The music of Matthew Herbert
by Stuart Clark
In no way strange.
Studio music policy. Now there’s a touchy subject. When Julian, our Creative Director, isn’t insisting on a start-to-finish playback of the Grease soundtrack, there’s Studio Manager Dawn requesting Energy 98’s hands-in-the-air euro-trance cheesefest. It’s enough to drive you insane. Or in my case, put some headphones on.
I like listening to music when I write, but it has to be the right kind. When you write, you should be listening to the words in your head as they hit the page. So any particularly vocal tunes are distracting. That means hip-hop’s a no-no, Olivia Newton-John is out and Energy 98 should be locked in a soundproofed room…full of vipers.
Matthew Herbert on the other hand is just right – light and sinuous, deep house grooves with hushed rhythms and jazzy melodies. He’s pretty cool, I’d recommend him.
He’s an interesting guy too…
RULES, RULES, RULES! But good ones.
In 2000, Herbert wrote a manifesto entitled Personal Contract for the Composition of Music (Incorporating the Manifest of Mistakes). Eleven goals for the composition of music which included a ban on drum machines, all pre-existing samples and any synthetic sounds that replicate acoustic instruments.
The audible result of putting this theory into practice is an album like 2006’s Plat du Jour, where almost every sound on the record is derived entirely from food and its packaging. A quick look at the sleevenotes reveals a list of “instruments” including:
60 Vietnamese robusta beans being dropped into an empty container of Roundup weedkiller
A Scottish salmon farm’s automatic feeding system
2 x Sara Lee Instant Croissant Mix tins connected with a piece of garden string and then plucked to make a bass line

"This'll sound mint when I mix it with a funky breakbeat"
Likewise, 2001’s Bodily Functions sampled brushing human hair, clacking teeth and the gurgles of internal organs; while some of the 723 objects ‘played’ on 2006’s Scale included coffins, petrol pumps, meteorites, an RAF Tornado bomber, and somebody being sick outside a banquet for a notorious London arms fair.
For his next project he’s releasing a record (entitled One Pig) constructed entirely from sounds made during the life cycle of a pig. He’s going to raise it, butcher it, eat it, then get his mate Heston Blumenthal to fashion a flute out of its bones.
Learn to love your limitations
So what on earth has all this got to do with copywriting? Well, it’s about limitations. We all know how important it is to get a good brief. Proper planning prevents piss-poor performance and all that. And it’s true. When it comes to creative work, it’s vital you know exactly what you can and can’t do. It’s the boundaries of the project that set you free. There are few things worse as a copywriter than being told to “write what you like.” It’s scary… write about what exactly? Tighter briefs (snigger!) mean more interesting creative.
Far from being limited by his self-imposed rules, Herbert’s records create rich new landscapes of sound and rhythm from the unlikeliest of everyday objects. And you can dance to them, or at the very least nod your head to, as you tap away at your keyboard.
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