The Ghost in the Machine:
'Video Killed the Radio Star'
Timothy Warner
Introduction
In the past 100 years the impact of technology on the art of music has been enormous. Contemporary musical life is dominated by the loudspeaker, which has become the single most common source of musical sound in both private and public places. Popular music as a genre has undergone a number of fundamental changes, both as creative process and as artistic product, through the consistent exploration and realisation of the creative potential of audio recording, PA systems, signal processing, sound synthesis, sampling, digital control systems and multi-media forms. Although artistic presentation through the media of modern technology characterises much twentieth century popular art, the relationship between human beings and machines retains a slightly disturbing sense of the unnatural:[1] human creativity encapsulated in electronic signals, like a Ghost in the Machine.[2] This notion is represented early in the history of sound recording by Francis Barraud's famous painting 'His Master's Voice'.[3] It is essential that the modern electronic technology so closely associated with popular music, and the working practices which this technology engenders are taken into account by musicologists and analysts. This paper will explore some of the relationships between modern audio technology, the creative process and the aesthetic response to popular music through an analysis of the 1979 hit single 'Video Killed the Radio Star' by The Buggles.[4]
The Buggles was a relatively short-lived duo (1979-80) comprising of Geoff Downes and Trevor Horn, who began their careers in the '70s as session musicians. Like many singles chart groups, The Buggles never performed live, and existed for their fans purely through recorded media: vinyl and video. Horn had already achieved some success as a songwriter and produced singles for the "Europop"[5] duo Dollar. He went on to become "Britain's most influential record producer of the early eighties".[6] The pop record producer is a vital link between the traditional practices of musicians and the facilities offered by the technological paraphernalia of the modern recording studio. He or she is employed by the record company, and is responsible for literally producing (i.e. bringing into existence) the recordings of artists. Paradoxically, although the record producers wield great artistic power in the recording studio, they are rarely credited for physically producing any of the recorded sounds nor actually manipulate the audio equipment.[7]
In the popular imagination the recording studio is, somewhat unfortunately, regarded as a mysterious place: a fiercely guarded environment full of expensive, complex technology, arcane processes and riddled with jargon. The record producer, who retains a relatively low profile in the high profile world of popular music, is a central figure in this forbidden realm.[8] The recording studio is also perplexing because, being a closed environment, assigning specific artistic responsibility for each element of the finished product is virtually impossible. A recording may be attributed to Kylie Minogue, for example, but it is readily acknowledged that she was not entirely responsible for every aspect of it. The transposition of the Romantic notion of the artist as inspired individual into popular culture is undermined by the reality of pop music production, which is almost invariably the result of teamwork. And it is in the recording studio, the very crucible of creativity in pop music, that the team works. This team comprises not only of the stars but also shadowy, often nameless, and always faceless figures - session musicians, arrangers, balance engineers, etc. - directed by the record producer.
Hence, ascribing artistic responsibility for specific musical gestures is largely inappropriate in the analysis of recordings of popular music. The record producer, who carries the financial and artistic responsibility for the recording, must ultimately rely on the rest of the team. Drawing on these considerations, the following analysis hopes to reveal some of the significant elements in 'Video Killed the Radio Star'.
Music
Like so many of the hit singles of this period 'Video Killed the Radio Star' has the basic rhythmic characteristics associated with disco: an insistent, indeed almost constant, reiteration of the four beats of each 4/4 bar at 130 b.p.m. on either bass, or bass and snare drums. Altogether the arrangement consists of drum kit, electric bass guitar, piano, synthesised or sampled strings, electric guitar, synthesised sounds and voices. Generally speaking, the timbres of the instruments are not unusual, however the voices, and particularly the lead vocal, are most distinctive. In common with much pop music, the harmonic language of this song is not complex: it employs a maximum of six basic chords. However, individual chords are often enhanced through the use of unresolved suspensions, particularly fourths and ninths. These chords retain their harmonic functionality while introducing a piquant dissonance. The song is, on the whole, melodically unpretentious with relatively restricted ranges, while the complete absence of any blues-based inflections (i.e. modified thirds, fifths and flattened sevenths) is particularly noticeable. There is liberal use of syncopation in the instrumental lines, while the vocal melodies tend to be more rhythmically restrained. Indeed, the vocal line of the verse comprises simply a string of quavers.
