kind  of  
wanted  a  high  thing  there  at  the  end,  something  to  complement  the  
strings  that  are  there  and  I’ll  probably  need  to  get  a  real  string  player  
to  mix  in  with  this  stuff.  We’ll  see  after  the  guitar  and  other  acoustic  
instruments  get  added,  but  I  want  it  to  sound  like  a  mix  of  electronic  
things  and  acoustic  things  and  it’s  definitely  leaning  more  towards  
electronic-­‐y  now.  
 
Tyler  played  the  song  and  listened  to  where  he  wanted  to  add  the  

string  sound  with  his  AKAI  LPK  25  MIDI  keyboard  (Figure  53),  thinking  

aloud,  “Maybe  just  on  the  E  like  the  bass.”  Tyler  unmuted  the  bass  track,  a  

loop  he  created  with  his  roommate’s  electric  bass,  playing  a  single  note.  Tyler  

second-­‐guessed  his  original  bass  line:  “I  kind  of  feel  like  the  bass  should  

change  once  or  twice.”      

 
Figure  53.  AKAI  LPK  25  MIDI  keyboard.  
 
 
 

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 Improvising  on  his  keyboard  while  he  listened  to  the  playback,  Tyler  

revealed  his  next  tactic:  “Maybe  I’ll  play  on  the  B.  Maybe  that’s  it.  It  kind  of  

sounds  like  ‘Wichita  Linemen,’  some  Glen  Campbell  stuff.”  Realizing  what  he  

wants  to  do  in  sound  before  he  can  verbalize  it,  Tyler  played  three  ascending  

notes,  two  eighth  notes  (G#,  A)  followed  by  a  sustained  note  (B)  that  lasted  

for  three  beats  then  abruptly  stopped  when  he  realized,  “That’s  a  fade  in,  

yeah  that’s  it,  it  goes  up.  I’m  going  to  go  ahead  and  add  that.”  Tyler  clicked  the  

track  labeled  “strings,”  placed  the  cursor  where  he  wanted  to  start  recording  

and  pressed  the  record  button,  adding  an  editorial  comment:  “This  can  be  

really  mechanical  because  it’s  going  to  be  so  low  in  the  mix  anyway.”  Tyler  

played  the  progression  of  notes  twice  and  then  stopped  himself  midway  

through  the  second  sustained  note,  explaining  and  joking:        

I’m  just  going  to  loop  it  because  I  don’t  want  any  character  to  this  part  
at  all.  It’s  supposed  to  sound  like  a  string  section.  Those  people  spent  
so  much  time  reading  music  that…well,  these  people  are  our  friends  
and  many  of  them  are  characters  actually.  
 
 

Perfect  Notes  

 In  the  MIDI  edit  window,  Tyler  commenced  grabbing  notes  that  he  

had  just  played  with  his  mouse  pointer  and  adjusted  the  timing  of  the  notes  

to  ensure  they  were  precisely  in  time  (Figure  54).  Referring  to  the  fact  that  

the  strings  were  in  perfect  synchronicity,  which  was  somewhat  unnatural  

sounding,  Tyler  justified  his  actions:  “So  I’m  going  to  do  this  very  quantized,  

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but  you  know,  I  mean,  it’s  not  like  you  can  tell,  the  strings  are  in  the  

background.  Who  cares,  right?”  Satisfied  with  what  he  heard,  Tyler  

remarked,  “Yeah,  I  like  that.”      

 
Figure  54.  Making  perfect  notes.  Tyler  uses  the  square  bracket  to  edit  the  
note  A5  down  to  precisely  two  beats.  
 
 
 
Repeating  the  steps  he  just  performed,  Tyler  contemplated  adding  

another  string  line  to  the  harmony:  “Seems  like  there  could  be  a  third  part  

there.”  He  tried  out  a  few  different  ideas  with  his  keyboard  and  with  a  snap  

decision  declared:  “Ok,  I  think  I’m  just  going  to  try  that  and  see  what  I  think  

of  it  in  there,”  and  recorded  a  few  bars,  enough  to  edit  into  a  loop.  After  

watching  this  section  of  the  screen  recording  together,  Tyler  checked  in  with  

me  to  make  sure  I  understood  what  he  just  did:  “So  I'm  recording  this  on  to  

the  same  place  where  this  other  one  is  recorded,  so  in  this  case  the  lower  

part  and  the  upper  part  were  remaining  on  the  same  file.  So  that's  one  MIDI  

file  that  has  two  parts  on  it.”  Tyler  made  a  key  distinction  because  this  was  a  

feature  of  MIDI  that  could  not  be  done  with  audio  and  his  intuition  was  

accurate,  as  I  had  initially  failed  to  grasp  this  action.    

  263  
 Returning  to  the  screen  recording,  after  opening  the  edit  window  and  

examining  the  MIDI  notes  he  just  played  with  his  keyboard,  Tyler  huffed,  

“Look  at  this,  what  a  mess.”  Tyler’s  half-­‐hearted  disgust  was  in  reference  to  

the  appearance  of  the  MIDI  notes  in  the  edit  window.  They  were  not  perfectly  

aligned  the  way  he  would  have  liked  them  to  be.  “I’m  going  to  make  it  that  so  

they’re  going  to  end  when  they’re  supposed  to  end,”  he  said.  “So  I’m  just  

going  to  straighten  up  in  here.”  Making  a  crack  at  himself,  Tyler  confessed,  

“There’s  really  no  point  in  doing  this  other  than  being  obsessive  compulsive.”    

Further  critiquing  his  performance,  Tyler  pointed  out  that  he  was  

consistently  behind  the  beat,  commenting,  “Clearly  I  was  missing  this.  I  don’t  

know  if  that’s  latency  or  just  me.”  Interrupting  the  screen  recording,  Tyler  

quipped,  “It  seems  to  go  so  slowly  when  I  hear  it  back.  It's  weird  listening  

back  to  it.  Why  is  it  taking  me  so  long  to  figure  this  out?  That's  funny.”  

 
Figure  55.  Tyler’s  completed  string  part.  Only  the  notes  played  are  displayed.  
   
 

  264  
 Panning  

With  the  string  lines  written,  Tyler  decided,  “I  want  more  control  over  

that,  I  should  have  done  this  to  begin  with,”  referring  to  the  earlier  decision  

he  made  to  write  the  new  string  lines  on  one  MIDI  track.  In  order  to  be  able  

to  control  each  string  line  independently,  Tyler  needed  to  separate  the  two  

parts,  requiring  a  series  of  steps.  He  started  by  duplicating  the  track,  and  

naming  one  “low  harmony”  and  the  other  “high  harmony.”  Next,  he  deleted  

the  low  part  from  the  “high  harmony,”  and  deleted  the  high  part  from  the  

“low  harmony.”  Tyler  concluded,  “So  now  it's  two  different  tracks  that  are  

playing  each  part.  There's  lots  of  different  ways  I  could  have  done  that  but  I  

just  chose  to  copy  the  thing  and  delete  half  from  one  and  delete  the  other  half  

from  the  other.”  The  payoff  for  a  few  minutes  more  of  editing  was  more  

control  of  the  mix.  Gratified,  Tyler  distilled  the  benefits,  “See  now  I  can  split  

these  up.  That’s  where  you  would  hear  the  really  high  violins.  Maybe  this  

goes  where  the  violas  would  go—I’ll  put  it  over  on  the  left.”  Using  the  

panning  envelopes  (Figure  56),  Tyler  placed  the  virtual  violin  and  viola  in  

different  places  in  the  stereo  field  from  left  to  right.  Interrupting  the  screen  

recording  momentarily,  Tyler  told  me,  “I  panned  it  to  make  it  sound  like  the  

string  parts  are  playing  from  different  places.  Sometimes  I  think  about  how  

an  orchestra  is  laid  out  but  usually  it's  not  really  what  my  music  is  meant  to  

be.”  As  a  final  touch,  Tyler  added  some  reverb  to  the  string  parts  and  vented,  

“I  kind  of  like  that.  With  that  reverb  it’s  kind  of  Moby-­‐ish  actually,  but  you  

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know  it’s  a  very  happy  pop  song  and  that’s  string  fanfare,  it’s  celebratory.”  He  

played  the  finished  string  section  and  declared:  “That’s  much  better.”    

 
Figure  56.  Panning.  Tyler  uses  the  panning  envelopes  (pink  lines)  to  adjust  
where  the  strings  parts  are  located  in  the  stereo  spectrum.  The  high  strings  
have  been  placed  22R  (moderately  to  the  right)  and  the  low  strings  have  
been  placed  16L  (moderately  to  the  left).  
 
 
 
“I’ve  Never  Formally  Studied  Doing  It”:  Writing  Strings  

Impressed  with  his  ability  to  write  string  parts  almost  instantly,  I  

asked  Tyler  how  he  learned  this  skill  to  which  he  replied:  

I  wrote  a  bunch  of  string  parts  in  my  band,  we  had  a  budget  to  record  
real  strings  and  I  got  to  score  the  stuff  out  in  Finale,  so  I  guess  I  just  
got  used  to  it,  listening  to  a  lot  of  music  that  has  strings  in  it.  But  I've  
never  formally  studied  doing  it.  
 
Additionally  Tyler  cited  Rimsky-­‐Korsakov’s  book,  Principles  of  

Orchestration,  and  The  Beatles  –  Complete  Scores  as  helpful  resources.  

Speaking  specifically  about  the  Beatles  book,  Tyler  explained,  “It  has  all  the  

string  stuff  in  there  so  that  helps  seeing  how  they  did  quartets  in  ‘She's  

Leaving  Home’  or  ‘Eleanor  Rigby.’”  Tyler’s  acclaim  for  George  Martin’s  

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orchestration  for  the  Beatles  mirrors  that  of  Vampire  Weekend’s  Rostam  

Batmanglij  who  touted:  

I  treat  the  book  The  Beatles  —  Complete  Scores  [Hal  Leonard,  1993]  as  
a  bible.  Just  to  be  able  to  see  “Eleanor  Rigby”  written  for  vocals  and  
string  quartet,  that's  much  more  exciting  than  seeing  like  chords  and  
tabs,  or  even  a  lot  of  classical  music,  which  doesn't  really  work  in  the  
song  world.  (as  cited  in  Levine,  2010,  n.pag.)  
 
Tyler  brushed  aside  the  notion  that  what  he  does  is  noteworthy:  “The  

kind  of  stuff  you  are  hearing  here  in  this  song  is  just  a  little  pop  string  melody  

and  they  usually  use  a  lot  of  strings  in  unison  up  high  so  that  it  can  separate  

from  the  rest  of  the  band.”  

Reflecting  on  what  he  accomplished  during  the  session,  Tyler  

pondered  aloud  about  the  role  of  the  harpsichord  in  the  overall  mix:    

It’s  really  hard  to  hear  how  that’s  going  to  sit  in  things  until  I’ve  added  
more—I  know  it  sounds  really  full  already…I  think  that  the  
harpsichord  would  be  buried  here  at  the  beginning.  Hopefully  you’ll  
forget  about  it—I  want  the  listener  to  forget  about  it—and  at  the  end,  
as  the  master  track  is  fading  out,  this  [harpsichord]  will  be  fading  up.    
 
Tyler  executed  his  explanation,  and  in  playback,  at  the  end  of  the  song,  

while  the  rest  of  the  instruments  faded,  the  harpsichord  gradually  became  

more  prominent.  Tyler  concluded,  “I  think  you  see  what  I  mean.”  Pointing  at  

the  screen,  Tyler  directed  my  attention  to  the  volume  fader  for  the  

harpsichord  and  offered  further  self-­‐analysis:  “I’m  doing  [the  fadeout]  by  

hand.  I  was  just  kind  of  raising  that  slowly.”    

   

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“And  That’s  It  For  Now”:  Concluding  the  Session      

In  the  webcam  view,  Tyler  moved  back  and  assessed  his  checklist  of  

things  to  do  to  complete  this  song,    

Okay  I  need  to  take  a  short  break  and  when  I  come  back  I  think  orders  
of  business  are:  getting  a  bass  part  together,  editing  fills,  seeing  if  
there’s  anything  salvageable  or  not  from  the  strums,  and,  if  not,  
recording  guitar.  What  time  is  it?  It’s  nine  o’clock  on  a  Saturday  night  
so  I  should  be  able  to  record  guitar  for  awhile.  Recording  has  always  
been  my  least  favorite  part  for  whatever  reason.  I  like  editing.  So  yeah  
after  that,  get  a  little  scratch  vocal  down  because  as  I  start  to,  I  mean,  I  
should  have  even  done  it  before,  but  as  I  start  to  get  more  definite  
parts  and  stuff,  it  will  be  helpful  to  have  the  vocal  there.  And  that’s  it  
for  now.    
 
  The  video  ended,  and  I  looked  forward  to  seeing  how  Tyler  did  with  

the  rest  of  his  evening,  but  there  was  no  second  video  file  for  this  day.  Tyler  

relented,  “But  I  didn’t  come  back,  not  that  night.”  

 
 
Tyler’s  Time  Distribution  
 
Using  Mellor’s  categories  for  analyzing  screen  recordings,  I  examined  

the  entire  session  second  by  second  to  measure  Tyler’s  time  distribution  

during  this  activity  (Figure  57).  I  modified  the  categories  to  reflect  more  

accurately  the  nature  of  Tyler’s  actions.  Mellor’s  errors  category  is  absent  

because  Tyler  experienced  no  difficulty  operating  the  software.  A  new  

category,  explanation,  was  added  because  Tyler  decided  to  provide  a  play-­‐by-­‐

play  commentary  as  he  went  about  the  process  of  music-­‐making.  A  minute  

amount  of  time  was  wasted;  Tyler  only  recorded  one  percent  of  seemingly  

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aimless  mouse  movement.  Interestingly,  only  a  small  proportion  of  his  time  

(three  percent)  was  utilized  for  construction.  This  time  was  used  very  

efficiently  as  Tyler  methodically  recorded  a  part  and  then  hastily  moved  on  

to  editing.  Rather  than  play  an  entire  repeating  part  and  recording  it  in  real  

time,  Tyler  tended  to  record  just  two  to  three  bars  from  which  he  could  make  

a  loop  and  repeat  it.  Almost  half  of  Tyler’s  time  (47  percent)  was  dedicated  to  

replay.  Tyler  spent  large  amounts  of  his  time  listening  back  to  what  he  

recorded  and  charting  out  his  next  steps.  Considering  that  almost  half  of  

Tyler’s  time  was  spent  listening  to  what  he  had  previously  recorded,  

playback  was  a  critical  activity.  Playback  was  not  a  time  of  passive  listening,  

but  rather  active  listening  in  which  Tyler  either  considered  editing  or  adding  

to  what  already  existed.  The  intent  was  to  be  inspired  and  make  more  music.  

Playback  served  as  a  reagent  to  Tyler’s  longitudinal  compositional  journey.    

I  asked  Tyler  if  the  screen  recording  was  representative  of  what  he  

thinks  his  typical  recording  sessions  would  be  like  and  he  confirmed,  “That's  

pretty  typical,  I  want  to  say  it  might  be  slow  because  I'm  explaining  some  

things  that  I  wouldn't  normally  be  explaining.”  

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 Tyler's  Time  Distribution  

Editing  
31%  
Mouse  Movement  
47%  
Explanation  
1%   Construction  

18%   Replay  
3%  

 
Figure  57.  Tyler’s  time  distribution.      
 
 
 
Mellor’s  model  has  some  limitations  because  it  assumes  that  the  

activities  occur  discretely  and  this  is  not  necessarily  the  case.  For  example,  

Tyler  often  edited  during  playback.  Further,  more  specific  categories  such  as  

improvising,  rehearsing,  and  recording  could  be  incorporated.  In  the  session  

Tyler  had  a  tendency  to  play  along  to  the  existing  music  he  had  recorded  

while  improvising  ideas  until  he  was  satisfied  with  one,  rehearsing  it  

repeatedly  until  he  felt  confident  that  he  could  record  it  in  a  single  take.  As  a  

result,  more  of  Tyler’s  time  was  categorized  as  replay  instead  of  construction.      

