Recording music in a studio is a fascinating and stressful experience.
Having released eleven albums in my career, it’s funny how every time studio day comes, the butterflies still get into formation.
Scientifically, it’s because of the observer effect. It states that the act of observation has an effect on the thing being observed.
Ask any professional recording artist. When every move you make is put on wax, it introduces a level of pressure far greater than simply jamming with friends or performing live. Not to mention, studio time is expensive.
But the other component of the fascination and stress comes from something more spiritual.
Because when you’re standing there alone and naked, bearing your soul in front of a microphone, you have to trust so many things.
You have to trust your brain to remember the music and lyrics that you composed two years ago.
You have to trust your fingers to hit the strings at just the right time.
You have to trust your instrument to allow the songs to emerge in the most meaningful way.
You have to trust your equipment to capture the performance in the most efficient way.
You have to trust your spontaneous instinctual abilities to adjust songs on the fly.
You have to trust your recording engineer to tell you when your pitch or rhythm has veered off the runway.
You have to trust your ears during playback that you’ll be satisfied with the take and not stuck in a state of artistic indecisiveness.
You have to trust your heart that perfection doesn’t exist, you’re doing the best you can, and the album is going to come out great no matter what.
No wonder it’s so exhausting.
But that’s the beauty of the experience. It’s a profound exercise in trust.
And since most artists only go into the studio every few years, whenever that moment comes, it’s always worth it.
P.S. My new album, Altars of Enough, is out! Enjoy.