Rick Rubin on Listening, Taste, and the Act of Noticing

Conversations with Tyler is produced by the Mercatus Center at George Mason University, bridging the gap between academic ideas and real-world problems. Learn more at mercatus.org. For a full transcript of every conversation enhanced with helpful links, visit conversationswithtyler.com. Hello everyone and welcome back to Conversations with Tyler. Today I am here with Rick Rubin, the Rick Rubin, who was one of the greatest musical producers. He has worked with, among many others, Jay-Z, Kanye, Public Enemy, many of the stars of early rap music, many of the stars of heavy metal, AC/DC, Red Hot Chili Peppers, 5 albums there, Dixie Chicks, Johnny Cash, Tom Petty, Mick Jagger, Neil Young, Adele, and many more. And he has done an amazing 2-hour Hulu special with Paul McCartney. But most notably, as of late this January, Rick has a new book out, a fascinating look at creativity called The Creative Act: A Way of Being. Rick, welcome.

Thank you for having me, sir.

What can we all do to become better listeners? And I mean to other human beings, not of music, not yet.

I would start with the thought to truly hope to understand what the other person is saying. And most of us, when listening, are formulating an opinion in either in response— what are we going to say in response? What do I think about this? Or looking for something to disagree with or a piece to latch on to. But some— we, we take a little piece and then tune out from what's being said. So I would say any ability to turn our own filters off, forget about what we think, not be analytical at all, and only listen with the idea of truly understanding what the person is communicating and then asking questions if there's anything that that we don't completely understand or anything that might be different, anything that seems odd that the person is saying. I'm not saying challenge them. I'm saying, "Oh, why is that the case? How did you get to that?" Because when we truly open ourselves to people, they tell us everything and we can learn a tremendous amount. Whatever I know is from talking to people, reading, talking to people. We get information from outside of ourselves. We're not making it up. It's not starting in us. So we're doing a disservice when we're listening to someone and we're formulating what's going to happen next or judging them or anything like that.

In music, what is it you do to become a better listener to the music?

I think it just comes out of a love, a love of doing it. Spending time with my eyes closed listening was something I did through my whole childhood. It was my deepest connection to anything was music. And it just comes through love and devotion.

What is the listening moment in actual Buddhist music that interests you the most? So for me, it's Tibetan sacred music, but for you, it might be something else.

Mm-hmm.

What is that moment in listening to such music that grabs your attention the most?

I think it's different at different times. Like the sound of a chime or Tibetan bowl and listening to how it changes over time and how it dissipates and how it hangs in the air for a period time that seems impossible and how we can hear it get quieter and quieter and quieter. And it gets so quiet eventually we can't tell, are we still hearing it anymore? There's something about what is and isn't here that comes up through that experience of questioning our own senses of what we're hearing and what we're not hearing. And I like that feeling.

You talked about that hanging sensation from Tibetan bowl music. What is a moment of hanging or near-hanging silence in so-called popular music that you find fascinating?

I have to think about this a bit. I would say the closest thing that comes up is in classical music and in the different interpretations of the same pieces. When you're familiar with what's coming and it doesn't happen the way you think it's gonna happen. I mean, the notes, it's written, and the notes are the same notes. And the first one that came to mind was Glenn Gould's early version and later versions of the variations that in the early one, it's played very quickly and very, a great deal of dexterity. And in the later one, there are times when the next note seemingly never comes. And it's fascinating. I actually prefer that one. And that gives me that same feeling of the notes hanging in space. It's also interesting that the rhythms change where once we understand a certain rhythm that the notes come in, when we learn that in learning how a song goes, to hear them come in a different rhythm— is fascinating. It really just lights up things in the brain.

I believe that later Gould recording is 79 minutes, whereas the first Gould recording is 45 minutes, and some of that is adding in repeats, but he's also playing much more slowly.

Yeah. And it's— I feel like in the speed, in the slowness of it, there's so much more emotion between the notes. That we can feel that the earlier one is more of a showy— is a showier rendition, and the later one is more of a soulful rendition for me.

As a music producer, what do you think of the 17 minutes of silence before the final track on Nirvana's Nevermind album?

I think it's cool. I like— I like anything that breaks the norm is interesting. And it forces the listener to engage in the music in a different way. The purpose of something like that is to feel like the album's over and you're going about your business and you forget you were even listening to it, and then you're surprised by this thing that happens. So it forces you to pay attention in a way that doesn't come so naturally. It essentially tricks the audience into forgetting that they were listening to music.

How have you been influenced by the painter Mondrian?

He's one of the painters that really spoke to me when I was going to film school. And I remember being fascinated by the geometric shapes, the particular colors, the way it made me feel, and the fact that I was living in New York at that time and it had an urban sensibility. It almost felt like a subway map. There was something, something about it that just spoke to me that changed my understanding of what fine art could be.

