I remember…
A pause in her voice while the other musicians on stage kept playing and she went “apparently I don’t remember”. She had missed the start to the 2nd verse of her song called Simulation Swarm. What I personally remember is sitting in the little stockroom of the conservatory for music of Cologne, I had just started working there and I was soldering stereo cables for microphones. A very repetitive and tedious task, which brought the quiet and peace I needed in a time where a lot was changing in my life. The job was new and exciting, the skills I needed for it were rusty, and the brain space available to polish them outside of work was non existent. I sat there at the bench, covered with cable scraps, a soldering iron, a loud fumes extractor that barely let any of the delicious smell of molten solder escape, a hum barely covered by the music I played through the little speaker that was there solely for the aural entertainment of anyone in my situation: stuck to a chair, hands too busy to scroll. Algorithms hadn’t forsaken me, they never do anymore. I had played a Radiohead song, and Spotify fed me what its algorithm calculated would retain my attention best in that moment. At some point it played the Simulation Swarm. I didn’t really know Big Thief, a friend of mine had once talked about them, and I had listened to a couple of songs once or twice after that, but that was about it.
It’s funny how the context of a song’s discovery potentially makes it stick more than the music or the lyrics. Or is it? I remember, building stereo cables in that room, and the repetitive picking on the guitar and soothing glissando of the bass embedding the song in my head for the days to come. I hadn’t caught the name of it, nor the artist, so eventually I had to play the same Radiohead song to hope Spotify would feed me the same songs again. And eventually it did, what a relief.
Shortly after that episode, my colleague running the recording studio asked me what music I listened to at the moment. There’s always some kind of pressure when someone whose musical taste you respect asks you what you like. I’m of the opinion that bad taste is a relative thing and that enjoying music is never something to be ashamed of – to the exception of music promoting hate maybe? In my head, I’m in a crusade against guilty pleasures. Either you enjoy something or you don’t, but there’s no need to self inflict the judgement of what you think is legitimate to enjoy. At least in theory. When I eventually replied to my colleague I said I listened to Big Thief a lot lately, with a short version of the story above. I played the song on the clinically precise sound system of the studio. A few seconds in, my colleague said it was nice to listen to easy things sometimes.
Musical preserves
Working in an institution training students for musical excellence has shaken my view on the practice a little. It sounds like I entered a parallel universe where pianists don’t just doodle the same pop song they learnt 5 years ago on their keyboard when they come home from work. At the conservatory, pianists are focused on their score, repeating the same Chopin Étude for the 10th time, delivering what I consider to be an amazing performance of a technically intricate piece, only to listen to the recording and scoff at it like it’s a piece of shit. I started playing the guitar when I was 9. And it’s always been a passion for me, but at the same time I never quite understood how, or never had the drive to go beyond what many call intermediate level. I kept telling myself that, one day, when the conditions are right, I would finally know how to learn songs by ear, and guess what key it is so I can improvise on it, play with good timing and vibe with other musicians… In a word: becoming more professional. Now that I get to witness daily how much work goes into the craft, I’m at peace with not being that good. Because, of course, to be that good, you need to invest the appropriate amount of work. Do I have the time to invest that amount of work? No. Is there anything I want to sacrifice in order to invest that amount of work? No. Then it’s okay. I’m aligned with what I can realistically expect of myself.
But then comes Big Thief. On the way to the concert hall, you could spot all the hipsters like me walking in the same direction. The concert hall was packed. For a medium/big city such as Cologne, filling a large concert hall is no small feat, which made it obvious that people really wanted to see Big Thief live. How did this band manage to get such a large following in this economy? It seems like what they chose was neither my amateurism, nor the pianist’s perfectionism. I wouldn’t say that what they do musically is easy in any way, neither in the technicality, nor in the delivery, nor in the song writing. Still it seems perfection is not something they are after. During the concert they decided to play a song they hadn’t played in 13 years because it had popped again in their head during their mic check and it felt good. We got to witness them stumbling for chords and lyrics. A glimpse into their rehearsal process, with hundreds of people watching patiently. That and a few improvised song endings with experimentation on lead guitar. The drummer taking over lead singing for one song where he almost sounded out of breath the whole time. And the big question on most of the audience’s mind: was that okay? While exiting the hall I overheard other people asking themselves this question. It was fun and all, but some of it was a bit random and messy, so was that okay when you pay upwards of 50€ a ticket? I can’t answer this for everyone, each can define what their expectations are. But before going further I want to make a detour and wonder why this question seems so natural.
