Ethics, Acoustics and the Ting Tings
There are two things you will notice immediately about the Brit pop duo, the Ting Tings: one, their innate ability to craft infectious songs and two, their huge, layered sound - keeping in mind they are just two people.
To quantify the aesthetics of the band, think of the White Stripes, only in this case, She plays guitar and He plays drums and, no offense to the female components of their respective bands, the guys remain the true virtuosos.
But, whereas The White Stripes embody the world's perfect garage band, The Ting Tings have a much deeper, yet inexact, sonic footprint. The White Stripes don't pretend to be anything more than they are - a drummer and a guitarist simply making some big noise. The Ting Tings, on the other hand, are another in a long line of bands whose true sound remains
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Ethics, Acoustics and the Ting Tings
There are two things you will notice immediately about the Brit pop duo, the Ting Tings: one, their innate ability to craft infectious songs and two, their huge, layered sound - keeping in mind they are just two people.
To quantify the aesthetics of the band, think of the White Stripes, only in this case, She plays guitar and He plays drums and, no offense to the female components of their respective bands, the guys remain the true virtuosos.
But, whereas The White Stripes embody the world's perfect garage band, The Ting Tings have a much deeper, yet inexact, sonic footprint. The White Stripes don't pretend to be anything more than they are - a drummer and a guitarist simply making some big noise. The Ting Tings, on the other hand, are another in a long line of bands whose true sound remains somewhat of a mystery.
I had an opportunity to try and solve this mystery when I saw them at a club in Toronto recently. Watching a band perform live, and seeing that transformation from imagined to real, is the ultimate aural test. Studios can make the average seem phenomenal but a stage can't lie.
The Ting Tings' music is essentially simple, yet addictive pop/dance grooves. They are carried by drummer Jules de Martino's funkified, frenetic pacing and Katie White's simple guitar riffs and percussive adornments. They are drums and a guitar; Blondie and Gwen Stefani pureed in a blender. They are more, or less, as advertised.
But there's something else about them that hits you, piquing your interest: it's those extra little add-ons, underlying rhythms and acoustic garnishes that makes their sound into their sound. Beyond the pair's dynamic and obvious musical ability is the same curious thing that's bothered me for as long as I've been seeing acts perform in concert, and that's the sincerity of the sound.
I'm not too naive to not appreciate the requisite audio production that goes into even the most basic of live shows. I "get" sampling and dubs and backing vocals and I understand the need to replicate a certain studio quality to an audience but, at what point, does what you're hearing betray what you're seeing? I watch Jules ramming away on the drums and I'm seeing Katie doing her guitar and bass drum thing but I'm hearing loops and keyboards and basslines that belies the obvious. I'm, quite perceptibly, hearing more than I'm seeing.
This notion isn't new. Bands have been sampling for as long as there's been electronics to allow for such dalliances. And I'm not questioning the Ting Tings' obvious music abilities, nor do I feel there's anything nefarious or disingenuous at work here. It's just that there comes a point when it goes from the sensation of seeing a band "perform" live to a situation where I'm simply sharing the experience of both real, and recorded audio input with others that only collectively becomes the music we think we hear.
The concept of "real" music - that which is performed genuinely in front of an audience - is, by definition, very muddled these days. We've become so accustomed to the music created in-studio that we expect that very same sound whenever and wherever we hear it. A drummer and a guitar player simply don't have enough hands between them to accompany themselves on keyboards, or to add their own backing vocals. This isn't a condemnation of an act but the reality created by a finite number of musicians and their subsequent limbs.
So is it so wrong to utilize the technology?
Recording studios have had a love/hate relationship with both the public and with the musicians themselves. Countless acts have been shredded by their utter inability to perform live. Pious musical observers think nothing of chastising someone like Britney Spears for her recorded audio tracks and her meticulously-choreographed (faked) shows but see no harm in a band like U2 being accompanied by a string section even though there isn't a violin in the building. This isn't to say you can equate Spears with U2 (or any other person willing to both hold and play an instrument) but their collective indiscretions all end up becoming aural crimes, the only thing left to be determined is whether it's tantamount to a felony or misdemeanour.
Think about the slippery slope created by the inability, or the lack of desire, to know where this line is. Who doesn't admire "bands" like Maps who are virtual one-man recording studios, able to meld together all of his music talent to create a sound more reminiscent of an orchestra than of a talented guy in his basement? The question becomes not, can this guy play but can this guy play live? That answer, is the million dollar question.
So, ultimately, does this phenomenon critically ruin my listening experience? In a purely aural sense, no. The music sounds like it should sound and there's a comfortable familiarity in what I'm hearing. It is, for the most part, as advertised.
The dilemma comes in connecting what we hear with what we see. I know the physical limits of even the grandest of musicians and I know there's a point where talent is being carried, or at least accentuated, by a reliance on technology. Having your own backing vocals, while tasty in actuality, is less attractive the more you stare at it. The more you question the machinery, the more you end up questioning the talent. If this sounds melodramatic, think of it this way: carried to the nth degree, with tracks and dubs stacked immeasurably and to infinite sonic levels, we all end up standing around - in concert - listening to recorded audio. And listening to digitally-mastered tracks in tidy little packages is called radio; and I don't go to shows to listen to the radio.
