By admin 
HangupsMusic.com – For decades, the name Daniel Lanois has been synonymous with a distinctive auditory landscape – a world where echoes intertwine, sonic textures fracture with deliberate grace, and a palpable sense of place permeates every note. From Emmylou Harris’s haunting Wrecking Ball to Bob Dylan’s atmospheric Time Out of Mind, Lanois’s fingerprint is unmistakable, crafting albums that feel as though they carry the ghosts of their own making. Yet, as the revered Canadian producer and musician reveals in a recent conversation, his creative ambition extends far beyond mere sonics. "People talk about the sound, but what about the soul?" Lanois muses. "The sound of a record, well, that’s a given… But how about the soul of a record? Sound is my thing. But that’s not the main thing that I bring to the table."
This profound philosophy underpins Belladonna Nocturne, Lanois’s latest solo offering—a captivating collection of instrumentals that delve deep into his unparalleled gift for atmosphere and emotional resonance. The album is a journey through diverse sonic environments, from the Spanish-guitar-driven warmth of "Inside the Walls of Puebla" to the raw, experimental feedback excursions of "Warp Sustain." Lanois describes each composition as a distinct "scene," a narrative woven in sound designed to transport the listener. He recalls "At the Foot of the Skyway Bridge," a piece inspired by his Hamilton, Ontario roots, evoking images of motorcycle rides and a nostalgic, Fifties rock & roll spirit. It’s a sonic palate cleanser, a reminder of his origins, yet open for listeners to project their own experiences onto its canvas.
The album’s creation was not a linear process but rather "a grab-bag of beginnings," a testament to Lanois’s spontaneous approach. With studios in both Los Angeles and Toronto, equipped with fine Steinway pianos, inspiration could strike anywhere. This fluid method allows Belladonna Nocturne to feel like a collection of distinct vignettes, each imbued with its own character and emotional depth.
Consider "Steel Mill," a track painting an urban landscape with sparse yet impactful strokes. Here, Lanois collaborates with Jermaine Holmes, a drummer from the hip-hop world whom he met through D’Angelo. Holmes’s "cross-stick" technique creates abundant sonic space, allowing Lanois to build intricate "dubs" and electronic orchestral tones. His innovative process involves sampling directly from the song’s existing elements, like the steel guitar, and then expanding upon them. "I’m just drawing from already existing source material," he explains. "I’m not adding a new sound. So there’s a reassurance that it’s cut from the same cloth." The result is a mysterious, cohesive soundscape where instruments blend into an otherworldly sonic tapestry.
"Canadian National," recorded on his modified Steinway O in Toronto, further illustrates his meticulous approach to sound design. By laminating the piano hammers with extra felt, Lanois achieved a softer, Fender Rhodes-like touch, allowing him to amplify the microphone pre-amp and emphasize the instrument’s harmonics. His composition process for piano pieces, he admits, is less about virtuosity and more about meticulous curation: improvising within a chosen mode, then meticulously editing together compelling eight-bar sections, a technique he credits to classical pianist Glenn Gould.
Beyond his solo work, Lanois’s conversation offered a rare glimpse into a career spanning decades of groundbreaking collaborations. His work with D’Angelo on "Unshaken" for the Red Dead Redemption 2 soundtrack, for instance, began with an unexpected creative impasse. After an initial track failed to ignite, Lanois retreated to craft a new composition, eventually incorporating Rocco DeLuca’s evocative line, "May I stand unshaken amidst the crash of worlds," and expanding it with thirty additional verses. Their shared background in church music and D’Angelo’s admiration for Lanois’s work with the Neville Brothers fostered a deep mutual respect, ensuring their collaboration was driven by genuine artistic intent.
Speaking of the Neville Brothers, Lanois fondly recalls recording their rendition of Bob Dylan’s "Ballad of Hollis Brown"—a track he presented to Dylan before their Oh Mercy sessions. This "test track," laid down in a rudimentary New Orleans apartment studio on a 12-track Akai and mixed on a portable Sony cassette machine, possessed an undeniable "vibe" that Lanois preserved, mastering directly from the cassette. It’s a testament to his belief that raw authenticity often trumps technological perfection.
Lanois’s extensive history with U2 also came under discussion. His experience producing No Line on the Horizon was marked by creative tension, as the band’s focus on stadium-ready anthems often clashed with his desire for more introspective, record-centric material. While the Morocco sessions were an "adventure," Lanois lamented the necessity of shelving quieter, more nuanced tracks in favor of live performance suitability. Yet, the bond remains strong. He recently joined U2 on stage at the Sphere for their final show, playing a mantra line on "One" alongside The Edge and sharing vocals with Bono—a moment he describes as a "great celebration for a great song and some great friends." Lanois also hinted at a subtle involvement in U2’s upcoming project, contributing to "a couple or three songs" alongside Brian Eno, suggesting their presence as "guest appearances" on an album primarily produced by Jacknife Lee.
