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藤本国彦さんがモーソーする日本公演セットリスト 警視庁フィルムの映画使用交渉について、少しだけお話ししよう ステージ経験のある杉田裕が語る「ライブ会場としての武道館」 エンディングテーマは杉田裕の「絶望してる暇はない」
藤本国彦さんがモーソーする日本公演セットリスト 警視庁フィルムの映画使用交渉について、少しだけお話ししよう ステージ経験のある杉田裕が語る「ライブ会場としての武道館」 エンディングテーマは杉田裕の「絶望してる暇はない」
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Title: Building the Crescendo — Geoff Emerick and the Orchestral Shock of “A Day in the Life”
By early 1967 Geoff Emerick faced one of the biggest sonic puzzles of his career: how to make a song that moves from hushed confession to apocalyptic release sound inevitable. “A Day in the Life” required more than tidy mic placement and competent mixing — it demanded a rethinking of how to record an orchestra so that it didn’t simply sit on top of the Beatles’ band, but became an integral, physical part of the song’s narrative sweep.
Emerick’s solution was both practical and imaginative. He abandoned a single, distant orchestral ‘room’ capture and instead treated the players as a sculptural sound mass. Drawing on what the production notes later called his “micro-spatial recording” idea, he deployed multiple microphones at varying distances and positions across the orchestra to build a three-dimensional sound field. Close mics captured the immediacy and edge of individual instruments; mid-distance capsules tracked sectional interactions; far mics preserved the natural ambience and decay of the studio. The result gave the orchestra a sense of depth that could be emphasized or pulled back in the mix without losing cohesion.
Recording the orchestra separately — rather than trying to get everything in a single pass with the Beatles — let Emerick experiment. He layered multiple takes and used multi-tracking to create the enormous, swelling texture that dominates the record’s finale. But layering alone wouldn’t create the emotional arc he wanted. He carefully controlled dynamics and timbral balance through choices of mic types and placement, selective EQ, and judicious use of compression and reverb. Rather than hiding the process behind studio gloss, he made the engineering choices audible: the orchestra moves toward the listener, like an approaching storm, then dissolves into air.
The sessions stretched late into the night and were, by all accounts, intense. Emerick moved between microphones, tweaking levels and equalization on the fly, coaxing tiny changes from players until the overall sweep worked. Older Abbey Road engineers were at first skeptical; Norman Smith and others found these methods unconventional, even reckless. But as the players responded — reportedly playing with new precision and urgency — skepticism turned into cautious intrigue. Emerick’s meticulous attention to detail convinced the orchestra that this was not chaos for its own sake but a deliberate sonic architecture.
Technically, one of the biggest challenges was capturing an enormous dynamic climb without introducing unwanted artifacts: distortion, phase issues from multiple mics, or feedback in the room. Emerick mitigated these risks by staggering microphone polar patterns and distances, by carefully monitoring phase relationships on the mixing console, and by planning headroom into tape levels so the climactic peaks could be translated into tangible impact rather than clipped noise. The mixing phase then became a performance — manual fader rides and subtle processing sculpted the climb so it felt organic, not engineered.
The orchestral overdubs were not simply decorative; they were an emotional amplifier. Emerick’s approach let a single chord progression evolve into a tidal wave of timbre and texture, turning Lennon and McCartney’s disparate sections into one dramatic whole. His willingness to test microphone placement, to embrace multi-tracking as a compositional tool, and to treat the console as an instrument of shape rather than only balance, marked a turning point in popular record production.
“A Day in the Life” is often remembered for its composition and its cultural moment; listening closely, you hear Emerick’s contribution: engineering that interprets a song’s psychology and translates it into physical space. He didn’t just capture sound — he constructed it.
To discover hundreds of other stories from the control room, get the full, definitive account in the book 'Recording Revolution.'
Draft status: saved for editorial review.
Title: Building the Crescendo — Geoff Emerick and the Orchestral Shock of “A Day in the Life”
By early 1967 Geoff Emerick faced one of the biggest sonic puzzles of his career: how to make a song that moves from hushed confession to apocalyptic release sound inevitable. “A Day in the Life” required more than tidy mic placement and competent mixing — it demanded a rethinking of how to record an orchestra so that it didn’t simply sit on top of the Beatles’ band, but became an integral, physical part of the song’s narrative sweep.
Emerick’s solution was both practical and imaginative. He abandoned a single, distant orchestral ‘room’ capture and instead treated the players as a sculptural sound mass. Drawing on what the production notes later called his “micro-spatial recording” idea, he deployed multiple microphones at varying distances and positions across the orchestra to build a three-dimensional sound field. Close mics captured the immediacy and edge of individual instruments; mid-distance capsules tracked sectional interactions; far mics preserved the natural ambience and decay of the studio. The result gave the orchestra a sense of depth that could be emphasized or pulled back in the mix without losing cohesion.
Recording the orchestra separately — rather than trying to get everything in a single pass with the Beatles — let Emerick experiment. He layered multiple takes and used multi-tracking to create the enormous, swelling texture that dominates the record’s finale. But layering alone wouldn’t create the emotional arc he wanted. He carefully controlled dynamics and timbral balance through choices of mic types and placement, selective EQ, and judicious use of compression and reverb. Rather than hiding the process behind studio gloss, he made the engineering choices audible: the orchestra moves toward the listener, like an approaching storm, then dissolves into air.
The sessions stretched late into the night and were, by all accounts, intense. Emerick moved between microphones, tweaking levels and equalization on the fly, coaxing tiny changes from players until the overall sweep worked. Older Abbey Road engineers were at first skeptical; Norman Smith and others found these methods unconventional, even reckless. But as the players responded — reportedly playing with new precision and urgency — skepticism turned into cautious intrigue. Emerick’s meticulous attention to detail convinced the orchestra that this was not chaos for its own sake but a deliberate sonic architecture.
Technically, one of the biggest challenges was capturing an enormous dynamic climb without introducing unwanted artifacts: distortion, phase issues from multiple mics, or feedback in the room. Emerick mitigated these risks by staggering microphone polar patterns and distances, by carefully monitoring phase relationships on the mixing console, and by planning headroom into tape levels so the climactic peaks could be translated into tangible impact rather than clipped noise. The mixing phase then became a performance — manual fader rides and subtle processing sculpted the climb so it felt organic, not engineered.
The orchestral overdubs were not simply decorative; they were an emotional amplifier. Emerick’s approach let a single chord progression evolve into a tidal wave of timbre and texture, turning Lennon and McCartney’s disparate sections into one dramatic whole. His willingness to test microphone placement, to embrace multi-tracking as a compositional tool, and to treat the console as an instrument of shape rather than only balance, marked a turning point in popular record production.
“A Day in the Life” is often remembered for its composition and its cultural moment; listening closely, you hear Emerick’s contribution: engineering that interprets a song’s psychology and translates it into physical space. He didn’t just capture sound — he constructed it.
To discover hundreds of other stories from the control room, get the full, definitive account in the book 'Recording Revolution.'
Draft status: saved for editorial review.
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Fab Four Theories: Is the Nonsensical Song “Come Together” Actually About Each Member? - American Songwriter
Fab Four Theories: Is the Nonsensical Song “Come Together” Actually About Each Member? - American Songwriter
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