I  voiced  my  thought  to  Tyler,  “I’m  wondering  how  much  of  it  was  pre-­‐

conceptualized,”  and  he  shot  back  with  a  laugh,  “Considering  it’s  been  10  

years,  not  much.”  Multi-­‐track  recording  ushered  in  an  era  of  recording  in  

which  pre-­‐conceptualization  was  not  a  prerequisite.  Tyler’s  longitudinal  

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approach  to  recording  is  reminiscent  of  Brian  Wilson  and  the  Beach  Boys’  

1966  recording  of  “Good  Vibrations.”  According  to  Morton  (2004),  the  three-­‐

and-­‐a-­‐half  minute  single  was  recorded  in  five  different  studios  in  17  sessions  

over  three  months.  Wilson  recalled:  “We  started  out  in  one  studio,  doing  a  

little  bit,  and  then  moved  to  a  different  studio,  because  we  didn’t  know  what  

we  weren’t  into  until  the  very  last  part  of  it.  It  was  kind  of  a  surprise  for  us  to  

see  how  it  evolved  into  a  record”  (as  cited  in  Massey,  2000,  p.  42).  Wilson’s  

engineer  Larry  Levine  echoed:  “He  didn’t  have  a  clear  idea  of  what  the  whole  

thing  was  going  to  sound  like;  I  guess  he  was  waiting  to  piece  it  all  together”  

(as  cited  in  Massey,  2009,  p.  37).  

Spending  time  improvising  or  composing  alongside  what  has  already  

been  recorded  to  generate  new  ideas  and  parts  aligns  with  what  Folkestad,  

Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998)  would  label  as  a  vertical  approach  

because  the  song  is  written  in  sections.  Again,  I  prefer  the  term  reflexive  

because  the  distinction  between  horizontal  and  vertical  need  not  apply.  

While  these  terms  are  helpful  in  describing  the  conceptual  nature  to  which  

one  approaches  making  music,  Mellor’s  model  is  more  useful  in  getting  at  the  

details  of  the  process.      

 
 
“Technology  is  the  Reason”:  Assessing  the  Role  of  Recording  Technology  
 
Though  this  may  sound  overly  dramatic  to  some,  Tyler’s  life  plan  

hinges  on  recording  technology.  For  Tyler,  the  technological  world  is  not  only  

  271  
an  enabler,  it  is  an  inspirer:  “Technology  is  the  reason  why  I  have  those  ideas  

and  then  of  course  it’s  absolutely  what  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  do  this.”  

During  his  early  adolescence,  Tyler  sought  out  the  technology  to  overdub  and  

his  interest  in  recording  never  waned.  With  the  ability  to  record  constituting  

such  a  vital  component  of  Tyler’s  compositional  process,  it  is  no  wonder  that  

he  speaks  of  it  with  such  enthusiasm  and  reverence.  Having  mapped  out  life  

goals  that  are  contingent  on  recording  capability,  Tyler  presents  a  world-­‐

view  in  which  music-­‐making  and  recording  are  indistinguishable  from  each  

other.  

“If  You  Just  Hear  Songs  Like  Sandwiches  Then  You  Know  What  to  Put  

On  the  Sandwich”:  A  Sixth  Sense  for  Songwriting?  

Tyler  perceives  his  formal  music  lessons  as  forgettable  memories.  He  

credits  his  self-­‐guided  practicing  for  his  ability  to  play  piano  and  guitar.  With  

statements  such  as  “I  learned  what  chords  were  before  I  knew  what  they  

were,”  Tyler’s  background  suggests  that  he  is  the  quintessential  self-­‐taught  

musician.  His  learning  history  includes  all  the  components  that  constitute  

Green’s  definition  of  the  popular  musician  (2001),  yet  there  is  something  

askew  with  this  picture:  Tyler  also  evinces  the  traits  of  a  formally  trained  

musician.  He  reads  music,  writes  string  quartets,  discusses  compositional  

techniques  such  as  counterpoint,  and  talks  about  conventions  of  Baroque  

music.  At  some  point,  Tyler  tutored  himself  in  the  classical  realm.  Tyler’s  self-­‐

  272  
guided  learning  history  is  reminiscent  of  that  of  Louis  Armstrong,  whose  

path  of  learning  shares  many  characteristics  detailed  by  Sloboda  (2005):    

If  Armstrong’s  early  life  was  a  prototype  for  untutored  acquisition  of  

expertise,  which  of  its  features  might  we  highlight  for  future  
corroboration?  One  obvious  feature  was  the  casual  immersion  in  a  
rich  musical  environment  with  many  opportunities  to  listen  and  
observe.  A  second  feature  was  the  early  systematic  exploration  of  a  
performance  medium  (in  his  case,  voice).  Third,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  
his  early  experiences  allowed  a  great  deal  of  freedom  to  explore  and  
experiment  without  negative  consequences.  A  fourth  feature  was  a  
lack  of  distinction  between  “practice”  and  “performance.”  The  
learning  took  place  on  the  job.  A  fifth  feature  was  an  enduring  
motivation  to  engage  in  music—in  Armstrong’s  case,  a  complex  mix  of  
internal  and  external  motivations,  but  arguably  with  internal  
motivations  dominating.  A  sixth  feature  was  a  graded  series  of  
opportunities  and  challenges  available  or  sought  as  the  expertise  
developed.  (p.  253)  
 
    While  it  may  seem  that  Tyler  has  an  innate  sixth  sense  for  

songwriting,  inherently  knowing  how  to  write  and  record  songs  and  equating  

it  with  the  simplicity  of  making  a  sandwich,  his  dedication  cannot  be  

discounted.  He  is  reaping  the  benefits  of  his  years  of  labor.      

  Recording  technology  is  so  central  to  Tyler’s  music-­‐making  that  it  

took  the  limelight  in  our  conversations.  His  early  encounters  with  cassette  

recorders  were  self-­‐led  explorations.  This  pattern  of  self-­‐directed  learning  

using  a  trial  and  error  approach  continued  when  Tyler  commenced  using  

digital-­‐based  audio  software  such  as  Cakewalk,  but  once  in  college,  he  sought  

advice  from  his  peers.  Immersion  in  professional  studios  while  recording  

with  his  band  further  contributed  to  Tyler’s  audio  education.  He  observed  

multiple  audio  engineers  at  work  with  a  discerning  eye,  asking  questions  and  

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lapping  up  every  globule  of  wisdom  he  could.  Presently,  he  dedicates  more  

energy  to  learning  and  mastering  recording  technology  than  to  his  

instrument.  His  drive  to  master  recording  technology  continues  to  

perpetuate.  Relying  primarily  on  YouTube  tutorials,  Tyler  dedicated  years  to  

learning  the  intricacies  of  Ableton  before  using  it  to  make  music.  Now  with  a  

firm  grasp  of  the  DAW,  Tyler’s  focus  has  shifted  back  to  music-­‐making.

  274  
 CHAPTER  IX  

THE  MULTI-­‐TRACK:  CROSS-­‐CASE  ANALYSIS  

A  multiple  case  study  is  analogous  to  a  multi-­‐track  recording.  In  a  

multi-­‐track  recording,  several  individual  tracks  comprise  the  whole,  which  I  

will  refer  to  as  the  multi-­‐track.  The  preceding  four  chapters  presented  the  

cases  of  Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  as  individually  bounded  units.  I  liken  

cases  to  tracks  on  a  recording;  tracks  can  be  soloed  and  listened  to  

individually  or  they  can  be  heard  all  together  at  once.  Soloing  an  individual  

track  enables  the  listener  to  hone  in  on  a  singular  sound  and  to  detect  its  

dynamic  detail  and  subtlest  of  timbral  nuances.  It  is  a  zoomed-­‐in  view,  a  

hypersensitive  listening  preoccupied  with  specifics  demanding  thick  

description.  The  detailed  waveform  depicted  in  Figure  58  helps  to  illustrate  

this  point.  In  Figure  58  there  is  only  one  sound  source  to  examine,  inviting  a  

close  examination  of  the  waveform’s  intricacies  such  as  its  crests,  troughs,  

amplitude,  period,  and  frequency.

  275  
  
Figure  58.  A  singular  waveform.  
 

 
Recall  from  page  74,  Stake’s  (2006)  framing  of  the  term  “quintain”  as  

the  common  bond  between  cases.  As  Stake  succinctly  summarizes,  a  multiple  

case  study  commences  with  the  investigation  of  single  cases,  but  then  

proceeds  with  a  cross-­‐case  analysis  to  answer  the  study’s  research  questions:  

Multicase  research  starts  with  the  quintain.  To  understand  it  better,  
we  study  some  of  its  single  cases—its  sites  or  manifestations.  But  it  is  
the  quintain  we  seek  to  understand.  We  study  what  is  similar  and  
different  about  the  cases  in  order  to  understand  the  quintain  better.  
(p.  6)  
 
The  individual  tracks  of  Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  have  already  

been  soloed  and  scrupulously  sifted  through  to  stress  their  salient  features.  

How  do  these  individual  tracks  sound  when  played  together?  This  question  is  

the  essence  of  my  cross-­‐case  analysis.  In  combining  the  individual  tracks  to  

form  a  multi-­‐track,  the  individual  tracks  are  situated  in  a  new  context.  No  

longer  individually  bounded,  the  tracks  are  mixed  together  to  illuminate  the  

consonant  and  dissonant  relationships  amongst  the  multi-­‐track.  This  is  new  

data  generated  as  a  product  of  mixing,  as  consonance  and  dissonance  are  

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contingent  on  the  intermingling  of  multiple  voices.  Figure  59  helps  to  

illustrate  how  a  zoomed-­‐out  multi-­‐track  view  privileges  holistic  listening.  It  

is  physically  difficult  to  focus  on  just  one  track  without  referencing  the  tracks  

around  it.  Red  is  sandwiched  by  blue  and  green,  while  yellow  bears  the  

weight  of  the  other  three  colors,  and  blue  sits  comfortably  atop  the  pile.  The  

colors  are  distinct  with  their  individuality  intact,  but  the  tracks  are  framed  

such  that  they  must  be  referenced  to  each  other.    

 
Figure  59.  Multiple  waveforms  constituting  a  multi-­‐track.  
 
 

Just  as  the  musicians  in  my  study  chose  what  instruments  to  include  

in  their  multi-­‐track  compositions,  I  pooled  together  the  musicians  that  

comprise  this  multiple  case  study.  My  cross-­‐case  analysis  is  a  performance  

akin  to  mixing.  With  my  fingers  on  the  figurative  faders  of  Michael,  Tara,  

Jimmy,  and  Tyler,  I  raised  and  lowered  their  voices  to  examine  and  illuminate  

the  consonant  and  dissonant  relationships  within  the  multi-­‐track.    

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The  Self-­‐Sufficient  Studio  Versus  the  Vertically  Integrated  Studio  

Examining  across  cases  how  recording  technology  is  used  in  the  home  

studio,  the  participants  presented  two  different  models  of  working.  The  first  

model,  the  self-­‐sufficient  studio,  pits  the  composer  as  a  jack-­‐of-­‐all-­‐trades  who  

bears  the  responsibility  of  accomplishing  all  of  the  stages  of  producing  a  

recording  from  conception  to  completion.  Michael  and  Tyler  presented  

similar  approaches  to  integrating  recording  technology  in  their  music-­‐

making.  Neither  Michael  nor  Tyler  was  concerned  with  a  timeline.  Tyler  

continued  to  tweak  songs  he  wrote  10  years  ago  when  he  was  17;  Michael  

dug  up  old  cassettes  from  the  1980s  and  transferred  them  to  a  digital  format  

so  that  he  could  continue  to  develop  his  20-­‐year-­‐old  song  ideas.  There  was  no  

rush,  no  deadline,  and  no  impetus  for  these  two  to  distribute  their  music  to  

the  masses.  Michael  perceives  his  studio  as  a  retreat  from  a  traditional  studio  

system  that  dictates  decisions.  In  his  home  studio  he  feels  unimpeded:  free  to  

explore  and  make  unconventional  decisions  that  are  not  inhibited  by  an  

overbearing  audio  engineer.  For  Tyler,  the  home  studio  has  become  a  state  of  

mind.  He  perceives  his  life  goals  to  be  intricately  connected  to  the  self-­‐

sufficient  studio  model.  Tyler  joked  that  he  uses  his  technical  impasses  as  an  

excuse  for  procrastination,  but  his  commitment  to  mastering  Ableton  is  a  

manifestation  of  his  dedication  to  ensuring  his  engineering  skills  are  

tantamount  to  his  musical  skills.    

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 Slowly  but  surely,  Michael  and  Tyler  have  inched  toward  a  greater  

understanding  and  adroitness  of  their  trade,  but  there  is  a  curious  quirk  in  

their  work  that  sets  them  apart  from  Jimmy  and  Tara:  their  inability  to  finish  

a  song.  During  the  study,  Tyler  and  Michael  both  had  several  projects  in  

progress;  Tyler’s  tree  of  characters  continued  to  sprout  new  branches  and  

Michael  took  on  a  new  project  before  finishing  one.  In  comparison  to  Jimmy  

and  Tara,  Michael  and  Tyler  work  at  a  snail’s  pace,  but  Sennett  (2008)  

defends  the  virtues  of  the  slow  worker:  “The  slowness  of  craft  time  serves  as  

a  source  of  satisfaction;  practice  beds  in,  making  the  skill  one’s  own.  Slow  

craft  time  also  enables  the  work  of  reflection  and  imagination—which  the  

push  for  quick  results  cannot”  (p.  295).  

Considering  Michael  and  Tyler’s  histories  as  professional  touring  

musicians,  I  suspect  the  allure  of  having  an  album  to  market  has  lost  its  luster  

to  some  extent.  Alternatively,  they  derive  satisfaction  from  living  on  a  

musical  island  unencumbered  by  the  demands  of  record  labels,  managers,  

band  members,  engineers,  and  producers.  The  Internet  enables  Michael  and  

Tyler  to  circumvent  the  distribution  network  of  the  record  industry,  they  can  

easily  post  their  music  online,  but  they  do  not.  These  are  inactions  of  

passivity  more  than  aversion.  Quite  simply,  they  are  not  concerned  with  

attracting  an  audience.  They  are  more  process-­‐oriented  than  product-­‐

oriented.  Their  music  is  their  music,  and  that  is  sufficient  for  them.  Michael  

and  Tyler  use  their  studios  to  perform  almost  exclusively  for  themselves.    

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 In  contrast  to  Michael  and  Tyler,  Tara  and  Jimmy  hold  out  hope  that  

eventually  their  diligence  will  pay  dividends  in  a  career  that  is  financed  by  

public  demand  for  their  music.  Their  end  goals  directly  influence  how  they  

utilize  recording  technology.  While  there  are  resemblances  in  the  working  

processes  of  Tara  and  Jimmy  compared  to  Michael  and  Tyler,  their  intents  

constitute  a  fundamental  deviation,  demanding  a  separate  categorization:  the  

vertically  integrated  studio.    

Both  Tara  and  Jimmy  have  the  knowhow  to  see  their  compositions  

through  to  completion,  but  they  seek  to  collaborate  with  peers  whom  they  

perceive  to  have  a  specialized  skillset  and  whose  expertise  exceeds  their  

own.  Not  willing  to  relinquish  control,  Tara  and  Jimmy  remain  intimately  

acquainted  with  each  aspect  of  the  production  of  their  music.  Rather  than  

outsourcing  to  another  studio,  they  hire  outside  help  to  enter  their  home  

studio  domains  and  facilitate  their  music-­‐making  processes  on  their  own  

terms.  They  aim  to  record  their  music  on  a  fixed  timeline,  setting  goals  of  

when  to  have  their  music  mixed,  mastered,  and  distributed.    

