Editorial: “Making-Of” Webisodes are Pointless and Boring
The other day, my news feed informed me that Opeth had released a seventh making-of webisode surrounding their new album Sorceress. And while I enjoyed Sorceress just fine — maybe not as much as Max did, and let’s not keep lying to ourselves that it’s their most metal release yet, but I didn’t hate it — I scratched my head wondering who the Hell was interested in watching seven videos, seven fucking videos, on the making of a single album. More so, who the Hell was interested in watching one? We all know that it’s going to be footage of Mikael Akerfeldt calmly discussing the album title and maybe their recording schedule, and that sounds about as interesting as counting the hairs on your arm.
I’ve never watched a making-of webisode, and I don’t think I ever will. Wait, scratch that — I watched one of Nails’ making-of videos because I had to interview Todd Jones for Revolver, and I found the whole thing exhausting and uninteresting, not because the band was boring but because the format is awful. In-studio reports are already pretty dull to read, but trying to watch video of a band wax philosophical about the making of a record no one’s heard yet is the worst. But for some reason, labels seem intent on cranking these out, assumedly to drum up even more hype about albums that everyone already knows about.
Because what is a band going to say? The recording process was ‘eh’ this time around. I think we’ll change some things next time. No, they’re going to talk about how this record is the best of their career, what the title means, and maybe how their bandmates really shine in the studio. We’ve heard it all before, and even more footage of two guys laughing by a soundboard backed by a track no one’s heard yet isn’t going to change that.
This speaks to a bigger topic: at the time, recording an album is kind of fucking boring. Sure, we like to imagine that moment where Joey Whatshisname played that riff, and the producer slowly pulled the headphones from his ears and looked at the other guitarist and they realized they were going to be millionaires. But what actually happened was that Joey had to do seventeen takes, and he sipped some water, and they futzed around with mic placement. And if those moments happened, they did so in the spur of the moment, no when the cameraman was around. If anything, you often don’t realize you have a perfect take until later when you listen to rough mixes. In my experience, the recording process usually means the band members get to catch up on a little reading.
A documentary on the studio is different. A ninety-minute film focusing on the entire recording process? Yeah, okay, I’ll give it a little bit, because hopefully in that amount of time I can learn something new about the band, about their method and the members’ personalities and the state their in as this record comes about. But breaking it down into a series of videos — Vocal recordings! Guitars! Moving into the studio! — is like serving steak hors d’oeuvres for the entree. I’ll never fully be satisfied by it, because it requires none of the artistry or forethought that goes into making an actual film. Instead, it’s just a series of title cards and interviews that don’t relate to each other. Who’s interested in that?
When I brought this up to my editors, Axl suggested it was young fans who primarily watched these videos, and hey, maybe he’s right. That’s the fall-back opinion for me these days when it comes to shit in metal I can’t begin to comprehend — Must be something the kids are into, which is why I don’t get it. But that explanation feels counterintuitive to me. When I was a teenager, I had no attention span and was far more interested in my favorite musicians being these ethereal metal god figures rather than watching seven minutes of one-on-one interviews in which I’m told about someone’s work ethic.
If I had to guess, I’d say that the making-of webisode is the Internet equivalent to a pack of 1,000 band stickers–a cheap way for the label to stuff the roll-out package for a band’s new record. No one cares about stickers, and bands generally end up giving them all away for free or lugging them around for years, but they seem impressive and weighty when slapped into your hand. Similarly, the promise of five webisodes, a dude with a camera coming in to hear what you think about your music, this feels substantial because it eats up time and makes the band’s everyday behavior into some form of cinema, but no one really gives a shit. No one’s ever going to say, Their sticker art really moved me, and no one’s ever going to talk about how this one behind-the-scenes clip from the eight-webisode pre-album campaign made them want to pick up a guitar.
Hopefully, this post will get inundated with comments telling me I’m wrong and that making-of webisodes are an exciting way to lead up to an album; I say hopefully because I cannot imagine anyone saying that, and it might justify why these short sort-of-documentaries get made at all. Because right now, for the life of me, I can’t think of who that person would be. No matter how anticipated an album might be, making a short in-the-studio video for it, and especially making more than one, seems like the most pointless waste of time and money possible, a reminder that your favorite musicians are usually just a bunch of dudes in a small room that they’re hoping to get out of sooner than later.
