"I don't think you can contrive any sound"
About this Quote
A jazz musician admitting defeat is never really admitting defeat. George Shearing’s “I don’t think you can contrive any sound” reads like a shrug, but it’s a manifesto against the most tempting modern vice in music: forcing it.
Shearing came up blind, British, and relentlessly gigging in an era when jazz was equal parts craft and high-wire act. His famous “Shearing sound” wasn’t a laboratory invention so much as a practical solution that became a signature: locked-hands voicings, guitar doubling the piano line, vibraphone color, a satin blend that felt effortless even when it was tightly arranged. So when he says you can’t “contrive” a sound, he’s drawing a line between architecture and alchemy. You can practice voicings, hire the right instruments, even chase a vibe; what you can’t manufacture is the living thing that happens when a band’s chemistry, room acoustics, audience energy, and a player’s personality collide.
The subtext is a quiet rebuke to both pretension and control. Jazz culture loves origin myths about “finding your sound,” as if identity were an app setting you toggle on. Shearing suggests the opposite: your sound is what leaks out when you stop trying to impress people with one. It’s also a subtle defense of feel over novelty. In a century that increasingly treated timbre as a product - from hi-fi polish to studio trickery - he’s insisting that authenticity isn’t purity; it’s inevitability. The best sounds aren’t designed. They’re discovered mid-phrase, before the ego can take credit.
Shearing came up blind, British, and relentlessly gigging in an era when jazz was equal parts craft and high-wire act. His famous “Shearing sound” wasn’t a laboratory invention so much as a practical solution that became a signature: locked-hands voicings, guitar doubling the piano line, vibraphone color, a satin blend that felt effortless even when it was tightly arranged. So when he says you can’t “contrive” a sound, he’s drawing a line between architecture and alchemy. You can practice voicings, hire the right instruments, even chase a vibe; what you can’t manufacture is the living thing that happens when a band’s chemistry, room acoustics, audience energy, and a player’s personality collide.
The subtext is a quiet rebuke to both pretension and control. Jazz culture loves origin myths about “finding your sound,” as if identity were an app setting you toggle on. Shearing suggests the opposite: your sound is what leaks out when you stop trying to impress people with one. It’s also a subtle defense of feel over novelty. In a century that increasingly treated timbre as a product - from hi-fi polish to studio trickery - he’s insisting that authenticity isn’t purity; it’s inevitability. The best sounds aren’t designed. They’re discovered mid-phrase, before the ego can take credit.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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