Now, as you know, the New York avant-garde of the '50s and '60s was greatly influenced by John Cage. You're coming a bit later, coming of age in the '80s. Is that an influence on you as well? And if so, what did you take from Cage?

One of the greatest things I can remember reading was a story in Cage's book. I think it's called Silence. He tells a story where he's driving, he's on his way to do a Q&A, and he was going over the 5 answers that he prepared that he would use randomly for whatever questions were asked. And I just thought that was beautiful, Cagey, and that his philosophy extended past his music to a way of being in the world. I really appreciated that.

What does it mean to have a moment of silence or near silence in rap music, which seems to always be moving, right? Does that work?

You could definitely have a moment of silence. I'm sure I've produced records that have moments of silence in them where we're doing a transition from one energetic feel to another. There's one that comes to mind, I think it's on a Beastie Boys album where there's a certain rhythm pattern going for a period of time and then the song stops and then a new thing starts. It'd be like a reprise of sorts, but Similar to what we discussed with the Goldberg Variations, it comes back in a halftime or much slower rendition to what was happening before to shed new light on it.

What from non-Western music has influenced you the most?

I think minimalism in general, minimalism in art has probably influenced my taste and my taste influences the work that I make. So the idea of trying to use the least amount of information to get a point across. And I would say also poetry probably has had an impact in that same way.

What do you think of pygmy vocal music?

Like the Tuvan music?

No, it's a lot of hocketing. It's not throat singing. It's highly complex.

I'm not aware of it.

Oh, you should look into pygmy vocal music. I'll send you a reference. I will.

Please send it to me. Thank you.

What have you learned from Sherlock Holmes stories?

To look closely at things, to look deeper, to pay attention, to notice what maybe others aren't noticing.

And how exactly do you characterize his special skill? Because to the outside reader, it seems like he's making things up. Are those acts of creativity on Holmes's part, or are they acts of noticing?

Well, I think they're the same thing. I think creativity is acts of noticing. Nothing comes from us. We're not— the creator isn't making the thing. The creator is recognizing the thing, noticing the thing, and then sharing it in a way where the audience can hopefully get a glimpse of what we've noticed.

Is contemporary music too loud? There's a brightness to the sound, right? Especially digital production.

It doesn't bother me one way or the other. I like music that sounds good. There's some music that I think sounds very aggressive and abrasive and essentially too loud that really works. Probably I don't listen to very much of that music, but I would say if I was looking for a particular energy in music, whatever would sound like too far in that world would probably sound right to me.

Do you think the widespread advent of streaming threatens the economic viability of a successful ecosystem for musical production and sale?

I think it can be. I don't think it is yet. If you look at the history of recorded music, at the time that the Beatles were making albums, I think they were paid several pennies per album sold. And then over time, the artists got more leverage and were able to negotiate better deals. And I think it finally culminated in the old music business with Michael Jackson, who was getting maybe $2 per album that was sold, which was much more than everybody else. In the early days of singles, people were paid very little. So every time there's a new format of music, the rights holders seem to take advantage of that. And when CDs first came in, artists got paid less on a CD than they did for vinyl. And it's been every time. Every time there's a new format, The artist gets paid less. Now, it only gets— they only get paid less until their attorneys realize, oh, in our next deal, we're going to negotiate to have better digital rights or better whatever it is. And then it eventually evens out because ultimately the artists have a great deal of leverage. Like now, for the handful of the biggest artists in the world, they probably make more money through streaming music than anyone has ever made in the physical world of music. It's very much of a top-down thing. It's only the very top percent who have that. Eventually, hopefully, it'll get more equitable. It always has. Like, in every case it has. So I'm optimistic that it will again.

Do you worry about the decline in music education in American schools? Does that matter for popular music in the future? Or do people just teach themselves? There's YouTube, there's streaming, whatever.

I don't think it matters. I like, I like the idea of learning what you want in school. And if you want to learn music, it would be nice to have that option. But I think that people learn the things they love, whatever they are, not in school.

Some commentators have argued that because of streaming, listeners consume too much old music and not enough new music. And indeed, if you look at Spotify data, how much people listen to older music seems to be rising steadily. Is that good? Is that bad? It's a sign of good taste. It makes it harder to break in. How do you think about that?

