“I realised I could make music”: Brian Eno’s favourite songs from the 1960s
Aside from his collaborations with huge names like David Bowie, U2, and Talking Heads, the broader impact of Brian Eno cannot be understated. A large aspect of his success can be attributed to his opinion on the new musical landscape, which he believes only thrives when it maintains heart and soul and doesn’t venture too hard into technological realms. In Eno’s world, music can only be great when it’s as human as possible.
A master at balancing electronic soundscapes with dreamy ambience, Eno’s relationship with technology is less decisive, though in a way that serves his sounds instead of restricting them or flooding in so heavily that it renders his original creative vision unrecognisable. This is what made him one of the most sought-after producers in the business—his ability to decipher not too much, but not too little.
His preference was best summed up when he delivered his plasticine analogy, saying: “Do you know when you were a kid and you had plasticine? It was all lovely colours and after about a week and a half it was all that kind of brown-y, purple colour? Well, I think that’s what digital technology does to music sometimes, and that’s not because of the sonic fact of it, it’s because you can endlessly keep working [on] something.”
However, with this also comes an ambiguous flow of push and pull, with sounds that sometimes feel synthetically crafted but rarely artificial. The main goal for much of Eno’s works and collaborations is the viscera of it all—which also reaches into the main characteristics of his own influences. Eno once shared his favourite records for an episode of Desert Island Disks, but extracting his favourites from the 1960s demonstrated his penchant for delicately balanced excellence that sounds like it emerged from somewhere outside of Earth.
One of his picks was Gene Chandler’s ‘Duke of Earl’, which had such a heavy impact on him growing up that it made him realise he could one day make music, too. A large aspect of its resonance, according to him, was the fact it sounded completely out of this world, as a result of Chandler’s ability to create rich sonic textures and atmospheres.
“[It] sounded to me like music from outer space when I first picked them up on my transistor radio late at night,” he said, discussing how ‘Duke of Earl’ emerged from a “group of songs that was a very big influence on me as a kid,” adding: “Listening to music like that I realised I could make music.” While one of his other ’60s favourites, The Velvet Underground’s ‘Sunday Morning’, might be a little more expected, his appreciation stems from a similar sense of boundary-pushing, as they emerged in defiance of the status quo.
“They were very, very contrary,” Eno explained, continuing, “This was a time when everyone was singing about flowers in their hair and The Velvet Underground came out with songs about ‘Heroin’ and ‘Waiting for The Man’. They were very tough. Urban. And I thought with some very good songs.” Eno’s other choice, Fairuz’s gorgeous 1966 opus ‘Ya Tayr’, also showcases his affinity for beautiful soundscapes adorned in simplicity, a stark contrast to the rebellion he detects in the Velvet Underground but similar in its ability to forge a lasting emotional connection.
Considering these crucial ’60s tracks, it’s clear that Eno opposes anything that leans too far into playing it safe, which often veils music in a certain disingenuousness, like a transparent, soulless façade. In his view, the temptation of many musicians is to smoothen music and remove anything that makes it interesting, but these tracks embrace their own authenticity, even in their most simplistic forms.