In  theory,  collaborating  with  someone  else  in  the  recording  and  

mixing  phases  streamlines  the  production  process  and  has  the  added  benefit  

of  incorporating  the  expertise  of  another  party.  While  Jimmy  praised  Bill’s  

abilities,  boasting  of  their  synergistic  relationship,  Tara  stumbled  to  

synchronize  with  Felix,  questioning  his  decision-­‐making.  For  Tara,  having  

two  people  in  her  musical  territory  seemed  crowded  at  times,  raising  issues  

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regarding  roles  and  boundaries  in  the  music-­‐making  process.  Advantages  

and  disadvantages  of  including  a  peer  in  the  music-­‐making  process  aside,  

both  Tara  and  Jimmy  met  their  self-­‐imposed  deadlines  and  finished  their  

respective  projects  using  the  vertically  integrated  studio  model.  

Vertical,  Horizontal,  and  the  Plane  Between  

All  of  the  participants’  music-­‐making  evinced  some  of  the  traits  of  the  

vertical  and  horizontal  compositional  models  as  proposed  by  Folkestad,  

Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998).  The  prevailing  problem  with  using  the  

categories  “vertical”  and  “horizontal”  exclusively  is  that  they  cast  music-­‐

making  in  a  two-­‐dimensional  mold.  To  the  credit  of  Folkestad  et  al.,  

computer-­‐based  composition  technology  has  changed  markedly  since  the  

late  1990s,  which  helps  to  explain  the  instances  of  incompatibility  of  their  

model  with  my  data.  While  no  generalizations  about  the  participants’  music-­‐

making  processes  can  be  made  based  on  a  comparison  of  the  individual  

cases,  there  are  some  intriguing  commonalities.    

Most  notably  (and  perhaps  confusingly),  users  of  the  vertically  

integrated  studio  model  tended  to  approach  music-­‐making  with  a  horizontal  

strategy.  Tara  and  Jimmy  typically  had  preconceived  song  ideas,  committing  

to  song  structures  before  commencing  recording.  Jimmy  relied  on  his  cell  

phone  to  catalog  melodic  ideas  and  Tara  prepared  scores  using  Sibelius.  The  

horizontal  approach  dictates  that  composition  and  recording  are  distinct  

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phases.  This  is  a  traditional  approach  that  dates  back  to  the  dawn  of  

recording  when  the  aim  was  to  capture  a  real  time  performance.  In  

discussing  how  he  wrote  “Kingdom  Come,”  Jimmy  explained  that  he  awoke  

with  an  idea  in  his  head;  he  knew  the  vocal  melody,  the  guitar  chords,  and  the  

drum  pattern.  What  he  needed  next  was  a  studio  to  record  his  ideas.  

Similarly,  Tara  commenced  her  album  by  taking  walks  on  the  Williamsburg  

Bridge  to  focus  on  writing  lyrics  and  melodies  in  her  head.  Once  inspiration  

struck,  she  fleshed  out  her  ideas  on  the  piano  and  rehearsed  them  until  she  

believed  they  were  fit  to  be  recorded.      

Breaking  From  the  Horizontal  Mold  

After  Jimmy  and  Tara  commenced  recording,  their  music-­‐making  

processes  became  more  malleable.  In  some  instances  Jimmy  adhered  strictly  

to  his  initial  conception,  but  even  in  these  cases,  his  songs  were  not  

completely  written  until  recording  commenced.  Using  “Kingdom  Come”  as  an  

example,  Jimmy  woke  up  with  the  lyric  “sell  your  soul”  running  through  his  

head,  hearing  the  harmonic  change  from  G  major  to  B  minor.  When  he  

described  the  process  to  me,  he  said  he  was  “just  trying  to  feel  it  out,”  

concluding,  “It  just  happens.”  These  statements  imply  that  Jimmy  did  not  

have  as  solid  of  a  sound  conception  as  he  initially  intimated.  When  using  his  

“DJ  side,”  Jimmy  conceptualized  making  music  differently  than  when  he  

incorporated  his  guitar.  In  DJ  mode,  he  perceived  composition  and  recording  

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as  an  intertwined  process,  stating,  “I  did  it  all  at  the  same  time.”  DJ-­‐based  or  

guitar-­‐based,  Jimmy  engaged  in  reflexive  recording  when  he  made  music  

with  a  DAW.  The  playback  function  influenced  his  decision-­‐making  as  he  

constructed  a  song  from  the  foundational  blocks  of  his  initial  inspirations.    

 On  the  surface  it  would  seem  that  Tara  is  a  prime  candidate  to  be  

labeled  as  a  prototypical  horizontal  composer.  For  the  making  of  her  album,  

she  strove  to  realize  her  songs  fully  before  commencing  recording.  Yet,  once  

recording  was  underway  and  she  was  confronted  with  the  playback  of  her  

performances,  she  found  idiosyncrasies  that  were  askew  to  her  ears  and  

adjusted  accordingly.  She  wanted  her  recordings  to  sound  as  if  she  was  

singing  while  playing  piano,  but  was  frustrated  that  the  mixes  she  outsourced  

failed  to  convey  this  alternate  reality.  Achieving  the  recording  she  envisioned  

was  not  simply  a  case  of  playing  and  singing  through  her  songs.  She  found  

herself  chasing  the  elusive  perfect  take.    

While  Tara’s  most  recent  project  followed  a  more  traditional  

horizontal  approach,  she  expressed  a  desire  to  return  to  the  less  structured  

music-­‐making  approach  she  experimented  with  when  she  first  purchased  

Logic.  Referring  to  this  approach  as  “very  ad  hoc,”  Tara  recalled,  “I  almost  

don’t  know  what  I  did.  I  was  just  trying  things  out.”  In  stark  contrast  to  the  

perfectionist  attitude  Tara  adopted  towards  her  most  recent  recordings  such  

as  “Grandpa,”  in  her  “ad  hoc”  approach  she  expressed  a  laissez-­‐faire  attitude,  

commenting,  “Sometimes  I  think  it  worked  and  sometimes  I  think  it  didn’t.”    

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 Karaoke  Composition  and  Reflexive  Recording  

Further  blurring  the  boundaries  between  horizontal  and  vertical  

approaches,  like  Tyler,  Tara  employed  a  karaoke  composition  approach  in  

which  she  created  backing  tracks  to  sing  along  to.  Given  that  vocals  are  

typically  the  focal  point  of  “pop”  music  (a  label  used  by  both  Tyler  and  Tara  

to  describe  their  music),  employing  the  karaoke  method  allowed  them  to  

fine-­‐tune  lyrics  and  melodies.  Tyler’s  use  of  the  karaoke  technique  was  

especially  interesting  because  some  of  the  backing  tracks  he  created  have  not  

changed  in  the  course  of  a  decade.  He  tended  to  find  faults  with  his  lyrics,  

never  fully  satisfied  with  what  he  had  written:  “I  wrote  lyrics  that  didn’t  

make  sense  back  then.”  Each  time  he  sang  along  to  the  backing  track  he  re-­‐

auditioned  himself.  Being  able  to  sing  along  to  what  he  previously  composed  

was  critical  to  his  self-­‐evaluation  process:  “If  I  can  get  myself  feeling  good  

about  it,  singing  and  dancing,  that’s  always  a  good  sign.”  

Tyler  was  very  forthcoming  about  the  fact  that  he  anticipated  

incorporating  recording  into  his  composition  process,  knowing  it  would  alter  

the  course  of  his  songs  and  give  them  new  shapes  and  textures.  His  music  is  

never  completely  pre-­‐conceptualized  prior  to  recording;  he  is  the  flag  carrier  

for  the  reflexive  recording  approach.  Recording  ideas  as  they  come  to  him  

and  working  in  spurts  over  years,  Tyler  is  dependent  on  listening  to  what  he  

has  previously  recorded  in  order  to  plot  his  next  compositional  step.  When  

we  listened  to  some  of  his  unfinished  compositions  together,  Tyler  revealed  

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to  me,  “I'm  getting  inspired  by  myself.”  He  seemed  to  be  perpetually  thinking  

about  his  music,  contemplating  what  direction  to  take  it,  but  seldom  did  he  

alter  its  course  dramatically.  I  liken  Tyler’s  approach  to  a  woodworker:  the  

piece  has  taken  its  shape  and  gradually  he  increases  the  grit  of  the  sandpaper  

to  smooth  it  out.  Details  that  would  go  unnoticed  by  most  are  points  of  pride  

for  Tyler  and  attending  to  them  takes  precedence  over  seemingly  arbitrary  

timelines  and  labels  of  being  “finished.”  

Preset  Culture  

Of  the  four  cases,  Michael  is  the  most  experimental-­‐oriented  music-­‐

maker.  Whereas  Jimmy,  Tara,  and  Tyler  worked  towards  making  songs,  

Michael  labored  to  make  singular  sounds.  He  used  Ableton  to  tinker  with  

timbres,  stumbling  across  sounds  that  he  deemed  “cool,”  and  “outstanding  

and  strange.”  Michael’s  aural  expeditions  entailed  expectant  encounters  of  

unearthing  new  sounds.  He  employed  the  click  and  consequence  method,  

auditioning  sounds  until  he  at  last  found  the  din  of  his  dreams.  

Michael’s  scavenging  for  sounds  earmarks  an  important  phenomenon  

that  is  dependent  on  which  DAW  is  used.  Ableton  and  Logic  come  bundled  

with  effects  and  samples,  but  Pro  Tools  is  lesser  known  for  these  features.  

Ableton  and  Logic  encourage  users  to  play  with  preset  sounds.  Essentially,  a  

preset  is  a  sonic  shortcut,  a  pre-­‐packaged  chain  of  effects  that  combine  to  

create  a  unique  timbre.  

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 Comparing  the  mixing  approaches  of  Tyler  and  Jimmy  serves  to  

exemplify  a  key  difference  between  using  Ableton  and  Pro  Tools.  Tyler  used  a  

mastering  preset  called  “Analog  Warmth,”  which  consists  of  a  string  of  effects  

processors  including  an  equalizer  and  compressor.  With  two  swift  clicks  of  

the  mouse,  Tyler  metamorphosed  his  song,  concluding,  “This  is  what  the  

track  should  really  sound  like.”  Well  aware  of  the  fact  that  Ableton  affords  

such  a  shortcut,  he  confessed,  “I’m  just  using  the  presets,  just  something  

quick  and  easy  to  get  us  there.”    

Using  Pro  Tools,  Jimmy’s  use  of  plugins  is  demonstrative  of  a  more  

traditional  approach  to  effects  processing.  Jimmy  used  plugins  from  audio  

engineering  aficionado  companies  like  the  Waves  Renaissance  equalizer  that  

retails  for  150  dollars.  Jimmy  and  his  mixing  engineer,  Bill,  painstakingly  

adjusted  the  parameters  of  each  effect  processor  until  the  desired  sound  was  

achieved.  The  mixing  stage  for  one  song  alone  constituted  a  full  day’s  work.  

In  comparison,  Tyler  loaded  built-­‐in  Ableton  plugins  en  route,  integrating  

mixing  in  the  music-­‐making  process.  Examining  his  symbiotic  music-­‐making  

processes,  it  is  difficult  to  parse  out  mixing  from  the  other  actions  he  

performed  such  as  composing  and  editing.  The  actions  involved  in  the  

making  of  a  recording  diverge  from  a  traditional  linear  model,  in  which  one  

stage  of  production  is  contingent  on  the  other;  instead  these  stages  

intermingle  in  a  less  ordered,  but  more  organic  sequence.  

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 Undo  the  Undue  

Each  one  of  the  participants  adopted  their  own  unique  approach  to  

integrating  a  DAW  into  their  music-­‐making.  Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler,    

all  engage  in  some  degree  of  reflexive  recording  by  employing  trial  and  error  

approaches  with  their  DAWs.  With  the  assurance  that  all  actions  can  be  

undone  with  a  keystroke  or  a  click,  they  are  free  to  explore  multiple  paths  in  

the  compositional  journey  without  undue  ramifications.  Their  recordings  are  

compilations  of  their  very  best  takes;  DAWs  enable  them  to  exhaust  the  

possibilities  and  present  seemingly  flawless  performances  to  their  audiences  

(even  if  they  are  their  only  listener).  In  this  regard,  their  musical  products  

are  the  byproduct  of  a  computer-­‐age  afforded  undo-­‐mentality  in  which  

musical  permanence  is  only  a  construct.    

Acquiring  Skills  and  Knowhow:  Learning  Strategies  

Drawing  primarily  on  the  interview  and  observation  data  generated  

within  each  case  study,  the  following  discussion  compares  and  contrasts  the  

participants’  approaches  to  learning  with  recording  technology.  With  a  view  

to  answer  the  question,  “How  do  musicians  acquire  the  skills  and  knowhow  

to  create  a  recording?”  I  modified  the  categories  of  Green’s  model  of  informal  

learning  (2008),  to  analyze  data  across  cases  (Green’s  five  categorizations  

are  presented  in  their  original  form  on  page  12).  While  Green’s  initial  

research  aim  was  to  examine  the  learning  strategies  of  popular  musicians  

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(2001),  my  aim  was  to  examine  the  use  of  recording  technology  by  

musicians,  and  thus  necessitated  the  modification  of  her  schema  to  better  fit  

the  context  of  my  study.  These  new  categorizations  are  almost  identical  to  

Green’s,  but  for  the  sake  of  brevity  use  a  single  term  to  describe  each  learning  

strategy.  It  should  be  noted  that  these  categories  are  not  necessarily  mutually  

exclusive;  an  approach  to  learning  with  recording  technology  may  exhibit  

more  than  one  learning  strategy.  The  five  categories  include:  (a)  aural  

learning  (e.g.,  learning  by  listening  and  copying  recordings);  (b)  peer-­‐guided  

learning;  (c)  self-­‐directed  learning;  (d)  immersive  learning  (e.g.,  learners  

assimilate  skills  and  knowledge  in  haphazard,  idiosyncratic,  and  holistic  

ways);  and  (e)  holistic  learning  (e.g.,  learners  integrate  listening,  performing,  

improvising,  and  composing  simultaneously  throughout  the  learning  

process).  

Emulating  Icons:  Aural  Learning  

  Moylan’s  Understanding  and  Crafting  the  Mix  (2007)  prescribes  a  

series  of  critical  listening  exercises  to  develop  one’s  ability  to  construct  a  mix.  

Moylan’s  premise  is  that  the  ability  to  aurally  deconstruct  a  mix  is  key  to  

developing  the  ability  to  construct  a  professional-­‐sounding  mix.  This  is  a  

form  of  mental  tinkering,  taking  something  apart  to  understand  how  it  

works,  with  the  distinction  that  these  are  exercises  of  the  mind  only;  there  is  

no  hands-­‐on  tangible  experience.  Some  of  the  participants  alluded  to  

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engaging  in  similar  critical  listening  exercises  that  impacted  their  approach  

to  music-­‐making  with  recording  technology.  Referencing  the  work  of  Led  

Zeppelin,  Santana,  and  Aimee  Mann,  Michael  frequently  discussed  how  he  

listened  acutely  to  these  recordings  to  study  the  production  techniques  

involved.  He  marveled  at  the  psychedelic  panning  in  Santana’s  Abraxas,  and  

the  “fat  and  beautiful”  sound  of  the  first  two  Led  Zeppelin  albums.  Clearly  he  

was  cognizant  of  the  technical  merits  of  record  production,  effusing,  “I  loved  

the  engineering.”  As  Michael’s  musical  career  progressed  and  his  interest  in  

record  production  deepened,  he  began  to  take  interest  in  specific  producers,  

most  notably  Jon  Brion.  Michael  enthusiastically  conveyed  his  reverence  for  

Brion’s  production  imprint  on  Aimee  Mann’s  1993  album  Whatever  by  

proclaiming  him  a  “genius.”  

  Like  Michael,  Jimmy  heard  music  on  the  radio  that  caused  him  to  

question  how  the  sonic  results  were  achieved.  Reflecting  on  the  listening  

experiences  that  sparked  his  interest  in  DJ-­‐based  music,  Jimmy  recalled  

asking  himself,  “How  do  they  do  these  kinds  of  things?  I  know  you  guys  are  

using  records  but  how  do  you  do  it  if  you're  only  using  one  record?”  Tyler  

found  himself  seeking  out  recording  technology  like  Acid  and  Fruity  Loops  

because  “bands  like  Radiohead  were  doing  the  sequence-­‐based  things.”  Quite  

simply,  without  a  sequencer  he  couldn’t  sound  like  Radiohead.  