Structurally the song is an intelligent adaptation of a typical pop song form. The inclusion of two separate middle eight sections - a truly musically different middle eight followed by a modified final verse - subtly disturbs expectations: it would be more usual for the fade-out to begin in the chorus following the first middle eight. The instantly recognisable, strongly tonal chorus with the 'singalong' factor, by never being repeated more than once at a time before the end, provides an excellent 'hook'.
Lyrics
The lyrics are conceptually both adventurous and unusual yet couched in the simple, conversational language associated with the genre. The verse presents a first person male narrator reminiscing about his admiration for a radio star ("back in '52") who was unable to make the transition to the audio-visual medium ("Pictures came and broke your heart"). Some thirty years later they (narrator and radio star) meet and acknowledge that the progress of technology and the passing of time make a return to the 'Golden Age of Radio' and, presumably, the youth of the narrator, impossible. The female voices of the chorus merely reiterate the phrase "Video Killed the Radio Star", harshly reinforcing the implications of the verse narrative. This line, which is also the title of the song, manages to evoke a range of images, from philosophical/political slogan to 'Whodunnit'; and as neither the gender nor the particular nature of the radio star's talent are ever made explicit, the lyrics shrewdly offer the listener's imagination the widest range of possibilities.
Nostalgia is inherent in the lyrics of the verse: a regret for the passing of years, a fond memory of adolescent infatuation ("You were the first one"). We shall see later, however, that this is a far more complex issue than first appears. In passing it is worth noting that nostalgia for a time long-past is a surprising, but hardly unusual, topic for a pop single apparently intended for adolescent consumers.[9] The victim of technological change is, particularly in the popular arts, a recurrent image of the twentieth century: the silent film stars who did not manage the transition to the talkies, for example. However, also implicit here is the transition from live performance on radio to pre-recorded (and highly manipulated) illusion of performance on video: one of the most profound developments in recent music history.[10]
The lyrics raise a further series of issues relating to the ambiguous relationship between human beings and machines: firstly, the strong association between mind and machine ("In my mind and in my car, We can't rewind we've gone too far"); secondly, the problems of mechanical copyright and intellectual property ("They took the credit for your second symphony"); and finally, the apparent erosion of traditional musical skills by modern audio technology ("Re-written by machine on new technology"). The strongly self-referential quality in these lines, dealing explicitly with music technology, is evident.[11]
Production and Arrangement
Accepting that much popular music only exists as a direct result of technological manipulation by artists in the recording studio, necessarily leads the analyst to consider specifically the relationship between technological processes and the product. As in many pop records, the influence of recording studio technology and the working practices that it engenders, as opposed to the practical limitations imposed by live performance, are visible in several aspects of 'Video Killed The Radio Star'. For example, the multi-track and multi-channel procedure, which separates every timbre, results in a final arrangement dominated by the technique of channel muting: individual timbres are either present or absent (off or on) and singly possess very little dynamic range. As a result most change is produced by addition or subtraction of timbres, not through organic growth or musical development. Furthermore, the sheer diversity of sounds, the level of accuracy of pitch and rhythm, and the high definition of each timbre, achieved on this recording, is only feasible with the multi-tracking process.
Initially, the most striking aspect of the production of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' is the extreme use of radical equalisation settings, which result in a highly reduced dynamic and frequency range on the male vocal in the verses. The resultant sound is reminiscent of a pre-electric recording and is in marked contrast to the contemporary clarity of the female voices which interject in the verse and sing the chorus. The differentiation is strengthened by the use of different accents: the male voice has a Mid-Atlantic accent, reminiscent of British radio singers of the '40s and '50s, while the female voices have a strong American - and specifically New York - accent. These elements provide timbral contrast but also imply historical contrast: the male voice sounds old-fashioned, but the female voices sound modern, through timbre, accent and implied recording techniques.[12] It is not surprising, then, that the verse text expresses nostalgic sentiments while the chorus does not.
