The Making of “Marubio”

“Marubio” began because of a broken computer.

In 2005, my home recording studio was built around a custom PC. The computer was aggressively spec’d for the studio. But after nearly four years, it was already exhibiting enough technical issues to warrant repairs. (A new machine wasn’t in the budget.) Away to the repair shop it went.

But I was itching to record. Now.

So I turned to my Korg Triton Studio workstation keyboard. I’d previously only used it for its sample-based sounds. But it also has a built-in hard drive, sequencer, and mixer. I knew it could do much more; I just hadn’t taken the time—or had the need—to figure it out.

After starting my home-recording journey with an easy-to-use, all-in-one machine (the Roland VS-2000) then soon moving to Pro Tools on a computer, recording with only the Triton presented a pretty steep learning curve.

Of course, one great way to learn a piece of equipment is to use it in a project, figuring out how to achieve specific results rather than just fiddling around or stepping mechanically through a tutorial.

That process, though, is inherently fraught. Inspiration gets put on hold every time you have to return to the manual, navigate layers of touchscreen menus, or search for sounds—buried somewhere among all of the options—that match what you’re hearing in your head. (For an inspiring example of someone’s first time “playing around” with what they could accomplish with a Korg Triton, check out Linda Perry’s story of how she created Pink’s hit “Get the Party Started.” Remarkable.)

I began by searching for a looping rhythm/sound that could get things going. After that was sorted, I worked in sections, layering on a bass line, background strings, and an electric piano. Once I was happy with how things were working together, I did some light editing—the Korg’s small touchscreen and limited options made that interesting—and polished the result into a 50-second piece of music. I then cut and pasted sections to bring it to just over three minutes, using the Triton’s mixer to bring instruments in and out along the way to create some musical variation. I saved it as “RnB Thing” and then moved on to try something different.

Within a week, I came up with four new pieces of music. Once I got my computer back, I shifted all of the tracks from the Triton into Pro Tools, so I’d be able to record additional instruments easily and mix and edit properly…should I ever figure out what these “pieces” were meant to be.

Because the thing was that “RnB Thing” (as well as at least two of the other Triton tracks) was just a repeated riff. It wasn’t a song. It would need additional work if it were ever going to be worth sharing. So I kept returning to it through the years, listening again and again to see if it sparked any new musical ideas, suggested any new directions.

For 15 years, it didn’t.

Lately, I’ve turned my attention away from producing songs for album releases and have been focusing on recording and releasing singles—vocal-based originals, cover songs, and instrumentals—just to get more of my stuff out there. It seemed like a good time, finally, to give serious attention to “RnB Thing.”

“Marubio” is the result.

The first half of the song retains all of the original Triton-created tracks, along with a new electric-guitar rhythm and a series of new countermelodies played by various instruments. As that section winds down, it flows into the second half of the song, introduced by a gently throbbing drum/bass rhythm and a soft vocal “aah.” (Although only I will likely make the connection, that “aah” was inspired by a recurring motif in Paulina Rubio’s song “Lo Que Pensamos.” That’s the reason for the “-rubio” in “Marubio.”)

The song changes again at around 4:35, with a clean, funky Strat rhythm on the right (the Strat is the only real guitar on the track) and a dirty, distorted electric guitar melody (a Triton preset) on the left. A fast synth riff then leads straight into the brief and bluesy, piano-driven climax, supported by layered synths and sampled horns.

I’m hardly unbiased, but I think it works. I’m pleased that the result now references (though somewhat obliquely) some of my musical influences, from the aforementioned Rubio to the mid-career instrumental work of Mike Oldfield and—believe it or not—even ABBA (for example, the piano sound in “Intermezzo No. 1”). But maybe the biggest payoff is that I can finally stop wondering what to do with this 15-year-old musical fragment!

Next up: Seeing what improvements I can bring to the next Triton piece, an electronic dance track called “SynthPopDream.”