Despite  being  from  different  generations  and  being  enamored  by  

different  musics,  Michael,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  share  an  inquisitive  ear  in  

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common.  Their  approaches  to  music-­‐making  with  recording  technology  were  

directly  influenced  by  the  production  techniques  they  heard  in  the  music  of  

their  favorite  artists  during  their  adolescent  years.  With  the  common  goal  of  

emulating  their  musical  icons,  they  ushered  themselves  into  a  technology-­‐

dependent  music  education.    

Peer-­‐Guided  Learning  

In  the  golden  era  of  the  audio  engineer,  skills  using  recording  

technology  were  passed  down  in  professional  studios  through  

apprenticeships.  Recording  engineer  Phil  Brown  (2010),  reflected,  “I  

discovered  that  there  was  an  informal  system  of  apprenticeship  in  the  

recording  industry.  I  was  expected  to  learn  by  watching  and  listening  while  I  

made  tea  and  performed  other  mundane  jobs  about  the  studio”  (p.  iii).  

Brown’s  experience  is  representative  of  the  pre-­‐digital  era.  Renowned  audio  

engineers  have  a  history  of  mentoring  the  next  generation  of  renowned  

engineers.  For  example,  Bill  Putnam,  inventor  of  the  recording  console,  

mentored  Phil  Ramone,  who  mentored  Elliot  Scheiner.  Putnam  also  

mentored  Bruce  Swedien,  who  in  turn  mentored  Ed  Cherney.  Shadowing  a  

professional  was  the  prescribed  path  to  audio  engineering  excellence.    

In  contrast,  manifestations  of  peer  influence  on  learning  in  the  home  

studio  are  difficult  to  detect.  Tyler  turned  to  his  online  peers  to  enhance  his  

learning:  “I  could  watch  a  YouTube  tutorial  about  a  very  specific  thing  in  

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Ableton,  or  a  very  general  thing  about  mixing.”  Michael  depended  on  the  

supplied  manual  and  on-­‐screen  instructions  to  traverse  through  Ableton,  

making  no  mention  of  receiving  help  from  peers.  Jimmy  and  Tara  opted  to  

seek  out  paid  help  whom  they  referred  to  as  friends  or  acquaintances.  Jimmy  

was  able  to  describe  and  explain  Bill’s  mixing  actions,  demonstrating  an  

understanding  of  the  process,  but  what  he  learned  from  Bill  in  this  instance  is  

not  clear.  Similarly,  Tara  spent  a  week  recording  with  Felix,  but  at  no  point  in  

the  hours  of  video  footage  was  there  a  clear  moment  depicting  peer-­‐guided  

learning.  Tara  and  Jimmy  did  not  enlist  the  services  of  their  friends  to  learn  

from  them;  rather  these  hired  hands  were  brought  into  their  home  studios  to  

apportion  the  workload.      

Secluded  Studios:  Self-­‐Directed  Learning  

In  all  four  cases,  there  is  abundant  evidence  of  self-­‐directed  learning  

with  DAWs;  this  mode  of  learning  was  the  most  frequently  cited  by  the  

participants.  If  the  aim  of  my  study  were  to  draw  generalizations,  dictating  

that  the  number  of  participants  be  increased  to  satisfy  conditions  of  

statistical  reliability  and  validity,  I  expect  the  results  would  indicate  that  self-­‐

directed  learning  is  unquestionably  the  most  used  learning  strategy  with  

DAWs.  I  attribute  this  expectation  to  Downes’  (2011)  conception  of  Web  2.0  

learning  as  “an  attitude.”  

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 Tape  Travails  

Michael  and  Tyler  extended  their  aural  learning  to  a  hands-­‐on  trial  

and  error  approach  using  cassette  recorders.  Exhibiting  technological  

enthusiasm,  Michael  and  Tyler  tinkered  with  their  tape  decks  intuitively  and  

independently.  Their  recollections  of  using  tape  recorders  are  strikingly  

similar;  both  jury-­‐rigged  what  technologies  they  had  available  to  them  to  

overdub.  Describing  his  tape  recorder,  Michael  explained,  “It  had  a  mic  input  

and  a  line  input  on  the  back  and  two  microphone  inputs  in  the  front  and  a  

line  input  on  the  back.  You  could  blend  them  so  you  could  get  in  effect  multi-­‐

track  recordings.”  To  sync  sounds,  Tyler  pressed  into  service  two  tape  

recorders  in  tandem:  “I  had  two  different  tape  players  and  I  would  play  and  

record  into  one,  and  I  would  press  play  on  that  one  and  play  the  keyboard  at  

the  same  time  and  record  on  the  other.”    

Michael  and  Tyler’s  exploits  with  recording  technology  continued  into  

adulthood.  With  their  ears  to  the  figurative  ground  of  the  recording  realm,  

both  stayed  attuned  to  the  technological  trends  in  recording,  continually  

seeking  the  sonic  state-­‐of-­‐the-­‐art.  While  Tyler  made  the  jump  directly  to  

digital  during  his  formative  years,  which  coincided  with  the  digitization  of  

the  music  industry,  53-­‐year-­‐old  Michael  meandered  through  intermediary  

recording  technologies  for  four  decades  until  delving  into  digital.  The  

overwhelming  majority  of  the  learning  that  took  place  in  these  scenarios  was  

self-­‐directed  in  their  secluded  studios.  

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 Domain  of  the  DAW  

Tara  has  been  noticeably  absent  from  the  conversation  thus  far,  but  

that  can  be  attributed  to  the  fact  that  recording  technology  was  absent  from  

her  life  until  a  few  years  ago.  In  contrast  to  the  other  participants,  Tara  did  

not  grow  up  with  recording  technology.  This  is  hardly  surprising  given  that  

the  musics  she  was  most  entrenched  in  as  an  adolescent  were  musical  

theatre  and  classical:  musics  that  have  traditionally  eschewed  recording  

technology  by  harnessing  a  “willful  ignorance”  of  production  techniques  

(Grieg,  2009,  p.  20).  Ross  (2010)  comments:  “classical  music  stands  partly  

outside  the  technological  realm,  because  most  of  its  repertory  is  designed  to  

resonate  naturally  within  a  room.  By  contrast,  almost  all  pop  music  is  written  

for  microphones  and  speakers”  (p.  66).  

Meanwhile,  despite  growing  up  immersed  in  studio  culture,  enveloped  

in  the  most  current  recording  technologies,  Jimmy  could  not  recall  actively  

pursuing  an  understanding  of  the  workings  of  his  father’s  recording  studio  

until  his  mid-­‐20s.  In  both  cases,  evidence  of  self-­‐directed  learning  with  

recording  technology  did  not  enter  our  conversations  until  discussing  DAWs.  

Theoretically  Michael  is  not  expected  to  exhibit  traits  of  the  Web  2.0  

learner  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  he  is  not  a  “millennial,”  but  he  is  a  

consummate  self-­‐directed  trial  and  error  learner.  It  may  be  the  case  that  a  

dependency  on  trial  and  error  techniques  is  characteristic  of  learners  reared  

in  the  computer  age,  but  Michael’s  learning  history  helps  to  illustrate  

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Waksman’s  (2004)  assertion  that  there  is  a  lineage  of  trial  and  error  learning  

with  music  technology  (“tinkering”)  that  predates  home  computing.  In  the  

case  of  Michael  and  Tyler,  self-­‐directed  trial  and  error  learning  strategies  

were  carried  over  from  their  analog  experiences  when  they  emigrated  to  

their  new  digital  devices,  largely  aided  by  the  cues  of  skeuomorphic  design.    

Discussing  his  entry  into  using  Pro  Tools,  Michael  professed,  “I  didn't  

have  anybody  tutoring  me  and  I  didn't  have  any  help  files,  so  I  just  had  to  

figure  it  out  for  myself.”  Jimmy  leisurely  employed  a  more  passive  approach  

to  learning  Pro  Tools:  “I  would  always  mess  around  with  it  once  in  a  while.”  

Reflecting  on  acclimating  to  Acid,  Tyler  conceded,  “Everything  I  did  I  learned  

the  hard  way…I  just  didn't  know,  I  never  read  things,  I  didn't  watch  tutorials,  

YouTube  wasn't  around  at  that  time.”  Literally  left  to  her  own  devices,  Tara  

relented,  “Well,  no  one  taught  me.  Any  of  the  software  that  I  know,  no  one  

taught  me…I  just  learned  as  I  had  to.”  Taken  together,  the  voices  of  the  

participants  resoundingly  echo  the  observation  of  Black  (2010):  “Today's  

students  simply  plunge  in  and  learn  through  experimentation  and  active  

participation”  (p.  99).  

 Beyond  recognizing  that  they  taught  themselves  how  to  use  recording  

technology,  the  participants  struggled  to  provide  anything  more  than  

ambiguous  accounts  of  what  was  entailed  in  these  self-­‐educated  escapades:  

“I  would  say  that  it  just  happened  over  time  and  over  trial  and  error  more  

than  anything”  (Tyler),  “Just  trying  to  feel  it  out,  and  it  came  together.  That's  

  294  
how  it  usually  happens”  (Jimmy),  “It's  a  very  exploratory  experience”  

(Michael),  and  “It  was  very  ad  hoc…I  was  just  trying  things  out”  (Tara).  These  

descriptions  frame  music-­‐making  with  a  DAW  as  acts  of  intent  with  no  

prescribed  direction.  Armed  with  a  desire  to  make  something  new,  the  

participants  seek  out  an  experience  in  which  the  acts  of  listening,  performing,  

improvising,  and  composing  are  indistinguishable  from  each  other,  towards  

an  immersive  and  holistic  approach  to  music-­‐making.  

Self-­‐Directed  Learning  as  Immersive  Learning  and  Holistic  Learning  

The  remaining  two  categories,  immersive  learning  (learners  

assimilate  skills  and  knowledge  in  haphazard,  idiosyncratic,  and  holistic  

ways)  and  holistic  learning  (learners  integrate  listening,  performing,  

improvising,  and  composing  simultaneously  throughout  the  learning  

process)  are  part  and  parcel  of  self-­‐directed  learning  with  a  DAW.  All  of  the  

participants  exhibited  the  characteristics  of  immersive  learning  using  trial  

and  error  approaches  as  described  on  page  294.  Further,  given  that  all  of  the  

participants  were  songwriters,  their  intent  was  to  compose  with  their  

respective  DAWs  and  perform  their  own  parts.  Lastly,  listening  and  

improvising  are  the  key  actions  of  trial  and  error  learning  with  a  DAW.  Each  

of  these  characteristics  of  learning  can  be  accounted  for  under  self-­‐directed  

learning.  At  their  core,  immersive  and  holistic  learning  thrive  on  the  trial  and  

error  approach.  

  295  
Conclusions  

  My  mix  of  this  multi-­‐track  highlighted  the  consonant  and  dissonant  

relationships  between  the  individual  tracks.  With  regard  to  approaches  of  

making  music  with  recording  technology  in  the  home  studio,  two  distinct  

models  emerged:  the  self-­‐sufficient  studio  and  the  vertically  integrated  

studio.  While  Tara  and  Jimmy  hurriedly  worked  to  complete  albums,  Michael  

and  Tyler  were  not  concerned  about  timelines.  None  of  the  participants’  

approaches  to  music-­‐making  with  recording  technology  could  be  defined  

simply  as  “vertical”  or  “horizontal.”  Each  participant  exuded  traits  of  both  

vertical  and  horizontal  approaches  and  relied  on  affordances  of  the  computer  

such  as  the  ability  to  undo  actions  using  a  click  and  consequence  approach  to  

music-­‐making.    

Learning  strategies  varied  amongst  the  participants,  but  self-­‐directed  

learning  was  the  predominant  mode  referenced  by  the  participants.  While  

anecdotes  of  aural  learning  and  peer-­‐guided  learning  surfaced  in  some  of  the  

participants’  interviews,  self-­‐directed  learning  was  the  common  denominator  

across  all  four  cases.  The  participants’  descriptions  of  self-­‐directed  learning  

exploits  included  strategies  that  were  both  immersive  and  holistic.  Each  

participant  engaged  in  listening,  playing,  improvising,  and  composing  in  an  

integrative  approach  that  was  self-­‐directed  and  often  employed  a  trial  and  

error  strategy.  Within  the  trial  and  error  framework,  the  music-­‐making  

strategies  of  the  participants  were  highly  personalized.

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 CHAPTER  X  

CONCLUSIONS  
 
 
 
Homemade  Brooklyn  
 
Benjamin  Wallace’s  New  York  article  “The  Twee  Party,”  (April  23,  

2012),  details  the  elaborate  and  somewhat  ridiculous  production  process  of  

Brooklyn-­‐based  Mast  Brothers  Chocolate.  For  example,  part  of  this  process  

includes  importing  cocoa  beans  from  the  Dominican  Republic  with  a  wind-­‐

powered  schooner  that  was  built  by  hand  in  Cape  Cod.  Everything  pertaining  

to  the  production  and  distribution  of  these  lavish  nine-­‐dollar  chocolate  bars  

is  done  in  homemade  fashion.  If  the  Mast  brothers  don’t  do  it  themselves,  

they  find  someone  who  will  do  the  job  using  local  organic  resources.  Their  

manufacturing  is  vertically  integrated:  everything  is  done  in  one  building  

with  a  small  dedicated  staff  that  upholds  similar  ideals  as  their  employers.      

Brooklyn  is  bustling  with  artisans  pedaling  their  homemade  fares  that  

include  soda,  beer,  taffy,  jam,  pickles,  granola,  salsa,  and  beef  jerky,  just  to  

name  a  few.  Wallace  makes  two  poignant  observations:  one,  the  products  

tend  to  be  excellent  but  expensive  compared  to  their  factory-­‐produced  

competitors,  and  two,  the  drive  to  be  self-­‐sustaining  “small  batch”  producers  

is  an  ideal  that  Brooklyn  artisans  cannot  afford  and  therefore  uphold.

  297  
 Woven  into  the  appeal  of  the  small  batch  homemade  product  is  a  

sense  of  nostalgic  romanticism  for  a  time  when  life  seemed  simpler.  Food  did  

not  undergo  a  complex  process  of  mass  production  that  involves  genetic  

modification  and  chemical  augmentation.  People  want  to  know  where  their  

food  comes  from  because  they  want  to  know  what  they  are  ingesting.  

Concerns  about  environmental  sustainability,  health,  and  economic  disparity  

(fair  trade)  represent  just  a  handful  of  the  movements  that  have  served  as  

catalysts  to  increase  the  social  capital  of  the  homemade.      

“Homemade”  carries  with  it  the  connotation  of  being  created  with  

care  and  pride  by  a  human  as  opposed  to  being  made  in  an  automated,  

sterilized,  emotion-­‐void  factory.  It  is  with  the  same  care  and  pride  that  

Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  craft  their  compositions  in  their  home  

studios  and  it  is  changing  the  nature  of  how  music  is  recorded  and  sounds.        

 “You  can  do  it.  We  can  help,”  was  a  slogan  used  by  the  Home  Depot  

that  embodies  the  ethos  of  the  do-­‐it-­‐yourself  mentality.  There  is  a  sense  of  

pride  and  satisfaction  associated  with  completing  a  task  independently.  The  

marketplace  runs  rampant  with  do-­‐it-­‐yourself  solutions,  promising  savings  

without  sacrificing  quality.  In  contrast,  there  is  the  oft-­‐repeated  sitcom  

scenario  of  the  prideful  male  taking  matters  into  his  unskilled  hands  by  fixing  

the  leaky  faucet,  only  to  have  made  the  situation  worse.  The  lesson  that  some  

jobs  should  be  reserved  for  professionals  like  plumbers,  serves  as  a  reality  

check  to  the  would-­‐be  self-­‐anointed  handyman.      

