Ray Manzarek, a keyboardist and songwriter of repute, died yesterday at the age of 74. The story has been covered widely in the media but it is perhaps still worth writing a few words about the unique sound he achieved, and his impact on the Doors, one of the defining bands of the 1960’s.
Manzarek, along with charismatic vocalist/lyricist Jim Morrison, founded the Doors after a chance meeting in 1965, both having studied film at UCLA. Manzarek was in a band called Rick and the Ravens with his two brothers, and almost as if by fate, he reputedly met his other two long-term band mates, John Densmore (drums) and Robby Krieger (guitar), at a transcendental meditation class, appropriately enough. The band evolved into the Doors, and soon began the era of their classic line-up when Kreiger joined in late 1965.
Ray and Jim
Arguably Manzarek’s contribution seemed to define the particular sound of the Doors even more so than Robbie Krieger’s admirably minimalistic and often impressive guitar work. One early example is Manzarek’s strong contribution to The Crystal Ship, a short song from their self-titled debut LP, recorded in the latter half of 1966. Manzarek was key in pushing the sound of the Doors into what at the time was largely uncharted waters, complimentary to Morrison’s otherworldly vocals and lyrical themes but at the same time presenting as more than just a musical platform for them.
Manzarek used electronic organs for the most part. He relied on what was then a new generation of relatively modest semi-portable electronic organs that featured transistor circuits and divide down sound generation, a technology also used for some later synthesisers, such as the Polymoog. These instruments could not provide the deep rich sound of the heavy Hammond electo-magnetic organs that some of the well-financed musicians of the time used, e.g. Jon Lord of Deep Purple. However, their thinner sonic character seemed to suit the Doors, and in the days before the synthesiser became a commonplace instrument, a certain number of keyboard players like Manzarek pushed what was possible within the limitations of the technology of the era, an example being the varied sound textures on Waiting For The Sun.
Similarly, Manzarek displayed an impressively energetic style when he used the piano, borrowing liberally from a large variety of styles, as exemplified on tracks like L.A. Woman. Notable also was a lightness of touch as featured on songs like Riders On The Storm, where a Fender Rhodes electric piano is used. Interestingly, whilst playing organ during Doors performances, Manzarek simultaneously played bass on a Rhodes piano although its bass quality was deemed to be too ill defined for studio recording. A session musician by the name of Jerry Scheff typically featured on their studio recordings.
The Doors continued after Jim Morrison’s death, making two studio albums in the early 70’s. This was a surprising move since Morrison was so central to their identity. However, Other Voices, the first and best of the two post-Morrison albums, demonstrates clearly what the level of creativity the three had brought to the band. One highlight is Manzarek’s In the Eyes of the Sun.
Soon however, the trio began to disintegrate during the making of Full Circle, their follow-up album. Verdillac, a bizarre jazz fusion track largely driven by Manzarek, stands out on what is otherwise a relatively poor unfocused record. With hindsight, it is unfortunate that Manzarek, Krieger and Densmore didn’t adopt a new name to break from the past, and seek out a new vocalist (a la New Order), who could have been a revitalising creative force for the band.
Manzarek embarked on a commercially unsuccessful solo career after the Doors split in 1973, where he released two albums in quick succession. Releases after that became sporadic. However, he remained musically active, and collaborated with quite a number of other musicians until his death. His last significant album release is a collaboration with Roy Rogers called Translucent Blues (2011).
It is easy to forget in this technological era that the latter half of the 19th Century was a major turning point between that of the old and the new. Politically, some defining trends of modernity, such as socialism, began to make their mark. Mans understanding of consciousness took a leap forward with the development of psychology, and physics also made its mark as this period began to usher in the very things that define the modern world for many people today.
Telephones developed rapidly, and motion pictures were shown commercially. Major cities began electrification and parallel developments in the electric motor led to unprecedented levels of industrialisation, and modern transport. It was into such a rapidly developing technological world that sound recording emerged, in a notably tentative fashion.
A late 19th Century street
Over 150 years ago audio recording became a workable reality. Until the last decade it was thought that Thomas Alva Edison was responsible for the very first recording, his recitation of Mary had a little lamb, dating to 1877. The recording no longer exists due to the fragility of the medium, the extant recording is actually a re-enactment of the event in 1927. When he announced the innovation later that year, it was so unexpected that he came to be known as “The Wizard of Menlo Park” due to the location of his research laboratory in New Jersey.
