The audio processing software Auto-Tune has changed the sound of pop. Tom Mitchelson put it to the test with his own wobbly voice.
I have just recorded my first single. The thing is - and don't put this about - I'm not much of a singer.
I was inspired by the row over the use of voice-improvement technology - otherwise known as Auto-Tune - on Simon Cowell's talent show The X Factor. This
computer software has apparently been editing out bum notes and putting singers in tune since the British series started. It also helped Cher stage a late-career comeback with the 1998 single Believe, made a R&B star of T-Pain and the high-sheen sound is all over the soundtrack to the hit show Glee.
I want to see how good this technology really is and if it can turn me from a shambolic shower singer (who has received complaints) to a Pavarotti. I don't think I have the "X" factor, but maybe this machine can give it to me.
With this in mind I turn up at Midnight Studios where the owner, Michael Lawrence, uses this technology every working day.
I have opted to record my own version of Chris de Burgh's Lady in Red. "It is a very difficult song to sing because it is so high," Michael says. It could prove a very difficult song to listen to once I get to work on it - but at least it will test the equipment to the limit. He tells me that Auto-Tune cannot change the character of my voice. If I have an insipid, weedy voice, that will remain, although it will be singing in tune.
I step up to the microphone. Michael explains he needs clear notes, even if they're the wrong ones. That way he has something to manipulate. The backing track begins. I close my eyes, imagine I'm headlining at Wembley Stadium and give it my all. The verse goes reasonably well. Unfortunately, what comes out of my mouth during the high-pitched chorus is not the harmonious tones of an angel, but the screech of a banshee. A bit of work to do.
When I emerge, I am heartened by his verdict: "It's not the worst I've had in here." I thank him for his kind words, before he adds, "But it was pretty crap."
The playback begins. In parts, it sounds like someone is basting a live turkey. In between verse and chorus I sound like an asthma attack. Michael is nonplussed: "Don't worry. anyone can be a pop star these days. Give me half an hour." He begins to work his magic. First the program analyses the notes I sang. It adjusts each individual note up or down to give a consistent pitch. Suddenly I'm singing tunefully, although it may not be the right tune. Michael sets about tweaking the notes and fixing my voice to the same key as the music.
"You were one beat out throughout your performance so I've shifted your voice one beat forward," Michael informs me. This is alchemy. I wonder if Michael has a cauldron out back where he is converting lead to gold.
He then adds some other touches to add glitter to the end product. These don't relate to automatic-pitch fixing but are part of the armoury of every sound engineer.
First there is the "expander", which removes extraneous mouth noises; next up is the "De-Esser", a device that gets rid of sibilance. Then comes a "compressor", which makes parts of my voice that were quiet louder, and loud parts quieter. Now I am to be "stereo-spread", which puts more power into my voice, and the final process is a "limiter", which stops my voice going over a certain decibel level. Other vocal deficiencies are hidden with "reverb" or echo.
I await the result with trepidation. Could X Factor stardom beckon? The answer seems to be a resounding yes. What comes out of the speakers sounds just like me, but a Special Me. Same voice, same intonation, but all the right notes. I hadn't realised how talented I am. No wonder every third-rate pop singer on the planet is convinced they are touched by genius, because they are. It's just not theirs.
This is the musical equivalent of drastic plastic surgery and I am Joan Rivers. I may sound great, but inside I know it's all a big cheat.
- INDEPENDENT
- TimeOut