Volume addict in a shared space

An addictive personality can play havoc with your ability to enjoy the finer things.

I have been blasting my ears out with music through headphones since I was 12. It certainly can’t have been because the quality of the sound from those experiences, can it? Of course not. I had a collection of GE boomboxes and personal stereos (not sure I can call it a Walkman if it’s not from Sony) that could never be mistaken for anything with the Bose name on it.

And as I’ve detailed previously, I have always left the volume knob as high as my personal shame and space would allow. “Eyes Without a Face” – including Steve Stevens’ ridiculously undervalued solo – was much better at 10 than at 4. “Murder by Numbers” seems more forcefully jocular – and less forced – at full volume. Somehow it even enhanced some of my awful choices, such as the Styx live double album Caught in the Act and the album-specific (i.e., not released as singles) tracks on Yes’ 90125.

I recognized even then that the quality of the sound wasn’t necessarily what I was in it for in a number of cases. Sure, the music, the hooks, those pieces were maybe what got me to go for repeated listens, but if I wanted the full experience, it needed to be loud – even if that meant the straining of the available resources. Even if that meant that I heard constant buzzing from my headphones because the speakers simply weren’t built for that task. I mean, let’s face it, no headphone speakers are built to run on full volume all the time. They will, eventually, blow. But I simply don’t care. That will be just another feature of the music, and I will appreciate it all the more because of that feature.

The two shows I remember above all others were the two loudest shows I saw – Mudhoney during college, Barkmarket just afterwards. I am not saying they were the best live shows I ever saw; I am simply saying that the volume makes me remember them (including the lovely floral print sun dress Mark Arm donned at the end of the Mudhoney show) more because that’s what rules my particular musical universe. When music gets to that disorienting volume level, it feels almost as if everything is shifting under me. Plate tectonics may not interest you as an effect of music listening, but it is captivating for me.

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When it’s just me involved, this situation isn’t particularly complicated. But it can’t be just me all the time, nor do I want it to be thus.

I have been playing in bands for 15 years, some louder than others. And no matter the band, there have always been and continue to be issues involving volume – the overall volume of the band, the volume vis a vis space available, the volume during practice, the balance from member to member. When you share the musical space with others, you really have to share the space. And it’s something I’ve not yet come to terms with at all. But I may be starting to understand just a bit.

Volume issues seemed less significant when I was in a pop-punk outfit. We were gunka-gunka-gunka pretty much all the time, with the occasional slower but rarely quieter tune. We did strain to be heard above each other, especially when equipment got out of sync and our guitarist’s Peavey Rage was up against my combo amp with the 15-inch speaker. And I know we had discussions about it. But in terms of volume discussions I’ve had since, it was a fairly minor thing. The music wasn’t quite as subtle. No, what I think I’m mostly on about is in more recent bands, where volume was a bit more variable and required careful calibration – at least in the minds of others.

My previous band, Bullyclub, probably spent the most time of any of my bands on the process of getting sound just right (to the extent possible) at every show. We always seemed to have a friend or a band member taking on the tiresome task of listening carefully to whatever sound check we could get (we didn’t always get one) and helping everyone understand where they were in the mix, who needed to come up, who needed to back down. I always needed to back down, it seemed.

But beyond my personal issues with always having to turn down, I never felt quite the same when we had to bring down bass or even guitar to get the mix right. Something felt like it was missing. People would tell us we sounded great because they could hear everyone, including our singer and his lyrics, and yet it would feel oddly unsatisfying.

It was always the songs that were a little louder both in practice and at shows that landed better. They often did have a sloppy edge to them, and I know that those who advocate for that well-balanced sound say that this is because everyone in the band can’t hear anyone else – as if that sloppy edge were actually undesirable. Me, I’d rather have the slop than an impeccably clean, decipherable, and ultimately dull sound.

It’s the same in practice. Because every practice is an opportunity to figure out how ready you are for the next show or recording session, I always find that bandmates look around at each other after each completed song in an attempt to assess that performance, that moment in time. Did we nail it? Did we flop? And there’s always a snap judgment to be had.

