"Computers and electronic music are not the opposite of the warm human music. It's exactly the same"
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Laswell is refusing a tired culture war: the idea that circuitry cancels soul. Coming from a producer-bassist who’s spent decades stitching together dub, funk, ambient, and global traditions, the line reads less like a defense of “electronic” and more like a correction to a category mistake. We keep treating computers as a genre, or worse, a personality type. Laswell treats them as a studio instrument: another set of hands.
The intent is slyly radical. By saying “exactly the same,” he isn’t claiming a drum machine feels identical to a hand drum in timbre. He’s claiming the human part of music doesn’t live in the material; it lives in choices. What gets repeated, what gets left empty, how tension is paced, how a bassline leans into the pocket, how a mix breathes. A computer can’t supply taste on its own, but it can be an extension of it, just like an amplifier or a tape edit or a reverb chamber once was. The warmth people miss is usually a bundle of production cues - saturation, swing, imperfection - that can be created, faked, exaggerated, or stripped away in any medium.
Subtext: the “coldness” critique is often nostalgia dressed up as ethics. It’s also a way to police who gets to be “real” - which scenes count as authentic, which labor counts as musicianship. Laswell’s point lands because his career is proof: the same human urge to groove, to trance, to collide influences, can move through wires without losing its pulse.
The intent is slyly radical. By saying “exactly the same,” he isn’t claiming a drum machine feels identical to a hand drum in timbre. He’s claiming the human part of music doesn’t live in the material; it lives in choices. What gets repeated, what gets left empty, how tension is paced, how a bassline leans into the pocket, how a mix breathes. A computer can’t supply taste on its own, but it can be an extension of it, just like an amplifier or a tape edit or a reverb chamber once was. The warmth people miss is usually a bundle of production cues - saturation, swing, imperfection - that can be created, faked, exaggerated, or stripped away in any medium.
Subtext: the “coldness” critique is often nostalgia dressed up as ethics. It’s also a way to police who gets to be “real” - which scenes count as authentic, which labor counts as musicianship. Laswell’s point lands because his career is proof: the same human urge to groove, to trance, to collide influences, can move through wires without losing its pulse.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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