However, in 1859, a recording was made of a tuning fork, which still survives. A relatively accurate recording of the more complex acoustical phenomena of a human voice was made the following year. This seventeen/eighteen year time gap is a substantive one for such an era of rapid innovation. French inventor Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville (1817 – 1879) recorded those very sounds onto a paper cylinder using a mechanical device called the phonautograph, which he invented. The phonautograph shouldn’t be confused with the phonograph, Edison’s subsequent invention.
Phonautograph, University of California
The Phonautograph explained
Essentially, the phonautograph functioned in a fashion that will be familiar to those that have read up on the way in which the microphone and the LP work. A thin membrane, akin to a sort of non-electric microphone, responded to the air pressure from nearby sounds. The membrane’s response in turn vibrated a stylus that marked sheets of paper, attached to a rotating cylinder. The sheets were blackened by oil-lamp smoke so the stylus would easily make a visible impression on them. These marks were a representation of the very sound waves that had first affected the membrane!
Scott de Martinville was familiar with a pre-existing physics theory that sound vibrations could be recorded as lines with a stylus when attached to a vibrating object. As early as 1807, Thomas Young described recording the vibrations of a tuning fork on the surface of a blackened cylinder. Rather than being motivated by an interest in abstracted physics, Scott de Martinville was focused on practical applications for sound recording, somewhat akin to that achieved with photography, a technology he was cognisant of since it had been developed in France, and yieldedimpressive results.
Scott de Martinville studied drawings of auditory anatomy and tried to mimic the workings of the ear mechanically. He substituted an elastic membrane for the eardrum. This is perhaps the most notable aspect of his invention for it was now possible to record sound vibrations from the air, without direct contact with the source of the sound, unlike the necessary connection of a tuning fork to Thomas Young’s prior device. This development is likely to have influenced early microphone invention in the later 19th Century, whereby a diaphragm responding to acoustic sounds is utilised to alter the magnetic field of a signal generator to create an equivalent electrical response.
Scott de Martinville’s method of sound recording was successfully patented in 1857. His first attempts to record date to late 1853 or early 1854, where he attempted to represent the sound of speech and guitar in graphical form. Inevitably however, the application of the phonautograph was very limited because very short segments of sound could only be recorded on flat surfaces, such as glass plates that were smoke blackened. Harking back to Young’s observations, Scott de Martinville developed a new medium circa 1857, where he wrapped paper sheets around a cylinder. Thus he could now record a continuous spiral of sound waves for a longer time.
An impossible vision
When we think of sound recording today, it goes hand in hand with sound reproduction. Thus it comes as a surprise that there was no technological ability to hear any recorded sound until Edison’s phonograph, Scott de Martinville conceived of an idea far ahead of his time so he can be forgiven for failing to see what is obvious today, while Edison should now be considered the inventor of the second part of the process – reproduced sound, rather than recorded sound.
Scott de Martinville thought his invention could be utilised in a variety of ways. He envisaged it being a method for tuning instruments. Alternatively he thought it could be used as a dictation device, whereby secretaries could learn to read the patterns of sound waves! The latter idea was perhaps influenced by his prior career in printing. It sounds like a bizarre idea today that could only be pulled off by some sort of artificial intelligence, even if it was at all possible to deduce words from sound waves! However, science in the 19th Century was a rich environment of possibility and imagination, as evidenced by Tesla’s dramatic failure to build a much promoted wireless energy transmission system that could provide free power internationally!
Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville
After a report that questioned the effectiveness of the phonautograph by a French semi-governmental organisation in 1858, Scott de Martinville did little work on his invention until the following year, when he collaborated with Rudolph Koenig, a builder of acoustic instrumentation. Koenig made significant improvements to the invention, and even manufactured phonautographs for commercial use. By 1860 Scott was working with a physicist called Henri Victor Regnault who would further refine the device. This was the period when the phonautograph matured, and a number of successful recordings were made, featuring songs and recitations, which still survive in good condition today.
Unfortunately the promise of commercial success did not materialise to any substantive extent for Scott de Martinville. He seems to have stopped making phonautogram recordings by 1862, and returned to a more conventional career as a Parisian bookseller. Years later, Thomas Edison, the famed American entrepreneur and inventor, would realise the true creative and financial potential of an innovation similar to the phonautograph.
Scott de Martinville’s invention would still be extremely important if it had not directly led to further developments in sound recording. However, it would be an even greater milestone in this respect if Edison had prior knowledge of it before inventing the phonograph. The latter would be a contentious view. Sound historian David Giovannoni claimed that Edison had no prior knowledge of the device.
