Straight Up - Whiskey Brown Leather Cuff

Straight Up

It’s about more than just substance over style.

To me, substance is style. And I need mine straight up. I want to see and feel the proverbial natural wood grain, not have those precious imperfections buried under some glossy varnish or slick paint job.

Sure, I can appreciate Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound, but too many misguided people have since taken those walls and built a prison around the essence of music with one big, overproduced, sterile Pro Tools assembly line.

In my book, lifeless digital perfection has become the greatest imperfection, with hype and all the sonic trends du jour just more planned obsolescence. The expiration dates keep coming faster and faster.

Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to climb on a high horse or tell anyone else how to live. I’ll leave that gig to the marketing executives. But, for my money, it’s the paths away from all the frills and ringtones that are worth traveling. In what I put out and take in, I’m after timeless quality.

Give me core components. Give me raw analog purity. Give me roots music. Give me something that skilled, dedicated human hands labored over and real sweat poured down on, whether a well-crafted tune or a custom-made guitar. Give me Wilco. Give me Keith Richards — on his acoustic. Give me Frank Sinatra in a small room with one mic, warm acoustics, and a little cigarette smoke.

Style is what you can do with less anyway. Anyone can put on a $5000 Armani suit. But look at James Dean in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. If you want to hear straight up style, well, no one with a top-of-the-line Strat and all the effects pedals in the world has yet to surpass what some of the original blues players could transmit through a busted, homemade, out-of-tune guitar.

That’s why we’re still listening to their scratchy recordings and probably always will be — there’s soul in simplicity and enduring power in the authentic.

And newsflash: there’s no ham in Spam and no humanity in Auto-Tune, folks.

That’s why I close my eyes to the packaging, to all the gimmicks and hollow obsessions with appearances, and just tune into sublime unprocessed sounds ringing true.

Straight up — no chaser.