137 Slamming the Door to the Recording Studio
pubs are not really public for women, but rather “male ‘playgrounds’ to
which women are ‘invited’ on special terms” (quoted after Bayton 2006:
351). There are, it seems, “masculine connotations of space-claiming in
popular music” (Björck 2011: 55), and claiming space can thus be seen
not only as an act of “extrovert self-promotion” or “introvert focus on the
musical craft”, but also as “an ongoing struggle between empowerment
and objectification” (Ibid.). To me, the question of space was important to
the relationship between Lössl on the one hand and Rasmussen and I on
the other. With the Swedish musicologist Cecilia Björck’s dissertation on
claiming space for female musicians in mind, I asked myself the question
she brings forward: whether space can be only taken or also given (Ibid:
56). Maybe we should have provided much more room for such a relation
between us where the latter might have been a more suitable possibility.
LÖSSL SPEAKS: LEAVING THE DOOR AJAR
I am human
Flesh and blood
Human to the bone
I am human
Heart and spirit
Human to the bone
So I wanted to be your toy
All dressed up for fun
Your sweet possession
Not a mind of my own
This is me, but it’s not me, I’m not being me
I am human, I am human, I am human
I am human, I am human, I am human
Third and last part of ‘Your Doll,
Your Maid, Your Toy’ (Where
Did Nora Go, 2012)
7
To learn more about the whole matter, I decided to approach Lössl even
though we had not talked for a while. We met, and I asked her to revisit
the project and reflect upon how gender-related issues between her and
the production team had been established, negotiated, and – to a certain
extent – deconstructed. A few days later, she sent me a number of remarks
about our working relationship.
8
From reading her words, I learnt a lot
about her thoughts before, during, and after the process. She began by
describing her pre-history, stating that her earlier encounters with male
producers, engineers, and musicians had been quite devastating for her:
I had been in the recording studio many times, always with male pro-
ducers and musicians, both during my years as a student at RMC, the
138 Henrik Marstal
popular music conservatory in Copenhagen in the early 2000s, and as
a solo artist – always ending up with a result where I could not recog-
nize myself artistically.
I had often worked with charismatic, yet ego-centric male produc-
ers, who made me feel more like a puppet following orders than an
artist with a right to interfere with the creative process. This had been
not only a very costly, but also a very painful experience. Even shame-
ful at times. I had a deep longing of sharing my voice and heart, and
I also felt that I had a huge potential, which I could not seem to give
birth to, though.
As producers and collaborators, neither Rasmussen nor I were aware of
this when we started working with Lössl. We just thought that she shared
similar musical aesthetics with us. But the reason for approaching us was
of a more serious nature. She continued her reflections:
I needed to nd both brave and sensitive producers who could take on
the task of redeeming my potential – helping me emerge as the artist
I was, rather than me tting into their ideas and visions. I mean produc-
ers who would see me and help me rather than manipulate me. I knew
that Henrik was intrigued by working with female artists and also with
preserving a sense of vulnerability in music, and this really spoke to
me. We nally decided on a collaboration, and the work took o.
As I was searching for guidance, I was of course open to suggestions
and had a willingness to be led, yet at the same time trying to main-
tain a strong sense of self and authenticity. I also attempted to leave
aside the insecure, emotional-ridden and pleasing sides of myself and
instead attempt a lighter, more condent way of communicating and
working in the studio. I even decided on ‘desexualizing’ myself or at
least downplay any kind of erotic capital, since I did not want sexual
energy of any kind to be part of the atmosphere in the studio – which
I unfortunately had experienced before.
In general, Lössl felt that the studio work which we did together proceeded
in an atmosphere of respect and decency, which differed in a positive way
from the kind of producers and engineers she had been working with in
the past. She also stated that even though notions of gender were of course
present during the studio recordings, we were not doing anything wrong,
so to speak: discourses of power related to gender were not really present at
all, which meant that the recordings felt easy, fun, inspired, and creative for
all of us. But even though this was the case, she also had some criticism:
I really enjoyed working with Henrik and Kasper, and I felt that we suc-
ceeded in our attempts to fulll my potential as an artist and create music
on a high artistic level. The albums were both critically acclaimed, and
I started to win recognition for my music. But, on several occasions
there was tension, especially between Henrik and I. At times, he could
be short-tempered or quite a bit distant and withdrawn.
139 Slamming the Door to the Recording Studio
During these incidents, I would often feel cut o or even belittled.
Having been taught to never get angry, I would react by turning the
situation inwards, become sad and perhaps even shed a tear, while
Henrik did not really comment on my reaction or feel sorry. To me,
this could easily been seen as a gender-specic situation, adhering to a
traditional male understanding of being the one in charge.
In her notes, Lössl also states that the homosocial bonding between Ras-
mussen and myself, related to our internal way of speaking and joking,
did not really tend to exclude her in any way since she was, as she wrote,
invited to join us along the way. But still, he and I were the ones to decide
and define how to talk, joke and behave, thus confirming my own after-
thoughts about the studio work: that we established and maintained a
male discourse of talking related to our informed homosocial bonding.
But there were no other options concerning how to talk and speak – she
was, I can see at a distance, not really in a position to challenge this firmly
established discourse of structure.