However, it seems the phonautograph was quite a well known device in the US, and another source asserts that Edison used a phonautograph during 1878, for the measurement of sound, due to a court case. Thus it can be suggested that the phonautograph may have represented some level of inspiration for the phonograph. This is a claim that has some resonance because Edison’s invention of the phonograph is noted for being extremely sudden, where a working model was built based only on a single drawing! Ultimately however, well sourced research is required to clarify if Edison had any substantive contact with the phonautograph at a prior time.
Musique antique
As an invention, the phonautograph was seen as a footnote in history but in 2008 several American sound historians discovered some recordings in Paris, and attempted to convert them into sound. Sound archivist, David Giovannoni, led the research effort, and a method that could read safely read these precious recordings was devised.
The paper sheets were scanned at very high resolutions and then the sound waves were read by computer to reproduce the sound. Most were in poor condition but they found one pristine phonoautogram recorded on the 9th April 1860 – a ten second segment [download]of a French folk song, Au Clair de la Lune, which translates as By the light of the moon.
It is quite an experience to hear the sound of the recording. As would be expected, it is extremely muffled and fluctuates a great deal but it can still be identified as a human voice. Many comments on the Internet featured words like “creepy” and “spooky”, and indeed the recording does have a ghostly disturbing quality. It does seem that many ancient recordings possess an eerie voice-from-the-grave quality but on Au Clair de la Lune it is especially apparent, a lightly pitched voice suggesting that of a girl, a fragile quivering voice, malformed by overt distortion.
It is important to note that the recording would have been effectively inaudible if it wasn’t cleaned up to a huge extent. It was split into 16 parallel sound streams, adjusted, and edited back together to account for speed variation.
A half speed version [download]was released the following year, indicating the source of the voice was a man, rather than that of a girl as heard on the initial version. It is thought the voice could be Scott de Martinville himself. Although there is no absolute reference to compare the recording to, it appears that the half speed version is correct because his other recordings also appear to have been recorded at this speed. Scott de Martinville also recorded tuning fork tones as a reference point for these recordings. Based on his writings, the pitch was originally thought to be 500 Hertz but it is now believed his understanding of the pitch was actually 250 Hertz, as he had his own peculiar method for measuring frequencies.
When exactly was sound recording invented?
As already stated, Scott de Martinville made numerous phonautograms before 1860 that still exist so it becomes difficult to assert when the first sound recording was actually made, a point where we can say sound recording was truly invented. It is an issue relating to a rather momentous historic event. One could argue that the invention itself dates to 1852 because Scott de Martinville apparently has his “eureka” moment of inspiration that year. Here however, ideas are clearly not sufficient. It could also be argued that the earliest recordings, dating back to 1853/4, represent the moment of innovation, especially since they represent the start of the practical developmental path toward Au Clair de la Lune.
However, the original content of those recordings cannot be reproduced as they produce no identifiable sounds. Similarly the audibility of the later cylinder recordings [download] from 1857 is not apparent, even after audio restoration. They lack any meaningful hint of coherent sound, and they are unlikely to ever be reproduced adequately, judging by the accounts of the archivists. At an essential level, a recording cannot truly be said to be a recording if the event it supposedly stored cannot be reproduced in any form whatsoever.
Since science relies on what is evident and provable, the question in this case should perhaps be revised as “what constitutes the earliest recorded sound that is recognisably from a distinct sound-source”. The aforementioned recording of a tuning fork qualifies as the first recognisably recorded sound [download – shown through the process of sound restoration]because it dates to 1859.
However, the recording of Au Clair de la Lune, and subsequent successful recordings from 1860, are of far more complex acoustical waveforms that would be harder for the phonautograph to record adequately. Therefore, it seems reasonable to conclude that sound recording, as we understand it today, became a reality at a point during the years of 1859 and 1860, where Scott de Martinville’s work, aided by Rudolph Koenig, bridged a yawning chasm by making the crucial leap from inaudibility to audibility.
Recently Google users were presented with a graphic of a Mini-Moog synthesiser connected to a four-track reel to reel tape recorder, a pleasing surprise to many electronic music enthusios the world over. The doodle acknowledged Robert Moog’s posthumous birthday, his 78th having been born in 1934.