I don't think about it. I don't think it matters. If people are drawn to older music because they prefer it, that's fine. I think the idea of people listening to what they like is a good idea. And on occasion, there's a new piece of music that really captures someone's attention. I'll say the, the most difficult thing about it now is that all of it has a disposability that it didn't have before. So in the old days, you would buy a piece of music, you would own it, and you would be invested in that piece of music as yours. Now everything's available, which is fantastic, and I love it as a fan. I love it. And when something comes out by an artist that you love It doesn't have the same gravitas that it once had. It's on this conveyor belt of music that's always going by. So even the thing you love, you listen to it, but then there's something new right behind it, coming right behind it, always something new coming right behind it. So I don't know how the music of today can get to the point of the canon of the music of the past based on that short-term— the fact that the music goes by so quickly, even the things we love. The shelf life is very short now.

Or very long, right?

Well, it really changed with streaming. It really did. That was the biggest change. And I was very pro-streaming early on, and I'm surprised. I didn't know that that was going to be one of the things that changed. But it's interesting with all of these things, we never know what's going to change. We take what's good and think about the parts that aren't as good. But ultimately, knowing that if this afternoon I want to listen to the Talking Heads, I don't have to go to the store to try to find it, that I could listen to anything I want to listen to anytime on a whim, it's a really beautiful way to live.

5 years from now, do you think artificial intelligence will be creating good and interesting music?

I don't think so, but I don't know enough about it. I feel like what makes art good is the point of view. It's not the actual content itself, but it's the humanity in it. It's the soul in it that makes it good. And I don't know that AI-generated art will have the soul, that the soul is that element that makes something. It's just decorative art, I would say, at this point.

Is current satellite radio realizing its potential? How could it be better?

Hmm, I quite like it. I like the fact that it's in most cars, and I feel like I get to hear music on satellite radio that I don't hear in other places. I listen to the Frank Sinatra channel quite a bit, and I love that, and the Grateful Dead channel, and I'm relatively new to the Grateful Dead. I like those very much. So I don't know how it could be better. Be interesting to think about though. I've never thought about it. I'm happy I have it.

I'd like for there to be more single artist channels. I like it very much, but the idea of overdosing on an artist for 2 weeks and then moving on to me is quite appealing.

Yeah, but if it was overdosing for 2 weeks, if everybody did that, then having the, you know, the, uh, I don't know who would be the cure channel for 2 weeks would be great. But then when everybody has had their 2 weeks and the cure channel is there forever, considering it seems like satellite seems to have limited bandwidth, is that true? I don't know that either.

I believe so, at least in economic terms. But they had a Led Zeppelin channel for 2 weeks, and I would have gladly— they had had that for a year or longer. It seems they can just set up temporary channels if the rights holders agree.

Yeah. And I listen to the Beatles Channel all the time. I love the Beatles Channel.

As do I.

It was funny, one of the things that when I was talking to Paul McCartney, one of the first things I said to him was like, "Oh yeah, you make all the music that's on the Beatles Channel, right? That's who you are." You're the guy who makes the music for the Beatles Channel.

When you were speaking with McCartney, what was the most McCartney-esque moment or anecdote that you have from that? Which part of that was supreme McCartney for you?

I think when he went, went to the piano and started playing, there was one point where he was giving me a lesson about how to write a song and the way he teaches children to write songs. And it was very rudimentary and he was playing along and showing me something very simple and he was playing it over and over again. And then all of a sudden, through this exercise of very simple, nothing changing, all of a sudden one of the incredible Beatles songs comes out. And it was like, I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it was that simple. Watching it happen was mind-blowing.

You've watched the Get Back sessions movie, right, by Peter Jackson? As a music producer, what's your takeaway from that?

As a Beatles fan, I just love seeing anything with the Beatles in it. I can't get enough. I can't get enough.

But it must have in some way revised your view of the Beatles. What's the Bayesian update, so to speak?

Did you ever see the movie about Metallica? Metallica made a movie called, I think it was called Some Kind of Monster.

No.

Okay. What's interesting about that movie is they're the biggest band in the world at the time that they make the movie, and they make this documentary film, and in the film they're completely lost, completely lost creatively. And I thought it was really bold for them to put it out because it was so revelatory. And I suppose because I've been around a lot of musicians at all different stages of their work, The idea that until it's really good, there's times when nobody knows what they're doing. That's kind of normal. So I guess the thing that I took away as most astounding was when a song would pop up in the movie out of seemingly boredom, just a song would pop up and it would be songs that we've listened to our entire lives. It was thrilling and it was a reminder of that's what it's always like. Yes, on the one hand it's shocking, and on the other hand, that's what it's always like.

I was struck by just how much Paul was the guy who got things done. I had always known that, but the extent of it, seeing it before your eyes, yeah, to me was a shock.

Yeah, he's the— he was the craftsman in the Beatles. He was the record maker in the Beatles. Everyone brought something really special to the Beatles, and that said, Paul in many ways was the glue that allowed it to, to be what it could be.

