Music Alone, Music Together, When the Music Does the Talking

Art by Elliot Skow

On the flip-side of Ziggy Stardust, under the track list and under the credits, reads the exhortation

TO BE PLAYED AT MAXIMUM VOLUME.

Does David Bowie want to ruin your hearing? No, this is music meant to be played live, in front of a large crowd, and it’s meant to be heard as a part of that crowd—so if, nevertheless, you’re going to spin it on vinyl in your lonely basement, playing it loud will at least facilitate imagining you’re in the pit below the stage, surrounded by, and one of, ten thousand fans with red lightning bolts painted on all their faces.

The old fuddy-duddies have always asked, about the kids these days, why they bother going to rock concerts. One hundred percent of the time, the performances of the songs are better on record. I’ve verified this myself by buying, listening to, and then throwing away every live album the Rolling Stones have released. Classical musicians practice hours a day for years on end to prepare their performances, and require hushed audiences who will not break their intense concentration: all in the service of making that performance perfect. None of this is approximated to even the smallest degree by rock stars or rock concerts. They’re not even trying. The natural and correct conclusion is that a performance that equals or betters the recording is neither what the band is trying for, nor what the audience expects. But neither is live rock like live jazz, which makes no attempt to re-create the record, or match some pre-determined ideal of the song: it’s about improvisation, the excitement of something unique every night. Unlike jazz, live rock is measured against a studio-recorded version regarded as standard, and always they fall short. This failure must be balanced by some other success.