Arranging is a hard way to make a living these days. It used to be a proper craft, but people don’t even think about it anymore. Nowadays, it’s one of those things that, as a producer, you need to do, but don’t really get credit (or get paid) for.
Yet you have to do it. A song without an arrangement is like a bloke who went out shopping for clothes. He bought loads of nice things, but he doesn’t have a clue about how to put them together into a coherent outfit. I don’t care who you are: if you don’t know how to match a few basic clothing items, I’m not gonna trust you with much. If I sound vain, think again.
It’s like making a decent cup of coffee. It’s one of those life basics that you have to master if you want to get anywhere. As a studio assistant, you are useless if you don’t know how to brew a good pot of coffee. I don’t care how much you know about the patch bay. Or if you read the user’s manual of the desk every night, down on your knees, praying to Rupert to give you the gift of routing.
But I digress.
Arranging is a lost art. It has always fascinated me, but I only realised how important it is when I got into mixing. Because the truth is a song with a bad arrangement cannot be mixed. I mean, sure, you can mix it, but you won’t do a great job. You’ll spend a lot of time on it, you’ll struggle, and you’ll hate yourself in the morning when listening back to it. Why? Because it will suck, that’s why. There are few things as horrible as a song without the right arrangement. The Holocaust, maybe. Alright. That was terrible. Moving on.
Arranging is about a few key factors. Let’s try and break it down into simple terms. You need to pick the right instruments, the right parts, and the right tones. These three elements kind of feed off of each other, but for now, and for argument’s sake, let’s say they don’t.
How do you pick the right instrument?
You need to take into account the genre of the music, of course. It’s obvious, but I have to write it. If you play rock music, the harp might not be your first choice. Although I’ve seen it work. Also, you might want to stick with instruments you can play, or are at least familiar with. Don’t be like me. If you can, ask someone playing the actual instrument to double check. To start out, it’s good to stick to the basics. You will make mistakes, so it’s good to have a security blanket of some sort.
How do you write the right parts?
Now the tricky part begins. You have to come up with something that will compliment what’s already going on.
It will be easier to write for an instrument if you know its range. You can find this information online in a couple of clicks. That’s true. But there is a huge difference between what you’ll find and what the reality is. The range of strings, or winds instruments for example, may wildly differ from one player to the next. And as a general rule, the higher the notes, the harder they are to play. And also to have them in tune. Always aim for the conservative part of the range, roughly the first two octaves. It will avoid many unpleasant surprises.
How do you create the right tones?
Sometimes you’ll want the new part to stand out, sometimes you’ll want it to blend and support what’s already there. Contrast or similarity. For instance, if everything sounds clean, adding a crunchy part will make it prominent. If you add a supporting part, you’ll look for missing frequencies in the existing one. It’s good practice to try to fill that void, instead of stacking more of the same in the track. Too much build-up in one area is bad for business. This is all a very big-picture explanation, but you get the idea.
Like I mentioned earlier, these three factors are very much intertwined. They go hand in hand, but it’s important to acknowledge them on their own. You’ll want to make sure you don’t forget to work on one. Later on, as you get better, you won’t even dissociate these elements anymore.
You’ll hear the arrangement and know what’s missing. The song will tell you what it needs. And the part will do the same. As the notes come together in your head, you’ll know which instrument should play them, and how it should sound. After doing this long enough, it becomes second-nature. If you need a hi-pitched, sustained part, you won’t write it for a tuba.
Sometimes, an unorthodox approach can work. Playing outside the traditional range of an instrument, for example. It will yield some very interesting results. But that’s more advanced stuff. You should try it out, but maybe not on an important session. Do it on your own time.
I’ve learned a lot about arranging over the years, and I love it even more now than when I started out. It’s been a fascinating journey. And like many others in our creative fields, it is one without a destination. The process never ends.
I’m quite partial to layering. I love working on what seems like a simple arrangement, where you can count the parts on the fingers of one hand. It seems like there’s not much going on, but there actually is. You don’t necessarily hear all these small additions, but you would miss them if they weren’t there.
That’s the best records. My favourites, in any case. I love listening to these, and I love making them. I can always find something new while listening. I’m never bored. I can dig in and discover a part at any time. It’s been there all along, only I wasn’t paying enough attention. The beauty of these records is in that you will enjoy them even if you stay on the surface. But if you like it enough that you decide to dive in, there will be plenty enough for you to find.
It’s similar to life, when you think about it. The most interesting people have many layers. They’re gonna be more complex than what you see on the surface.
But then again, what do I know…
*****
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