“Marubio” was released to all major online stores and streaming platforms on May 14, 2024.

Day 31: Final Thoughts

Now that I’ve completed my 1-a-Day Album Project, I want to share some thoughts and reflect on the experience.

The albums I chose were based on reputation, personal interest, and pure whim. I could easily extend this project for a whole year and come up with completely different musicians and albums every month. (I only wish the history of rock had included more people of color and more women whose albums I don’t already own. Which is why there’s no Hendrix, Prince, Heart, Runaways, Kate Bush, etc.)

I think it’s worth talking a bit about albums with big reputations or impressive sales. There were at least two such records I really didn’t like.

Reputations are based on the quality of the music—but only in part. They also reflect the popular culture at the time when these albums were released and first heard—the zeitgeist, the other sounds in the air. A band’s prior work plays a role as well (“This is a big leap forward!”). But because of how I approached these albums—in a 2022 far removed from when most of this music appeared, and with little or no prior experience with these artists—I will never be able to appreciate them in the same way as their original listeners. I especially won’t be able to appreciate them in the same way as someone who has grown up with this music as the soundtrack for their life. So when I come cold to, say, “Appetite for Destruction,” I’m evaluating it purely as a purposeful collections of songs, acknowledging that I’m missing out on some of the elements that contributed to its success. (Having said that, though, I’d argue that a classic album that cannot stand on its own today was probably not such a great album in the first place.)

Much as I tried to be objective and accepting of what these albums could deliver, I couldn’t ignore my natural tastes and prior listening experience. I like to think my tastes are diverse and that I’m open to new music, new artists. But I’m also a product of everything I’ve heard before, which has shaped my ideas about what makes good songs and good albums. As a writer and reader, I put a lot more emphasis on lyrics than casual listeners who claim to “never listen to the words.” I favor structure, rhymes or near-rhymes, keen observations, a relatable (or at least understandable) world view, and, when appropriate, wit and wordplay. Musically, I just want something I haven’t heard before or something familiar presented in a fresh way. I love harmony. I can appreciate the serious as well as the silly.

My “first impressions” were just that: My thoughts after hearing an album once. That’s not a perfect barometer; I’ve only come to love some of my favorite albums and artists after repeated listens, over a long period of time. So my initial opinions may or may not change after subsequent listens.

That said, I’ve found something to like on every album I’ve listened to (with very few exceptions). Some have already received multiple listens. Two became immediate favorites, leading me to purchase all of the bands’ other work. I expect to add more to that list as I spend time revisiting all of the albums I enjoyed during this project.

Of course, there are innumerable older albums still to be heard, new music constantly being released. No one could ever catch up or keep up. But this project has reminded me just how much good and even great music there is out there that I have yet to hear.

Here’s to the joy of listening.

Day 30: Genesis, “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway”

When: Released November 18, 1974

Why? Although I’m a fan of Peter Gabriel’s solo career, I’ve never heard him within the context of his group, Genesis. This was his final album with the band.

What? A concept album of progressive rock featuring 23 songs, lasting 93 minutes.

First Impressions: Given my very mixed experiences with prog-rock throughout this project, I’m going into this one a bit apprehensive. I want to like it, but I’m not really expecting to.

I’ll cut to the chase: I enjoyed fewer than five minutes of this 93-minute double album.

Concept albums are built on a narrative story or cohesive theme expressed through most if not all of the songs. (Why “Tommy” is a concept album and “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” is not.) Here, the story Gabriel is (supposedly) telling through his lyrics is, in a word, bonkers. Although he elaborates on it in the album’s lengthy liner notes (available online these days), it’s a stream-of-consciousness fever dream of the absurd that avoids internal logic, makes no sense as a narrative, and doesn’t seem to be making any actual points beyond the obvious ones. I can’t imagine what the band expected people to make of this content without having both the lyrics and the explanatory notes in front of them. (And even then…)

Looking back at the album, keyboardist Tony Banks apparently told one interviewer that he believes the album’s concept is its weakest part. I have to agree. It is so lacking in cohesion and clarity that it might as well not exist at all. And yet—and this brings me to my biggest frustration with this album—without this concept (shaky as it is) the songs themselves simply do not stand up on their own as songs.

