Spatial effects of the recording studio

Audio recording is a spatial phenomenon; it turns sequences of ephemeral sound energy, necessarily time-bound phenomena, into representations inscribed on a physical medium, whether a plate, wire, acetate or hard drive (Attali Reference Attali1985). The entire process is concerned with space. Recording studio designers have manipulated the physics of acoustic environments since the studio's inception, and individual studios have become well known because of the reverberant sound of their recording spaces (Gibson Reference Gibson2005). Recording studios can be renowned for having ‘an inexplicable magic’, making them popular destinations for musicians (2005). In Schmidt-Horning's (Reference Schmidt-Horning, Frith and Zagorski-Thomas2012) analysis of post-war American popular recordings, the recording studio's acoustic space emerged as an instrument integral to the sound of a recording. When listening to popular music, it is often difficult for the untrained ear to perceive any indications of depth or direction in all of the many sounds that make up a recording. Zagorski-Thomas (Reference Zagorski-Thomas, Bourbon and Zagorski-Thomas2020) uses the term ‘sonic cartoons’ to describe recording practices and states that ‘recordings are not realistic and […] they are representations’ (p. 10). Additionally, real spaces captured in a recording are often manipulated to alter our perception of space (Zagorski-Thomas Reference Zagorski-Thomas, Bourbon and Zagorski-Thomas2020).

Nevertheless, the presentation of an instrument's loudness and its associated reverberation can communicate a ‘depth of field’ (Toynbee Reference Toynbee2000). Taken as a whole, this is often referred to as the sound stage, which Moylan (Reference Moylan, Frith and Zagorski-Thomas2012) defines as having ‘an apparent physical size of width and depth that are defined at the level of the individual sound source’ (p. 3). Huron (Reference Huron2006) has extensively studied the human ability to localise a sound, using ‘the relative time difference between pressure fluctuations in the left and right ears’ and ‘the amplitude of these signals’ (p. 103). Even in a reverberant space, the speed of sound is consistent and will always reach the closer ear first, giving an indication of placement within a field (Huron Reference Huron2006). Thus, the position of a microphone when recording any sound source is critical, and all recordings will have some ‘spatial signature’ (except for directly injected or synthetic sources) involving a ratio of direct to reflected sound (Altman Reference Altman1992; Kraugerud Reference Kraugerud2016).

Zagorski-Thomas (Reference Zagorski-Thomas, Frith and Zagorski-Thomas2012) writes about the apparent sonic differences between popular music studios in the US and the UK in the 1970s, and the larger recording spaces in the UK appear to be a contributing factor. The choice of recording space is a creative decision contributing to the album's overall sound and feel, not only sonically, but also in terms of performance quality. There are many examples of this in the pop-rock canon that clearly display how a recording space affects the overall outcome of an artefact and can become a feature of the recording. Even though digital software tools provide a greater ability to alter a recording spatially in the mixing phase, the search for different and unique spaces remains paramount to producers and artists seeking perceived authenticity in their recordings. Artists have often pursued iconic spaces hoping to ‘tap into a sound or style or to provide authenticity to their work’ (Gibson Reference Gibson2005, p. 194). Howlett (Reference Howlett2009) describes the studio as a place ‘to record the best performances and sonic qualities possible’ (p. 90). The decisions on ‘the best performances’ and ‘sonic qualities’ are those of the producer (Watson and Ward Reference Watson and Ward2013, p. 2904). Thus, the studio is just another part of the producer's palette, ‘an active agent in the process of recording production’ (Bates Reference Bates2012, p. 20).

