Think about the last time you listened to music. Maybe you’re listening to music now — but what else do you hear? Maybe it’s the people talking around you; maybe it’s the noise of traffic and car engines and the wind while you drive; maybe it’s the sound of chores being done, or of children playing. One thing is certain — the music you listen to is always accompanied by noise. Whether it’s literal surface noise from playing a vinyl album, the ambient noise of the world around you, or sounds picked up by microphones while recording, music is always accompanied by noise. And this noise is part of the experience, and can even become a part of how you remember the music forever. You can try, but it is next-to-impossible to separate the two.

John Cage was well-versed in the roles of silence and noise in music. Possibly his most famous composition ever, 4’33″, was a statement on “silence” as much as it was about music — with the point being that the sounds of the world around the listener are as valuable as the music being listened too, and that any sound can be musical. He also once said that, “Until I die there will be sounds.”

The quote above was uttered after Cage visited an anechoic chamber at Harvard, when he noticed he heard two sounds: the sound of his nervous system, a high pitch, and the sound of his circulatory system, a low pitch. Even in a place designed to create total silence, there are still sounds — there is still noise.

Just as we cannot separate the music from the noise, we can’t separate the music from the artist who performs it. This may be less apparent than surface noise to most listeners, but it contributes just as much to the music and often informs the music. This doesn’t mean you have to have an encyclopedic knowledge of anything related to music; quite the opposite, actually. But just knowing a little more about how a song was composed or about who wrote it can enhance the experience and deepen your appreciation of the music. Liner notes on older albums demonstrate this: the liner notes for Thelonious Alone In San Francisco detail the weeks leading up to this recording and paint a picture of how Thelonious Monk felt truly alone at this moment in time; the liner notes for The Dave Brubeck Quartet’s Time Out gives a song-by-song breakdown of the time signatures involved and helps to set the stage for the music on the record; Little Walter’s The Best Of Little Walter tells us how Little Walter started playing the harmonica, how he got his nickname, and lays the groundwork for better understanding the songs on the album. Liner notes like this may be a thing of the past, but the type of information they provide, even where an album was recorded and who was involved, can give you a much better sense of and appreciation for the music you love as a whole.

How does this relate to surface noise, or any kind of noise? Well, generally surface noise is defined as “extraneous noise in playing a phonograph record”; namely, the pops, hiss, and other noise that wasn’t recorded in the studio but that you hear when you play back a vinyl record.

But it isn’t “just noise”; it’s also that intangible thing that comes with the music and that adds the warmth that is usually lacking in digital music. Producers and mix engineers often add in white noise or emulated vinyl sounds to get this warmth and sense of cohesion among the instruments in a song. Surface noise not only adds to what you hear, it becomes part of the whole experience. Sure, you don’t need surface noise to enjoy music, but it adds to the experience. And as David Byrne said, “In my opinion, realness and soul lie in the music itself, not in the scratches and pops of old records.” It isn’t what makes the music real or great, but it’s that extra little bit that you notice only when it’s gone or removed.

So why call this blog Surface Noise?

Because this may be a music blog, but there is far more to what you’re hearing than just the notes, and my goal is to celebrate all of the elements beyond the notes that comprise the music you love. There are the myriad connections to other artists and genres, the interesting factoids, the studio anecdotes, and the moments of magic that make a song or an album truly special. There is more music than ever before available to us, mostly on demand and ready to be listened to no matter where we are in the world. But the vastness of the current musical universe and the ability to shuffle play an algorithmically-driven playlist has created a greater-than-ever disconnect between listeners and music. It’s the equivalent of having all of the paintings of Rembrandt, Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, and Dali as an ever-changing screensaver — it’s nice to look at, but it’s devoid of all context and relegated to the background.

My hope is that anyone who reads this blog comes away with something new, whether it’s a new song, a new artist, or just a new piece of information. I plan to write about specific albums, but also about music more broadly. I may write about a new song and then talk about how it fits into the musical world around it; I may also write about how the music industry and music technology impacts what music is widely heard. If it intersects with music somehow, it’s a safe bet that I may write about it.

My other hope is that anyone who reads this blog is inspired to bridge the disconnect, to become a more engaged listener, and to love what they listen to. There won’t be a focus on any one genre or time period, but there will be a focus on the music and what makes it so special. Because music is special, whether it’s Baroque Classical music or Top 40 radio. And music of all genres and all eras can have as much of an impact as your current favorite artist — if we give it a chance to do so.

John Peel, the legendary DJ for BBC Radio, once said, “Listen, mate, life has surface noise.” Let’s embrace the noise.