Introduction to Music Production

Music Video and the Politics of Representation 

Chapter 6: Masculinity and the Absent Presence of the Male Body

This chapter provides an intersectional lens into popular reflections of masculinity, taking as an example the music video for D’Angelo’s Untitled (How Does It Feel). The chapter examines prevalent academic theories of how masculinity exists, influences, and is depicted, in relation to this music video, essentially arguing that “The presence of masculinity is predicated on the absence or deletion of the male body” in this context. 

Music videos are especially useful in tracing depictions of masculinity. The chapter references Connell and Messerschmidt’s (2005) geographical model for analysing hegemonic masculinity – a model which asserts that there are different types of masculinities based on three geographical regions – the local, the regional, and the global. Music videos are depictions of specific local/regional masculinities, but in their consumption they serve to inform a wider, global depiction of masculinity. Furthermore, based on public reception/dissemination of a music video, multiple definitions of masculinity can emerge. The text asserts that, despite differences in the type of masculinity being presented in a music video- Kanye West’s Gold Digger and James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful are cited as two contrasting but contemporary examples – the depiction they serve is essentially heteronormative and therefore contains the risk of extending “the range of ways of being a man who ‘acceptably’ oppresses women”. Taking on a nuanced analytical framework that acknowledges the sexed and raced structures of different genres and artists, the text analyses D’Angelo’s music video for Untitled (How Does It Feel). 

The text argues that the video is both typical and atypical in its depiction of black male masculinity. It is typical in the sense that it focuses on D’Angelo’s bare body; the video is a single-take performance shot of a nude D’Angelo from the waist up. The camera focuses on skin, specific parts of the body, all in all creating a sexualised, fetishized, and aesthetic depiction of black male masculinity. The video is essentially an image of fascination fixated around D’Angelo, typical in the characterisation of defined bodies as sexually appealing (and thus serving to depict a localised masculinity specific to black male America). On the other hand, the video is atypical in that it defines black male sexuality in the absence of women. The text cites examples like Wayne Wonder’s No Letting Go, Cassidy’s Hotel, Sean Paul’s Ever Blazin’, and Akon’s Bellydancer to show how critical the music video interplay between women and men is to cementing an idea of masculinity. In D’Angelo’s video, there is a distinctive absence of a feminine presence that is uncommon amongst other popular contemporary music videos. Thus, the text asserts that D’Angelo is an outlier, and, generally speaking, the male body is absent in representations of masculinity in the context of music videos. Masculinity as a premise is built through interactions with women, the ready availability of women to a music video protagonist, and the sexualisation of women by said protagonist. 

Thus, the chapter concludes that D’Angelo’s depiction of masculinity is “perhaps more aesthetically complex and politically important” as a working representation of masculinity that contextualises the historical depictions of the black male body, than other discursive structures of analysing masculinity. 

Railton, Diane, and Paul Watson, ‘Masculinity and the Absent Presence of the Male Body’, Music Video and the Politics of Representation (Edinburgh, 2011; online edn, Edinburgh Scholarship Online, 20 Sept. 2012), https://doi.org/10.3366/edinburgh/9780748633227.003.0007, accessed 11 Dec. 2024.

Sfire 7 is a song released in 2015 under Sfire, the collaborative project of producers SOPHIE and Jeffrey Sfire. In this blog entry, I will analyse how Sfire 7 is able to communicate meaning through sonic and melodic variety, in the absence of vocals and lyrics. 

The song is in 4/4 at 128 BPM, with a four-on-the-floor drum pattern and a bouncy, metallic bassline throughout. It features over this a variety of melodic loops played on various electronic synthesizers. One could assert that these leads serve essentially the same purpose as vocals would – like a demo track where the melodies are played on synthesizers. This is emphasized by the discernable melodic, sonic, and structural differences between lead sections.

For example, the prominent synth lead of the first 16 measures has an arpeggiated structure which ascends and descends over the span of two octaves. In the key of A Major, this arpeggiation sets a playful introductory tone, especially considering the bubbly, wide, and harmonic synthesizer the melody is played on. The sound is chorused, with a relatively long attack and sustain. The high end shimmers with a short reverb as the hero of the sound, while the low-mids are cut into by the aforementioned bassline. It also occupies a distinct focus in the mix. Such forces combine to create an introductory melody that communicates a sense of vocal familiarity, indeed in the sense that the sound occupies the same range, and is treated with the same equalisation and effects, as a vocal would be. As such, this becomes a set-up for the second major discernable synth lead.

