You can exist too much: why live albums are losing their edge in the 21st century
1986. A cold night in London sees punters bundle together in a room where Spacemen 3 are set to perform for one of the very first times. The advert was coded and mysterious, a poster simply reading, “Spaceman, are your dreams three sizes too big?” The invite saw a crowd of people bound together in a moment that can now be looked back upon as otherworldly.
Someone in the crowd recorded the concert that evening, which can be listened to as part of an album called Dreamweapon. One of the band members, J Spaceman (real name Jason Pierce), was once asked about this record, and he said it was one of his favourites because it existed “by the skin of its teeth”. During an interview with Far Out, I asked him to elaborate further on this, and he explained that he loved the album because it is such an accurate representation of that moment. Not just the music being played but of the room, the people who occupy it and the quality of recording techniques available.
“So much music is like that. Most of what’s considered the start of rock ‘n’ roll and the whole recorded history of Western music is just somebody with an interest in recording folk music,” he said. “Like all of the early Muddy Water’s recordings, all of it, it relied on somebody’s love of the medium of recording, more so than the music itself… It’s the randomness that allows it, almost outside of the commercial realm of music, where people are making records specifically to make money.”
There is something about the live experience that is tough to put into words. A gig is so much more than the music being played; it’s about the room, the price of a drink, the cold beer on your lips and the hot atmosphere in the air. It’s the people talking too loud next to you, the tension in the air, the notes played wrong, beats missed, and bad smells. A gig is a mosaic of nonsense, and it’s impossible to capture that beauty in a recording alone, but the way we try to do it in the modern age is completely misguided.
“I was talking to someone about music last night and this idea of songs, the great songs, and how they exist outside of themselves… I disagree,” admitted Pierce. “Otherwise, every cover version would be fantastic, every cover version would be the greatest thing you’ve ever heard, if the song itself was that good, but that’s not the case. I think with all great music, it’s the intention behind it. I can’t explain. I guess it’s the way you hit the string, the way you push your voice, the background behind it, and I think that’s what makes great music.”
When you listen to live albums released decades ago, they aren’t as good in quality as those you can listen to now, but that’s a positive. It feels like a moment in time, one represented not just by the music that’s been played but by the quality of the recording. The imperfections of a live album are what make them so perfect. They will never truly capture the essence of a gig, but when they let the imperfections of an evening in a venue spill into the sound of the LP, it makes for a unique listening experience.
The concept of music that barely exists is what should be kept at the forefront of people’s minds when recording live music. It needs to be on the brink of existence, as when that happens, it is the perfect reflection of the moment that it captures, regardless of whether it is captured well or not. Modern live albums lose their edge because they exist too much, insisting upon themselves in the process.
The result is that live albums are too polished. They undergo a very vigorous polishing process, more so than studio records. The imperfections that make a gig special are glossed over rather than embraced, and the result is that what you get is a subdued version of a studio album.
If you take Arctic Monkeys Live at the Royal Albert Hall album as an example, there is no doubt that the songs sound good, and the recording quality is excellent. However, it’s those two aspects that are removed from the live experience. What you end up listening to are slightly worse renditions of Arctic Monkeys songs; they could never be as good as the studio recordings and don’t reflect the magic of being at the gig because they’re trying too hard to be as good as the studio recordings.
Gigs aren’t perfect, so live albums shouldn’t be either. If people consciously polish a live album and iron out its imperfections, they are essentially nullifying the things that make such an experience. We should lean back into previous recording techniques and let the sound picked up in the moment be the sound that others hear, regardless of how poor that could potentially be. Live albums should barely exist, but in the modern age, they exist too much.