What is for you a very underrated solo Paul McCartney song?

Maybe Helen Wheels.

Why do you like that?

How did I just remember hearing it on the radio when I was a kid and sounded— it sounded different than other things. I think, I think it's the difference of it. I don't think he has any other songs quite like that.

Putting aside all the people you've worked with, but who or what is it in music right now that you're especially excited about? The sense of looking forward to something. When a certain book comes out, like before you— well, your book's not out yet, but I have a copy, but I was looking forward to that in some very definite way. What is it you're looking forward to in the current stream?

It's funny, but there's, um, I like pro wrestling and WrestleMania is coming up in April and I'm looking forward to, uh, WrestleMania in Los Angeles.

Why do you believe pro wrestling is the most accurate representation of life?

As you once said, you're free to repudiate your own words, but yeah, no, no, no. I'm, I'm, I, I'll stand by that. Uh, that, that sounds solid. Pro wrestling is part made up. Well, it's made up and rooted in real life and real life is made up. And rooted in real life. So wrestling is more— a more honest depiction of the world than everything else that acts like it's not made up.

And who is the pro wrestler in particular that you look forward to?

This season, it's Roman Reigns, who's the Head of the Table, and he's a fantastic character. These days.

What's your favorite opera and why?

I don't listen to very much opera. I listen to the Maria Callas channel on Pandora sometimes, but I don't know what pieces come from where.

I like Don Giovanni very much. Perhaps that's my favorite.

Maybe I'll start with that one. Is there a particular version?

Oh, I think Corensis is the best. Teodor Corensis. And then Colin Davis would be my second choice. But there are many fine recordings of it.

Please send me links to both.

I will send you that. Absolutely.

Both, because I like to compare.

Great. You came of age in New York City. You went into hip-hop early on, but you went to all these punk clubs, from what I gather. How did that feed into your work on heavy metal and hip-hop, this punk background?

I was a punk fan before I was a hip-hop fan. Punk, the punk revolution was really exciting to me because it felt like it was being made by people who weren't technically musicians. And the music that it was replacing would be things like Electric Light Orchestra and who I love as well. And, uh, Yes. And, uh, these very studied virtuoso musicians. And punk rock came along and it was anti. And I like that idea that this is for everybody. It was really democratic, a democratic kind of music. And it seemed to be young people who had energy, usually anger against things that they saw that didn't seem right. Now, in England, it was all about class struggle. In the US, my experience of life, class struggle didn't really exist. So when American bands started doing music inspired by English music, talking about class struggle, it didn't really resonate with me. Whereas the Ramones, the Ramones were my band. The Ramones had the energy of punk rock, but lyrically they weren't an overt political band, which made sense. For the world that we grew up in. Where I grew up was not so far from where the Ramones grew up, and it made sense for our world. The first American punk band, you know, the second wave punk band that really made sense to me was Minor Threat, and that was Ian Mackaye's band. He later had a group called Fugazi, which is fantastic as well. But Minor Threat talked about social issues that were applicable to our life. So it felt more true to me. And I, I love their music, and I love the energy of punk rock music. And I felt like a lot of what I liked in heavy metal growing up before punk rock was even more charged in punk rock. And I tried to bring that aesthetic— or, and then when I say I tried to bring that aesthetic, it's not really right. That's looking back. At the time, the music I liked was punk. I experienced the energy of punk. And then when I was making heavy metal records, let's say, because I had the love of punk rock, I understood this extra gear that the music could go to that it hadn't gone to in the heavy metal days, but did go to in the punk rock days. So for example, with Slayer, trying to bring the power of punk rock but with the precision of heavy metal, because Slayer was a heavy metal band. They were a punk rock heavy metal band, but they were definitely a heavy metal band.

And did you draw much, if anything, from disco in those days, or that was anathema?

No, I always loved disco. I may not have loved all disco, but I like dance music. I love all kinds of dance music, and the best of disco is the best of dance music.

And you grew up in Long Island, is that correct?

Yes.

Do you feel that growing up in Long Island rather than, say, Manhattan has helped you understand the musics of the rest of America better? And if so, how?

I would say growing up where I grew up was a miracle. It plays such an important role in my understanding of, or, or relationship to culture. Not growing up in Manhattan was more of an experience like the rest of the United States., but I was close enough to Manhattan to be able to get there. I could go to a museum, I could go to a Broadway show, I could go to the theater. I could do things that if I was growing up in a truly rural place, I couldn't do. So in some ways I had the best of both worlds. I was close enough to get to the city and understand what was going on in fine art. And live in the suburbs and experience what Americans like. And, and it was again pure luck. And luckily my tastes share those two. I, I got to, uh, experience both of those lives growing up, and either one of them without the other would be out of balance for me.