Another observation from Lössl had to do with the act of encourage-
ment while recording and arranging in the studio:
Kasper and Henrik – who also played almost all of the musical parts,
which I did not play myself – had developed a habit of not only hap-
pily complimenting each other, but also clearly enjoying their own
performances when they recorded something they were especially
pleased with. To me, this was a characteristic male-gendered way
of acting: At least I could never do this myself. I have never met
a female musician – yet – who fully indulges in her own work of
art or her own musical performances in the same way. But I have
often met male musicians who thoroughly enjoy their work and are
even proud to say so. The aforementioned habit did not include me,
though. My contribution to the music didn’t seem to warrant com-
pliments from them all that often. I state this without any sense of
bitterness. Nevertheless, it seems that complimenting or even just
appreciating performances by female musicians – and this goes for
both women and men – is something that requires a conscious eort.
Still. Amazing. Also to myself.
The last part of Lössl’s observation resonates almost too well with Paula
Wolfe’s remark with regard to Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie:
“[W]hen women perform as vocalists, either in front of a band or as a solo
performer, the reception of her skill is often underplayed as it is seen as ‘natu-
ral’ (Frith and McRobbie 1978)” (Wolfe 2020: 13). Regarding Rasmussen’s
role – since he was not only part of the production team but also in charge of
all of the engineering – Lössl had some thought-provoking criticism:
Kasper had a tendency of being more critical of my recordings on
the cello compared to Henrik’s recordings on the same instrument,
even though – and I am sure Henrik will agree on this – I am just
140 Henrik Marstal
as good a cellist as he is. Kasper seemed to regard the recording of
my contributions as a kind of necessary, but dull work. And, as we
know, uncertainty breeds more uncertainty and is reected back by
the surroundings – as is the case with condence. So I sometimes felt
that I was the only one responsible for fullling the artistic vision
of Where Did Nora Go, which created a sense of loneliness in me.
I wonder if this would have been the case, had I been a male musician
myself, or had Kasper and Henrik been female producers.
Because the collaboration between Lössl, Rasmussen, and myself included
an EP and two albums in the course of around two years, there was a
strong sense of artistic development at stake. However, Lössl notes that
this development made the second album, Shimmer, stand out as different
in many respects:
For me, the success of the EP and the debut album had led to a higher
degree of relying on my own skills. Where Henrik until now had co-
written a lot of the musical material, I wanted to include more songs
on the second album written by myself. Moreover, I developed clearer
ideas of how I wanted the music to evolve. This meant that Henrik
was less involved in the creation of the music. Moreover, since the
days of the EP, he had co-founded a new project, the dreampop duo
marstal:lidell, in which he did contributed to all the songwriting him-
self. For these reasons, perhaps, he seemed to be less enthusiastic
about the whole project as a producer.
Another clash of interests occurred, when I proclaimed that I wanted
neither bass nor drums to be part of the new album, knowing that Hen-
rik is primarily a bass player and Kasper primarily a drummer. This
kind of decision-making on behalf of my own artistic vision had not
been possible on the debut album, but I knew that it was what I wanted
for now. Kasper initially profoundly opposed the idea, but after heavy
debating he accepted it. In all fairness, it should be noted that he and
Henrik did not use, though, any homosocial power against the idea or
refer to democratic rules by wanting to let the majority decide.
There is another thing which should be mentioned: During the mak-
ing of the album, I unknowingly became pregnant, a fact which com-
pletely turned my world – and my hormones – around. My composure,
which I always had been able to control, crumbled on several occa-
sions, and emotions soared. So we had several controversies due to the
fact that I had more condence in speaking my mind, but at the same
time did not have the same emotional control as before and therefore
tended to be quite sensitive. Needless to say, this development put
gender dierences in a new light, and there were even occasions were
I left the studio crying, feeling unheard, overlooked and belittled.
In combination with Lössl’s quite intimate considerations, I will add
that the process of recording Shimmer ironically resembled the stiffened
dynamics between Nora and Helmer: her as the one striving for being
141 Slamming the Door to the Recording Studio
acknowledged for who she was and what she did, and me as the one being
reluctant to continue engaging in our musical relationship. But, even
though Lössl at least at one point, she admits, considered terminating the
collaboration, she decided in the end not to slam the door to the studio but
rather leave it ajar which made it possible for us to finish the Shimmer
album as well as a long, creative period of working.
CONCLUDING REMARKS
Oh, sister, dear sister of mine
Let’s march down to the sea
And drown all those thoughts that kill us
What they convinced us
Everything false we thought to be true
And we shall walk in the light
Walk in the light
Walk in the light
Leave it behind
Last part of ‘Sister of the Dark/
Walk in the Light’ (2012)
9
This chapter has pointed towards the notion that gender(ed) relations
between individuals in the recording studio – no matter which gender
they adhere to – are crucial to the process of making music together. The
chapter has shown that even though the homosociality of male bonding
is not necessarily excluding by nature, it can easily run the risk of com-
plicating matters by taking space instead of giving it away. The very case
described here, though, shows that afterthoughts and post-reflections of
the recording process can provide a better understanding of how gender-
related dynamics between individuals work, and how risks of evoking
pitfalls, leading to either frustration or disengagement, can be integrated
into the discourse of re-imagining the whole recording process.
But the case of Where Did Nora Go also shows that a certain aware-
ness of the gender perspectives of any studio recording can help fulfill the
potential of artistic vision and creative wishes. In addition, it shows that
all involved – not least myself – still have a lot to learn considering the
negotiation of gendered aspects. Bearing this in mind, anyone responsible
for or participating in a studio recording process will be able to benefit
from more reflection on the gendering process involved. A way of doing
this would be to consider very carefully whether the individuals present
in the studio identify themselves as either Noras or Helmers, and whether
the door to the recording studio will run the risk of being slammed due
to unhealthy gender relations. And again, the act of leaving the door ajar
instead is an act which acknowledges everyone’s right to not just take up
space in the recording studio but also to be given space – no matter which
gender identities or positions of power are at stake.
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