"Well, we didn't have our original drummer on our last record. And most of that album was not played as a band in the studio. It was mostly the world of computers and overdubs. There was very few things played live or worked out as a band"
About this Quote
A quiet admission of disillusionment hides inside the technical talk. James Iha isn’t just describing a recording process; he’s outlining a loss of chemistry, and doing it with the careful, almost diplomatic restraint of someone who knows fans can smell drama a mile away. The missing “original drummer” functions like a cracked foundation in a house everyone keeps pretending is fine. Lineup changes are common, but the word original carries emotional IP: authenticity, continuity, the promise that this is still the same animal.
Then comes the real tell: “not played as a band in the studio.” In rock mythology, the band is a unit - bodies in a room, mistakes turned into feel, tension turned into groove. Iha frames the alternative as “the world of computers and overdubs,” a phrase that lands less like enthusiasm for modern tools and more like exile. He’s not condemning technology outright; he’s mourning what tech can make easy to avoid: negotiation, spontaneity, and the friction that produces identity.
The grammar even gives the game away. “It was mostly…” “There was very few…” He’s counting absences, not celebrating possibilities. This is a musician describing a workflow that sounds efficient and emotionally sterile, where parts can be assembled without the messy proof of togetherness.
Contextually, it’s also a savvy piece of expectation management. By spotlighting the process, he pre-emptively explains why a record might feel different: not a mystery, not a betrayal - a band operating more like a project.
Then comes the real tell: “not played as a band in the studio.” In rock mythology, the band is a unit - bodies in a room, mistakes turned into feel, tension turned into groove. Iha frames the alternative as “the world of computers and overdubs,” a phrase that lands less like enthusiasm for modern tools and more like exile. He’s not condemning technology outright; he’s mourning what tech can make easy to avoid: negotiation, spontaneity, and the friction that produces identity.
The grammar even gives the game away. “It was mostly…” “There was very few…” He’s counting absences, not celebrating possibilities. This is a musician describing a workflow that sounds efficient and emotionally sterile, where parts can be assembled without the messy proof of togetherness.
Contextually, it’s also a savvy piece of expectation management. By spotlighting the process, he pre-emptively explains why a record might feel different: not a mystery, not a betrayal - a band operating more like a project.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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