Live Music Recorded

The Apparent Beauty of the Live Recording

My favorite part of any old live country music album is the band introductions. The jokes, the loving banter and the snark make the recording come alive. It allows the crowd to become another instrument and production element.

On the 1966 Buck Owens and His Buckeroos Live at Carnegie Hall, Owens delivers line after line, ripping on his bandmates, saving the most caustic introduction for his best friend and co-leader of the outfit, Don Rich.

On Okie from Muskogee (Live From Muskogee, Oklahoma) from 1969, Merle Haggard’s introductions takes a similar route, poking fun at the band and laughing with the audance (often at himself). But the conversation with the mayor when he’s presented with the key to the city and named an honorary Okie takes this collection of songs and makes it a historical artifact.

These introductions tend to have a similar structure:

“And on bass, hailing from country music Mecca, Los Angeles, California, Mob Boore.”

“Over on lead guitar, he calls the road his home and his wife doesn’t call him at all, Mady Grartin.”

“Saving the worst for last. He’s from the great state of despair, Huddy Barmon.”

In person, these introductions are just part of the show, but on the recording — the repackaged, reproduction of the event — they are an illusion of personal connection and really experiencing it. Even if it took place over half a century ago.

I own both of the albums listed above, along with a copy of a few other live albums by Owens. Nearly every voice on those vinyl discs belongs to a dead man. Yet when I put them on, the recording comes alive.

Recently, Sean Burns of the Boots & Saddle Show put together a live recording show, and it felt very different than a normal radio show but still it was a collection of songs.

The full albums feel complete efforts to connect with something singular. Something that I could share with someone who was there, but not really.

Of course, I’m going to reference Walter Benjamin again. The idea that we can get the same thing from the reproduction is false. Part of the art is lost in the reproduction — the manufactured authentic experience that feels just a bit more like the real thing.

Live music must be enjoyed live. Friendship must be fostered through real interactions. Dancing needs a floor and a partner. A painting must be seen. A poem must be read. The idea that we can recreate real experience by reproducing things and events is false. It’s the illusion of the crowd, not the crowd itself.

Go out and see some live music this weekend and keep those records in your collection.