  298  
 These  competing  schools  of  thought  have  permeated  the  audio  

industry  and  challenged  the  learning  paradigm  for  audio  engineers,  

threatening  their  very  existence.  I  attended  a  meeting  hosted  at  NYU  that  

featured  a  panel  of  eight  revered  audio  engineers  who  refer  to  themselves  as  

the  METAlliance.  According  to  their  website,  they  are  “a  collaborative  

community  that  promotes  producers,  engineers,  and  audio  technology  

manufacturers  to  work  together  to  ensure  the  highest  standards  of  audio  

production”  (METAlliance,  n.d.).  If  you  can  think  of  a  famous  artist,  chances  

are  one  of  these  men  has  recorded  them.  Take  for  example  Phil  Ramone:  he  

has  recorded  Frank  Sinatra,  Paul  Simon,  and  The  Band.  The  panel  posed  a  

problem  to  those  in  attendance,  consisting  mainly  of  students  and  professors  

in  the  music  technology  program.  Lambasting  the  quality  of  home  recordings  

infiltrating  the  auralsphere,  the  panel  claimed  that  recording  fidelity  was  in  

decline.  They  also  cited  a  reason  for  this  problem:  the  poor  training  of  

upcoming  audio  engineers.  Each  one  of  these  men  learned  the  trade  through  

an  internship  or  apprenticeship.  They  entered  the  industry  at  a  time  when  

record  sales  were  increasing  and  studio  time  was  in  high  demand.  Ed  

Cherney,  recording  engineer  to  Bonnie  Raitt,  Eric  Clapton,  and  the  Rolling  

Stones,  proclaimed  to  the  students  in  attendance  that  he  didn't  know  what  to  

tell  them.  He  could  not  offer  to  train  someone  the  way  he  was  trained  

because  of  the  dilapidated  state  of  the  recording  industry.  Instead,  the  

METAlliance  proposed  to  save  the  day  by  proffering  their  services  to  colleges  

  299  
and  universities.  They  framed  themselves  as  music  educators,  but  failed  to  

recognize  the  irony  that  they  were  proposing  lectures  in  place  of  an  

experiential  model  of  learning—the  very  model  that  made  them  so  good  at  

what  they  do.    

While  the  recording  industry  has  undergone  dramatic  changes  in  the  

past  decade,  leading  to  a  shortage  of  work  for  elite  audio  engineers,  there  has  

been  a  growth  spurt  in  the  population  of  home  recorders  making  records  in  

bedrooms  and  basements.  In  fact  major  labels  have  emulated  the  “indie  

sound”  copying  the  aesthetics  of  home  recorders.  The  sounds  of  amateur  

audio  engineering  are  in  vogue.  The  tables  have  turned  and  the  professionals  

are  chasing  and  copying  the  amateurs.  Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  are  

living  proof  that  like  Mast  Brothers  Chocolate,  the  diligent  care  invested  in  

the  production  process  is  as  important  as  the  final  product  itself.      

Audio  Conditioning  

The  likes  of  Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  are  oblivious  trailblazers.  

They  can  appreciate  that  recording  at  home  is  cost  and  time  efficient,  but  

they  are  too  humble  to  recognize  that  they  represent  a  changing  of  the  guard  

in  the  audio  world.  They  are  defining  new  norms  of  audio  quality  in  music—

they  just  don’t  know  it  yet.  

  300  
 All  of  the  case  study  participants  cited  recording  quality  as  a  matter  of  

concern  when  discussing  the  pros  and  cons  of  music-­‐making  in  a  home  

studio.  Consider  Tara’s  initial  impressions  of  her  first  day  of  recording:  

I  was  surprised  with  the  sound…I  almost  debated  to  keep  going  or  call  
the  whole  thing  off  because  it’s  not  costing  me  a  lot.  I’m  saving  by  not  
going  to  a  studio,  but  unless  I  really  want  it  to  sound  like  a  home  
recording,  I  have  to  pick,  do  I  want  it  to  sound  like  a  cool  unique  home  
recording?  Or  if  I  want  it  not  to  sound  like  a  home  recording?  I  was  
really  down  about  it.  
 
  In  Tara’s  explanation,  home  recordings  have  a  distinct  sound,  setting  

them  apart  from  recordings  done  in  “a  studio.”  Tara’s  conundrum  of  whether  

to  abort  her  mission  and  put  the  recording  of  her  album  in  the  hands  of  a  

professional  or  to  proceed  in  the  home  studio  with  its  inherent  limitations  

encapsulates  the  debate  between  the  home  and  professional  studio.      

What  is  it  about  a  recording  done  in  a  home  studio  that  makes  it  

inferior  to  one  done  in  a  professional  studio?  Michael  would  tell  you  that  it  is  

equipment.  Michael  rejected  my  notion  that  a  home  recording  could  ever  

rival  a  “professional”  recording,  citing  the  Beatles  as  an  example:    

When  you  hear  Sgt.  Pepper's  Lonely  Hearts  Club  Band,  these  are  some  
of  the  most  expensive  microphones  in  the  world  and  it  was  a  2-­‐inch  
very  high  signal-­‐to-­‐noise  ratio  analog  experience,  there's  nothing  like  
it.  You  cannot  get  that  at  home,  it  will  not  happen.  
 
My  diagnosis  is  that  Michael,  like  many  others,  myself  included,  

suffers  from  audio  conditioning.  He  is  convinced  that  there  exists  a  

benchmark  for  sound  recordings.  Michael  believes  the  best  recordings  come  

from  the  mid-­‐to-­‐late  1960s,  whereas  I’m  more  partial  to  recordings  from  the  

  301  
mid-­‐1990s.  Levitin  (2006)  contends  that  “most  people  have  formed  their  

tastes  by  the  age  of  18  or  20”  (p.  232),  which  helps  to  explain  generational  

differences  in  music  tastes.  Immersed  in  the  sounds  of  our  respective  eras,  

the  dominant  recording  styles  of  the  era  have  come  to  shape  our  conceptions  

of  what  constitutes  a  good  recording.  Moylan  (2007)  purports:  “People  are  

conditioned  by  their  environment  (social  and  cultural)  to  apply  meanings  to  

sounds,  and  to  understand  stylized  musical  relationships”  (p.  76).  Sterne  

(2003)  conceptualizes  recording  as  a  social  network  and  argues  that  

historically,  the  concept  of  sound  fidelity  has  been  subjective.  Further,  

measureable  fidelity  and  perceived  fidelity  (aesthetic  preference)  do  not  

necessarily  correlate:    

The  claim  that  the  perceived  “better”  sound  sprang  forth  from  the  
increased  frequency  response  offered  by  the  machine  and  its  
increased  loudness  sounds  reasonable  from  a  commonsense  
standpoint,  but  it  is  modulated  by  the  historical  evidence.  Technical  
improvements  were  not  always  welcomed  aesthetic  changes.  (p.  278)  
 
d’Escrivan  (2012)  provides  a  convenient  example  of  this  

phenomenon:  

Consider  this:  the  song  “Da  Do  Ron  Ron,”  by  the  Crystals  and  produced  
by  Phil  Spector  in  1963,  when  heard  alongside  contemporary  24-­‐bit  
48-­‐kHz  recordings  could  be  described  as  limited  in  frequency  
bandwidth  and  noisy,  thus  lacking  in  quality  by  today’s  standards.  Yet  
nobody  would  deny  this  recording,  as  an  artifact,  is  a  beautiful  (albeit  
minor!)  musical  object…a  recording  can  be  evocative,  musical,  and  
beautiful  regardless  of  its  sound  quality.  (p.  45)  
 
As  d’Escrivan  argues,  technical  limitations  do  not  necessarily  

constrain  the  aesthetic  impact  of  a  recording.  Social  trends  of  musical  taste  

  302  
extend  beyond  the  scope  of  this  discussion,  but  trends  in  audio  engineering  

warrant  consideration.  Like  music,  audio  engineering  conventions  change  

over  time.  Sounds  can  be  novel  and  du  jour,  then  relegated  for  being  

overdone  only  to  be  later  rediscovered  and  reintroduced.  This  is  precisely  

what  has  happened  with  the  gated  drum  sound,  which  recording  engineer  

Neil  King  (Green  Day,  Elvis  Costello,  the  Smiths)  describes  as  “a  very  tight,  

very  controlled  drum  sound—a  huge  kick  and  snare  with  some  other  drums  

added  in”  (as  cited  in  Hatschek,  2005,  p.  180).  This  drum  sound  has  

resurfaced  in  more  current  recordings  (i.e.  Vampire  Weekend’s  2010  single  

“Giving  up  the  Gun”),  but  was  first  popularized  in  the  1980s  (i.e.,  Phil  Collins’  

1981  hit  “In  the  Air  Tonight”).    

Sound  characteristics  associated  with  trends  in  audio  engineering  can  

be  attributed  to  a  few  factors:  different  people  (musicians,  engineers,  and  

listeners’  tastes),  different  technology  (musical  instruments  and  recording  

technology),  and  different  recording  environments.  As  a  drummer,  the  most  

convenient  example  I  can  cite  is  John  Bonham’s  performance  on  Led  

Zeppelin’s  “When  the  Levee  Breaks”  (1971).  Carmical  (2010)  details  the  

technical  components  that  contributed  to  the  famed  drum  sound:  “The  

somnambulist  sounds  of  doom  from  the  classic  track  ‘When  the  Levee  

Breaks’  were  achieved  by  placing  Bonham’s  kit  in  a  stairwell,  and  micing  it  

from  several  stories  above”  (p.  36).  Of  course  it  is  the  musician  who  makes  

the  sounds.  Recording  engineer  Terry  Manning  said  of  Bonham:    

  303  
 John  was  the  master  controller  of  everything.  Any  engineer  could  have  
sounded  good  with  him,  because  he  controlled  everything.  If  the  toms  
needed  to  be  louder,  they  wouldn't  mic  them  separately.  He  would  
play  them  louder.  If  something  needed  to  be  softer,  he  would  play  it  
soft.  (as  cited  in  Touzeau,  2006,  p.  79)  
 
Recording  engineer  Eddie  Kramer  concurred:  
 
Bonham  was  a  special  drummer.  He  was  a  big  bugger,  he  hit  the  
drums  bloody  hard,  he  tuned  them  in  a  peculiar  way  according  to  how  
you  want  to  describe  it,  and  he  was  just  amazing.  It  didn’t  matter  
where  you  recorded  or  how  you  recorded,  it  would  always  come  out  
sounding  like  Bonham.  (as  cited  in  Buskin,  1999,  p.  134).  
 
Recording  is  an  interplay  between  technology,  space,  and  musicians,  

the  most  critical  component  being  the  musician.  Coleman  (2003)  asserts:  

“One  truism  of  digital  music  already  seems  obvious,  that  people  will  settle  for  

decent  sound—something  less  than  state-­‐of-­‐the-­‐art—as  long  as  the  price  is  

right  and  musical  selections  are  vast  and  unfettered”  (p.  xvi).  With  musicians  

adopting  audio  engineering  equipment  and  the  accompanying  skills  to  

realize  their  compositions,  notions  and  norms  of  recordings  are  being  

challenged  in  radical  ways.  Thus,  as  more  and  more  music  from  home  studios  

is  produced  our  sound  conditions  are  mutated.    

Mid-­‐Fi  

Tyler  suggested  his  recordings  are  unique  to  the  current  era:    

I’m  existing  in  the  middle  class  of  recordings.  These  recordings  are  
going  to  be  good  enough  to  where  some  people  could  listen  to  them,  
but  they’re  not  going  to  be  good  enough  to  be  the  way  that  music  is  
produced  to  be  on  the  radio.  Before  the  advent  of  home  recording,  I  
really  would  have  had  one  option  or  the  other,  something  really  

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 crappy  sounding  or  at  least  low-­‐fi  or  something  that  was  done  in  a  
studio  that  costs  some  money.  By  me  being  able  to  get  things  by  more  
or  less  there  on  my  own,  it’s  a  low  cost  for  me  to  do  a  whole  lot  of  
music.  Home  recording  had  been  around  for  a  while,  but  it’s  reached  a  
point  where  with  very  little  investment  you  can  get  pretty  high  quality  
results  if  you  learn  what  you’re  doing  and  care  about  what  you’re  
doing.      
 
Without  explicitly  stating  it,  Tyler’s  class  analogy  to  the  world  of  

recordings  poses  a  third  category,  mid-­‐fi,  somewhere  between  low-­‐fi  and  hi-­‐fi  

recordings.  As  Tyler  explained,  it  once  was  the  case  that  most  home  

recordings  were  considered  to  be  low-­‐fi,  but  the  digital  era  enabled  the  

creation  of  a  new  class.  It  is  the  mid-­‐fi  class  that  the  case  study  participants  

are  defining  obliviously,  forging  new  sounds  in  makeshift  studios  with  the  

best  gear  they  can  afford.      

A  professional  studio  tends  to  have  certain  microphones  for  specific  

purposes  (e.g.,  Shure  SM57  for  micing  a  guitar  cabinet,  AKG  D112  for  micing  

the  kick  drum,  Neumann  U87  for  vocals,  Electrovoice  RE20  for  bass,  etc.),  but  

the  modest  budget-­‐conscious  studios  belonging  to  the  Michaels,  Taras,  

Jimmys,  and  Tylers  of  this  world  might  only  have  one  or  two  microphones  to  

do  the  job  of  many.  This  seems  fitting  considering  that  in  the  classic  studio  

model  one  person  isn’t  “supposed”  to  play  all  of  the  instruments  and  record  

them—division  of  labor  need  no  longer  apply.  The  low-­‐fi/hi-­‐fi  dichotomy  

enabled  a  system  of  stratification  between  amateur  and  professional,  but  the  

mid-­‐fi  recording  has  blurred  these  distinctions.  

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 Historically  the  overall  stylistic  sounds  of  recordings  have  been  in  a  

state  of  flux.  Morton  (2000)  explains  that  the  new  aesthetics  of  rock  

production  were  spearheaded  by  independents  using  less  than  state-­‐of-­‐the-­‐

art  recording  technologies:  

Rock  and  roll  as  a  recorded  product  was  not  pioneered  by  the  large,  
established  record  companies  with  the  latest  equipment,  but  by  
independents…These  studios  did  not  have  the  facilities  or  equipment  
to  make  strides  in  high-­‐fidelity  recording,  but  they  could  use  what  
they  had  to  achieve  something  more  important  for  rock  and  roll:  a  
new  sound.  (p.  42)  
 
Mark  Ronson,  producer  of  Amy  Winehouse’s  2006  Grammy-­‐winning  

album  Back  to  Black,  pontificates,  “inexperience  is  what  gives  you  the  happy  

accidents  that  make  for  different  sounds,  something  unique”  (as  cited  in  

Massey,  2010,  p.  315).  The  “happy  accidents”  that  stem  from  inexperience  

have  been  elemental  in  shaping  our  conceptions  of  sound.  The  essence  of  

mid-­‐fi  is  to  challenge  established  conventions  of  audio  engineering,  just  as  

rock  and  roll  did  in  the  early  1960s  leading  to  new  sounds.  

The  advent  of  electrical  sound  in  the  1920s  ushered  in  the  transition  

of  “recordists”  to  “recording  engineers,”  and  “  the  recording  of  sound  took  on  

a  new,  measurement-­‐based  aesthetic”  (Morton,  2000,  p.  30).  The  problem  

with  defining  fidelity  with  objective  measurements  is  that  music  is  too  

complex  to  be  reduced  to  a  series  of  values.  Most  rationales  for  evaluating  

fidelity  incorporate  a  comparison  to  an  original.  Sterne  (2003)  reasons:  

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 Conventional  accounts  of  sound  fidelity  often  invite  us  to  think  of  
reproduced  sound  as  a  mediation  of  “live”  sounds…Within  a  
philosophy  of  mediation,  sound  fidelity  offers  a  kind  of  gold  standard:  
it  is  the  measure  of  sound-­‐reproduction  technologies’  product  against  
a  fictitious  external  reality.  (p.  218)  
 
Fidelity  means  to  be  faithful  or  loyal,  but  as  Sterne  explains,  in  

recording  sound  there  is  nothing  to  be  faithful  to;  the  original  does  not  exist  

because  all  recorded  sound  is  mediated  by  technology  and  therefore  

performed  for  it.  Any  distinctions  we  make  about  sound  such  as  hi-­‐fi,  mid-­‐fi,  

or  lo-­‐fi  are  taste-­‐dependent  malleable  social  constructions.    