The songs here are, for the most part, incoherently vague in their storytelling. There is almost no repetition within them, no melodic themes that develop, little to make one section in one song distinct from another instrumental section in another song. These songs propel us on a journey during which the scenery is constantly changing and nothing reminds us of home. From that perspective, I don’t believe these “songs” function as songs at all. What they do do is deliver lots of wordplay (which is not always successful, except to draw attention to itself) and frequent rhyming for the sake of rhyming (not for the sake of the message being delivered).

The performances, surprisingly, are outstanding. Everything sounds great production-wise and the performances are enthusiastic and inventive, particularly Gabriel’s vocals and Phil Collins’s drums. It all just seems wasted on this material. I can’t imagine what led each of the band members to invest themselves so fully in a project like this—a project for which I can find very little point.

While calling them favorites might be a stretch, I appreciated the songs here that did something different, including: “The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging,” “Counting Out Time,” and “The Colony of Slippermen.” I was least appreciative of the instrumentals (although several of them sounded like direct inspirations for some of Mike Oldfield’s music, which I love), particularly “The Waiting Room.”

So? If this is what early Genesis sounds like, I have no interest in listening further. I love songs and I love stories; for me, this album includes neither.

I’m glad I can check this one off the list. But listening was more like fulfilling a requirement so I could complete the course. And it’s not a course I want to repeat.

Day 29: Bob Marley and The Wailers, “Catch a Fire”

When: Released April 13, 1973

Why? I can’t recall ever hearing an actual Wailers song. My previous experience was with cover versions, such as Eric Clapton’s “I Shot the Sheriff” and Johnny Nash’s “Stir It Up,” the original version of which appears on this album.

What? Nine songs, just under 36 minutes. This album, the Wailers’ fifth, is notable for being the one that introduced the group—and, presumably, reggae in general—to rock audiences.

First Impressions: I’ll state this at the top: As someone who appreciates reggae rhythms and the musicianship required to play them, I was predisposed to like this. And I did.

The album opens with four songs of survival, oppression, and, eventually, escape: “Concrete Jungle,” “Slave Driver,” “400 Years,” and “Stop That Train.” Yet despite the emotional weight of the lyrics, the songs themselves never feel oppressive or weary. And Marley (who wrote all but two of the songs here) seems to make a point of contrasting whatever sorrow he may be experiencing with at least a suggestion of positivity: “I’ve never known happiness / I’ve never known what sweet caress is / Still / I’ll be always laughing like a clown / Won’t someone help me, ’cause I / I’ve got to pick myself from off the ground,” he sings in “Concrete Jungle.” This message is only helped by that loping, reggae beat, which seems to lift everything up.

Peter Tosh, writer and lead singer of the two non-Marley songs, seems more cynical. In “400 Years,” he bemoans a history that favors complacency over action: “Look how long, 400 years / Way too long / And the people, my people can’t see.” And then in “Stop That Train,” it sounds like he’s done cajoling; if no one will listen, he will take his message elsewhere: “Teaching my people who don’t understand / And even though I tried my best / I still can’t find no happiness / So I got to say, stop that train, I’m leaving, any day now.”

I’ve read nothing that suggests there was any special thought given to this album’s sequencing. But it seems to flow perfectly, with “Stop That Train” providing a natural segue into three songs of love and sex—“Baby We’ve Got a Date (Rock It Baby),” “Stir It Up,” and “Kinky Reggae”—before returning to sociopolitical concerns in “No More Trouble” and “Midnight Ravers.”

