Many would agree — music is about the live performance. It offers the ability to witness firsthand the genius of a musician. It presents a salient interaction between those creating the sounds and those appreciating them. It transforms the sometimes-stagnant sounds of the studio into something very real, very alive.
Unfortunately, I am not able to ring up the Roots at a moment’s notice when I would like to hear a rousing rendition of “Step into the Realm.” No room in my apartment is quite large enough for Ben Folds to play “Brick” on his piano. I will never be able to resurrect Cobain so that I might be provided with “About a Girl” in live format.
What would I do without the live album? Indeed, sitting in my apartment with Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged is not the same as standing in a sea of enthusiasts. Folds’ anecdote interrupting his Live version of “Brick” is not quite as poignant when heard in solitude through headphones. And shouting out in response to Black Thought’s call on The Roots Come Alive might leave my roommate and neighbors slightly concerned. Yet few albums are spun more in my stereo than those recorded live.
It is not a nostalgic factor. Contrary to the motives of my sister’s fiancé, I do not listen to these albums to incite memories of concert moments, when Pearl Jam opened at Alpine Valley during 2000 with “Of the Girl” or how the band members were heavily wrapped in scarves and sweaters to keep warm. Certainly these are great memories. Ones I will never have.
To be perfectly honest, many of the live albums I own are from bands I have never even seen perform. Musicians pass, members disband. Just because Miles Davis played before my time does not mean my generation should miss out on his brilliant live performances. And contemporary artists, save perhaps the likes of Dave Matthews, tour primarily in conjunction with an album release. With albums coming out less and less frequently, the live show becomes more of a myth than a memory.
Regardless of my witness to live performances, these records contain what are oftentimes the best recordings that artists put on the market. The version of “Nothingman” from Live on Two Legs simply sounds better than that found on Vitalogy. The roughness and rawness of “Black” far surpass the production on Ten.
In this light I cannot help but wonder, if music really is about the live performance, why are there such strict, unwritten rules regarding the production of such albums? When Erykah Badu released her Live record less than a year after her debut Baduizm, critics questioned the viable success. Many initially called it a detrimental move. It is arguably the best-sounding album she released to date. The different arrangement of numbers, the covering of songs by Chaka Khan and Roy Ayers, the interaction with the crowds demonstrate Badu as a true artistic force above and beyond that established on Baduizm.
Robert Randolph and the Family Band had it right when they debuted with Live at the Wetlands. With so many groups similarly characterized by their performance, it only seems to make sense that they would come on the scene with what had first established their fan base.
Where did the notion arise that only bands bound for Rock and Roll Hall of Fame recognition can put out live versions of their songs, though not before their achievement of success? Certainly, in this respect, the record provides a great way for novices to introduce themselves to a band in lieu of picking up a “Best Of.”
However, it also leaves innumerable musicians who have excellent stage sounds unable to share them with a wider audience. Most groups spend years traveling around, playing in small, smoky bars and obscure, sweaty venues. They earn their recognition from such performances.
Why not add a touch of production to live recordings? Instead, the industry encourages them to cram into tiny little studios to create generally overproduced sounds. Often bands lose a defining energy and auditory presence and are later rendered practically indistinguishable from any other band of that genre.
Admittedly, there are innumerable artists who simply should not be on stage, much less recorded without such heavy production. The possibility of a live Ludacris album makes me shudder. I will validate his rhymes, but not their sound when he is in front of me. Likewise, Britney Spears need not release a live record with her performance so focused on the visual.
When a live number does happen to make the album — this being as rare as the full-length live record — it often shows up in the form of an extra track. It is given the reverence of a treat, as if artists mean to say, “after all that, now you can hear just a little bit of our best.” Yet these tracks ought to be the norm — demonstrating the ability to play well live, to improvise, to make music a living, active creativity. It is indeed extraordinary to experience music live, which is why I cannot comprehend the absence of the same sounds on the market.
Certainly there are tradeoffs. Clean production is replaced with the possibility of a false note. Singing from the crowds may drown out the lead vocalist we would all rather hear. Yet these factors seem so frivolous when I can experience such an energy and reality through my stereo. An apology for tears from Lauryn Hill during MTV Unplugged, the music taking over Jimmy Page during a rendition of “Dazed and Confused” on the BBC Sessions. I do not need to pray for a reunion or wait in line to buy a ticket. There is no need to clear my schedule for a particular date and time or stand for hours on end in anticipation. I can hear Cobain for free any night I wish.