Another thing I’ve realised by talking to musicians more often is: a key element to learning a musical skill is the feedback you get, how you receive it and what you make of it. It is hard to know how your performance was perceived from the inside, so a mentor, a trusted friend or anyone whose advice you would take becomes a very prized source of feedback. So people seeking your musical advice naturally becomes a source of ego boost, almost as strong as having your musical skills lauded. Regardless of the stability of your ego, the more you learn and develop your own taste, the more you’re able to give feedback too, creating a feedback loop I guess. This is a part of how you progress and forge your musical identity. It’s only based on my assumption and observation, but I believe it leads to a way of communicating in music that is very judgemental (and I don’t necessarily mean it in a negative way). We’re in this paradox where appreciation of music is so unique and personal, but at the same time, there is no progress in music without constantly expressing how music should be made. It seems to lead to a default reaction to a music piece being “what do I have to say about their skills”. I’ve heard guitarists – myself included – express their disdain on such and such bands, which can often feel like I wanted to put myself above it all, and show off how I had learnt the basics to even understand the concepts I was talking about – a classic case for the Dunning-Kruger effect. And that’s probably what I’m doing now with these blog posts to some extent. That is the annoying side of it, the self assertion that often lets your insecurities shine through. On the positive side, feedback is necessary for recordings, artists usually want an external opinion, students want trained ears, and constructive criticism is usually welcome… But should it be the end goal? Of course not, and that’s not even the point. Technical refinement is one of the many factors making an impression on an audience (and technique is not the only thing to give feedback on btw…) There is a reason why light, costumes, choreography, set design, audience work are almost always on stage with musicians. Adding them all up conveys something superior than the sum of all its parts.
Let’s talk Aura
I’ve reached an age where I can talk about “young people” without including myself. And it seems they use the term “Aura” a lot, to define how a person feels, or rather, how it feels to interact with them. Be it the way they carry themselves, speak, dress: the whole cocktail of presenting themselves. A lose equivalent to ethos in sociology. The Aura might have become popular because of its use under many different aliases in shonen mangas. In Dragon Ball there is Ki (air/breath), in Hunter X Hunter there is Nen (Thought / Mind Force), and Reiatsu (Spiritual Pressure) in Bleach, and I’m sure there are plenty of other examples in other series I haven’t followed. All basic elements for the expression of the powers that fighting characters can wield. They are usually depicted with whimsical flames evaporating from their body creating strong gusts of wind to convey how their aura has a physical impact on the world, while being an immaterial force contained within them.
But Goku isn’t the first one to think about the expression of his aura in the world. It turns out German philosopher Walter Benjamin talked about Aura in his essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” in 1935. It deals with the state of art and culture when faced with increased technical means of reproduction. He makes the point that authenticity is a condition for an art piece’s aura. “even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: Its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be” located. I find it quite beautiful that this definition works both for paintings and musical performances. It works for a musical performance being so perfectly rehearsed and reproduced they all become the same. It works for musical performances being recorded and rendered accessible at any time, thus losing some of their authenticity. That being said, this is no bullet proof theory. It is easy to find counter examples where reproduction is a necessary condition for a work of art to even exist i.e. novels. Sometimes reproduction is what makes the artwork even relevant, such as Andy Wahrol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans. One could also argue that capturing music for later reproduction is a form of art in itself, and names like Sir Georges Martin – most notably known for his work on producing the Beatles’ albums – are a testimony for this aura business.
That being said, I believe even if Benjamin’s essay is almost a century old, it still resonates a lot with how art and culture are experienced these days. What seems to be lacking in our lives is given away by some artifacts found is successful artists: Billie Eilish is whispering quite directly in your ears, provided you listen to Happier Than Ever on your earphones. You can also find videos of her crawling up on stage, overwhelmed by happiness when she’s sent to join her long time idol Justin Bieber. Sabrina Carpenter also uses breathy vocals in songs like Please Please Please, matched with the self irony in the lyrics to make fun of her denial, it creates closeness and a fairly down to earth combo. RAYE greets us with a couple of spoken words at the beginning of her first album “Hello, it’s Raye here”. When performing the same song live in front of a full fledged orchestra (the heritage orchestra) where some other artists might have played the solemn diva role, she starts the song with an excited “Are you fucking joking?? Let’s go oh my god!!!” and concludes her performance jumping up and down, giddy with excitement covering her mouth as if in disbelief.
A significant amount of what seems to work for those artists is their authenticity and proximity to their audience. It’s not a new thing, fans in the 90s most likely wanted to feel close to their favourite boys bands. But it was done differently, most likely by purchasing collectibles such as cards, stickers or posters. And the incentive to do so was not by making them necessarily relatable. If you watch a video clip from the Backstreet Boys you’ll know what I mean. Through sustained seductive and confident eye contact to the camera, the Backstreet Boys tailored their image more about how amazing they were, and less about how vulnerable, relatable and in some way, ordinary they were. Of course, this is all very gendered, and the way a woman or a man artist would display authenticity will be different, but the logic still applies: the Spice Girls would show off impressive moves like high kicks or backflips, and themes of independence from men and disruption in uptight spaces like in the clip of Wannabee where they disturb a fancy hotel in London.
The interesting part I found is the end of this clip: they all hop into a bus while the camera is left behind, the Spice Girls waving at us. I would assume that if the clip was produced today, the camera would follow them into the bus as to include the audience with their mischief.
