The mystery of capturing electric guitar tone…

After having recorded myself and other electric guitarists for around 3 decades, I’ve firmly arrived at the conclusion that many electric guitarists don’t really start out with a very good idea of what their tone actually sounds like.

How could that be? one might ask. I know I asked myself that a lot at one point.

Part of the answer lies in the fact that our psychoacoustic systems (ears and brain) are not designed for objective sound texture analysis — they’re designed as personal space mapping, danger-sensing systems. And that has really pervasive — if not immediately easy to grasp — significance to recordists.

Here’s an example: walk through a room with a small radio playing a long song.

Does the sound change?

Of course, not, unless someone tinkers with the volume or the actual content changes, right?

Well, close your eyes and try the experiment again, really concentrating just on the sound of the radio as someone leads you blind through the room.

You’ll note that the sound does change, and probably quite substantially, and not just in volume as your distance varies.

But when you walk through the room, the elaborate perceptual system devoted to making sense of acoustic environment is continually processing information returned from the senses and reintegrating your interpretation of that sensory data so that, unless you really stop, break down the processes, and reanalyze the raw data, your brain just essentially treats that radio as a ‘stable’ factor unless something ‘extraordinary’ happens to change that assessment.

Amp tone in a room is a bit different, but some of the same processes are going on: the guitarist may well have (and particularly studio newbs seem to have) a substantially different impression of what their amp ‘sounds like’ than is likely to be captured by a mic (or two).

There are a number of reasons, some of which I alluded to, and some of which relate to the fact that, as a guitarist plays his guitar through an amp in a room, he will be likely be continually changing his orientation (however slightly) in the room, moving his head from side to side, at an angle, up or down, or even getting up and walking around. And any and all of those changes in aspect relate to changes in sound — even if that is not immediately apparent until one has learned how to listen not to the ‘processed’ sound delivered by the complex spatial perceptual analysis but rather to the “raw sound” as it hits the nervous system. (And the one place Mr Guitarist is most likely NOT to be deriving his idea of the sound of his guitar/amp/tone is from 2″ from the speaker cone, off-axis — which is, of course, a ‘favorite’ spot of studio engineers to mic a cabinet from.)

Acoustic engineers must learn how to ‘hear a room’ in sort of a reverse process, disentangling their own brain’s interpretation of what is being heard from the actual sound.

The processes that go into a guitarist’s estimation of his own sound are related, but even more complex (at least for some), as ego and desire and even that ‘awesome rush of your first fuzz pedal’ mix with all the other factors…

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About TK

THE Music Biz Outsider grew up with tape recorders and recording. He was about 3-1/2 years old for his first recorded performance (singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb") and 14 when he engineered his first musical multi-track recording of someone else's performance, but didn't begin actually playing music until he was about 20, safely too old to get sucked into the music biz dreams of superstardom that not-always-briefly ensnared his pals. That -- and watching other people's dreams tarnished, smashed, shredded or otherwise destroyed for four decades -- has given him a stark -- and thoroughly jaundiced -- view of the music business. So, he learned to play a little guitar, wrote a bunch of songs, got swept up in the punk/new music thing starting in '75, was in some bands and, when he formed a band he really liked with a few pals, he started taking recording classes at a local community college with a respected commercial music program -- anything for free studio time. Pretty soon, he was caught up in a rekindled love of tape machines and gear, this time in commercial studios, where he found himself freelancing by the early 80s, after a motorcycle wreck ended his lifelong dream of being a warehouse manager. (Yeah, we're kidding.) Even after he took a job -- a day job -- with a small electronics manufacturer, he continued moonlighting in the mostly low end studios frequented by punk rockers and other outsiders, working on demos, singles, indie records, even TV and radio spots. But he tired of the grind, and when he started his own database consulting company, he began building up his home recording rig into a project studio which eventually had 16 tracks of digital and a bewildering jumble of MIDI boxes and keyboards, lots of cheap and some not so cheap analog gear, all nestled in a small room off a hallway in his house. For much of the 90s he worked on other people's demos, on radio feature production, and, when he wasn't too burned out, his own songs. Seemed like a dream going in. But after less than a decade, he found himself taking down his shingle for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that the day job paid better -- but also because he had tired of the unrealistic expectations and distorted priorities that seem to drive a certain sector of the music service provision industry. Today, he's content recording and producing just one music biz client: himself. And he's recaptured the love of playing and making music he was often afraid he was on the verge of losing.
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