The second lead communicates the tension of a pre-chorus vocal, and is vastly different from the first. Here, the bass stays on a single note for 8 measures, adding to this sense of build-up. The lead sound has a quicker attack, is in a lower octave, and has a shorter decay. It also disregards the quick(er) arpeggiation of the first synth, and instead plays drawn-out, sustained three-note ascensions interjected with syncopated fills. The sound is also noticeably less bright as well as monophonic (in opposition to the first, chorused, lead). Critically, it is almost ad-libbed by a pitch-bent siren on certain downbeats, adding a sense of call-and-response similar to vocal performance. Despite all this, it occupies a central place in the mix, perhaps further cementing the importance of different synth leads in communicating meaning. 

These two examples illustrate the importance of sound selection and melodic variety in the work of Sfire, as well as the work of SOPHIE in general. In my view, SOPHIE’s unique use of synthesizers allows for melodic elements to communicate a sense of meaning as a vocal would – the introductory lead communicates playfulness and innocent danceability, whereas the second lead communicates tension and uncertainty. 

Over the course of the workshop, I learned the basics of VCV Rack and used the software to emulate modular synthesis similar to Rashad Becker’s work. Initially, I used an oscillator to familiarise myself with the routing structure in order to get a sound output. I set up a simple chain that routed an oscillator output to an amplifier input, and added different components, such as filters, envelopes, delay/reverbs, and LFOs as I progressed. I also experimented with using the device ‘CLKD’ to generate a signal in place of the oscillator. This allowed the sound output to be tempo-synced through a gate which played a pattern as opposed to the drone of the oscillator waveform. 

The end result was a sound that held a variety of interesting characteristics. Specifically, the left and right output were different sounds in the same key. The right output was a droning bass sound that was developed out of the device ‘Bleak’, an oscillator, running through a filter and a short reverb on the device ‘Plateau’. I also modulated the reverb time using an LFO to produce different reverbs in different harmonic frequencies with different lengths. The left output was more in the style of a lead and was tempo-synced on account of being generated by ‘CLKD’. The gate of the envelope on the signal was patched to an amplitude device, creating a tempo-synced output. Further, a second instance of ‘Bleak’ was sent to another amplifier centred in mono, upon which a delay was added and an LFO helped modulate the delay length, adding an interesting texture to the higher frequency range of the sound. 

I believe that the workshop was thoroughly engaging in terms of sound design. It helped re-contextualise what ‘sound’ really even means as we explored ways of creating sound that were outside of the grid-based workflow that DAWs seem to facilitate. The usage of modular synthesis or its emulation really puts a focus on creating intentional sound as opposed to creating a melody out of ‘passable’ sound. As a songwriter, this is not something I do often, but it would thoroughly help my production practice by placing an emphasis on writing ‘pieces’ as opposed to songs. Further, it broke down the key components of electronic synthesis in the context of Becker’s work, helping me create a personal framework within which I can judge different sounds as a listener and student.

Themes VII is a track from Rashad Becker’s Traditional Music of Notional Species Vol II. 

The track can best be described as a sonic collage, which is very rich in a variety of different tones, textures, and types of sounds – using Schaeferian sound analysis, almost none of the elements are the same. 

The way in which these sounds are used, i.e, in varying intensities and for varying purposes, ties in to the concept of signification. On one hand, listeners derive significance from familiar sounds and are able to contextualise Becker’s work in a wider frame of music. I would assert that the beginning of the track is an attempt to create a contextual landscape within which significance can be deconstructed:

1. The introductory quick-attack pluck is reminiscent of a faux-steel-string and contains a lot of harmonic tones (the ‘body’, in Schaeferian analysis, consists of more than one tone). Its repetition actually sets a semi-recognisable tempo and gives the impression of a groove.
2. A slower-attack metallic squeak conducts a call-and-response with the pluck. Over time the squeak is manipulated so the decay is longer, and so that the decay fluctuates between different notes, creating different moments of harmony with the pluck, developing a recognisable sonority. 

As these elements lose, in a sense, their ‘recognisability’ (the plucks become more off-kilter, and the decay of the squeak traverses through disharmonic frequencies), it seems like a commentary on the instability of signification. New elements like a low horn, discernibly a sine wave where an LFO is mapped to its amplitude, as well as a glitchy top line consisting of a triangular wave with unpredictable decay times, show the instability of signification. It seems to me almost as though their ‘weirdness’ happens as a natural result of the increasing ‘weirdness’ of the previously ‘traceable’ sounds a) and b). It appears as a commentary on non-linear signification. This is strengthened by the fact that there is an intentional sonic ambiguity throughout the track – sparing a few elements, there is a constant upheaval of different sounds and textures which interact with each other in different ways. All this while, pluck a) tries to maintain a discernible tempo. 

