What I learned from 36 takes

I love songwriting.

I love the challenge of bringing music and lyrics together.

But if I’m being honest, I also find this relentless task frustrating - because there is a part of me that knows some of my musical ideas just want to exist as instrumental compositions - without feeling my disappointed gaze upon them as I continue to look for lyrical play mates.

And this is a truth I have recently arrived at: a percentage of all new ideas most effectively come to life as instrumental compositions - complete and beautiful in their entanglement of harmony, melody and rhythm. No words.

This comes as a huge relief.

It means I can stop pushing these ideas into a form they don’t want to be in.

It means I can find a way forward with these ideas that doesn’t feel inadequate or dissatisfying.

And so I am setting off on a journey, to bring these musical ideas to life and celebrate the idea that some songs don’t need words.

But wait… there’s more.

As an extra challenge, I wanted to explore the concept of one-take recording.

Why? Because modern recording technology allows us to easily stop and start the process - to stitch together the best bits - to lay down a composition one section, one bar or even one note at a time.

So I was thinking, what if I spent time really getting to know the composition from start to finish - as if I were preparing to play it live.

And this is the result, a one-take version of my new instrumental, yet to be named and still a new-born - but what I really want to talk about is what happened during the process of capturing this piece from start to finish.

Once I set myself the challenge of recording this piece in one take, it was just a matter of getting comfortable with the arrangement, setting up the mics (and camera) then pressing record.

Of course, what actually happened is that nasty little perfectionist who resides in my brain came out to see what what going on - and he had a lot to say about the little ‘mistakes’ I was making at various points in the process.

Which is how I ended up recording 36 takes.

And now let me tell you what I really learnt!

1. You get to really know the composition

Whenever we’re recording a new song, we often assume that means the song is done, finished, ready to lay down and share with the world. We also assume we know the ins and outs of the song - how it flows between sections - how it lifts dynamically in the chorus and drops back in the verse - how each tiny little tempo change is creating the push and pull necessary to keep listeners engaged.

What I learnt is that most of those assumptions never get tested when we have the luxury of recording the song as a compilation of different takes. When we start and stop, building the track one layer at a time, we learn a lot about the production process, but we often miss some truths about the arrangement and how it flows (or doesn’t)

I can honestly say that I have never felt more inside a composition than I was during this one-take experiment. As my take count got into double figures, I found myself becoming sensitive to details that I otherwise would have missed - details that I agonised over, reflected on, then found a way to execute to a satisfactory standard.

2. The transitions are everything

Each section in a song offers a different energy, along with a contrasting set of elements. Thats how the listener knows we’re in a different section - it simply sounds different. This can be subtle or it can be in-your-face, but whatever the nature of the transition, there is no denying that moving between sections signals a change - and that moment of change is often the moment that we stop recording.

For a lot of recorded music, the mindset is, ‘lets get to the end of the section’

This is a great way to record. It is highly efficient. It allows us to pause and reflect. It allows the singer and instrumentalists to conserve energy and not become fatigued.

But it obliterates any true assessment of the transitions.

Forcing myself to do this piece in one take also forced me to be incredibly mindful of each transition - because each transition carried with it the danger of missing a chord or losing the groove. There is a sense of comfort when you’re in the middle of a section - you almost settle into the feel of a verse or a chorus - and it’s the transitions that can catch you off guard.

I believe it is possible to write an incredible verse section and an incredible chorus section that when put together results in an average song - the same way a film can offer a series of remarkably entertaining scenes that somehow don’t feel cohesive and create a jarring experience.

When we listen to music, we hear it as a flowing stream of sensory information.

When we play and record our music the same way - the way it will ultimately be heard - it gives us a greater appreciation of the composition as a whole, not as an assembly of parts. We see and feel the transitions as an integral part of the composition, not the moment to stop recording and have a break.

3. My musicianship got tested (and elevated)

I will admit, by the time I got to take 30 I was thinking, ‘Is this beyond me?’ Am I even capable of playing this thing all the way through?’

Because at that point, I’d really gotten comfortable playing all the sections and working through all the transitions. I’d also identified the trickiest bits - the bits where I kept getting stuck or buzzing one of the strings or not shifting to a chord cleanly. And that process in itself required some deep analysis.

The first 5 times I played through the piece, I used a set of moves that I thought would work. But as I kept going, I started to see that there were perhaps some different inversions and chord forms on offer. Through repetition I identified the chance to use open strings and take different approaches when considering which fingers should be fretted certain notes.

If I was doing it in layers, none of this would have mattered. I could have skipped through any tricky moments knowing I could go back and overdub them later.

Instead, I had made a deal with myself that was now pushing me technically and psychologically.

On some takes I was flying, clean and clear right up until the last passage, where I could clearly see the finish line in sight. At those moments I usually stumbled, hit a wrong note or messed up the picking pattern and that was it - back to the start.

Being able to play the piece physically wasn’t too difficult. It was the ability to focus that was the real challenge - to concentrate (but not too hard, or else the whole thing felt too stiff and awkward) and finding just the right balance of relaxation and focus.

In short, I was playing mind games with myself I never knew existed.

4. It’s all about the notes

Writing instrumental music is, in many ways, the most pure form of composition. Without the need to consider lyrics or the long pensive sessions worrying about a theme, you are left with a clear objective - to bring melody, harmony and rhythm together in the most pleasing ways possible.

On piano, this can be done with both hands working independently - the left hand covering the harmony, the right hand outlining the melody with sometimes several octaves of separation between the two.

But the guitar is different. It is limited by comparison. And so the effort of bringing melody and harmony together requires some creative problem solving and perhaps a little research into alternate tunings.

To get the sound I was after, I used a low tuning that was once popular with Joni Mitchell and Nick Drake.

The tuning (from low to high) was C - G - C - F - C - D

And it was this tuning that gave me access to the combinations of melody and harmony that I was seeking. And as someone who has playing guitar in standard tuning since they were 7 years old, looking at the fretboard in a different tuning changes everything.

Muscle memory can’t be trusted. All the usual suspects with regards to chord shapes and picking patterns have to be interrogated and carefully considered.

For me, this particular tuning is unfamiliar - and so like any new relationship, we spent some time getting to know each other. And what resulted was an honest relationship built on a shared objective: to bring this single composition to life.

I couldn’t lean on old familiar ways. Instead, I was chasing the sound of a melody and finding a way to give it loving support with some carefully chosen chords.

And when I leant into this vulnerable state - it felt wonderful! Not only to be free from the burden of worrying about lyrics and their literal meaning - but because I was now totally focused on saying something musical - something honest and heartfelt - that didn’t need to be translated, only interpreted.

5. I’m ready to play it live

Recording a piece doesn’t mean it can automatically be played live. In fact quite often the opposite is true. It is possible to create a sonic artifact with richness and depth but so many moving parts that it cannot possibly be recreated on stage.

And for many songwriters, this is not a concern.

My own music making covers a variety of genres and objectives and yes, there are certain projects where I lean into certain production techniques knowing I have no chance of recreating a live version.

But with this particular project, there is something lovely and comforting in the thought that, if necessary, I can play this piece live on stage with little more than a warm up and some fresh strings.

At a time when technology is increasingly becoming part of our workflows, knowing I need nothing but a vaguely in-tune guitar feels good - it feels necessary. Most importantly, it feels creatively challenging and that more than anything is what keeps me interested in songwriting.

Thanks for listening.

Happy songwriting!

Benny