Moog is easily the best known name in the development of synthesis. Moog’s most innovative creations were perhaps his early synthesiser designs, which were sold in customised form from 1964/5 onwards. These designs led to Moog’s first commercially available range, the 900-Series, which was introduced in 1967. However, arguably the best synthesiser bearing the Moog moniker is the famous “Mini-Moog”, introduced commercially in 1971.
Moog clearly had an inventive industrious mind as he reputedly built his first theremin at the age of fourteen, and started out selling theremin kits under the R.A. Moog Co. name at the mere age of nineteen. His company would be renamed “Moog Music” circa 1972.
Moog’s time at Columbia-Princeton Electronic Music Centre had a great impact on his subsequent career, and that of contemporary music as well. The university department yielded highly experimental work in electronic composition during the 1950’s. It became the home of the immense “RCA Mark II Sound Synthesizer” (and sequencer) in 1957, which was the direct predecessor of the more practical commercial synthesisers of the 1960’s.
Robert Moog and Don Buchla began building modular synthesisers during the early to mid 1960’s but Moog utilised keyboards to a greater extent, thus allowing musicians a more intuitive way into the then extremely novel world of electronic synthesis. Also notable is the extent Moog collaborated with musicians to improve his instruments. His first notable fame came with Walter Carlos’ “Switched-on Bach” album of 1968, which began the controversial popularisation of synthesis in classical music.
These synthesisers were invariably analogue monophonic (producing a single note at a time) designs. They were not particularly good at replicating real (acoustic) instruments. However, when evaluated as instruments in their own right, they were highly innovative devices that possessed a unique sonic character of their own, with a seemingly-infinite array of possibilities. Indeed Moog’s name would become synonymous with early analogue synthesis, which stood in direct contrast to the more precise but less characterful forms of digital synthesis that emerged in the early 1980’s.
Bob Moog with the Mini-Moog (front), and his modular systems (background)
The Mini-Moog is a small integrated device in comparison to the typically large modular synthesisers of the early 1970’s. Modular synthesisers required the connecting together of different sound generators and filters to create what is referred to as a “patch”. Such systems have immense flexibility but are far from user friendly, and usually resembled something out of a electronic boffin’s lab rather than an instrument. The Mini-Moog had a non-modular fixed construction, which meant that it was very inflexible by comparison but within limited user-friendly (switchable) parameters it excelled thanks to no less than three VCO’s (voltage controlled oscillators) to generate one single note at a time, which produced a rich complex powerful sound, helped along by excellent filters that many other manufactures sought to emulate, leading to numerous court cases.
The Mini-Moog also benefited from a then relatively modest price of 1,495 USD. This was at a time when five figure sums were the norm for modular systems. In fact the simple Moog 960 add on eight-step note sequencer for the 900-Series modular Moog system cost almost as much! The practicality of the Mini-Moog meant that synthesisers were a reasonable proposition for musicians at last, and notably it was the first such instrument to make it onto the shelves in music stores! It sold over 13,000 units during its ten year production run, a very considerable number in the field of synthesis. Even though its options and functionality is extremely limited by today’s standards, it continues to be used thanks to its legendary sound quality, and is particularly appreciated for its rich powerful bass sounds.
Sadly Moog’s later products didn’t turn out to be as impressive. During the 1970’s numerous manufacturers were trying to surmount the issues arising from the development of the polyphonic synthesiser. The benefit of polyphonic synthesis was the ability to play a chord of four or more notes at a given time, which would improve the application of synthesis enormously. The music world had been awaiting Moog’s equivalent of the Mini-Moog, and in 1976 the Poly-Moog emerged with a notable air of disappointment. It utilised divide-down sound generation derived from electric organ technology, yielding a weak sound. Some debated whether it was truly a synthesiser at all because each individual note was not variable. Worse still it was extremely prone to breakdown. Nonetheless, it appeared on some very notable records of the time.
Moog’s long-term economic woes resulted in him losing control of Moog Music and finally leaving the company in 1977. The company would go on to introduce a truly polyphonic version of the Mini-Moog in 1982, called the Memory-Moog but eventually Moog Music folded in 1993. Moog himself went on to work successfully for Kurzweil, another innovative manufacturer of synthesisers.
Moog also established a firm called Big Briar, where he would go back to the manufacture of theremins. Apparently Moog was not allowed to use his own name since it constituted a brand. However, his firm would eventually acquire the rights to the valued brand name in 2002. The world was put to rights again, and the same year Moog introduced a revitalised Mini-Moog called the Moog Voyager, which he designed himself. Three years later he died at the age of 71, due to illness.