Having grown up in New Jersey, I feel very much the same way. Now you once said, I'm not sure if this was ironic or serious, but that for you the ideal act of musical production would be never to even meet the artist.

Yes, that's true.

Did you mean that literally or how should I interpret that?

No, you interpret it how you like. I meant it literally.

Why is it better not to meet the artist? To some art collectors, they say, "I never want to meet the painter. I just want to look at the painting more objectively." Is it like that?

Yeah. The idea is having the biggest impact on the work with the least amount of fingerprints. So I want the work to be wholly the artist's work. The less I can do, the better, provided it's the best work the artist has ever done in their lives. So my role is to support the artist. In doing the best work of their lives. And again, if it's needed, my fingerprints are all over it. But my preference is to have as little involvement as possible. So the ultimate version of that would be to know that an artist wants to work with me, for that somehow to be arranged, for me to never meet the artist or speak to them, and have them make the greatest work of their lives knowing that we have this connection.

Is this related to why you don't use more editing software?

When do you mean using editing software? Explain.

Well, you're the one who's there. I'm just guessing from what I hear, but I have the sense that the decisions come from you interacting with the artists. Rather than you doing everything at a board, giving commands to software. But again, your account is the definitive one.

I share my opinion. And more often than not, in some cases, let's say I listen to a body of an artist's work and they ask my opinion and I'll, I'll make, you know, uh, 100 notes and I'll know inside of myself that of these 100 notes, maybe 5 of them will make or break the work. I'll share all 100 notes, and if the artist chooses not to incorporate the 5 that I know are going to make a difference, then I might have a second conversation. But still, it would be ultimately the artist's, always the artist's— I don't want I don't want to convince anyone of anything. I would like to state what I see, and then the artist is up to take that information and use it as they wish.

But you must be an above-average persuader, right?

I feel like I have that ability, but I don't like to use that ability. And I feel like it's a—

Maybe that's why you're above average.

Maybe. Getting someone to do what you want is not— that's not the reason for somebody to do something. I don't like that idea.

But say you're George Martin, you're at Abbey Road Studio, and George Harrison thinks Paul McCartney wants to put too complex a bass line into, uh, Something or While My Guitar Gently Weeps, which in my opinion made those songs much, much better. You've got to persuade someone of something, right?

I don't know. I don't know about that. I'm not sure. And I'm not sure that that's how it went down.

Yes.

Do you know what I'm saying? In that, yeah, I don't, I don't know that. I think more often than not, the people involved in the making of art who are not the creator do more harm than good. So I'm very much of the mind not to do harm. And I don't think that I know everything. I don't, I don't think that my opinion necessarily has more validity than someone else's. So I like to really have the conversation. And get to the bottom of it through, through talking. And ultimately, and I've had it happen where artists will just flat out reject what I'm saying. It's like, that's fine. Or, and I've had the opposite. I've had artists like, tell me more, I want to do more. What you want, like, I'm open to doing it. I'm open to participating as much as they want, but I don't want to convince someone to do something even if I think it's better. I, I don't feel good about that.

You've also claimed you don't really play any musical instruments. Now, that's a matter of degree, but you feel that helps you as a producer?

That I don't? That it helps me that I don't?

That you don't very much. I mean, you must have been, right?

Yeah, but I don't think it— I honestly don't think it helps or hurts. It just is what it is. My involvement is purely about taste. It's not about technical skill and it's not about technique unless there's something that I noticed in the past that I share, like, "Oh, I remember so-and-so did it like this. You want to try that?" That would be the extent of something either technical or musical. But other than that, it's more, "This is the part that's interesting to me. This is the part that's less interesting to me. Is there any way to make this part that's less interesting as interesting as this part?" That's most of my job.

How much of your value added do you think is choosing the right talent? So one of my friends who's a fan of yours described you as one of the greatest venture capitalists of all time. So you could see or feel that certain artists had it in them to do great work with you or with others. And a lot of them were not well known until you worked with them. So some of it is you made the music better, but some of it is you chose properly. What is it you look for when you're choosing people to work with?

I would say it's like falling in love. You can't— I can't say why. It's why do you love something? Why do you love the things you love? It's not intellectual. It's a feeling and you feel it and you want to hear more. You know, you want to hear more. You're, you lean forward, you want to hear more. There's certain artists when they make music, I want to hear all their music. I am less focused on this sounds like a hit song. I don't, I don't care so much about that. I'm more interested in it in how I perceive the artist and whether I'm interested in their body of work or not.

When you were a kid, you've said you did a lot of magic, magic tricks. How did that influence your later approach to music production?

