U2 producer Daniel Lanois looks to the melodies for ‘liftoff ’
Before Daniel Lanois started working with U2 and cracked the code for winning Grammy Awards, he collaborated with Brian Eno on Eno’s “Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks,” a spacious and gorgeous ambient recording.
Eno connected Lanois with U2, which despite its name was less a musical spy plane and more a rocket primed for launch in the 1980s. Lanois has been considered a producer with a golden touch ever since: Over the past three decades, he has produced lauded records with Bob Dylan, Emmylou Harris, Willie Nelson and numerous others.
“I’ve been at it since I was a child,” Lanois says. “So my name is on a lot of records people don’t know anything about.”
But Lanois’ recent output connects back to “Apollo” in some ways. It’s gentle music devoid of lyrics. His “Goodbye to Language,” made with Rocco DeLuca found Lanois on the pedal steel guitar. And the new “Player, Piano” also possesses an informative title, with Lanois serving as the player. On piano.
At 71, Lanois comes across as a guy looking to slow down time with his newer work, which feels patient, contemplative and ethereal.
Q: This new album and “Goodbye to Language” both sound fresh and new. But they remind me of that “Apollo” album. You literally bid farewell to language on these.
A:
Well, there’s a thing that gets said, especially with “Goodbye” in an album title. It’s that there’s a goodbye to one thing and hello to another. So to support what you said, we hopefully leave the window open for people’s imaginations. Listeners are thinkers, as well. If the music allows things to come to their mind or to urge them to change something in their lives that’s an interesting thing.
Q: When I saw the title of this new album, I wondered if it was going to be some sort of tribute to Conlon Nancarrow, who was a fairly revolutionary composer and person who loved the player piano.
A:
My friend Simon Carmody from Ireland came up with that title. He’s a good writer. And I made a piano record with Simon with that thinking: “You’re the player, there’s the piano.” But Kurt Vonnegut references aside, it’s self-promoting in the sense that you get what you get. As a title, it’s like Elvis’ “Fun in Acapulco.”
Q: How did this one come about? In my mind, it's a pandemic album made during isolation.
A:
Well, it was made during the pandemic, but it wasn’t meant to be a pandemic record. I wasn’t even aware of that. I’m always in the studio. Nothing changes. (Laughs.) So of course, there was a lot of solitude. There wasn’t going to be raving and partying. I just wanted to continue this melodic work I’d started. I have a friend who loves my touch on the piano. So with her encouragement, I went after it.
Q: There aren't a lot of other widgets on this one.
A:
No, that was the idea of the record. That’s the idea of a record. It’s a record of something going on. Whether it’s going to the grocery store or making music.
Q: There's an interesting tonal thing on “My All,” the first song. The left hand hits some melancholy tones, while the right has a youthful spirit.
A:
Well, thanks for noticing that. The melody on the left hand is unusual. Dom, dom dom dom dom, dom. It would work well in a soprano range. I like the lower end on the piano. So it was an unusual thing to do. I think of all the greats, who are better at this than I am, they’ve mastered the left hand. So it’s like a little thank you to Oscar Peterson. “Let me try my left hand for you…”
Q: Because of William Basinski's work, I've been particularly attuned to decay in music. This album, it feels like you want to capture that: the sound of sound dying.
A:
I do like harmonics ringing around a note. And there’s decay in that. At the point of resolve, you just let the harmonics do what they need to do. And they have a reason to exist there. You pluck a chord, those harmonics are Santa’s little helper. I just tried to let them do their job.
Q: But there's a lot of history there. At the height of Wagnerism, Erik Satie offered a very different and spare music.
A:
That’s interesting. And there are things that make this record no different than others I’ve worked on and made. There is respect for fundamental paths and specific instrumentation like the piano. But you have a Mellotron with some 900 sounds. Maybe that’s money better spent. But I respect the quite singular point of view that the piano offers. What a great thing to work with. And you mentioned harmonics. You get lovely and unexpected results just based on your personal touch and the choice of notes that you cluster.
Q: Did you surprise yourself at all with this album?
A:
I got to these places Bernard Hermann might’ve gotten in the 1950s, though I’d never align with him in terms of his knowledge. Obviously he studied deeply and has an understanding of how an orchestra works, whereas I bump into orchestral moments and then thank my lucky stars. With a few edits, I can feature my best work. I find a mode I like and then improvise within that mode. And then I can chop things up and put them together. I’m a pretty good editor.
Q: Repetition often makes a good editor.
A:
My heart surgeon friend feels the same way. He’s done a lot of those. (Laughs.) But editing is an interesting skill, whether it’s by razor blade or pencil eraser or a keyboard. It requires an understanding of harmonic and chordal movement. I’ll get in there and think, “That’s a beautiful chord.” Maybe it reminds me of a phrase from an earlier passage. So it’s not just chopping things up and hoping for the best. I put a lot of thought into the harmonic collisions and chord changes. To me, that’s where it all gets interesting. That takes me into territories I didn’t know I could access. My playing didn’t get me there. But my editing skills, they wake me up in a way.
Q: “Cascade” would have been a lovely closer. And then “Sunday Asylum” comes in. I assumed based on the title, the latter would possess some agitation. In actuality, it's even more serene than “Cascade” but with a little lift that carries the song beautifully.
A:
Yeah, that’s something I do, a sort of regeneration of effects. And in this case, I knew the last chapter of “Sunday Asylum” would suddenly what I call “liftoff.” It’s a little magic carpet ride. You can get liftoff in different ways. You can get funky — James Brown did that all the time. “Hit me!” But in this case, it’s more this textural music that, as you point out, has a little elevation that takes you some place. You never know when you’re going to get one of those moments.
Q: Even after all these years?
A:
You never know. That’s why I’m in the studio every day. You wait and wait. And then, “There’s one!”