When I was a youngster, one of my first experiences of working on a collaboration with other artists came at university. The lecturer assigned us groups of what I suppose he thought was equal weighting in terms of skill selection. I remember only one person who was assigned to my group that day; a much older student who was twice my age and identified as a "producer". I really didn't know what he meant by this but I soon came to learn it was his misused, glorified label for a DJ. He always carried a laptop on him, although I only ever saw it used for taking notes on Microsoft Word or playing the occasional CD, and he played no instruments or had any knowledge of Pro Tools, Logic, Sibelius, etc. Our task was simple; we were to work on writing a piece of music together, that fitted some shaky guidelines our lecturer had set.
I was really into using Cubase (the digital audio workstation, for those of you who aren't techies) at the time; I found it quick and easy and the piano sound was realistic enough for me to scam my way through composition assignments. So, the group and I decided the quickest way to get the job done would be to throw together some drum loops for this "producer" to run some "beats" over the top.
The following week, disc in hand, I turned up for class and Mr Producer popped my Cubase export into his infamous laptop. I expected him to at least just give it a listen and then maybe start with the beat-running-over-the-topping - but no. As the other members of the group gathered round (contributing nothing, by the way) he began to mock the track.
"OMG, the drums are flat! Listen to this, those drums are well flat!" His face twisted into a grimace as he tried to show how terribly out of tune these drums- these drums created using a software program set to perfect pitch with not a single live instrument in use - sounded.
"Urgh, listen to that!" He continued, gesturing for the rest of the group to get involved. One by one, they began exchanging looks with each other and nodding. He'd won them all over.
He'd won me over. Much older, much more dominant and much louder than me, I didn't dare question him. The logical part of me was sure it was impossible for this standardised electronic signal to be out of tune. The experienced musician in me knew that a drum kit was not an instrument that required 'tuning' in the conventional sense of the word, but more of a toning process through tightening heads. The band-mate in me was scanning back through images of drum keys and socket wrenches, but failed to find a memory of a tuner or any kind of pitch-measuring device.
But there it was; the smothering feeling of doubt and the constant questioning that popped up every five minutes like a boner in a strip club. Assuming there must be something I just didn't understand, I took back my disc, melted into the peripheries with the onlookers of the group, and let Mr Producer submit his beat track as our collaborative assignment; for which we all scored abysmal marks.It wasn't until a few years later, when the b*llshit in the music arena finally wore too thin, that I was able to see the truth. I was backstage at a music festival in Australia on a day so hot I could see a bushfire in the distance and was checking my tuning in case my bass strings had expanded in the heat. At this point, another Mr Producer type walked over to me and stated loudly on front of the entire crew that I was doing it wrong. "Don't bother tuning that thing," he said. "It's too hot, you'll go flat. Just open it up." I couldn't figure out what he meant so I said nothing and just looked at him, confused. "It's got something in it, it's called a truss rod," he continued, speaking slower this time. "You'll need to give that a couple of turns".
I thought he was joking and laughed while he stared at me blankly. "Seriously, adjust that thing. I give mine a few turns every time I play it". And with that, he walked off. We can discuss what's wrong with this entire example another time, if need be, but it served a purpose for me. What he said was absolute crap and I knew it. But still, that familiar feeling washed over me and for a split second, my brain went on auto pilot as I felt my hands go to turn the bass over and see what kind of Allen key would take the truss rod cover off.
And at that moment, the foot came crashing down! I just couldn't do it to myself anymore...
Like hell was that a good suggestion! Like hell had I been tuning my bass wrong after nearly thirteen years of playing! Like hell was I supposed to adjust the neck before every time I played my bass since the day I started! And like hell was that drum track flat!
You may or may not have your own moment when you just snap and can't take any more of it. I'm happy I had mine, but wish it had come sooner. After years of second-guessing myself, some of the theories I've entertained have been ridiculous. A particular peach came from another former classmate of mine who had me believing that if I took a guitar on an aeroplane, the air pressure changing in the cabin would snap the guitar neck in half (???????????)
Ultimately, all these silly little things people have had me believing over the years have been counter-productive. There comes a time when you have to accept that you may not know everything, you may not get it right 100% of the time, but that if you've worked hard and earned your stripes chances are you do know your stuff and can stay grounded on that. Hold that ground, you're going to need it in this business for sure.
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