Certain things like understanding misdirection or the surprise that comes up in the juxtaposition of things that creates an illusion. Those things work in music. So I can't think of a song in particular, but there's a song that starts— the first song on an album that starts with a very small sound, and it's rockin', but it's a very small sound, and it goes on for a while, and then it breaks into a very big sound. And because there's no context before the small sound, and the small sound goes on long enough, you might think that's the whole thing, like that's what it is. So that would be something that would be rooted in a magician's principle of creating a certain expectation, and then the surprise of changing it is enthralling for the audience.

Why is it that there are so few really good live albums? Or perhaps you disagree, or is there something that's just very difficult in their production?

I don't know. I don't know.

I like Who Live at Leeds, James Brown at the Apollo, Nirvana MTV special, Allman Brothers Fillmore East, Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison. There's some. I even like Wings Over America, but there aren't that many I really want to go back and listen to.

I'm thinking about why that is. Kiss Alive was another seminal— Kiss Alive II was actually the— they broke based on live records and Frampton Comes Alive was another.

That's good. Yeah.

There's another one. And my favorite, I mentioned earlier, I'm kind of new to the Grateful Dead. Their album called The Reckoning is my favorite of their albums. And that's a live album. It's like a live acoustic album. And most jazz records are ultimately live albums. Even if they're live in the studio, they're live albums. Maybe the difference between a great live album, like if we, if we consider jazz albums, the reason an album might be better live in the studio instead of live in front of an audience isn't so much because the audience is there, but just because of the ability to record it better. That would be my guess. Because so many rock records we like, studio albums, are essentially live records in the studio, the greatest ones of all time.

I once saw Plant and Page live, and they were very tight, but I came away with the impression that Led Zeppelin was more of a studio band than I had thought, that there was a sense of texture in the actual albums that was missing in the concert. And I felt a little flat going out. Oh, I'm supposed to love these guys. I do love them, but it wasn't the same for me. And then I saw a very current version of Queen, and you think, oh, they're the ultimate studio band, and they were amazing live. And I was still puzzled over that.

Yeah, it has to do with the production is a big part of it. So in the case of Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Page's production is astounding. And, and it definitely takes it beyond what the live recording can do. It starts like in each case, in the case of Led Zeppelin, it starts as a live recording in the studio. And then he adds layers and layers of embellishment. That make it like a symphonic recording rooted in a live rock band recording. But if you see the Ramones, you know, the Ramones' first album is recorded all— or the Beatles' first album was recorded just quickly. Black Sabbath's first album was recorded in a few hours. Those are essentially live records. And I think the reason that they might sound better— or I guess the MC5's first album is a live album too.

Should I think of Black Sabbath as just being jazz?

You can. I mean, it's very jazzy. It's very, very jazz-influenced, and that's why they're great.

As I'm sure you know, Jeff Beck sadly just passed away. How is it you think about the nature of his genius?

I think he's one of the greatest guitar players of all time, maybe the greatest, maybe the greatest. What I love about him is that He plays the guitar as if it's a different instrument than the instrument that everyone else who plays guitar plays. He plays it in a completely original way. He found a new language of guitar playing that's only his and that only he can do, that I know of, that only he could do. And it's astounding and breathtaking to watch. I absolutely love his playing. Now, I might not like all of his music, but I love his playing.

How should I think about the production of the Jimi Hendrix Trio? So you have just 3 guys, not very high-tech, and ultimately it sounds like planets are colliding. What is it they did that made that work?

He used so many new original techniques for the time with effects, with panning, He really used the studio. He was one of the first to make the studio part of the group. I have an interesting story to tell you that came from an interview I did with Jimmy Eccles, who is the guitar player in Love, the band Love. Are you familiar with the band?

Of course. Yeah. Forever Changes, among others. Okay.