In Becker’s exploration of sonic signification, no element is really more significant than the other. There is a tangible circularity to sound selection; each sound has a moment of significance, but when this moment is over, it fades back into the textural complexity of the soundscape. This is a useful way to analyse the structure of the track – meaning is not centralised, through a hook or refrain, but rather distributed through the various interactions between elements at different points of the track. 

As the track concludes, the aforementioned horn also varies in frequency, seemingly an LFO is mapped to fine-tuning within a semitone of the original pitch. A square metallic sound with a quick-attack, multi-harmonic and dense body, and a short decay, sporadically interjects the drone. The intensity and variety of sonic elements increases over time. This leads me to believe that the point of the track is to assert that signification is inherently contextual and not inherent. There is no prominent sonic hero, but Becker still manages to craft a narrative through the manipulation of timing and texture. Pitchfork’s review also captures this hypothesis, “Whenever Becker conjures a familiar sound, he quickly husks history, meaning and expectations from it so that it might quiver in space all on its own, like a cell under a microscope. A mental picture that forms at the beginning of a piece will lose its meaning by the end.” (Beta, 2016). 

In conclusion, Themes VII appeared to me as an exploration of how sound creates meaning, and it seems that Rashad Becker derives meaning from context. By balancing elements of familiar and strange natures, and seeking deliberately to manipulate all parameters within these elements, Becker creates a circular sonic collage that asserts signification is non-linear in itself. 

During the workshop, we produced a piece in the style of Moor Mother using digital production techniques. We used MIDI instruments to represent an electric piano, a trumpet, and a Reese bass, and layered over this an electronic drum beat. The focus of the task was vocal production, where we manipulated various clips from a speech to create something akin to a narrative over the course of the piece. We also used samples; a loop of protestors shouting at a rally was given binaural directional mixing to ensure it was in the background creating a subtle tension and atmosphere. This was complemented by found samples of crying/wailing which had the same effect. Further, we used the protest sample in more clarity in the ‘outro’ of the piece, layered over another sample of Crossroad by Robert Johnson. My group member and I would switch between roles; i.e, I initially layered the MIDI drums and electric piano, while they worked on the trumpet and vocal production. Working collaboratively ensured that each element was given focus at one point of time, contributing to the resulting quality of the overall piece. 

The final production is sombre and melancholic, as the introductory electric piano is supported by distant cries of protest and wailing. The piano itself plays diminished chords in a seemingly disharmonic fashion to create an atmosphere of unease. The vocals that persist on top of this section have distortion, a short delay, and a series of formants, which allows for them to become the focus of the piece. The MIDI trumpet that is a part of the instrumental is also, in places, disharmonic and feels like an improvisation. This was in an effort to replicate Moor Mother’s own production, where she tends to favour quick-attack and random brass lines. The trumpet creates a sensation of movement as it pulses through the repetitive piano and bassline, and, in my opinion, is able to replicate a sense of performance. This is important in the context of a Moor Mother production, which often uses elements of live performance to cement a tense atmosphere. Panning is also an important tool in the production, as the electronic drums pan between left and right each half-note. I think this lends to the atmosphere in two ways – firstly, the juxtaposition of the quantized and automated electronic drums with the improvisational trumpet is worth addressing. It is able to create an unpredictability which adds to the existing tension. Secondly, the panning also is able to simulate a live performance, in my mind, of a band on different parts of a stage. This is also supported by the fact that the trumpet is panned favourably to the left, and creates an angular field within which the piece can be heard. 

The differences between my usual style of production and this method of working can be surmised into:

1. Melodic Intention

Oftentimes in my own production I have a loop-based melodic intention – this is to say that I hero repetition in chord progressions, riffs, and vocals. This process allows for a detachment from the idea of looping melodically, and offers a producer a chance to create a piece that is ever-changing and thus arguably ever-engaging. 

2. Intertextual Intention

Generally speaking, I sample what sounds appealing to me, oftentimes regardless of the context of the piece within a cultural/historical lens. Moor Mother’s work, being political, is careful with sample selection – thus offering a producer the opportunity to create a meaningful library of samples within a track that are able to add to the message of the piece.

In conclusion, the experience helped me experiment with ridding myself of melodic intention while trying to develop intertextual intention, and was a great insight into Moor Mother’s process.

Liverpool Wins is the 7th track on Moor Mother’s 2024 album The Great Bailout. The album focuses on the abolition of slavery in England, and seeks to reframe the lens through which we approach the act. More specifically, it seeks to retell the story of emancipation in the British Empire, which has long been represented as a progressive government act that changed lives for emancipated slaves. Moor Mother challenges this perspective, outlining the social, material, and personal damage that resulted from, or was re-shaped by, the abolition of slavery. 

