Pro Tools

When Jack White came to Nashville to produce Loretta Lynn's Van Lear Rose, he refused to work in any of Music Row's state-of-the-art studios. "We weren't going to use Pro Tools or any kind of trickery to make it sound perfect," he said. "I wanted it to be soulful. I didn't want it to sound like a modern Nashville country album."

Allison Moorer put it just as bluntly in the credits of her 2002 album Miss Fortune. In large type, she stated that Pro Tools had not been used in the recording of the album.

So what is this demon Pro Tools? It's a digital recording system at the center of the debate about how technological advancements affect the sound and creation of music. The most heated issue involves a specific device, the auto-tuner—digital computer software that allows a note that's sung off-pitch to be corrected or, as common parlance has it, "fixed in the mix."

In the bluntest terms, auto-tuning allows a singer or instrumentalist to flub a note and later have it mended digitally by a computer. An imperfect vocal performance can come out sounding like every word was sung perfectly on key, even if the performer couldn't sing an entire song in tune to save his or her life.

Some see this as cheating. Even worse, some believe the music industry has entered a "twilight zone" in which marginally talented yet attractive performers can be packaged and turned into mega-stars. Meanwhile, truly gifted yet less magnificent physical specimens are left to struggle in the shadows or are pushed aside altogether.

Others see it differently, claiming that using auto-tuning is simply availing oneself of every device available to make the best recording possible. Since the inception of audio technology, engineers have tinkered with equipment and tampered with the studio process, all with the aim of creating a dynamic recording with mass appeal. The most famous producers of all time—including Sam Phillips, Phil Spector, Berry Gordy, Billy Sherrill and Mutt Lange—employed technological tricks to make their records stand out.

The late Owen Bradley, the Nashville producer responsible for some of country's greatest recordings, once was introduced at an industry panel discussion with a flowery speech that listed the great singers he'd worked with, among them Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Ernest Tubb, Kitty Wells, Conway Twitty, Brenda Lee, k.d. lang and Mandy Barnett. To start the questioning, Bradley was asked what it was like to work with a great vocalist like Patsy Cline, who had such perfect intonation. He replied that Cline not only sang flat or sharp on occasion, but that they often worked like hell to get those classic performances out of her; she often fought with him about having to sing lines over until she got them right.

But Cline was a great vocalist, and her pitch wavered less than most singers. Her voice also had an amazing richness, and she brought a preternatural depth of emotion to a lyric.

Still, Pro Tools undoubtedly would have made recording her easier and faster. Would the results have been as good?

At the same panel, Bradley was asked if he ever worked with a singer with perfect pitch. He said yes, and named the singer. Few in the room recognized the name. As Bradley explained, the singer had a great voice, but she just didn't convey much personality or charisma. She didn't have what it took to become a star.

Therein lies the debate: What makes a good recording? What makes a good entertainer? What makes someone a star? Is it talent and timing? Money and the right marketing campaign? Some combination of the above?

Then there's the related question: Does modern music's obsession with "perfection" process out the peculiarities that, in the past, resulted in some of the best-loved records and most revered artists in popular music? Imagine Johnny Cash being auto-tuned. Or Hank Williams. Or, for that matter, Mick Jagger, Louis Armstrong and Bob Dylan. All of them sang off-key at times; some of them rarely, if ever, hit a "correct" note. Each of them typically hit the "right" one, though: Their performances are legendary, despite—or maybe because of—their imperfections.

In modern-day Nashville, though, perfection is definitely the goal. No wrong notes here. (Well, not many.) And each artist has his or her own way of attaining that goal. It won't surprise anyone to know that Martina McBride refuses to use an auto-tuner. Yet she'll perform a new song 20 times, 50 times or even more than that before recording it—not because she can't nail the pitch, but because she's constantly toying with her phrasing or her interpretation of the lyrics, looking for the most effective way to get it down. It's a laborious process, but that's how she gets the performances she wants.

Vince Gill and Trisha Yearwood, two other widely respected singers, also refuse to allow pitch-correction tools on their vocal work. "They both told me, 'Don't use that shit on me,' " producer Tony Brown says with a laugh. Brown recalled once asking Yearwood to take a third pass at a song, to see if she could get an even better take. She glared at him and responded, "Yeah, I'll sing it again. But if I can't get it right in three tries, just shoot me."