However, the sonic imprint of the recording space has not always been desirable and has changed with cultural trends in music and technological developments in recording equipment. Schmidt-Horning (Reference Schmidt-Horning, Frith and Zagorski-Thomas2012) discussed one such period in the 1960s when independent studios began to thrive, and the focus moved to experimentation in the control room without the requirement for large ambient recording spaces. Similarly during the 1970s, recording studio design adapted to the increasing number of tracks on tape, creating spaces that were deader, with greater separation, thereby increasing control over individual sounds at the time of the mix (Milner Reference Milner2009). Byrne (Reference Byrne2012) writes of recording Talking Heads’ first album in the late-1970s: ‘The sonic character of space was sucked out, because it wasn't considered to be part of the music’, noting that the dominant approach to recording at the time was to ‘deconstruct and isolate’ (p. 142). However, this observation is most likely due to the US recording industry's quest for separation, clarity and high fidelity in this period (see Zagorski-Thomas Reference Zagorski-Thomas, Frith and Zagorski-Thomas2012). Those trends changed when Tony Bongiovi designed the hugely successful Power Station studio in New York in the late 1970s, incorporating a ‘reverberation-time-based studio’ which became a benchmark for studios the world over (Milner Reference Milner2009, pp. 164, 169). Studio design became more experimental with studios such as London's Townhouse integrating a stone room into its design (Milner Reference Milner2009 Reference Milner2009, p. 169). Economically, the ability to run a profitable studio in those large environments has become tenuous with the changing focus towards the computer manipulation of sound (Théberge Reference Théberge2012). Current technology, such as convolution reverb, combines with computer processing power plentiful enough to negate the place of recording and create the illusion that the recording has been made in a different location altogether; and yet small elements of the original recording space must still be present (Bates Reference Bates2012; Slater and Martin Reference Slater and Martin2012).

In looking beyond the physical attributes of recording studio space, it is a social and emotional space where the goal is to enhance or create meaning in a musical performance (Watson and Ward Reference Watson and Ward2013). The role of the producer is to ‘create an evironment free of the everyday social and feeling rules that otherwise shape our emotional landscape, allowing musicians to produce desired emotional performances’ (2013, pp. 2904–5). In practice this is often referred to as ‘the vibe’. Watson and Ward (Reference Watson and Ward2013) attribute that vibe to communicative, creative and social relationships between the studio team and the performers, which allow musicians to deliver their best performances and enjoy the process.

The production of recording space

Thus far I've examined literature demonstrating the significance of space to the recording process. To progress the study further, I will consider the terminology of Lefebvre's (Reference Lefebvre1991) The Production of Space and relate it to the nomenclature of a recording studio as a non-traditional and primarily socially produced space. This will lead to an investigation of the economics and power that influence functional uses of space, before finally considering the antagonisms between Lefebvre's representations of space and representational space leading to the production of a new space.

Lefebvre's (Reference Lefebvre1991) analysis of Hegel's concept of production describes a metaphysical process of thought:

For Marx and Engels, production refers to products, or things (p. 69). Their view of production refers solely to labour and the creation of wealth (ibid). Lefebvre clarifies that we need to consider ‘[n]ature, […] labour, hence the organisation (or divison) of labour, and hence also instruments of labour, including technology and, ultimately knowledge’ (p. 69). In his analysis of space Lefebvre invokes capitalism (and economics), labour (and the organisation of labour), history, self-consciousness, and most importantly, knowledge.

We tend to give particular spaces functional descriptions that correspond to a specific use, such as kitchen, lounge or bedroom (Lefebvre Reference Lefebvre1991). These descriptions describe the material practices of space. Harvey (Reference Harvey1989) suggests that, without matter, time and space cannot be understood. He concludes that ‘neither time nor space can be assigned objective meanings independently of material processes, and that it is only through investigation of the latter that we can properly ground our concepts of the former’ (p. 204). Harvey's materialist, functional perspective sees that ‘objective conceptions of time and space are necessarily created through material practices and processes which serve to reproduce social life’ (p. 204). Flanagan (Reference Flanagan1999) argues that ‘space and time are basic categories of human experience whose meanings derive from material processes. Hence, spatial subtexts are constructs that result from praxis’ (p. 17). These terminologies of space can be applied to music. A performance, by a musician or a producer, shapes the social, functional and cultural character of a given space. Put simply, a house, kitchen, barn, bedroom – or any space with or without a pre-defined social purpose – becomes a studio once people begin to use it as one.

Lefebvre posits that ‘([s]ocial) space is a (social) product’ (Lefebvre Reference Lefebvre1991, p. 26, original emphasis). Horner (Reference Horner1998) describes music as a ‘material social practice … a socially-located activity defined in terms of historical, social, material specificity’ (p. 161). Music is made up of many different social practices, from composition to the production of instruments used to create music, through to the recording and distribution, and to the experience and critique of that music (Horner Reference Horner1998). To focus on recording specifically, recording music live as an ensemble is a social practice, as is overdubbing on a collaborative piece to represent an ensemble performance. Therefore, the recording space is a product of that practice (Frith and Zagorski-Thomas Reference Frith and Zagorski-Thomas2012). Thus, wherever music is recorded can abstractly be considered a recording studio. Despite the social aspects to the production of recording space, Lefebvre (Reference Lefebvre1991) posits that ‘it is also a means of control, and hence of domination, of power’ (p. 26). He goes on to argue that political forces strive to contain and control it (Lefebvre Reference Lefebvre1991).