I am completely unfamiliar with Rastafari religious beliefs, which are probably essential for a full understanding of Marley’s songwriting in particular and the Wailers’ work in general. So there may be messages and layers of meaning here that I simply am not getting. That said, I really enjoyed all of the songs here. My least favorite songs were “No More Trouble,” which was overly repetitive for me, and “Midnight Ravers,” which opened with a wonderfully provocative verse—starting with the line, “Can’t tell the woman from the man / No, I say you can’t, ’cause they’re dressed in the same pollution”—but then became cryptic and indecipherable to me.

About the recordings themselves… The songs were recorded in several different Jamaican studios, then enhanced later (with some remixing and additional instrumental overdubbing) by Marley and the album’s producer and label owner, Chris Blackwell, in England. The two were working to achieve an authentic reggae sound that also would be palatable to American and British rock fans, who in 1973 were either ignorant of or outright antagonist toward the music.

Both the “enhanced” tracks and their previously unreleased Jamaican versions are now available. For my money, Blackwell and Marley did a fantastic job with the material. Blackwell clearly respected the work that the band had done in Jamaica (even though some of the recording was sub-par in sound quality—and remains so in his final mixes), but he was able to give it a depth and professional sheen that the original tracks lacked without affecting its integrity. And I think it’s remarkable that Marley was not only open to these changes, he was actively involved in overseeing and teaching the non-reggae musicians who were involved in the overdubs. He seemingly brought no ego to the task and was interested only in seeing the Wailers’ message spread beyond Jamaican audiences.

So? I thoroughly enjoyed this album and will definitely listen again.

Day 28: Kraftwerk, “Computer World”

When: Released May 10, 1981

Why? Although I’ve heard of Kraftwerk (and, notably, their album “Autobahn”), I’ve never heard a Kraftwerk song. “Computer World,” while not the band’s most popular or critically acclaimed work, has been ranked among the top electronic dance music (EDM) albums of all time. And, hey, I like computers, so I figured it was as good a place as any to start.

What? Seven songs, 35 minutes of influential and formative German electronica.

First Impressions: When I think of modern EDM, I think of a steady, throbbing kick, deep bass, big buildups leading to sparse breakdowns. The focus is on pounding rhythms and layers of ear candy.

This is nothing like that.

Here, the synthesizers are warm and the melodies lullaby-like in their gentle simplicity. What lyrics there are—you could probably capture them all on the back of a single postcard—are also simple and unnuanced, delivered once and then, typically, repeated, over and over. Instead of big statements and sharp contrasts, these songs evolve through repeating themes and rhythms that slowly take on new complexities. Yet the arrangements remain spare, shockingly stripped down compared with today’s productions. Even the synthesized drum sounds, when they’re used at all, are more likely a background color rather than a driving force. Vocals tend to be spoken not sung, delivered in a monotone that mimics the stereotypically emotionless character of a computer.

Looking back from 40+ years in the future, I’m finding this a hard album to judge. It has been hugely influential across a number of genres…yet it seems so different from how those genres exist today that it’s difficult for me to see the connections. Listening to it as simply an album of music, with no historical context, it doesn’t feel in any way remarkable or insightful or even prescient.

Lyrically, these songs are straightforward declarations about life with computers (even though, in 1981, the computer world had barely begun). I don’t believe there are hidden layers of meaning here; anyone who finds deep meaning in the recitation of numbers 1 through 8—the entire lyrics of “Numbers,” presented in multiple languages—is probably just kidding themselves. The title of closer “It’s More Fun to Compute” is also the entire lyric for the song, repeated eight times.

My favorites here would include opener “Computer World,” which is quite warm and inviting despite lyrics that highlight the many ways computers are infiltrating the world; “Pocket Calculator,” with its now-retro bleeps and blips that sound more like R2D2 than any modern device (and remind me a lot of “Temporary Secretary” on “McCartney II,” which was released a year earlier); “Numbers”; and “Computer Love,” which I believe includes the only words on the album that are actually sung.

So? A song or two may be added to a playlist, but I’m going to file this one with the albums I’m glad to have heard but have no need to revisit in their entirety.