Historically,  recording  studios  have  been  controlled  in  an  oligarchic  

fashion,  a  relatively  small  number  of  people  have  dictated  how  recorded  

music  sounds.  Thanks  to  the  influx  of  homemade  recordings  that  have  found  

their  way  to  our  ears  via  the  various  web-­‐based  distribution  systems  ushered  

in  during  the  2000s,  amateur  recording  practices  have  diluted  the  existing  

pool  of  recordings,  subversively  altering  conceptions  of  “good”  and  

“professional”  sound.  Further,  for  a  relatively  small  fee  (approximately  50  

dollars),  amateurs  can  distribute  their  music  through  services  such  as  CD  

Baby,  TuneCore,  and  Reverb  Nation  to  retailers  that  include  iTunes  and  

Amazon  and  streamers  such  as  Spotify  and  Pandora.  At  present,  the  sound  

ushered  in  by  the  home  studio  movement  is  the  sound  of  consumer-­‐priced  

audio  equipment  (often  acquired  from  other  home  studio  enthusiasts  

secondhand  through  eBay  or  Craigslist),  repurposed  spaces,  and  trial  and  

error  recording  practices.      

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By-­‐Processes:  Learning  

Learning  is  often  framed  as  an  event  that  already  happened.  For  

example:  

Tyler:  “I  learned  the  hard  way.”    

Michael:  “I  learned  to  play  the  electric  guitar.”    

Tara:  “I  just  learned  as  I  had  to.”    

Jimmy:  “I  learned  your  basic  G,  C,  D.”  

The  implication  of  saying  “I  learned,”  is  that  the  learning  experience  is  

not  ongoing;  rather  it  is  simply  a  product  of  a  past  experience.  While  my  data  

collection  has  ceased,  I  am  confident  that  Jimmy,  Tara,  Michael,  and  Tyler  

persist  with  their  DAW-­‐dependent  music-­‐making  because  they  are  textbook  

amateurs:  “The  term  itself  derives  from  the  Latin  amare—‘to  love.’  The  

essence  of  amateurism  is  intrinsic  motivation:  to  be  an  amateur  is  to  do  

something  for  the  love  of  it”  (Shirky,  2010,  p.  82).  While  the  case  study  

participants  were  conscious  of  the  fact  that  learning  is  inherent  in  music-­‐

making,  learning  was  never  the  motivation.  Learning  is  a  by-­‐process.  Katz  

(2004)  puts  forth  the  argument  that  historically  recording  technology  has  

mediated  our  sound  experiences.  A  convenient  example  is  how  the  limited  

capacities  of  early  recording  mediums  dictated  performance  lengths.  Katz  

details:  “For  71  years  between  the  invention  of  the  phonograph  and  the  

introduction  of  the  long-­‐playing  disc  (1877  to  1948)  recordings  could  play  no  

more  than  four  and  one-­‐half  minutes  of  music  continuously”  (p.  31).  In  the  

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case  of  the  DAW,  I  would  surmise  that  we  have  developed  a  recording  

technology  with  endless  possibilities.  The  limits  we  encounter  are  self-­‐

imposed.  (Admittedly,  computers  crash  from  time  to  time.)  Thus,  we  have  

created  a  music-­‐making  technology  that  can  never  be  completely  mastered.  

The  result  being  that  all  music-­‐making  processes  with  a  DAW  produce  

learning  by-­‐processes.  As  Dewey  (1938)  so  aptly  stated,  “Perhaps  the  

greatest  of  all  pedagogical  fallacies  is  the  notion  that  a  person  learns  only  the  

particular  thing  he  is  studying  at  the  time”  (p.  49).  The  DAW  is  changing  and  

shaping  the  way  we  make  music  by  framing  it  as  an  enjoyable  and  accessible  

self-­‐directed  exploratory  experience.  It  entails  music-­‐learning,  intended  or  

not.  This  portal  into  music-­‐making  has  the  potential  to  reach  the  masses  in  

the  margins  of  music  education.  The  “key  to  the  reinvigoration  of  music-­‐

making  in  general”  of  which  Green  (2001)  speaks  can  be  realized:  “As  more  

people  come  to  expect  that  amateur  participation  is  always  an  open  option,  

those  expectations  can  change  the  culture”  (Shirky,  2010,  p.  154).  

Works  in  Progress:  New  Approaches  to  Learning  and  Recording  

  My  research  questions  were  analyzed  using  conceptual  models  that  

were  sufficient,  but  in  need  of  annotations  or  augmenting.  Green  (2008)  did  

not  intend  for  her  model  of  informal  learning  to  examine  music-­‐making  with  

recording  technology,  but  many  of  the  criteria  proved  to  be  true  amongst  the  

participants,  making  the  model  a  reasonably  good  fit  for  the  data  set.  The  

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most  predominant  theme  amongst  the  case  study  participants  was  that  their  

learning  was  self-­‐directed.  In  the  case  of  the  males,  their  learning  could  be  

better  described  as  immersive  because  they  have  engaged  with  recording  

technology  for  so  long  that  they  have  difficulty  recalling  their  learning  

histories.  Crawford  (2009)  observes  holistic  learning  “arises  from  repeated  

confrontations  with  real  things:  comprehensive  entities  that  are  grasped  all  

at  once,  in  a  manner  that  may  be  incapable  of  explicit  articulation”  (p.  234).  

What  Michael,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  were  able  to  recall  was  employing  a  trial  by  

error  approach  with  recording  technology.  The  digital  native  theory  (Black,  

2010)  was  corroborated  by  my  observations  of  the  participants:  learning  was  

largely  a  trial  and  error  experience.            

Using  Green’s  model  (2008)  to  analyze  the  learning  histories  of  the  

participants  confirmed  my  suspicion  that  the  learning  strategies  of  all  

musicians,  whether  they’re  self-­‐cast  as  classical,  rock,  or  otherwise,  have  

more  commonalities  than  dissimilarities  based  on  music  type.  While  music-­‐

learning  theories  based  on  musical  style  are  tidy  and  convenient,  even  the  

slightly  more  complicated  theories  that  posit  a  spectrum  stretching  from  

informal  to  formal  remain  restricted  to  seeing  the  world  of  music  learning  in  

two  dimensions.  While  the  musical  backgrounds  of  each  case  study  

participant  varied,  the  way  they  approached  learning  their  respective  

instruments  could  be  reduced  to  one  factor:  a  substantial  commitment  of  

time  to  their  trade.      

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   The  quest  of  my  study  was  to  investigate  the  role  of  recording  

technology  in  the  music-­‐making  processes  of  the  participants.  While  no  

singular  model  emerged  and  nor  was  it  expected,  the  common  bond  found  

amongst  the  participants  was  the  pivotal  role  of  recording  technology  in  their  

music-­‐making.  The  model  of  Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  and  Lindstrom  (1998)  

helped  to  delineate  between  the  conceptual  approaches  to  composition  of  the  

participants,  but  proved  to  be  an  awkward  fit  for  analyzing  the  processes  of  

using  recording  technology.  The  screen  recording  analysis  model  as  outlined  

by  Mellor  (2008)  proved  to  be  a  helpful  tool  to  analyze  Tyler’s  music-­‐making,  

but  in  Michael’s  case  the  model  was  abandoned  because  none  of  the  

categorizes  sufficiently  described  the  exploratory  nature  of  Michael’s  

approach.  The  best  fit  was  the  “error”  category,  but  it  would  be  an  error  to  

frame  Michael’s  music-­‐making  as  such.  

Implications  for  Music  Education  

Music-­‐Making  Tools  

One  of  the  things  that  we  built  into  our  contract  which  was  unheard  of  at  the  
time  was  unlimited  studio  time,  we  knew  we  had  to  pay  for  it,  but  we  wanted  as  
much  as  we  wanted  you  know…our  strategy  was  what  we  wanted  to  do  is,  we  
want  to  play  in  the  studio,  we  want  to  learn  how  the  studio  works,  we  don't  
want  anyone  else  doing  it  you  know,  it's  our  music…essentially…we  bought  
ourselves  an  education  you  know  and  the  way  we  achieved  it  was  to  spend  lots  
and  lots  of  time  in  the  studio  fooling  around  with  stuff...it  was  a  trial  and  error  
kind  of  thing.  (Jerry  Garcia  of  the  Grateful  Dead  as  cited  in  Marre,  1999).  
 

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   Garcia’s  anecdote  illuminates  some  critical  points  for  consideration  

with  regard  to  music  education.  First,  he  reveals  his  band’s  motivation  for  

wanting  to  learn  “how  the  studio  works”  was  the  realization  and  recognition  

of  the  close  relationship  between  recording  technology  and  music.  The  

band’s  desire  to  be  involved  in  the  recording  and  mixing  processes  was  

motivated  by  musical  ambitions.  It  is  critical  that  music  educators  realize  and  

recognize  that  music  technology  is  musical.  Musicians  have  a  long  history  of  

integrating  recording  technology  as  instruments  into  their  compositions.  

Katz  (2004)  details  that  in  the  early  1920s  French  composers  including  

Darius  Milhaud  “were  independently  testing  the  compositional  possibilities  

of  the  record  player”  (p.  108),  and  American  composer  John  Cage  began  using  

the  phonograph  in  his  compositions  in  1939  (p.  45).  This  trend  extended  into  

the  era  of  tape  as  Oswald  (2004)  explains:  

When  tape  recorders,  basically  designed  for  documentation  and  

reproduction,  became  available  in  the  ‘40s,  a  few  individuals,  like  
Pierre  Schaeffer  in  France,  began  transforming  the  recordings,  
distorting  them  into  something  new,  producing  music  through  them  
as  if  the  tape  recorders  were  magnetic  violins.  (p.  132).  
 
    Producer  Daniel  Lanois  (2010)  remarked,  “My  tools  have  always  been  

dear  to  me,  and  I  continue  to  embrace  tools—technology  and  musical  

instruments”  (p.  24).  For  Lanois,  both  technology  and  instruments  constitute  

his  music-­‐making  tools.  From  the  phonograph  era  onwards  musicians  have  

sought  to  utilize  recording  technologies  as  compositional  tools.  For  many  

musicians,  these  coopted  tools  have  become  essential  for  making  music.  As  

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Sennett  (2008)  divulges,  the  process  of  repurposing  tools  makes  us  more  

adept  with  them:  

Getting  better  at  using  tools  comes  to  us,  in  part,  when  the  tools  
challenge  us,  and  this  challenge  often  occurs  just  because  the  tools  are  
not  fit-­‐for-­‐purpose…the  challenge  can  be  met  by  adapting  the  form  of  
a  tool,  or  improvising  with  it  as  it  is,  using  it  in  ways  it  was  not  meant  
for.  (p.  195)  
 
The  computer  and  its  peripherals  (mouse,  keyboard,  etc.)  were  not  

initially  intended  to  be  used  as  music-­‐making  tools  and  this  may  help  to  

explain  why  the  field  of  music  education  has  been  slow  to  embrace  recording  

technology  as  an  integral  component  of  music-­‐making.  Music  curricula  have  

a  proclivity  to  frame  music  technology  skills  as  supplemental  rather  than  

elemental;  greater  emphasis  tends  to  be  placed  on  more  traditional  musical  

skills  such  as  playing  band  instruments  and  singing.  As  the  cases  of  Michael,  

Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  elucidate,  recording  technology  is  so  critical  to  their  

music-­‐making  that  they  sought  learning  experiences  with  recording  

technology  that  occur  outside  of  formal  settings  like  schools.  Even  Tara,  who  

anticipated  learning  how  to  use  recording  technology  in  school,  found  herself  

using  informal  strategies  such  as  self-­‐teaching  and  referring  to  peers.    

Trial  and  Error  Learning  

Garcia  described  his  learning  in  the  studio  as  “fooling  around  with  

stuff”  and  “it  was  a  trial  and  error  kind  of  thing”  (as  cited  in  Marre,  1999).  

Many  musicians  and  audio  engineers  describe  their  education  with  recording  

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technology  as  largely  experiential  and  often  cite  examples  of  a  trial  and  error  

approach  to  learning.  Describing  his  forays  into  music-­‐making  with  

recording  technology,  Les  Paul  reflected:  “We  were  more  or  less  applying  the  

scientific  method  of  learning  by  doing,  trying  anything  and  everything  just  to  

see  what  could  be  observed  from  it,  to  see  where  it  would  lead”  (Paul  &  

Cochran,  2008,  p.  176).  Recalling  how  he  learned  to  operate  a  recording  

console,  recording  engineer  Todd  Rundgren  (Meat  Loaf,  Hall  and  Oates,  The  

Band)  revealed:  “I  had  no  idea  what  they  actually  did  until  I  got  that  first-­‐

hand  sort  of  feedback  of  turning  the  knob  and  hearing  the  sound  change…It  

was  pretty  much  trial  and  error”  (as  cited  in  Myers,  2010,  p.  29).  Similarly,  

recording  engineer  Frank  Filipetti  (Madonna,  James  Taylor,  Mariah  Carey)  

bluntly  echoed:  “I  had  to  learn  on  my  own  by  trial  and  error”  (as  cited  in  

Gottleib,  2010,  p.  394).  Examples  of  trial  and  error  learning  are  abundant  in  

the  history  of  music  recording.  Rarely  do  these  accounts  discuss  conscious  

efforts  to  learn;  rather  they  acknowledge  that  learning  occurred  in  the  

process  of  making  music.  Trial  and  error  is  a  critical  component  of  skill  

development:  “Technique  develops…by  a  dialectic  between  the  correct  way  

to  do  something  and  the  willingness  to  experiment  through  error.  The  two  

sides  cannot  be  separated”  (Sennett,  1980,  p.  160).  In  the  history  of  recording  

music,  the  trial  and  error  modus  operandi  is  a  well-­‐tread  path  to  learning.  

Music  educators  would  be  wise  to  foster  music-­‐making  experiences  with  

recording  technology  that  encourage  trial  and  error  approaches.  

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 Songsmithing:  Learning  by  Making  

Crawford  (2006)  states:  “Craftsmanship  entails  learning  to  do  one  

thing  really  well”  (p.  11),  and  “Craftsmanship  means  dwelling  on  a  task  for  a  

long  time  and  going  deeply  into  it,  because  one  wants  to  get  it  right”  (p.  13).  

Michael,  Tara,  Jimmy,  and  Tyler  are  musical  craftspeople;  they  are  

songsmiths.  They  are  dedicated  to  making  music  to  the  best  of  their  abilities.  

Like  the  craftsman,  they  are  committed  to  perfecting  the  fine-­‐grained  details  

in  their  work.  Elements  that  would  go  unnoticed  by  the  casual  listener  are  

scrupulously  examined  by  these  songsmiths.  Michael  scoured  for  the  perfect  

timbre,  Tara  strived  for  the  perfect  take,  Jimmy  scrutinized  for  the  perfect  

tunefulness,  and  Tyler  searched  for  the  perfect  text.  In  short,  they  seek  to  

smith  the  superlative  song.  They  devote  as  much  of  their  time  and  resources  

as  possible  to  the  craft  of  making  music.  As  Frauenfelder  (2010)  explains,  in  

the  DIY  (do-­‐it-­‐yourself)  ethos,  making  isn’t  simply  a  means  to  an  end;  both  

process  and  product  are  relished:  

The  planning,  selection  of  tools  and  materials,  creation  of  the  
workspace,  method  of  construction,  documentation,  and  final  product  
of  a  DIY  project  are  things  to  be  savored,  not  to  be  thought  of  as  
hassles  or  expenses.  The  end  result  of  what  a  DIYer  makes  is  
important,  but  it’s  also  a  reminder  of  an  experience  that  serves  as  its  
own  reward.  (p.  220)  
 
  Making  entails  experiences,  and  experiences  beget  learning:  “Practical  

knowhow…can’t  be  downloaded,  it  can  only  be  lived.”  (Crawford,  2009,  p.  

225).  