Lefebvre (Reference Lefebvre1991) acknowledges the enduring authority of capital and capitalism relating to space and the hegemonic domination of one class over the culture and knowledge contained in space. He states, ‘[t]he ruling class seeks to maintain its hegemony by all available means, and knowledge is one such means’ (Lefebvre Reference Lefebvre1991, p. 10). The production of space is tied to knowledge and action, and the exercise of hegemony must control space (Lefebvre Reference Lefebvre1991). These observations are easily transferred to the structure of the recording sector. The laboratory and factory era of the studio determined that completing a recording of a certain quality required the funding capacity of a major multi-national corporation. The hegemonic record company control of the recording sector managed to convince musicians (and therefore consumers) that the capital-intensive process of recording was the only way to adequately express their art, thereby asserting their power in the music industry and over recording studio space. All other actors were locked out of the exclusive high-end facilities. So too, the knowledge about creating a commercially suitable recording is controlled by those operating the expensive equipment in highly specialised and bespoke spaces.

DIY recording is often associated with the democratisation of recording practice and scholars have debated notions of democratisation for some time (see Gibson Reference Gibson2005; Homer Reference Homer2009; Leyshon Reference Leyshon2009; O'Grady Reference O'Grady2020). The affordability and access to digital production tools fit well with democratic descriptions, but there are caveats. Hesmondhalgh (Reference Hesmondhalgh1997) suggests caution when using the term but acknowledges that ‘self-determination, collectivism and participation’ remain to provoke political action (p. 255). While there remain economic barriers to entry (albeit significantly smaller than previous eras), and lack of diversity in recording practitioners, debates around democratisation will persist. However, the political framing of these notions and their relevance to the production of space is worth further investigation. O'Grady (Reference O'Grady2020) employs politics in recording practice and defines it as ‘the economies of legitimacy that appear to influence the hierarchical positions of individuals in recording practice’ (p. 2). However, access to online tuition via the internet has enabled previously restricted access to industry professionals and their studio knowledge (McNally and Seay Reference McNally and Seay2020). This has gone some way towards democratising the knowledge base of recording studio practice by empowering the musician and DIY music producer and creating more agency in the recording process. Lefebvre (Reference Lefebvre1991) posits that ‘[i]n space, or behind it, there is no unknown substance, no mystery’ (p. 287). He adds that space is homogenous and abstract and that only power and knowledge remain after the figurative curtain is drawn (pp. 287–8). As the hegemonic power of the recording industry dissipates, the knowledge base of music production consumers is growing; this is diffusing the power balance of the large-format recording space.

The organisation of labour must also be considered. Regardless of the site of recording, the production team is usually paid; in the case of many independent musicians, they will not be paid on the premise that they will collect any earnings from the recording. Watson and Ward (Reference Watson and Ward2013) also consider the emotional labour surrounding the recording studio. They argue that

Hochschild posits that emotional labour is commodified and is thus part of the capital value of an employee (Hochschild as cited in Watson and Ward Reference Watson and Ward2013). This exchange of capital common in the recording studio moves power to the production team.

Lefebvre (Reference Lefebvre1991, pp. 33, 38–9) defines space using a triad of spatiality: spatial practice, representations of space and representational spaces. Representations of space apply most directly to this research:

Soja (Reference Soja1996) has expressed Lefebvre's representations of space as a ‘Secondspace’ and describes it as being ‘conceived in ideas about space, in thoughtful re-presentations of human spatiality in mental or cognitive forms’ (p. 10). Representations of space account for repurposing and transforming a domestic lived space into a functional recording studio. However, there is an antagonism with representational spaces in the recording studio. Lefebvre (Reference Lefebvre1991) defines representational spaces as