Reunions are a curious thing ~ rarely do they do justice to the original spirit of a given band. One example that has a personal resonance for myself is the Velvet Underground’s reunion in 1992/93, which was arguably most notable for what it lacked rather than what it contained: a complete absence of the experimental edginess that defined the original band. Such reunions tend to yield a dull record of the event, in the Velvet’s case “Live MCMXCIII” – a passable account of their passable performances.
Why do reunions fail? It seems that the intervening years change the dynamic of the band, rarely for the better. Creative units that could once be relied upon to release album after album of classic material no longer function often due to the intervening years of disillusionment, failed solo efforts, bitterness etc. etc. Even though such events are often a disappointment creatively, they are at least an opportunity for fans to enjoy the experience of seeing the band together again or for the first time with the younger generations. Some reunions are even a qualified success. The Sex Pistols 1996 reunion tour came off well. They stuck to the raw spirit of the original songs, and nicely kept it all irreverent by making fun of themselves. They couldn’t have gone far wrong by calling the reunion gigs the “Filthy Lucre Tour”!
With reference to The Dubliners, Ronnie Drew once stated during an interview that bands tend to work well for up to ten years and then the creativity fades. If there is a limited time frame for creative success in every band then surely the same rule applies for reunions? As the divide between the present and the 1960’s/70’s gets ever wider, the reunions of long defunct bands come across as more and more absurd. We now face the spectacle of bands collectively approaching old age singing songs they wrote in their early to mid twenties, and typically little else.
I first noticed this phenomenon with the Stooges. Their reunion bridged a thirty year period of inactivity, and yielded the first studio album in er… 34 years, an unexceptional work called “The Weirdness”! Worse was Cream’s reunion with a yawning gap of some thirty seven years between their break up in 1968 and reunion in 2005. Where would it end? Will Iggy be groaning the words to “Death Trip” whilst clutching a zimmer frame?
Some of these reunited bands had quite a short previous existence so in some instances the members hadn’t toured as a unit for up to forty years, this being a near two fold of the age they typically were when performing during their glory days. For example, Buffalo Springfield did not record any material or perform live between 1968 and 2010 – a period of 42 years. They had a thirty date tour planned in 2011 but Neil opted instead to work with his long-time band Crazy Horse! A telling choice perhaps.
The point in raising such numbers is somewhat philosophical. Its clear that as human beings we continually change and share a finite existence. There may even be a point where we are in essence no longer the people we once were because as time goes on we share fewer and fewer of the characteristics that we possessed in our youth, a process of change that is both inward and outward. To make matters worse, many band members also had an extended period of retirement from the music business, as with James Williamson of The Stooges who hadn’t picked up a guitar for three decades.
Although there are some exceptions, it can’t be a coincidence that the very best rock music came from musicians during their youth. Lennon and McCartney performed their era defining miracles during their 20’s. It isn’t necessarily ageist to suggest that rock musicians do not age particularly gracefully as a rule since if blues or jazz was the topic here the conclusion would be very different. Critically, the very things that made rock unique as a music form (and at one time even a force for social change), namely intense energy and rebelliousness, are the very qualities that diminish as we get older, and perhaps for the best.
Of course 60’s bands like the Rolling Stones and The Who continue to perform or did so until quite recently but at least these bands continued working and releasing material through their more mature years that reflected these changes so it’s a very different proposition to the “overdue reunion”.
Many fans buy into reunions partly to see their heroes resemble what they once were. Sadly, it doesn’t seem possible anymore with advancing years and huge periods of inactivity. Of course there’s always the pleasure of looking back over the past but those that expect more might be better served with a decent tribute act.
Welcome! This blog will feature unusual (and largely exclusive) articles broadly dealing with the subject of music, audio technology, the arts and even a bit politics when relevant. This blog comes from Ireland so some articles will focus on the Irish perspective but most of the posts will be relevant to readers internationally. I have had an interest in these topics for many a year, and feel its time to get my tuppence in, whatever that might be worth in today’s market 🙂 in part because some topics could benefit from being looked at from other perspectives.
Hopefully the articles will be interesting, thought provoking and entertaining. Comments are welcome be they glowing or critical but obvious spam will be deleted. 🙂 Discussion of related issues can also take place at the Audio Eire Yahoo group. If you have difficulty joining without a Yahoo email account feel free to send me a mail as I can send out invites.
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