Sonically, the track is atmospheric and sporadic. It is introduced by a sharp, swelling bass note that persists through its length. The instrumental that is constructed around this is jarring; there are introductions of static feedback at different points, as well as what sounds like a detuned keyboard that increases tension. Tension is also built by making percussive elements out of what sounds like wind and metal, which travel across the panoramic field in differing intensities. Towards the mid-section of the track, these elements reach a climax where they are further complemented by metallic percussion and tape-stops, seemingly out of time. This continues until the end of the track. It is also worth mentioning Moor Mother’s non-spoken vocals as well as the supporting vocals from Kyle Kidd. Layers of harmonies add to the atmospheric quality of the track, especially since they are present throughout in different registers of voice. The falsetto vocals are almost ghost-like, inducing an eerie atmosphere that is thematically tied to the lyrical content of the song. 

Moor Mother’s poetry is non-direct in the sense that she alludes to what was ‘stolen’ by the British government in both the conceptual and material sense. “Rich during the crime / And rich after”. It is also extremely confrontational – “Who builds death like this?….Who can’t find any room for apologies?”. Additionally, there is a poignant reference to The Secret of England’s Greatness, a Victorian-era painting which depicts the Queen granting The Bible to a kneeling African chief. This reference helps to underscore the saviour complex which Moor Mother is criticising as still existing today, where the British Empire was able to claim superior moral ground on the basis of emancipation, oblivious to the fact that they themselves introduced slavery. It also serves to highlight the Euro-centrism of the dominant perspective on British emancipation; Queen Victoria is “granting” the African chief The Bible as he is kneeling, as if he must respect the opportunity to convert to Christianity, which is suggested to be the “superior” religion by virtue of this act. Moor Mother connects this attitude to the financial exploitation that was also grounded in the British belief of superiority, and, in essence, was responsible for creating the “infrastructure, the ports, the parks, the castles, the churches, the universities” that cement modern-day Britain’s identity as a developed nation. 

As a political commentator, Moor Mother is greatly fluent in employing direct and indirect writing styles to build a multi-faceted argument that challenges traditional perspectives on divisive topics. Liverpool Wins is written in such a way that it mentions examples, “August 28th, 1833 / August 1st, 1834”, which are expanded upon with opinion and logical reasoning, “A financial revolution / A stronger Christianity / A whiter God”, and conclusively confronts the wider cultural hegemony that exists as a result of history, “How long did it take to pay off the trauma?”. In this way, Moor Mother constructs a factual and emotional argument that is made more powerful by the irregular and atmospheric instrumentation. 

During the workshop, my team used analog gear to sample film scenes and music. We browsed YouTube for various samples, and when we found a second-long section we liked, we captured it on an Akai Sampler and recorded the playback from a MIDI keyboard into the DAW. For melodies especially, this was randomized as we sporadically captured parts of a Herbie Hancock live performance and pieced together different combinations of the one-second cuts in the DAW. For drums, we relied on the drum-one shots provided beforehand, and layered these with loops and samples recorded from YouTube, which largely consisted of hi-hats and shakers to create a sense of movement across the duration of the beat. 

The ultimate result was a gritty boom-bap beat with dirty drums layered with additional chops of a haunting piano line. The chops of piano are dark and skittering, as well as slightly detuned. This is layered with vocal chops from Midnight Train to Georgia by Gladys Knight & The Pips, which also adds to the eerie atmosphere. Further, we chose to use a power chord strike sample from Rock the Bells by LL Cool J, which made sense because RZA actually used the same sample on Protect Ya Neck. The track closes with a more melodic 4-bar loop from Midnight Train to Georgia, which serves as an outro which culminates in a fight scene sample, “Shaolin shadowboxing and the Wu-Tang sword style”. 

I observed a surprising degree of flexibility in this production style, of course incomparable to the flexibility of sampling within a DAW, but one which, in the 1990s, would have made sense. It enables a producer to borrow from vinyl, tape, VCR, CD-ROM, DVD, and many more formats of media, and in this regard was essentially limitless when it came to sampling. Since the duration of sound captured is so short, it is understandably greatly useful for sampling drums; specific snares, kicks, and hi-hats can easily be isolated and looped in their own fashion. In a more conceptual sense, this flexibility allows for a producer to build intertextual ideas – in the case of RZA, by sampling martial arts films that speak to the unique identity and story of the Wu-Tang Clan, or by sampling soul/jazz records that themselves have important places in the lexicon of African-American history, which are then used by RZA to build new history. 