Put simply these are the mythological spaces of religion, symbolism and history (Lefebvre Reference Lefebvre1991). Thompson and Lashua (Reference Thompson and Lashua2016) write an in-depth discussion on the mythology surrounding recording studio practice, particularly concerning the large-format studio. Bennett's (Reference Bennett2016) analysis of Abbey Road studios also includes symbolism and historiography along with mythology. While this mythology concerns place, marketing and technology, space is also an integral part. So too, this mythology of recording studio practice is present in DIY recording practice and technology. Software is marketed to consumers of recording technology in a nostalgic manner to prey on the consumer's hope of emulating the success of past and classic recordings (Williams Reference Williams2015). This allows nostalgic representations of technology to bring historical recording practice into the DIY recording space. The representational space of the studio continues to influence the social construction and representation of space in recording practice. Lefebvre goes on to say that if ‘each mode of production has its own particular space, the shift from one mode to another must entail the production of a new space’ (p. 46).

The laboratory and factory era of the recording studio were tied to dedicated spaces governed by the music industry's hegemony over space. The music industry's brief contraction in the late 2000s confluent with increasing capacity of mobile and DIY recording technology has allowed the recording sector to disconnect from previous influences on the production of recording space. This is convergent with the antagonisms created by Lefebvre's notions of shifting modes of production to create a new space and emerge as a new paradigm in the recording sector.

Methodology

There are many studies on the architectural spaces of large-format studios, the studio's interaction with the microphones and music and the way that interaction has changed over time (see Bates Reference Bates2012; Hennion Reference Hennion1989; Williams Reference Williams2006). DIY recording has seen some investigation (see Auvinen Reference Auvinen2016, Reference Auvinen2017; Théberge Reference Théberge1997; Watson et al. Reference Watson, Hoyler and Mager2009), without attention to the recording space specifically (Goold Reference Goold2018). This research combines participant observation with a practice-led approach to provide a platform to qualitatively test theories of space as experienced by artists engaged in the recording process. I recorded 10 songs with the Australian group, The Oyster Murders, within three distinct recording scenarios. The Oyster Murders are Grant Redgen (vocalist, guitar), Wendy Redgen (vocalist, keyboards), Chris MacPherson (bass), and Shaun Edwards (drums). As Grant and Wendy Redgen are married, I will refer to all participants by their first names throughout the remainder of the paper.

This research broadly draws upon an approach outlined by Bryman (Reference Bryman2012), which includes engaging and participating in the creative practice of the participants, observing the participants in naturalistic scenarios, conducting interviews and keeping field notes to assist in interpreting the attitudes of the participants. Denzin (Reference Denzin1973) suggests that the observer ‘gather and record observations which have direct relevance for the theoretical questions’ (p. 77). Combining these methods, I will use my theoretical analysis of space to explore the recording studio with experienced musicians in different recording environments that are naturally part of their lived experience to create new knowledge. The research design, therefore, includes a practice-led component: a collection of performances by both artist and producer in different spaces. Practice-led research approaches are appropriate for developing an understanding of my creative practice as knowledge-making (Candy and Edmonds Reference Candy and Edmonds2018; Haseman and Mafe Reference Haseman and Mafe2009). In the context of this research, the practice-led element generates data from the experience of the participants and from my interviews and field notes, respectively.

Spradley (Reference Spradley1980) suggests that ‘all participant observation takes place in social situations’ and these are determined by: ‘a place, actors and activities’ (p. 39, original emphasis). In this research, place is determined by the recording scenario from the research design; the actors are the band and me; and the activity is recording. Participating in and producing the recordings enabled me to encounter and observe the activities honestly, to experience the surroundings of the various scenarios, and to record my impressions of the events that occurred (1980).

I chose participants for the study in much the same manner as I generally attract clients in my professional creative practice, which is typically by approach from the artist. Thompson and Lashua (Reference Thompson and Lashua2014) discuss the difficulty in gaining access to the recording studio when conducting ethnographic fieldwork. Recording studios are generally ‘closed facilities’ and ‘there is no other reason to be in a studio unless one is involved with the recording in some way’ (2014, p. 749). I have a unique advantage as my reputation as a producer is well established, and I have worked previously with the participants, with a developed level of trust before and throughout the recording process. Great care ensured that the participants were ethically represented, and the potential power divisions between the researcher and the researched were not abused (Watson and Till Reference Watson and Till2010). Denzin (Reference Denzin1973) suggests that good ‘interviewers should acquire an in-depth working knowledge of those they interview. Like naturalistic observers, they should have some acquaintance with the times and places of interaction that make up the subjects’ world’ (p. 129). There were no issues in ‘penetrating the group's language’ as I was already familiar with the individual socio-cultural behaviours that existed with the participants (p. 121). My semi-structured interviews posed a range of questions relating to the artists’ perceived attitudes towards the recording environments, creative agency in those environments and efficacy towards the functionality of the varied recording scenarios. Although no questions specifically related to power, labour, history (or mythology), or recording studio knowledge, these themes emerged in the participants’ attitudes.

