​        In 1817, Johann Nepomuk Mälzel's metronome (not the first, but the enduring) made its "grand appearance" to the admiration and approval of many critics and composers of the day (Pinch 211). This device quickly became an essential musical tool, without which one could not "'ascertain the movement of the adagio or the allegro'" (Pinch 212). This was progress: the notation system for music is a language in and of itself, its rigid structural elements - measures, rests, notes, caesuras - these have very specific, time-bound meanings, so the ability to set them in place, directed by clockwork, was a very satisfying innovation. Some balked at this cocky new machine, including one Ludwig van Beethoven, who after initially welcoming this mechanical dictation of order, came to reject it, claiming it to be "'a dumb thing; one must feel the tempi'" (Pinch 212). The composer Johann Sievers concurred, dismissing the device as an "'error of the human spirit because music cannot be improved by mechanical inventions'" (Pinch 212). We can only hope that it is not too agonizing to roll over in one's grave. The metronome morphed, in the 20th century, into its less charming but more efficient descendant, the ubiquitous "click track," by which modern engineers measure and control the heretofore mystical and elusive musical component of rhythm. 

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         We generally discuss rhythm as something that is inherent and felt, an intrinsic knowledge that allows us follow and create a pattern within prescribed cycles. This knowledge is ancient and unlearnable, and those unlucky enough not to be born with it must forever sit this dance out. The drummer, the backbone of the band, he-who-creates-rhythm, must then have an exceptional innate sense of rhythm that allows him to hold sway over disorderly guitarists (bassists are usually excused from this equation, as they have something completely of their own making, that is to say, the unknowable "pocket," some sort of temporal/spatial hybrid zone within music that can be inhabited solely by bass players, possibly a ruse the allows them to get away with playing only one note at a time). With Digidesign's Beat Detective, an on-board plug-in included with Pro Tools, however, we see that what we perceive to rhythmically sound is not, strictly, rhythmical. 

Below is a Pro Tools screen shot of the drums that accompany the chorus that I've been using as an example. These drums are "raw," exactly what the drummer originally laid down. The sound clip beneath the picture will play exactly what is on the screen.









































                                                             To me, this track sounds fine the way it is, but I'm just a guitarist,

                                                            and Beat Detective has other ideas.

















































In the shot above, Beat Detective has analyzed the selection, indicating where the hits currently begin.













































 In this shot, the hits have been "snapped to the grid," or, quantized,      

with the grey lines indicating how much they have been displaced. 

Finally, I'll include a sound clip of the finished drums. These have been

quantized, EQ'd, compressed, triggered, gated, and have been softened

with a small amount of reverb. The errant cymbal crash in the "raw" track 

has been removed, but other than that, it's hard to say what the difference 

between the quantized and unquantized drums, although the reverb and 

additionally triggered drums on the last clip are very noticeable. 

So is he a bad drummer? We can clearly see his margin of error, indeed, 

it is actually measurable, and yet it is fairly imperceptible (at least to my humble ears). Perhaps more to the point, which is rhythm? Is it what the drummer "feels" (assuming that he is "good" - whatever that means), or what he plays alongside the metronome (a vast deal more accurate with than without), or what he plays alongside the metronome which is then corrected, polished and powdered, hair combed and teeth brushed? Or, somewhere in that sequence, was the line between human and machine, art and forgery, crossed? Tom Lord-Alge, for one, has given up such navel-gazing quandaries. "'I hate to say it, but nowadays, when I start a mix, if I turn on the bass drum and it's not punchy and aggressive, rather than even trying to get it to sound that was, it's so much easier for me to retrigger it was a sample that I already have dialed in,'" he says. "'If I hear that I can get the sound from what was recorded, I don't bother. But more times than not, I'm replacing the bass drum, before I even start'" (Milner 340). 



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