“Although the word [hysteresis] sounds like history (it’s pronounced “his-ter-EE-sis”) and looks like hysteria, hysteresis has no etymological connection to either word. Its roots are in Greek and refer to a “shortcoming” or “to come late.” But I like to think the word, when applied to recordings, encompasses all of these concepts. We want those magnetic particles to line up exactly right because we want a part of ourselves to last forever. But we can never quite create something exactly in our image – which is to say, we never get the sound exactly perfect. The world rebels, exercising its right to hysteresis. But we never stop trying. It’s maddening, when you think about it.
And making a recording is just half the battle. A record is absolutely meaningless unless it is played. As an object, it signifies nothing. If you don’t play a CD, it’s nothing but a coaster. A record is a text that cannot be “read”. It must be decoded.
This decoding is directly related to the technologies we use to do it, from tinfoil to $90,000 turntables. The goal of the decoding is always a conflation of the real and the represented, a condition that sets recorded music apart from photography and motion pictures, two other art forms that arose to question what it meant to capture reality. The movie audiences who famously jumped out of the way of the on-screen train barreling towards them quickly wised up. Today, special effects dazzle us, but they don’t really fool us; we may not know exactly what makes the Death Star blow up, but we know there is no Death Star. Recordings, on the other hand, must trick us to work, and always ask that we suspend our disbelief. We are supposed to hear the sound of Led Zeppelin jamming together in real time. The narrative of a film might jump around in time, but a song is always linear. We’re not supposed to hear the sutures. A recording is nothing until it is decoded, and what it decodes is always an illusion.
It is their ability to maintain this illusion that makes recordings unique among cultural artifacts. No other object is such an intractable combination of the subjective and the objective, the irreducible and the economically rationalized, art and science. If recordings are considered to be primarily works of art, they can signify as such only by using the prevailing technological tools of their age. If recordings are considered primarily as products of technology, science and industry, they can be evaluated only subjectively – that is, as artworks – because what they produce is so abstract and illusory, mere pressure changes in the air. Glenn Gould said it best: ‘I can think of few areas of contemporary endeavour that better display the confusion with which technological man evaluates the implications of his own achievements than the great debate over music and its recorded future. Recordings deal with concepts through which the past is reevaluated, and they concern notions about the future that will ultimately question even the validity of evaluation.’”
(page 21-22)
Greg Milner. Perfecting Sound Forever: An Aural History of Recorded Music. NY: Faber and Faber, 2009.
Borrowed from the Bibliothèques publiques de Montréal, ILL.