There are certainly limitations that come with this process, especially with regards to ease of use and time spent, as opposed to sampling in the modern digital production landscape. However, the purposeful limitation of options really narrows down the scope of production to a more detailed, simple, and specific type of beat which becomes emblematic of this style.

The song I’ve chosen is Protect Ya Neck, Wu-Tang Clan’s debut single. I believe that it is relevant by virtue of being their debut; the thematic content and production sets a standard of what is to be expected from their discography.

The production is characteristically sample-based (according to website WhoSampled, it contains samples from 12 different songs), with a boom-bap drum pattern and tempo. The two prominent and recurring samples are that of the aforementioned drum pattern and an acoustic bassline. To allow for variety across a song that includes 7 verses from 7 different Wu-Tang members, RZA periodically introduces melodic chops; a dramatic string top line and a haunting piano litter different sections of the beat. Further, there are sporadic chops of what sounds like power chord strikes and a detuned siren that offset the repetitive drum pattern. This not only complements the changing flows, cadences, and lyrics unique to each rapper, but also allows for an arguably static beat to evolve over time.

The mix is gritty and raw, and there is a noticeable sharpness to each instrument, building an atmosphere of violence. Violence also seems to be a major lyrical theme – “Terrorize the jam like troops in Pakistan”, “Blow up your project/Then take all your assets”, “I’ll be stickin’ pins in your head like a fuckin’ nurse” – are a few examples, not discounting the fact that the title itself calls for one to protect their neck. Violence is also reflected in the film samples that RZA employs, specifically from the films Snake and Crane Arts of Shaolin and Executioners from Shaolin. These are used as a way to introduce and end the instrumental, and in both instances the listener can hear punches and grunts (presumably from fight scenes), used to preface as well as echo the grittiness of the song.

What is also notable is the introduction of the track itself, a skit between a radio host and a caller who wants to hear Protect Ya Neck on the radio. The listener is enthusiastic, “You know I had to call”, and when asked “Wu-Tang again?” he replies, “Aw yeah! Again and again!”. Allegedly, this skit is based on a real interaction on a City College radio station, and reinforces Wu-Tang’s popularity and relevance even before their debut single. Arguably, this popularity is responsible for themes of violence – Wu-Tang is the best and is thus allowed to carry itself with an attitude of braggadocio seeing that it has “beaten” the rest (similar to the protagonists of the films being sampled). It is this attitude that is reflected in the musical and lyrical grittiness of the song.

One could conclude that all aspects of the song essentially tie into this one theme – violence. The production is, as previously examined, haunting, sporadic, and sharp. The film samples are reflections of physical violence. The lyrical content is graphically violent. In all regards, Protect Ya Neck serves to violently remind a listener that they are listening to the best.

My style of production is electronic, largely reliant on sampling and patching. I am fond of a variety of genres, and I blend elements of electroclash, hyperpop, grime, and cloud rap in my music. I am an artist-producer and multi-instrumentalist (although I don’t produce with many acoustic instruments, engaging with them has thoroughly shaped my musical sensibilities).

An artist-producer drifts between two commitments which, in my experience, can cause confusion while creating a piece of music:
i) A commitment to vocal performance.
ii) A commitment to instrumental performance.

These are difficult to juggle because I cannot decide if my primary responsibility is to perform or to support. It becomes even more confusing if one considers the production itself a performative aspect.
Thus, I experiment with the relationship between these two; my vocals often become instruments to my production instead of the other way around. Sometimes, this feels like a disservice to myself – after all, I have a voice which is arguably more capable and intuitive than a MIDI region.
It is this conflict that necessitates a tightrope; a line of balance between these two commitments is essential to walk on.

In many ways, being an artist-producer is very fulfilling. It gives me the ability to create my own “moments” of synchronisation between the two elements, and gives me a lot of control over what a “song” is meant to be.
On the other hand, producing for other artists is a wholly different experience that is equally fulfilling; I do believe I am inherently collaborative and having executively produced another artist’s album over the past three months has taught me how to employ subtractive production and how to try everything, at least once.

Over the first year, I look forward to developing my artistic identity through the exploration of existing works. I also thoroughly look forward to gaining mixing & mastering knowledge, areas I have never fully understood the principles of. By the end of the first year, I want to be more insular in my releases, that is to say, have informed control over all aspects (production, performance, engineering, artwork, promotion).

Further, I am interested in exploring the place of a musician in the contemporary world. I am looking forward to being able to exact my experiences with music in terms I can explain. This is something I’ve never been able to do, largely because I have never studied music academically, and all I know I have learnt from trial and error. Music production has taught me how to learn, and I am looking forward to (formally) learning about something I identify with.