Initially, I recorded three songs with the group and interviewed them as a first case study; six months later, I recorded seven more songs before interviewing them again to create a second case study. The time between case studies allowed me to observe the artists’ attitude change over time through a collective analysis. Simons (Reference Simons2009) critically reviews several case study definitions and describes them as

Starman (Reference Starman2013) summarises Simons’ approach to case studies as not a specific method but a framework that incorporates multiple methods. It is the goal of these case studies to extract and test the spatial theories I have explored pragmatically and let that guide the data collection (Simons Reference Simons2009). Additionally, these studies will focus on the particularities of the case endeavouring to understand the ‘socio-cultural context and with concepts of culture in mind’ (Simons Reference Simons2009, p. 23). Owing to my personal involvement in using this research design, I will use caution in interpreting and evaluating the data (Simons Reference Simons2009). Despite this, Simons (Reference Simons2009) claims that case studies are

This strength of using the case study research design is particularly pertinent to recording studio studies owing to the turbulent conditions of the sector and the naturalistic design of the case study.

The participants in the recordings were interviewed after the case studies, enabling me to evaluate their experience of the alternative recording spaces. The questioning was pursued from an ideographic approach, which Burrell and Morgan (Reference Burrell and Morgan1992) describe as emphasising ‘the analysis of the subjective accounts which one generates by “getting inside” situations and involving oneself in the everyday flow of life’ (p. 6).

Research design

To address an identified gap in understanding of recording space, I conducted a comparative series of music production projects. First, by recording in a large-format recording studio; second, by recording in situations dictated by a set of limitations common to smaller budget projects; and third, by recording with a hybrid approach of both methods. While Stake (Reference Stake2010) warns of the crudeness of comparative research, he adds that comparison is essential for interpretation. Applying these different approaches to the same artist within the one project offered the artist a ‘reference point’ for each studio scenario.

In the large-format studio setting, I limited the time spent recording to 1.5 days (12 h) per song (depending on the project and style of the artist); I consider this an average amount of time to capture a song in my creative practice. In the DIY studio, I allowed much more time where possible, which is indicative of typical DIY processes. I limited the time spent producing each song to no more than three days (24 h), which allowed more time to experiment and capture the desired sound in less-than-ideal spaces. Using the hybrid approach, I recorded as much as practicable in a one- or two-day session in QUT's studio and then overdubbed on these sessions in the DIY studio.

QUT's studios feature an acoustically isolated control room and recording spaces, and a large-format console definable as a large-format recording studio typical of those at the height of the large-format era. The DIY studio setup was based on a laptop, one UAD Apollo rack unit and an Audient eight input digital preamp.Footnote ¹ No microphone was worth more than $600 AUD and the entire studio had a value of around $10,000 AUD, to be representative of a DIY scenario. The DIY recordings took place at the bass player's (Chris) father's house on acreage at the foothills of Mount Tambourine in Queensland, Australia. Here I will highlight the privilege, access and entitlement of the participants and acknowledge the need for further research with less privileged participants.

My creative practice involves taking care of both engineering and production roles in the recording. While my role varies considerably between recordings, I am ‘expected to oversee the entire process’, in which I deal with the musicians and the technology to attain a ‘creative vision for the record’ (Thompson and Lashua Reference Thompson and Lashua2016, pp. 80–1). In the large-format studios, I enlisted the help of a student to assist me in setting up the equipment, as is common practice in large studio environments. All DIY scenarios were set up by me with help from the participants. Once the DIY studio was set up, all recordings were completed in a manner to suit the creative requirements of the song. Apart from setting up and packing down the DIY studio, my practice within the recording studio remained the same. Some songs were all overdubbed, one part at a time; some were performed as a group ensemble; some songs featured some sequenced drums, depending on the desired aesthetic for that particular song's production. Most of the editing took place in that specific studio's environment, as is my preferred practice. All of the songs from the case studies are on the album He'd Heard of a Place, available on Bandcamp (see Discography) and Spotify.