And again I often find my snap judgment to be somewhat at odds with what others think. While others may shake their heads at what they consider a less-than-tight performance, I’m usually feeling like a good dose of volume and the energy it provides can make up for any timing shortcomings. I am primarily concerned that we put everything into it. I’m not sure I put everything into my subtler, less-than-full-volume practice or live show performances. So perhaps it is just my own dissatisfaction I’m feeling. But when it’s done, I’d rather have had that hot, messy performance than the refined and carefully practiced one. So I say “that was great” and I get a lot of quizzical looks. And then we play the next song, ready to make the next snap judgment.

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With my most recent band, I have run into the same issue. There seem to have been more times with isobell than with any other band where we have completed a song in a show or at practice and I’ve said “great!” and gotten stony faces or quiet disagreement. And I think there is something of a volume issue – everyone wants to be heard and sometimes the big bad bass player does get a little too far into it and humbucks everyone out of the way, in combination with the usual co-conspirator the drummer.

Other band members, especially our singer (who is concerned about her voice), talk regularly about being drowned out and ask for a little deference volume-wise. I don’t want anyone to feel they can’t hear themselves or any other part of the band because of what I’m doing, so I always oblige. However, it leaves me wondering how I can continue to seek those loud, sloppy edges if we are to be so very respectful of each other so as not to drown each other out even a little bit.

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I suppose this is the flip side of the Josh who likes to point out specific points within songs and single them out for brilliant construction. Whereas that Josh might be compelled to pull at every string in the arrangement and have them all stand out, this Josh likes to have things become maybe a little less clear during performance and even practice in order to raise the spontaneous creative energy of the room. This lack of clarity often plays itself out in loudness, though I can say that I’ve not had a practice or a show where I felt we were entirely too loud.

Yet this morning, our band had a practice in our guitarist’s living room. This practice was quiet, mellow, and peaceful. It was also very much to my liking. And that was confusing to me. It was everyone putting everything they had into a much smaller space and looking for – and finding – their niches. It was about the continued welcoming of new members to the band. But beyond that, I couldn’t tell you what it was about.

What I can tell you is that there were moments where I felt I was swimming in similar ways to how I feel when the volume is “right” (i.e., cranked). I felt swept up in those moments, and even though after one of those moments, our guitarist pointed out parts he hadn’t played 100% well, I still felt we had achieved a sort of swaying motion, a startling clarity and musical character that we hadn’t achieved for a while. Is it the right personnel? Is it the song we were playing at the time?

The band – specifically the singer, who no doubt needs to hear herself – for the most part felt it was about volume. They felt that if the volume were right, if everyone could hear each other, that energy that I’m looking for would form organically. I’m not sure about that, or at least not sure that volume alone is the key./

But I guess, having had this experience, I’m willing to listen. Because after all, I’m always looking for that right combination that’s going to make me feel really good about every practice, the combination that we are playing songs well and tightly enough to please an audience. Should volume really matter to that? Intellectually, I could say no, but experientially, I’d say it does matter. And yet it seems that I might yet be proved wrong after this great practice.

I’m still not sure that the practice’s good energy was a function of it being the opposite of loud. But I’m willing to have that conversation with the band. Because whatever it was, it felt like we were a band again. And that’s something even a volume addict like me would be willing to turn down for, if necessary.

Of course, that remains an “if…”

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Here are two bonus links, both of which remain better at higher volumes:

I have to say I was skeptical of the potential value of this song’s remaster. But I can hear exactly what fucked-up parts each member of Mudhoney is playing throughout, and I find that has enhanced my listening experience. Isn’t that odd? I guess a part of the key here is that this song was recorded on the nastiest possible equipment – really, you’re never going to get a true quality recording out of this song. You’re just going to get a clearer or dingier Mudhoney. At least with the cleaner version, you can hear the dingy component parts much better. Especially at high volume, which is something I won’t compromise here.

At first blush, this probably isn’t the first song you’d feel the need to blast in order to get the full effect. But if you’re looking for the parts that show the passion seemingly missing from the typical Grizzly Bear recording, all you have to do is wait for the distorted Wurlitzer piano to hit your ear at the 3:01 mark on this creepy, creepy video. It gives you the buzzsaw edge you will always be glad you found but never knew you were looking for. My current air instrument fantasy is sitting at the coffee table, pounding along at the Wurlitzer and hitting all the correct high notes. I want to have that much fun. I really do.