All of these examples are mainly empirical impressions, and probably some kind of background chatter I’ve heard online or in other media. It’s hard to know if it is indeed a significant cultural trend because how do you quantify authenticity? Are you really authentic if you’re forcing yourself to act in a way that conveys authenticity? Or are artists who find it easy to display their authenticity more at an advantage nowadays? Let’s look briefly at technology before circling back.
The 90s carried some promises
First announced in the early 80s, CDs were described as a revolution, creating a reproduction so faithful the playback would bridge the gap between recording and reality. Or at least get rid of the imperfections inherent to analogue supports dominating the industry that were vinyls and tapes back then. It was fairly quickly widely adopted, and by the end of the 90s music was essentially sold on CDs. And I know Walter Benjamin would disapprove, but with the popularisation of home computers, people started copying CDs too, putting some of the possibilities of reproducing culture in the hands of consumers.
The decade also saw the rise of clear voices, not only in the production but also in the vocal technique. It moved to a relative prominence of voices that were no longer trying to impress by their special timber or technique, but either baby voices like Britney Spears or very neutral ones. The best example that comes to mind is Moi… Lolita by singer Alizée, a French song that came out in 2000 and became a soundtrack of a couple of my summers. I find it symptomatic for this time how transparent the vocal technique is on that record. If voices were a words container, it would be glass. So transparent and chemically neutral, it is never going to react to its content and will allow you to see right through it. As if a high fidelity of playback meant everything had to be crystal clear. I don’t believe this to have become a very significant trend, and it seems people soon missed a more prominent character, or at least that’s how I interpret the addition of an important ingredient to digital audio visual productions: the grain. Many sound engineers these days add effects on top of digital audio productions seeking a tape feel, even if it meant simulating it, in order to add some vintage warmth to the sound. Similarly in video, film grain can be added on top of digitally shot footage, in order to add this feeling of authenticity, which goes as far as adding VCR filters and reproducing its undesirable effects to recreate some nostalgia in 4K. This shows how far we’re willing to go in order to escape the sterility of a medium.
Let’s conclude this ramble
Back to Big Thief and that concert. Some of the more unusual things that I witnessed with the audience I knew were very unique and authentic. The frontwoman of the band actually made a speech about how she and the band see how to curate a setlist. She said they wanted to find a balance between playing songs that most people would like to hear, and at the same time doing something different every time to still find joy in novelty. Even the fact that she took a 5 minute break to ramble about how she viewed her art felt like an unscripted off topic moment – unscripted being one of the methods to display authenticity, and I promise this will be the last digression.
It seems to be quite en vogue at the moment, whether it’s in the improvised sections or stuttering in Rick and Morty that would normally be cut in an animated series, as animation has the potential to be the most “crafted from the ground up” type of audiovisual production. Similarly, the unscripted nature of podcasts like the Subway Takes seem to add to the authentic nature of the show, and might explain partially why it is so successful on social media. In case you’ve never seen it: it’s show where the host then kickstarts the episode with the signature question “so what’s your take?”, and the guest replies with a hot take (an unpopular or controversial opinion if you will) that they want to defend. Stars are sometimes invited and not introduced as big name guests, as if they were regular people you just stumble upon in public transport.
The host Kareem Rahma was interviewed in a Forbes podcast. There he talks about having hosted one episode with USA-presidency candidate Kamala Harris during her campaign. And that’s where you stumble upon contradictions: at the time, Harris was vice president, and you can’t be in a subway as a vice president. As far as I understand, there are national security policies that would prevent that. So Rahma told the story of how shortly before shooting the episode with Harris, there was a change of plan dropping the original take she was going to defend: I don’t like taking my shoes off in airplanes. Moving to: bacon is a spice. Kareem Rahma sees it as campaign research group trying to tailor a certain image of their candidate: one that is not snob who spends her life on airplanes, but eats bacon like regular people. The show ended up being embarrassingly bad and so they mutually agreed to call it off. He said it was a bad take, and contrasts it with his favourite kind of takes: the ones that people are passionate about. He also reported being able to tell when people are saying things just to be perceived a certain way, which he sometimes has unpick with his guests.
You have to come here and say something that is personal, and hopefully stupid, because that is funny
Kareem Rahma – Forbes Podcast 12/04/2025
So I guess his take would be: takes don’t need to be controversial or even interesting to the masses, so long as they’re genuine. And that might just be the concluding words to this blog post. Big Thief seemed to be authentic when they were on stage, and in a time where authenticity is an important factor to be appreciated as a musician making pop music, they’ve found themselves a tone that does them service. It seems to pair very well with the themes found in their lyrics: intimate stories about love and broken hearts. It even goes with their two first album artworks consisting of old family pictures taken on a disposable camera in everyday life. As for the classical musicians I work with, I believe the audience they usually play for cares more about the faithfulness to the score than how relatable musicians or conductors are. But that is a topic for another day.