Case study 1: artist attitudes

The first song was recorded at QUT's large-format facility. One of the songs recorded included a blend of sequenced and live drums. All other sounds were created using the band's instruments and the in-house Steinway piano. Case study 1 was designed to test the methodology with one song recorded in each scenario. During the interview at the conclusion of case study 1, Chris mentioned he encountered nerves in the large-format studio. However, in retrospect he said, ‘I don't think either setting changed the performance ability for what I did’ (Chris, interview, 27 August 2015). He was satisfied with his performance, despite his discomfort.

When discussing the DIY scenario, Chris and Wendy said that their confidence in my production and recording abilities helped them keep a relaxed perspective on the recording, explaining:

This emphasises Lefebvre's knowledge hierarchies controlling the production of space. Despite this abdication of power, the participants were happy to let my knowledge of remote recording lead the setup of the DIY scenario. During the interview, Grant expressed his preference for the DIY scenario. However, it was not entirely effortless for him:

As the DIY scenario took place in Chris’ father's house, none of the participants had been to the house before case study 1, and Grant was self-conscious about disturbing the domestic activities of the house. This displays the antagonism between the regular spatial practice of the house and the newly imagined representation of space that the studio occupies.

Demonstrative of the nature of the large-format recording period between the 1970s and 1990s, recording would usually take place in one studio environment, creating a type of containment (Gibson Reference Gibson2005, p. 196). However, DIY situations may lose the attribute of containment (Bates Reference Bates2012, p. 2; Sofia Reference Sofia2000, p. 188; Watson et al. Reference Watson, Hoyler and Mager2009, p. 866). Mindful of this, I was interested to know if the loss of a centralised space to record interrupted the workflow or was a distraction, even though we only recorded one song in each situation. Wendy reflected, ‘I don't think it really changed anything, as far as how we would normally work in the studio. We kind of moved through the songs like we would normally do in a studio environment’ (Wendy, interview, 27 August 2015). Wendy's comment draws attention to a similarity between environments in both past and present experience. In comparison, Grant explained:

When asked in which environment we achieved the best results sonically, Grant commented on the track ‘Shake Your Hand’ (recorded completely in the large-format scenario), suggesting that it is impossible to tell how it may have come out had we recorded it in the DIY scenario, implying that we could not have achieved the same result there. Despite this, when asked which environment the band preferred overall, Grant responded:

Interestingly, although Grant prefers the temporal benefits of the DIY situation, he still perceives its sonic inferiority. While a lo-fi aesthetic was not the overall intention for the project, some songs feature purposefully degraded recording techniques. This was a small case study of three songs. However, there is a perceived difference in quality, albeit most likely undetectable by the ‘general listener’. Additional outcomes from this research indicated that a group of professional music producers could not consistently determine the provenance of the recording space in the recordings (Goold and Graham Reference Goold and Graham2018). Unsurprisingly, each participant had differing perceptions of a shared experience. Case study 2 is a more substantial project involving seven songs, allowing more time for the artists to analyse their perspectives and allowing them to compare their experiences with those in the first case study.

Case study 2: artist attitudes

My field notes observed an arduous setup for the DIY scenario: ‘this is a continual shortfall of this scenario’ (field notes, 27 January 2016). I add: ‘As we had set up previously for the pilot project [case study 1], we did settle into a routine and arrange everything similar to last time’ (field notes, 27 January 2016). The apprehensions about the setup were solely my own, as the band expressed satisfaction in being involved in the studio setup.

The organisation of labour in setting up in the large-format studio alienated the participants by placing them into a role where they lacked agency and power. Lefebvre's (Reference Lefebvre1991) accounts of the production of space are relevant here:

The large-format studio (as a concept) is not unknown yet remains abstract for the participants. The architectural division of the recording spaces and equipment moves the power in the studio away from the musicians and towards the recording team (Williams Reference Williams2007). Participating in the production of the studio space created less alienation with the recording environment and enabled a reclamation of power. Howlett's (Reference Howlett2009) depiction of the clinical and alienating environment of the large-format recording studio during the 1980s describes losing an entire day of recording studio time to relax and involve the musician more in the recording process. This analysis indicates the DIY studio goes some way towards reducing perceptions of alienation and a reclamation of power for the musician.