Yes. I love that album. That's why I was interviewing him. I talked to a few different people. Everyone who was involved in Forever Changes who's still alive, I spoke to. And he told me the story about a guitar player named Jimmy James, who wasn't really a guitar player. He was more of a roadie. And he was a roadie and driver for Little Richard. But Little Richard needed a guitar player live, so Jimmy James would fill in on guitar, but he wasn't really a guitar player. He was more of a roadie and a driver. And the guys from Love hung out with the guys from Little Richard's band. And they were all friends. And one day they were— they get a call. Oh, then there's an— I left out a piece. Okay. Then there's an invention called the Vox Wah-Wah pedal, which was given to all of the guitar players in all of the popular bands as a promotional tool. So Jimmy Eccles got this Vox Wah-Wah pedal. And Jimmy James got one, even though he wasn't really a guitar player, but he played for Little Richard, so it was high profile. All of the guitar players got them. And the pitch from Vox was, "This pedal will make your guitar sound like a trombone." And Jimmy Eccles got this thing, and he said, "Well, if I want to have a trombone on my record," I'll learn to play trombone. And he threw the Vox Wah-Wah pedal in the garbage. Then a year later, 18 months later, they're in Los Angeles and they get a call. There's this incredible guitar player from England named Jimi Hendrix. You have to see him. He's playing in San Francisco. So they drive up to San Francisco all excited. See, he's like the greatest guitar player we've ever seen. And Jimi Hendrix comes out on stage and starts playing, and it's Jimmy James. And it's Jimmy James who used to— who, who was the not-so-great guitar player who used to play, who 18 months ago was the roadie for Little Richard. And he was playing through the Vox Wah-Wah pedal, and the Wah-Wah pedal made Jimmy James into Jimi Hendrix. And the point that— of the story that Jimmy Eccles was telling was the reason that Jimi Hendrix was Jimi Hendrix was because of the way he embraced technology. That's what made him the guitar-playing god that he is, was because he was the first guitar player to embrace the technology.

What made Brian Wilson an important producer?

He heard things that other people couldn't hear and would do— make the effort to get them onto tape so that we could all hear them. And they were often unusual things, very beautiful things, very beautiful harmonies and arrangements that might not make sense to anyone else at the time.

He had amazing silences, I think, in some of the Hawaiian songs, "Little Girl I Once Knew," many others, "Vegetables." I love them. How do you think about the main contribution of Brian Eno to musical production? Obviously incredible in many ways, but as a producer?

He seems to be the one who really broke down the walls of anything sounding like a band. Like, I think up until the time of Eno, the idea of the band being the centerpiece of the recording was the thing that you— built on or veered from, but it was the central idea, was the sound of the band. And I think his idea was music is music and it's not about the band, it's about the sounds. And it could be whatever sounds put together in an interesting way is what it is. So he used the studio. And if Jimi Hendrix embraced the recording studio to take it as far as it could for a rock band, Eno took the recording studio— took the rock band out of the studio and just left with the studio.

The Van Morrison album Astral Weeks, why does that sound so special? Obviously great songs, but there's something about the feel of the album on the LP. What is it?

I think it's a combination of the songs. It's obviously Van's voice is unbelievable. And the sensitivity of the jazz musicians playing. Hearing great jazz musicians playing technically non-jazz music is a really thrilling thing. I tend to like when jazz players play pop music.

Do you know Keith Jarrett playing Shostakovich?

Beautiful.

That's fantastic.

Beautiful.

Very different sound, yeah.

I think in general, Having someone who's good at one thing playing something else is a good idea. I just learned this story recently. I produced Neil Young's last album, and the band on the— the album's called World Record, and the band on the album were the same band who he recorded After the Gold Rush with 50 years ago. And Nils Lofgren was a guitar player who It's funny because I think of Nils as a guy in Bruce's band, but before he played with Bruce, he played with Neil. And while he is an unbelievable guitar player— was then and remains today— Neil wanted him on After the Gold Rush to play piano, specifically because he doesn't really play piano. When Neil wanted someone to play piano, who really understood music and felt music, but didn't really play the instrument that they were playing. And some of the most memorable pieces of that After the Gold Rush album are rooted in Neil's not knowing how to play piano and Neil's understanding that that's what it was. And an interesting thing in dance music is that the most interesting dance music that I've heard seems to be made by people who didn't only listen to dance music, like people who came from punk rock and then started making dance music. Like LCD Soundsystem is a good example. James Murphy was a punk rocker. He was the sound man at CBGB's. And then when he brought his sensibility to the world of dance music, not being of dance music, creates this new energy and light in it that people who have only made dance music— it, it always seems more ordinary to me when the people who are good at it just make it. When someone who doesn't make it makes it, we learn something new. And when we learn something new, it's always the most exciting.

Do you have a favorite Neil Young story that you can share?