  315  
 Through  making  music  with  recording  technology  we  learn  to  play,  

improvise,  compose,  arrange,  record,  and  mix  in  such  a  way  that  these  sub-­‐

categorizations  of  music-­‐making  become  confounding  variables  and  parsing  

one  out  from  the  other  might  not  be  possible.  Suffice  it  to  say,  music-­‐making  

is  learning:  

Making  is  central  to  our  practice  as  musicians,  but  making  can  also  be  
transposed  to  the  context  of  learning  and  teaching,  whether  it  
becomes  part  of  a  process  of  constructing  knowledge,  engaging  in  a  
shared  journey  of  enquiry,  or  a  creative  endeavor.  (Savage,  2011,  p.  
221)  
 
Garcia  (as  cited  in  Marre,  1999)  indicated  that  by  contractually  

securing  unlimited  studio  time,  the  Grateful  Dead  in  effect  purchased  an  

education.  Following  along  similar  lines,  purchasers  of  computers  are  

purchasers  of  an  education.  Further,  owners  of  computers  are  owners  of  a  

musical  instrument  and  they  might  not  know  it.  Music  educators  need  to  

recognize  the  computer  and  the  DAW  as  a  conduit  to  channel  learners  to  

music-­‐making  experiences  that  transcend  the  typologies  of  “informal”  and  

“formal.”  As  Stravinsky  succinctly  surmised:  “We  have  a  duty  towards  music,  

namely,  to  invent  it”  (1970,  p.  69).    

DAWing  

  DAWs  are  mindful  technologies,  allowing  users  to  experience  and  

make  music  in  personalized  approaches.  Extending  the  trial  and  error  

lineage,  DAWs  foster  and  promote  a  play-­‐based  approach  to  music-­‐making  

  316  
with  technology.  Click  and  consequence  music-­‐making  (a  DAW-­‐dependent  

version  of  trial  and  error  music-­‐making)  encourages  taking  risks  and  

improvisation.  Further,  DAWs  promote  reflexive  recording,  which  entails  

critical  listening,  musical  thinking,  and  sculpting  with  sound.  Lastly,  with  the  

DAW,  the  music-­‐making  process  can  be  extended  indefinitely  enabling  

cryogenic  composition.  Taken  together,  the  dynamic  properties  of  the  DAW  

provision  for  a  music  education  situated  in  an  audio  culture  where  musical  

actions  (listening,  performing,  improvising,  and  composing)  and  technical  

actions  (tracking,  editing,  mixing,  and  mastering)  coalesce  into  a  single  

action:  DAWing.      

The  greatest  barrier  to  this  evolution  is  access.  The  case  studies  

demonstrate  that  those  with  the  means  and  desire  will  pursue  music-­‐making  

with  technology  with  or  without  school.  It  is  those  who  lack  access  to  the  

resources  (e.g.,  awareness,  information,  technology,  etc.)  that  music  

educators  need  to  reach.  As  the  survey  results  indicate,  music-­‐making  with  

technology  is  predominantly  a  preserve  of  young  white  men.  DAWing  

contains  the  potential  to  bring  new  musical  experiences  to  a  vast  new  

demographic.  

   
 
Suggestions  for  Future  Research  

  My  study  attempted  to  present  a  naturalistic  portrait  of  the  music-­‐

making  processes  of  the  four  case  study  participants.  My  chosen  

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methodology  and  methods  shaped  the  data  collection  such  that  presenting  an  

accurate  portrayal  of  the  music-­‐making  processes  supplanted  more  

systematic  and  tidy  approaches  to  data  collection.  The  same  research  

questions  could  be  posed  using  alternative  methods.  A  grounded  theory  

study  would  be  especially  helpful  to  the  field  as  it  could  potentially  lead  to  a  

new  model  of  learning  that  takes  into  account  the  role  of  recording  

technology  in  music-­‐making.  Using  the  same  method,  the  research  questions  

could  be  analyzed  with  a  more  specific  population.  While  studies  on  

computer-­‐based  composition  have  tended  to  focus  on  children  or  

adolescents  in  classrooms,  little  has  been  published  on  the  topic  involving  

adults  and  the  elderly.  Are  there  characteristics  of  approaches  to  music-­‐

making  or  learning  that  are  unique  to  a  subpopulation  such  as  those  over  the  

age  of  40?  Additionally,  focusing  on  a  subpopulation  such  as  music  genre  

could  aid  in  focusing  the  analysis,  such  as  examining  if  there  are  approaches  

to  music-­‐making  with  recording  technology  that  are  specific  to  dance,  rap,  

rock,  etc.  A  more  systematic  approach  could  enable  results  to  be  compared  

and  contrasted  across  cases.  Alternatively,  different  questions  could  be  asked  

of  the  same  population  I  examined.  My  research  questions  focused  on  how?,  

but  an  equally  interesting  study  could  pose  questions  that  ask  why?  For  

example,  why  is  this  practice  dominated  by  young  white  men?    

The  model  for  analyzing  screen  recordings  proposed  by  Mellor  (2008)  

is  an  excellent  tool  in  need  of  some  updates.  I  suspect  that  given  the  fast-­‐

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changing  nature  of  computers  and  software,  the  categories  of  Mellor’s  model  

may  need  to  be  revised  frequently,  but  the  conceptual  approach  behind  it  will  

remain  invaluable  and  should  continue  to  be  used  by  researchers  of  similar  

phenomena.  The  model  may  also  need  to  be  tailored  to  the  population  under  

investigation.  For  example,  there  may  be  approaches  of  music-­‐making  with  a  

DAW  that  are  characteristic  or  specific  to  a  music  genre.          

In  contrast,  I  found  the  compositional  model  of  Folkestad,  Hargreaves,  

and  Lindstrom  (1998)  to  be  cumbersome  due  to  the  confusing  subcategories.  

While  the  general  categories  of  “horizontal”  and  “vertical”  are  helpful  starting  

points,  they  create  a  dualism  that  forces  compositional  approaches  into  one  

of  two  camps.  This  model  may  have  been  an  ill  fit  for  my  data  set  because  

computer-­‐based  composition  software  has  changed  significantly  since  1998.  

Regardless,  a  new  model  using  a  grounded  theory  or  phenomenological  

approach  would  be  a  welcomed  addition  to  the  field.  

The  work  of  Green  (2001,  2008)  has  sparked  great  interest  in  the  

music  education  research  community  regarding  the  phenomenon  of  

“informal  learning.”  Perhaps  the  greatest  ramification  of  her  work  has  been  

to  reinvigorate  music  educators  to  pursue  models  of  learning  that  mirror  

more  closely  the  practices  of  musics  to  which  students  listen.  Unfortunately  

labels  that  have  been  popularized  in  the  field  throughout  the  2000s  such  as  

“informally  trained,”  “popular  musicians,”  and  “self-­‐taught”  have  led  to  a  

form  of  typecasting  of  musicians  and  their  approaches  to  learning  that  can  be  

  319  
misleading.  As  the  much-­‐needed  research  continues  to  be  conducted  on  

informal  learning  practices  in  music,  researchers  need  to  be  careful  not  to  

pigeonhole  participants  with  all  encompassing  labels.  Label  the  learning,  not  

the  learner.  A  future  study  that  could  help  to  substantiate  my  position  is  a  

statistical  study  that  tabulates  the  amount  of  time  music  learners  spend  in  

different  learning  scenarios.  I  suspect  that  all  music  learning  is  

predominantly  self-­‐taught.  Based  on  my  casual  observations,  conservatory  or  

college  vocalists  and  instrumentalists  tend  to  have  weekly  lessons  or  

coachings  that  in  comparison  are  dwarfed  by  the  amount  of  time  they  spend  

on  their  own  practicing  in  one  form  or  another.  (Certainly  an  argument  can  

be  made  for  the  quality  of  the  time  spent  with  teachers,  coaches,  and  

mentors,  an  aspect  that  would  demand  a  qualitative  inquiry.)  I  employ  the  

example  of  the  conservatory  and  university  because  these  institutions  tend  

to  be  labeled  as  “formal,”  but  my  hypothesis  contends  that  the  learning  that  

occurs  within  the  walls  of  these  “formal”  sites  could  be  characterized  as  

predominantly  “informal.”      

Les  Paul  Looms  

Generally  speaking,  performing  artists  and  audio  engineers  are  two  distinct  
species.  Musicians  often  lack  the  vocabulary  to  successfully  convey  their  needs  
to  technicians  and  vice  versa.  But  Les,  fluent  in  both  languages,  managed  to  
meld  the  two  disciplines.  (Shaughnessy,  1993,  p.  140)  
 

  320  
 The  case  study  participants  are  representative  of  a  trend,  a  broad  

movement  within  the  world  of  music  recording.  In  spaces  not  originally  

intended  for  recording  (e.g.,  bedrooms,  kitchens,  basements,  converted  

industrial  factories  and  warehouses),  sometimes  with  the  help  of  friend,  each  

participant  performed  the  roles  of  what  would  have  been  done  by  10  people  

in  a  much  bigger  space  in  an  earlier  era.  Taken  together,  the  role  of  recording  

technology  in  the  participants’  lives  affords  them  the  capacity  to  work  in  

personalized  ways.  Recording  technology  does  not  dictate  how  they  write  

and  produce  music;  rather,  they  dictate  how  recording  technology  can  best  

be  used  to  serve  their  aims.  With  technical  terminology  surfacing  frequently  

in  our  conversations,  the  participants  demonstrated  that  they  are  much  more  

than  songwriters;  they  are  a  new  breed  of  musician,  one  that  assimilates  the  

role  of  musician  and  audio  engineer  into  one.

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Virginia  University).  Available  from  ProQuest  Dissertations  and  Theses  
database  (UMI  No.  3381221).    

Williams,  R.  (2003).  Phil  Spector:  Out  of  his  head.  London:  Omnibus.    

Willingham,  L.  (2007).  From  the  mouths  of  babes:  What  young  children  can  
show  us  about  teaching  and  learning  music.  In  K.  Smithrim  &  R.  Upitis  
(Eds.),  Listen  to  their  voices:  Research  and  practice  in  early  childhood  
music  (pp.  87-­‐100).  Toronto:  Canadian  Music  Educator's  Association.    

Wilson,  C.  (2007).  Let’s  talk  about  love:  A  journey  to  the  end  of  taste.  New  
York:  Continuum.  

Wilson,  S.,  &  Wales,  R.  (1995).  An  exploration  of  children’s  musical  
compositions.  Journal  of  Research  in  Music  Education,  43(2),  94-­‐111.  

Zak,  A.  (2001).  The  poetics  of  rock:  Cutting  tracks,  making  records.  Berkeley,  
CA:  University  of  California  Press.      

Zak,  A.  (2009).  Getting  sounds:  The  art  of  sound  engineering.  In  N.  Cook,  E.  
Clarke,  D.  Leech-­‐Wilkinson,  &  J.  Rink  (Eds.),  The  Cambridge  companion  to  
recorded  music  (pp.  63-­‐76).  Cambridge,  UK:  Cambridge  University  Press.  

  337  
Zak,  A.  (2010).  Painting  the  sonic  canvass:  Electronic  mediation  as  musical  
style.  In  A.  Bayley  (Ed.),  Recorded  music:  performance,  culture,  and  
technology  (pp.  307-­‐324).  New  York:  Cambridge  University  Press.

  338  
 APPENDIX  A    

RECRUITMENT  FLYER  

Home Recording
Study
Do you record your own
music?
 
Opportunity to win a $50 gift certificate at Guitar
Center for completing a 10-minute survey

Survey  Link:  http://nyu.qualtrics.com/SE/?SID=SV_3z95QxVjLyqCNIo  

 

  339  
 APPENDIX  B    

STATEMENT  FOR  SURVEY  PARTICIPANTS  

D E P A R T M E N T O F M U S IC A N D P E R F O R M IN G A R T S P R O F E S S IO N S

Survey Subject Statement

Do you record your own music? Would you be interested in taking part in a study about
how people make and record music in home studios?

My name is Adam Bell, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt School of Education,

New York University, as a part of my Doctoral dissertation I am conducting a study on
home recording practices in music. My faculty sponsor is Professor David Elliott,
Department of Music Education, Steinhardt School of Education, New York University.

If you agree to be in this study, you will be asked to do the complete a 10-minute survey
about your background (age, gender, education, musical experience etc.).

There are no known risks associated with your participation in this research beyond
those of everyday life. Although you will receive no direct benefits, this research may
help the investigator understand how people make and record music in home studios.

If you choose, your name will be entered in a draw to win a $50 gift certificate for Guitar
Center for completing the survey.

Confidentiality of your research records will be strictly maintained by keeping all

completed forms in a University-secured database only accessible to the investigator.

Participation in this study is voluntary. You may refuse to participate or withdraw at

anytime without penalty. For interviews, questionnaires, or surveys, you have the right to
skip or not answer any questions you prefer not to answer.

If there is anything about the study or your participation that is unclear or that you do not
understand, if you have questions or wish to report a research-related problem, you may
contact Adam Bell at 212-998-5452, apb297@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New
York, NY 10012, or the faculty sponsor, David Elliott at (212) 998-5404,
david.elliott@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New York, NY 10012.

For questions about your rights as a research participant, you may contact the University
Committee on Activities Involving Human Subjects, New York University, 665 Broadway,
Suite 804, New York, New York, 10012, at ask.humansubjects@nyu.edu or (212) 998-
4808.

th
35 West 4 Street, Suite 777 | New York, New York 10003-7599
212 998 5424 | 212 995 4043 fax | www.steinhardt.nyu.edu/music

  340  
 APPENDIX  C  

CONSENT  FORM  FOR  SURVEY  PARTICIPANTS  

D E P A R T M E N T O F M U S IC A N D P E R F O R M IN G A R T S P R O F E S S IO N S

Survey Subject Consent Form

You have been invited to take part in a research study about how people make and
record music in home studios. This study will be conducted by Adam Bell, Department of
Music Education, Steinhardt School of Education, New York University, as a part of his
Doctoral dissertation. His faculty sponsor is Professor David Elliott, Department of Music
Education, Steinhardt School of Education, New York University.

If you agree to be in this study, you will be asked to do the following:

1. Complete a survey about your background (age, gender, education, musical

experience etc.).

Participation in this study will take 10 minutes.

There are no known risks associated with your participation in this research beyond
those of everyday life. Although you will receive no direct benefits, this research may
help the investigator understand how people make and record music in home studios.

If you choose, your name will be entered in a draw to win a $50 gift certificate for Guitar
Center for completing the survey.

Confidentiality of your research records will be strictly maintained by keeping all

completed forms in a University-secured database only accessible to the investigator.

Participation in this study is voluntary. You may refuse to participate or withdraw at

anytime without penalty. For interviews, questionnaires, or surveys, you have the right to
skip or not answer any questions you prefer not to answer.

th
35 West 4 Street, Suite 777 | New York, New York 10003-7599
212 998 5424 | 212 995 4043 fax | www.steinhardt.nyu.edu/music

  341  
  

If there is anything about the study or your participation that is unclear or that you do not
understand, if you have questions or wish to report a research-related problem, you may
contact Adam Bell at 212-998-5452, apb297@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New
York, NY 10012, or the faculty sponsor, David Elliott at (212) 998-5404,
david.elliott@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New York, NY 10012.

For questions about your rights as a research participant, you may contact the University
Committee on Activities Involving Human Subjects, New York University, 665 Broadway,
Suite 804, New York, New York, 10012, at ask.humansubjects@nyu.edu or (212) 998-
4808.

You have received a copy of this consent document to keep.

Agreement to Participate
___________________________________________________
Subject's Signature & Date

  342  
 APPENDIX  D  

SURVEY  

Qualtrics Survey Software https://nyu.qualtrics.com/ControlPanel/PopUp.php?PopType=S...

Default Question Block

Informed Consent Form

Introduction

You have been invited to take part in a research study about how people make and record music in home
studios. This study will be conducted by Adam Bell, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt School of
Education, New York University, as a part of his Doctoral dissertation. His faculty sponsor is Professor David
Elliott, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt School of Education, New York University.

Procedures

The questionnaire consists of 20 items regarding your background (age, gender, education, musical experience,
etc.) and will take approximately 10 minutes to complete. This questionnaire will be conducted with an online
Qualtrics-created survey.