When recording the track ‘Don't Suffer Kate’, we adopted an experimental approach. For example, Shaun hit an unused portion of desk drawers on the side with his hand as a bass drum (mic'd with a sub kick), and a box with some rubbish in it, combined with dropping keys on the floor as a snare. This process was simple in a domestic environment, with many random objects lying around. Reflecting on this experience, Wendy and Shaun explain:

I remark that it would have been hard to replicate the scenario in a more formal space, to which Wendy replied:

This was not the only reference to the efficacy of time in either recording scenario. The reduced allowance of time in the large-format scenario (to mimic real-world conditions) was also contemplated and resulted in tiring the participants mentally. Nevertheless, the time allocations of the large-format scenario led to many last-minute ideas:

The increased time allotment in the DIY situation suited more experimental and less prepared songs and expanded the time for creativity. The participants imply that being innovative in the large-format studio was an inefficient use of time. However, the time pressure of the large-format studio sometimes led to a productive urgency in performance, with an attitude of ‘get it done now, or never’, despite being able to overdub in their home studios later without producer supervision. Any analysis of space will involve time in which Lefebvre (Reference Lefebvre1991) adds that all ‘productive activity is defined less by invariable or constant factors than by the incessant to-and-fro between temporality (succession, concatenation) and spatiality (simultaneity, synchronicity)’ (p. 71). Not only is this ‘incessant to-and-fro’ observable between the recording scenarios, but additionally both case studies involved artist-created overdubs from their home studios. This ability for the artist to contribute to the final master recording directly touches upon all aspects of Lefebvre's analysis. The artists are using the democratisation of recording knowledge to restore agency and power in the recording, and by contributing their own creative labour are reducing the economic burden of recording in a more formalised manner.

I then asked the band in which scenario they preferred performing: ‘I'd have to say Tambourine [DIY scenario]. [I] felt pretty comfortable there and all the sounds were good for me, though both of them [sessions], it was about the same’ (Shaun, interview, 24 November 2016). Chris felt uncomfortable in the large-format studio during case study 1, although he attributes that to the song and not the environment. Reflecting on tension and nervousness he felt in the large format studio, Chris explained:

Shaun distinctly preferred the DIY scenario, as did Chris. Chris related his previous dislike of the large-format studio to the preparedness of his parts within the song and not space. However, when discussing this, I suggested there is a neutrality to all recording environments; part of the production task is to create an atmosphere accompanying the space and the performers. Any inherent characteristics of a space only assist in making this task easier or harder. Wendy added:

Grant spoke of his preference to be in a quiet, detached space to perform his vocals: ‘Yeah, I do like a little bit of isolation …’ and Wendy added, ‘So, I thought you might like Tambourine [DIY scenario], because you're kinda off in a different room and nobody's watching you’. Grant later added: ‘I find it more comfortable when I don't feel like I'm being watched’ (Interview, 24 November 2016). Williams (Reference Williams2007) writes of the power imbalance created by the glass observation windows in large-format studio design. Although measures can be taken to isolate a performer from the line of sight in the recording studio, putting the artist in an entirely different room can dissolve their performance anxieties. While Bates (Reference Bates2012) accurately recognises the constrained lines of sight in the recording studio, he does not address the lack of them in the DIY studio and how the line of sight is not always necessary or desired.

In addressing Bates’ theories on container technologies, I wanted to know if the recording schedule interrupted the possibility for containment. The band knew there were going to be significant periods of interruption between the various recording sessions.

The band liked recording in broken sessions compared with previous methods of recording that were restricted to fixed recording formats, like 2 inch analogue tape. This is another example of of Lefebvre's ‘incessant to-and-fro’ between sites of production. Wendy adds:

This statement assumes the hybrid studio situation is the preferred scenario for the artist. Not only does it remove the stress of recording acoustic drums, but the change of scenery gives a different perspective on the recordings. The extra time to absorb the progress of the recordings was seen as positive and contributed to the productive overdubbing sessions that followed.

When asked where the band felt they achieved the best results, the answers were clearer than in case study 1.

As the band recorded more songs for this project, they noticed minor differences in the perceived quality between the scenarios but have determined those differences to an artistic direction in the song, linked to the situation. In some cases, they cannot remember at which location they recorded a particular song.