Well, I'll tell you a story about this new album. That we just made was an experience unlike any I've had before. We recorded for the first week. Neil comes in with songs written. Normally the way it works is he comes in with songs written that he can play, and he plays the song for the band one time, and then the band plays along with him, and it happens very quickly. That's the way it happens with Crazy Horse. I think with everybody, but with Crazy Horse in particular. And with this album, Neil wrote the songs in a different way, so he didn't know them. He— in the past, he would write songs on guitar and he would play around on the guitar, find chords, write a melody, write words, have the song, know the song, and then come to the studio being able to deliver a solo performance. In this case, he was hiking and whistling. And he noticed that the whistling was interesting, so he started recording the whistling. And then after recording the whistling, he realized, "I think there's enough whistles here of melodies that are interesting that this could be an album of songs." So he'd never done that before, just channeling these melodies. And the writing is unlike any Neil Young music you've heard before because he's never written this way before, and it's just a different process. Came out different and beautiful. It almost seems like it's from another time. It seems like it's from a time before Neil Young. So he has these whistles. He sat down to write words to the whistling, which he did for all the songs in a 2-day window. He wrote all of the words with no revisions and no changes, which is something that he said has never happened to him before in his life. And then He came to the studio with all of his instruments, and he would try to learn the song, how he was gonna do the song. And while he was learning to do the song, the band was learning the song, the changes. And we did this for the first week, and it was really a mess. It was a mess to the point of where Neil got to the point where he was able to play the songs, but it didn't sound like the band would ever be able to play the songs. I can't, I can't tell you why it felt like that, but it just sounded like completely lost. No, that was our first week of recording, and I was, I will tell you, I was concerned, but we're thinking, okay, maybe next week, maybe this will be like the first step in learning the songs, and next week they'll learn, you know, they'll learn the songs and be able to play them. So we get to the second week, and we've gone through all the songs in that first week, and now it's the first day, Monday of the second week, and Neil says to Ralph, let's play this. He names one of the songs, and Ralph the drummer says, well, we already played that one. And Neil's like, well, let's, let's try it again. And like, I think we did it good. And there was this sense of like Did we miss— like, were we watching the same movie? You know, because it was so— it was so far off. So on the second week, we tried doing some of the songs again. Ralph was not really into it, and he's like, I, I feel like we already played them. So we play them again. It's certainly not better. And then Ralph's like, let's listen back to that first week. I, I think it was really good. And we go back and we listen, and you could hear there's something there, but it's so hidden in mistakes, in— I don't even know, I don't even know how to describe it because it truly was a mess. But if you really listen to the mess and say, okay, let's take out that instrument in that spot. Okay, what does that sound like? Or what about if you turn up this guy in this spot? And we went through it, and the— I would say the entire album was recorded in that first week with— when none of us knew. I certainly didn't know it. Neil didn't know it for sure. He— at the end of the first week, he's like, well, I hope next week's gonna be better than this. Like, it was It was wild. So that's the first time I ever had that experience, and I think it's a beautiful album now. It transformed— we, we did a lot of work to help it transform, but the fact that it was unrecognizable to being something that's so beautiful now, it's different. I've never had that experience before.

I will buy that one. What was Johnny Cash like?

Beautiful, quiet, soulful, really smart, knew every song ever written up to a certain period of time. He didn't know modern music, but he knew the history of music through probably at least '70s country music. And then seemed to know everything about history and knew a tremendous amount about religion, spirituality, and Christianity.

Last two questions. First, your new book, again, the title is The Creative Act: A Way of Being. What does that book mean to you? And final question, in music, what is it you might be likely to do next?

The book is an attempt to share the type of thinking that happens in the recording studio with the artists that I get to work with. I'm hoping that it can open someone's mind to possibilities of a different way of doing things. I don't know that it's for everybody, but if it's for you, I hope that you know about it. Had an interesting experience. I just read, I read two reviews of the book in two big financial newspapers, and one of them absolutely hated the book. And I read that review first and it just made me laugh because it was so— it's like they didn't feel the book at all. And then I read the second one, and they loved the book. And it was so interesting to see these two opposing points of view about the same piece of work. And it made me feel good because one of the things I talk about in the book is that the best work divides the audience and that you want to make work that some people love and some people hate. If everybody thinks it's just okay or pretty good, it's not so interesting. And if everybody likes something you make, it probably isn't— you probably didn't go far enough. You want, you want it to be extreme enough that the people who love it really love it, and that everyone else just doesn't— it's too much. So I got to have that experience today, and it was a great experience. I hope that the reader of the second piece who really felt it. I hope that people who read like him are able to have the experience of reading the book. I don't want anyone to read it who doesn't want to read it or isn't into this kind of thing.

And what you will do next, I don't mean another book, but musically, is there something slated that you can talk about?

Let's see, what is coming up next? I'm in the middle of an album with The Strokes. That we recorded the basic tracks here in Costa Rica, and they have to take full form. So I don't know how long that'll take. There's a new album with Kesha that I produced that's very beautiful and different for her that's coming out, I think, soon. Those are the first two that come to mind.

Great. Rick Rubin, thank you very much. Again, all listeners and readers, the new book is called The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin.

Thank you, Sarah.

Thanks for listening to Conversations with Tyler. You can subscribe to the show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or your favorite podcast app. If you like this podcast, please consider giving us a rating and leaving a review. This helps other listeners find the show. On Twitter, I'm @TylerCowen, and the show is @CowenConvoz. Until next time. Please keep listening and learning.