A less striking but no less significant aspect of this production concerns the separate female voice that first appears in the third verse as a long wordless melisma backing the lead vocal. This voice has an operatic quality which is further enhanced by extensive use of reverberation, implying the kind of distant microphone placement and ambience traditionally associated with recordings of classical music. This voice reappears during the second middle eight section, with the words "You are a radio star". When this line is repeated, the balance between direct signal and reverberation shifts, giving the impression that the singer, like a distant memory, is getting closer.[13] Once more, a strong contrast is established between the close, pop-like chorus voices, with their syncopated melodies and staccato phrasing, and the distant 'classical' voice, marked by predominantly down-beat melodies and legato phrasing.
There is an apparent reconciliation between these two contrasting voices when they appear together in the final fade-out, with the chant-like chorus voices accompanied by the classical voice.[14] However, on the album version of the song,[15] there is an added coda, derived from the music of the verse. This appears in a serenely classical arrangement (albeit played by synthesised instruments) with no hint of disco beat.[16] This serenity is undermined by the appearance of a repeated sample: 'owa owa', from the female chorus voices, in marked conflict with the prevailing pulse and feel.[17]
Finally, the use of traditional word painting techniques are also evident in this production. For example, following the phrase "You remember the jingles used to go", a synthesised sound, with many of the attributes of a jingle stick, is introduced. A more complex example is the synthesised brass line which follows the words "Second Symphony". Although reminiscent of a Baroque trumpet figure, its synthetic timbre is only justified by the line which follows: "Re-written by machine on new technology".
Hence, a variety of production and arrangement techniques are used to reinforce the ideas evoked by the lyrics. Nostalgia is repeatedly implied through the numerous contrasts between the old and the new, while the relationship between musicians and machines is firmly established both by word-painting and by the audible influences of the equipment used in the recording process.
Disco Killed The Radio Star
In spite of the sense of common intent presented by the separate elements of 'Video Killed The Radio Star', its real fascination derives from a fundamental paradox: nostalgia for live music presented on a disco record. The rise of disco in the '70s was regarded with dismay by many musicians and the 'Keep Music Live' campaign, instigated by The Musicians Union, was a direct response to the perceived threat that it posed. Firstly, disco, by being an infinitely reproducible product[18] of the machine dominated pop recording studio, was viewed as simply another manifestation of the pitiless advance of capitalism.[19] Secondly, the popularity and the increasing number of discothèques, which dispensed with musicians by playing records, resulted in fewer live venues and less work. Finally, and perhaps most disturbing of all, disco seemed to celebrate its mechanical and repetitive characteristics:[20] short, repeated phrases either played by sequencers and drum machines, or by musicians with machine-like precision, was intrinsic to the disco aesthetic.
Interestingly, these three characteristics have remained fundamental to debates about dance music up to the present time, although arguments are complicated by the emergence of the DJ - a live musician who uses record decks and samplers to create new dance music in venues. While 'Video Killed The Radio Star' was in the first instance a chart single rather than a disco record,[21] it contains the vital elements necessary for a dance record of the time.[22] The irony, then, is that a record apparently concerned with the adverse effect of technological change on human beings represents an ideal example of that very process.
Conclusion
'Video Killed The Radio Star' was extremely successful: it was Island Records first No. 1 single and, perhaps the ultimate irony, "the innovative promotional video was later used to launch the MTV music channel in the USA".[23] Considering the subtle complexities and rich paradoxes that an analysis of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' reveals, dismissing it as a 'novelty song',[24] as one commentator has done, would seem inappropriate. It certainly has a number of musical elements in common with many of the other pop songs of the time, however the visible pursuit of originality has never played a strong part in the aesthetics of popular music.[25] Much popular music is rightly regarded as ephemera, intended to satisfy the transitory whims of adolescents, with no pretensions to lasting greatness. However, I would hope that this paper has gone some way to demonstrating that the apparent simplicity of many chart singles implies neither a simplistic message nor a simplistic response.
Bibliography
Barthes, R. (1982) Camera Lucida, translated by Richard Howard. London: Jonathan Cape.
Benjamin, W. (1970) 'The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction', in Illuminations. London: Jonathan Cape.
Buskin, R. (1994) 'From ABC to ZTT: The Amazing Career of Trevor Horn', in Sound on Sound, Vol. 9, Issue 10.