Risks/Discomforts

There are no known risks associated with your participation in this research beyond those of everyday life.
Although you will receive no direct benefits, this research may help the investigator understand how people
make and record music in home studios.

Benefits

There are no direct benefits for participants. However, it is hoped that through your participation, researchers
will learn more about how people make and record music in home studios.

Confidentiality

All data obtained from participants will be kept confidential and will only be reported in an aggregate format (by
reporting only combined results and never reporting individual ones). All questionnaires will be concealed, and
no one other than then primary investigator and faculty sponsor, Dr. David Elliott, will have access to them. The
data collected will be stored in the HIPPA-compliant, Qualtrics-secure database until it has been deleted by the
primary investigator.

Compensation

There is no direct compensation.

Participation

Participation in this study is voluntary. You may refuse to participate or withdraw at anytime without penalty.
For interviews, questionnaires, or surveys, you have the right to skip or not answer any questions you prefer not
to answer.

Questions about the Research

If there is anything about the study or your participation that is unclear or that you do not understand, if you
have questions or wish to report a research-related problem, you may contact Adam Bell at 212-998-5452,
apb297@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New York, NY 10012, or the faculty sponsor, David Elliott at
(212) 998-5404, david.elliott@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New York, NY 10012.

Questions about your Rights as Research Participants

1 of 6 10/5/11 12:12 AM

  343  
  

Qualtrics Survey Software https://nyu.qualtrics.com/ControlPanel/PopUp.php?PopType=S...

For questions about your rights as a research participant, you may contact the University Committee on
Activities Involving Human Subjects, New York University, 665 Broadway, Suite 804, New York, New York,
10012, at ask.humansubjects@nyu.edu or (212) 998-4808.

I have read and understood the above consent form and desire of my own free will to participate in this study.
Yes

No

What is your age as of January 1, 2011?

What is your gender?

Male

Female

What is your race?

White/Caucasian

African American

Hispanic

Asian

Native American

Pacific Islander

Other

In which New York borough do you live?

Other
Manhattan Brooklyn The Bronx Queens Staten Island

In which industry are you employed?

Forestry, fishing, hunting or agriculture support Real estate or rental and leasing

Mining Professional, scientific or technical services

Utilities Management of companies or enterprises

Construction Admin, support, waste management or remediation services

Manufacturing Educational services

Wholesale trade Health care or social assistance

Retail trade Arts, entertainment or recreation

Transportation or warehousing Accommodation or food services

Other services (except public administration)

Information

Finance or insurance Unclassified establishments

2 of 6 10/5/11 12:12 AM

  344  
 Qualtrics Survey Software https://nyu.qualtrics.com/ControlPanel/PopUp.php?PopType=S...

Do you make (compose) and record your own music?

Yes

No

Please list any instruments you play and use the sliders to indicate the number of years you have played them.

Number of Years

0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50

Instrument:

Instrument:

Instrument:

Instrument:

Instrument:

Have you studied music performance at the college level, at a conservatory, or privately with a teacher? (e.g.,
taken lessons to learn how to play a musical instrument or sing)?
Yes

No

How many years total have you studied privately, at a college, or at a conservatory?

If you play musical instruments, please list each instrument (including voice) and rank your skills accordingly (1
is low, 10 is high):

1 = Low 10 = High

1 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100

Instrument

Instrument

3 of 6 10/5/11 12:12 AM

  345  
 Qualtrics Survey Software https://nyu.qualtrics.com/ControlPanel/PopUp.php?PopType=S...

1 = Low 10 = High

1 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100

Instrument

Instrument

Instrument

Rank your overall level of musical training from 1 (no musical training) to 10 (professional):

1 = no musical training 10 = professional

1 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Musical Training

Do you play in a band or a group?

Yes

No

How many years have you played in a band or a group?

Does making music contribute to your income?

Yes

No

Approximately what percentage does making music contribute to your income?

0% - 10% 51% - 60%

11% - 20% 61% - 70%

21% - 30% 71% - 80%

31% - 40% 81% - 90%

41% - 50% 91% - 100%

Do you have formal training in audio engineering or music production? (e.g., did you attend college to study
music technology or participate in an apprenticeship?)
Yes

No

4 of 6 10/5/11 12:12 AM

  346  
 Qualtrics Survey Software https://nyu.qualtrics.com/ControlPanel/PopUp.php?PopType=S...

How long have you been making and recording music?

Approximately how many songs or pieces have you recorded?

0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100

Number of songs
or pieces
recorded

How would you classify or describe the type of music you make? (e.g., rock, rap, jazz, classical, etc.)

Do you use one of the following to record your music: Desktop, Laptop, Tablet (iPad, Playbook, etc.)?
Yes

No

Please specify:

Desktop Laptop Tablet Other

PC or Mac?
PC

Mac

What recording software do you typically use to record and make your music?
Acid other Digital Performer GarageBand

Cubase Ableton Live Sound Forge Nuendo

ProTools Logic FL Studio Adobe Audition

Reason Audacity Sonar

Do you use an external sound card:

Yes

No

Please specify the model of your external sound card if possible:

Are you currently working on a recording project or do you anticipate doing so in the next 6 months?

5 of 6 10/5/11 12:12 AM

  347  
 Qualtrics Survey Software https://nyu.qualtrics.com/ControlPanel/PopUp.php?PopType=S...

Yes

No

Would you be interested in participating in a follow up study about home recording practices and may I contact
you to discuss your potential involvement in it?
Yes

No

Thank you for your interest in the follow up study. Please leave the following personal information so that I may
contact you:

First Name

Email Address

Phone Number

6 of 6 10/5/11 12:12 AM

  348  
 APPENDIX  E  

 STATEMENT  FOR  CASE  STUDY  PARTICIPANTS  

D E P A R T M E N T O F M U S IC A N D P E R F O R M IN G A R T S P R O F E S S IO N S

Case Study Subject Statement

Thank you for completing the survey and indicating your interest to participate as a case
study subject in my study about how people make and record music in home studios. In
total, 4 – 6 people will participate as case study subjects. The purpose of the case
studies is to examine how recording technology such as software (i.e., GarageBand, Pro
Tools, etc.) and microphones are used in the making of a music recording. Further, this
study will examine how learning occurs in the process of making a music recording.

This study will be conducted by Adam Bell, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt
School of Education, New York University, as a part of his Doctoral dissertation. His
faculty sponsor is Professor David Elliott, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt
School of Education, New York University.

If you agree to be in this study, you will be asked to do the following:

1. Film 20 - 25 hours of your own music-making with a small digital video

camera and tripod supplied by the researcher. You will choose what to film and
what not to film. This decision is entirely up to you. Additionally, you will be
provided with free screen capture software to record the musical activity
performed on your computer. You will choose when to turn this software on
and off. All of the video footage and screen capture footage is to be stored on a
password protected external hard drive supplied by the researcher. At the
completion of the study you are expected to return the camera and the hard drive
to the researcher, but you may keep the software.

2. Take part in audio-recorded interviews spread over the course of the study.
The interviews will take place at a location agreed upon between you and the
researcher. Each interview will last between 45 and 60 minutes. Some of these
interviews will involve observing together with the researcher, the video clips you
have recorded of your music-making and then answering questions about the
use of recording technology in these clips. The remaining interviews will involve
answering questions about your musical background. You have the right to listen
to all of the interview audio files and request that all or any part of the files be
deleted. Each interview will be transcribed by the researcher and you will be
provided with copies for review upon your request. The interviews are strictly
confidential and there will be no identifying information connected to the interviews.
A pseudonym for your real name will be used for the transcripts; your real name will
not be used in any publications or presentations. Interview transcripts will be stored
on a password protected external hard drive that will be stored in a locked filing
cabinet in my office.

In total, participation in this study will require approximately 25 - 35 hours.

th
35 West 4 Street, Suite 777 | New York, New York 10003-7599
212 998 5424 | 212 995 4043 fax | www.steinhardt.nyu.edu/music

  349  
 There are no known risks associated with your participation in this research beyond
those of everyday life. Approximately 4 to 6 people will participate in this study.
Although you will receive no direct benefits, this research may help the investigator
understand how people make and record music in home studios.

Confidentiality of your research records will be strictly maintained by keeping all

completed forms in a locked cabinet only accessible to the investigator

Participation in this study is voluntary. You may refuse to participate or withdraw at

anytime without penalty. For interviews, questionnaires, or surveys, you have the right to
skip or not answer any questions you prefer not to answer.

If there is anything about the study or your participation that is unclear or that you do not
understand, if you have questions or wish to report a research-related problem, you may
contact Adam Bell at 212-998-5452, apb297@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New
York, NY 10012, or the faculty sponsor, David Elliott at (212) 998-5404,
david.elliott@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New York, NY 10012.

For questions about your rights as a research participant, you may contact the University
Committee on Activities Involving Human Subjects, New York University, 665 Broadway,
Suite 804, New York, New York, 10012, at ask.humansubjects@nyu.edu or (212) 998-
4808.

  350  
 APPENDIX  F    

CONSENT  FORM  FOR  CASE  STUDY  PARTICIPANTS  

D E P A R T M E N T O F M U S IC A N D P E R F O R M IN G A R T S P R O F E S S IO N S

Case Study Subject Consent Form

You have been invited to take part in a research study about how people make and
record music in home studios. In total, 4 – 6 people will participate as case study
subjects. The purpose of the case studies is to examine how recording technology such
as software (i.e., GarageBand, Pro Tools, etc.) and microphones are used in the making
of a music recording. Further, this study will examine how learning occurs in the process
of making a music recording.

This study will be conducted by Adam Bell, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt
School of Education, New York University, as a part of his Doctoral dissertation. His
faculty sponsor is Professor David Elliott, Department of Music Education, Steinhardt
School of Education, New York University.

If you agree to be in this study, you will be asked to do the following:

1. Film 20 - 25 hours of your own music-making with a small digital video

camera and tripod supplied by the researcher. You will choose what to film and
what not to film. This decision is entirely up to you. Additionally, you will be
provided with free screen capture software to record the musical activity
performed on your computer. You will choose when to turn this software on
and off. All of the video footage and screen capture footage is to be stored on a
password protected external hard drive supplied by the researcher. At the
completion of the study you are expected to return the camera and the hard drive
to the researcher, but you may keep the software.

2. Take part in audio-recorded interviews spread over the course of the study.
The interviews will take place at a location agreed upon between you and the
researcher. Each interview will last between 45 and 60 minutes. Some of these
interviews will involve observing together with the researcher, the video clips you
have recorded of your music-making and then answering questions about the
use of recording technology in these clips. The remaining interviews will involve
answering questions about your musical background. You have the right to listen
to all of the interview audio files and request that all or any part of the files be
deleted. Each interview will be transcribed by the researcher and you will be
provided with copies for review upon your request. The interviews are strictly
confidential and there will be no identifying information connected to the interviews.
A pseudonym for your real name will be used for the transcripts; your real name will
not be used in any publications or presentations. Interview transcripts will be stored
on a password protected external hard drive that will be stored in a locked filing
cabinet in my office.

In total, participation in this study will require approximately 25 - 35 hours.

th
35 West 4 Street, Suite 777 | New York, New York 10003-7599
212 998 5424 | 212 995 4043 fax | www.steinhardt.nyu.edu/music

  351  
 There are no known risks associated with your participation in this research beyond
those of everyday life. Approximately 4 to 6 people will participate in this study.
Although you will receive no direct benefits, this research may help the investigator
understand how people make and record music in home studios.

Confidentiality of your research records will be strictly maintained by keeping all

completed forms in a locked cabinet only accessible to the investigator

Participation in this study is voluntary. You may refuse to participate or withdraw at

anytime without penalty. For interviews, questionnaires, or surveys, you have the right to
skip or not answer any questions you prefer not to answer.

If there is anything about the study or your participation that is unclear or that you do not
understand, if you have questions or wish to report a research-related problem, you may
contact Adam Bell at 212-998-5452, apb297@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New
York, NY 10012, or the faculty sponsor, David Elliott at (212) 998-5404,
david.elliott@nyu.edu, 35 W. 4th Street, Suite 777 New York, NY 10012.

For questions about your rights as a research participant, you may contact the University
Committee on Activities Involving Human Subjects, New York University, 665 Broadway,
Suite 804, New York, New York, 10012, at ask.humansubjects@nyu.edu or (212) 998-
4808.

You have received a copy of this consent document to keep.

Agreement to Participate

___________________________________________________
Subject's Signature & Date

  352  
 APPENDIX  G  

INTERVIEW  PROTOCOL  

Interview  One  

Introductory  Script:  

The purpose of my research is examine how people make and record music in home
studios. I am interested in this process and how someone such as yourself got
involved in this practice and learned how to do it. I would like to hear about your
experiences of making music in a home studio environment. The questions I will ask
will address your musical background and the process you engage in while
recording your music.

Your participation this interview is voluntary; you can choose not to answer any of
the questions and you may end at the interview at any time. Feel free to offer your
thoughts relevant to your experience as a home recording musician that are not
addressed by the interview.

There are no known risks associated with your participation in this interview beyond
those of everyday life. There are also no direct benefits; however, your participation
may help me learn more about home recording practices.

Do you have any questions before we begin?  

Questions:  

What  is  your  musical  background?  

When  did  you  first  start  recording  at  home?  

What  drew  you  to  the  practice  of  recording  at  home?  

What  instruments  do  you  play  on  your  recordings?  

How  would  you  describe  your  process  of  making  a  recording?  

What  technologies  do  you  use  to  make  a  recording?

  353  
  

Do  you  use  a  DAW  like  Pro  Tools  or  GarageBand?  Which  one?  How  do  you  

use  it?  

How  did  you  learn  to  use  recording  technology?  

Do  you  use  manuals  to  learn?  

Do  you  use  online  resources  to  learn?  

Do  you  process  the  sounds  your  record?  How?  

How  do  you  mix  a  song?  

 
Subsequent  Interviews  (Interviews  2-­‐4):  
 
What  did  you  record  since  we  last  talked?  
 
Can  you  describe  how  you  went  about  this  process?  
 
Did  you  refer  to  anyone  else  or  any  source  of  information  to  enable  you  to  
accomplish  this?  
 
What  technology  did  you  use  to  accomplish  this?  
 
Can  you  explain  the  path  a  sound  takes  from  its  source  to  being  recorded?  If  
so,  what  is  it?

  354  
 APPENDIX  H  
 
FIGURE  OF  ANALYSIS  PROCEDURE  
 

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4,/%+5#%6! ;%+';%*/#5%'!&,!/D%!+&2%!&>!+%*&+$#,.!/%*D,&2&.Q!#,!
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  355  
 APPENDIX  I    
 
UCAIHS  EXEMPTION  
 

University Committee on Activities Involving Human Subjects

665 Broadway, Suite 804
New York, NY 10012
Telephone: 212-998-4808
Fax: 212-995-4304
Internet: www.nyu.edu/ucaihs

MEMORANDUM

TO: David Elliott for Adam Bell

FROM: Alison Dewhurst, CIP

Human Research Compliance Director
University Committee on Activities
Involving Human Subjects

REVIEW
DATE: 12/19/2011

RE: IRB# 11-8741: Homemade Records: A Multiple Case Study of the Role
of Recording Technology in the Music-Making Processes of Informally
Trained Musicians

The above-referenced protocol has been determined to be exempt from the federal
policy as defined at 45 CFR 46 101(b) paragraph 2. No further review is necessary
unless modifications to the protocol related to human research subjects are proposed.
Your study will remain active for a three-year period after which time it will be placed in
the UCAIHS Offices’ deactivated files.

This determination was made with the understanding that the proposed research only
involves the following activities:

Research involving the use of educational tests (cognitive, diagnostic, aptitude,

achievement), survey procedures, interview procedures or observation of public behavior,
unless: (i) information obtained is recorded in such a manner that human subjects can be
identified, directly or through identifiers linked to the subjects;; and (ii) any disclosure of
the human subjects' responses outside the research could reasonably place the subjects at
risk of criminal or civil liability or be damaging to the subjects' financial standing,
employability, or reputation.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact the UCAIHS office at 212-998-
4808 or at ask.humansubjects@nyu.edu.

We wish you success with your research.

  356