Eisenberg, E. (1987) The Recording Angel. London: Pan Books.
Goodwin, Andrew (1993) Dancing in the Distraction Factory. London: Routledge.
Hardy, P. and Laing, D. (1990) The Faber Companion to 20th-Century Popular Music. London: Faber and Faber.
Lanza, J. (1995) Elevator Music. London: Quartet Books.
Larkin, C. (1993) The Guinness Encyclopaedia of Popular Music (Concise Edition). London: Guinness Publishing.
Mackay, A. (1981) Electronic Music. London: Phaidon Press.
Schwarzkopf, E. (1982) On and Off the Record. London: Faber and Faber.
Notes
[1] Roland Barthes, on photography, writes of "that faint uneasiness which seizes me when I look at 'myself' on a piece of paper" in Camera Lucida (translated from French by Richard Howard, London: Jonathan Cape Ltd., 1982).
[2] This phrase was originally coined by Gilbert Ryle (The Concept of Mind, 1949) in a somewhat different context. Cited by Arthur Koestler in The Ghost in the Machine(London: Penguin, 1967, p.202).
[3] For further discussion on this point see Evan Eisenberg, The Recording Angel (London: Pan Books, 1987, pp.51-53).
[4] Island Records (1979), WIP 6524.
[5] Phil Hardy and Dave Laing, The Faber Companion to 20th-Century Popular Music (London: Faber and Faber, 1990, p.368).
[6] Ibid.
[7] Walter Legge, the classical record producer, described himself as "a midwife to music". Quoted in Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, On and Off the Record (London: Faber and Faber, 1982, p.v).
[8] This mysterious, creative quality sometimes gives the record producer a Svengali-like image. See Andy Mackay, Electronic Music (London: Phaidon Press, 1981, p.90).
[9] In a different but clearly related context, Joseph Lanza writes of a music that "celebrates a nostalgia for the future as it paradoxically looks ahead toward unsolved childhood mysteries" (Elevator Music, London: Quartet Books, 1995, p.190).
[10] A further implication is the transition from audio to audio-visual medium: the belief that the pop video would eventually replace the vinyl disc as the main consumer durable of the music industry, shifting the balance between sound and image, began in the late '70s.
[11] "It's very difficult to disentangle the technology from the music, whether you like it or not" (Trevor Horn interviewed by Richard Buskin in Sound on Sound, Vol. 9, Issue 10, August 1994, p.40).
[12] Further differentiation is created by the specific pitching of the voices, in terms of register: the male vocal is quite high and therefore rather uncomfortable, while the female voices are lower and more relaxed.
[13] Significantly this gesture is preceded by a perceptible increase in reverberation on the very last line of the male voice in the song, giving the impression of it receding into the distance.
[14] Note, however, the contradiction in the tenses of the verbs: 'Video killed the Radio Star' and 'You are a Radio Star'.
[15] The Age of Plastic (Island Records, 1979).
[16] In conversation Trevor Horn has referred to this coda as the "Symphony", linking this section directly with the "Second Symphony" of the verse.
[17] A quick fade-out leaves the listener in no doubt that these two elements (which perhaps represent two opposing forces: old and new, classical and popular, radio and video, stasis and change, etc.) cannot finally be reconciled.
[18] See W. Benjamin, 'The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction', in Illuminations (London: Jonathan Cape, 1970).
[19] Disco was one of the first pop genres that was never intended to be performed live.
[20] Consider the classic bass sequence of 'I Feel Love' by Donna Summer (GTO GT 100, 1977) with its utterly regular semiquaver pattern only possible on the arpeggiator of an analogue synthesiser.
[21] Real disco records tended to be longer (the 12" 45 r.p.m. was the standard format) with a more mixer-led structure and a more insistent use of repetition than the chart singles that aped their characteristics.
[22] The singles of the '70s were often also associated with the recording studio rather than any live performance.
[23] Colin Larkin (ed.) The Guinness Encyclopaedia of Popular Music (Concise Edition, London: Guinness Publishing, 1993). See also footnote 6.
[24] Phil Hardy and Dave Laing, op. cit., p.368.
[25] However, in several ways, pop music has undergone greater changes in the past thirty years than any other genre of music.