His collaboration with Neil Young on Le Noise offered a stark contrast to other experiences. Recorded in Lanois’s own studio, the project began with a vision to capture ten acoustic songs, filmed with a single camera by Adam Vollick for a raw, vérité aesthetic. The workflow was remarkably fluid: a good take, a quick mix, and immediate synchronization with the video. Lanois playfully calls this a "cowboy" process, eschewing lengthy post-production. The project evolved to embrace Young’s electric guitar, leading to an effortless exchange between the two Canadians, fueled by shared heritage and unspoken understanding. Lanois notes the absence of "butting heads" with Young, unlike some of his famously intense sessions with Bob Dylan.
Indeed, Lanois’s two albums with Dylan, Oh Mercy and Time Out of Mind, are legendary for their creative friction and profound results. Oh Mercy was a "private record," captured largely at night in New Orleans with Dylan and Lanois playing guitars, minimal musicians, and a Roland 808 beatbox setting the nocturnal mood. Lanois vividly recalls the deliberate choice to focus on Dylan’s voice and songs, even resisting Dylan’s desire for a larger band. He played bass on most tracks, creating melodic hooks like the one in "Most of the Time," where four Les Paul tracks through a Vox amp sound like a distant string quartet. His one regret from Oh Mercy remains the exclusion of the "fantastic" track "Series of Dreams," a decision Lanois now admits he might have influenced by suggesting it was too reminiscent of his other work.
For Time Out of Mind, Lanois sought to redefine the blues, bringing in drummers Brian Blade and Jim Keltner to avoid a "bar band" sound. He and Tony Mangurian crafted innovative beat tracks, looping "magic eight bars" from their own improvisations over old blues records. These loops served as an "insurance policy," guiding the band toward original rhythmic directions. Lanois championed an urban rhythm for "Can’t Wait," believing the initial demo with Mangurian had "unrealized potential" for a broader reach. More recently, Lanois reacted with palpable frustration to the Time Out of Mind remix, echoing director Wim Wenders’ sentiment that the "feeling was not there." He views such remixes as a dismantling of the original artistic vision, suggesting the courage would have been to acknowledge the original’s mastery. He also offered a lighthearted take on Dylan’s current stage attire, joking that the ubiquitous hoodie might simply be a response to a bad hair day.
Reflecting on his transformative work with Peter Gabriel on the Birdy soundtrack and the iconic So album, Lanois describes a year of intense, dedicated collaboration. Recorded in a rustic "cow barn" in the English countryside, the focus was on "glamour in the music rather than the curtains." He recounts the genesis of "Red Rain," where he manipulated Gabriel’s Yamaha CP70 electric grand piano through extreme processing and multiple generations of effects, creating "avalanches of harmonics" that evoked "rainfall," "monks in the distance," and "cherubs flying by." This technique, honed with Brian Eno, allowed voltage control oscillators to take on a life of their own, pushing sound into truly far-out territory. For "Sledgehammer," a seemingly simple drum machine beat was transformed by Manu Katché’s expressive hi-hat performance, captured in a single take.
Lanois’s enduring impact on U2’s The Joshua Tree is perhaps best exemplified by "Where the Streets Have No Name." He recalls literally conducting the band with chords written on a blackboard to help them navigate the song’s complex structure, which began with The Edge’s symphonic 5/4 home recording before transitioning to a 4/4 rhythm. These seminal recordings, Lanois explains, set the "standards" and established a "governor" sound that defined the entire album. Four years later, for Achtung Baby, the same team – Lanois, Eno, Flood, and U2 – embarked on a conscious deconstruction of their previous sound, aiming for a "European rock record" forged in Hansa Studios in post-Wall Berlin, driven by a shared quest for "soul and originality." Tracks like "Ultraviolet" emerged with a driving, "testimonial tonality" and a sense of "levitation," while "Beautiful Day" saw Eno and Lanois crafting an electro-inspired beginning, with Lanois adding a guitar line he calls the "Bernard Herrmann to the Edge’s melody."
In his concluding reflections, Daniel Lanois articulates the profound purpose that drives him: to create music that serves as a "reliable transporter," taking listeners "beyond their understanding" to a new emotional and even geographical place. He speaks of "emotional phase cancellation," where music absorbs sadness, leaving the listener elevated. For Lanois, albums are "doorways or keyholes," offering "secret passages" to new perspectives, an escape from the pressures of modern life. He draws a parallel to Mark Rothko, who, after years of experimentation, found his pure form in texture and color, creating portals for viewers to invent their own scenes. Similarly, Lanois has found his unique voice in the steel guitar, creating an original style that belongs solely to him. "If we’re lucky enough to come upon something that belongs to us," he muses, "then that’s quite a rock to stand on, and off we go to the next dimension of original work." Belladonna Nocturne, in its atmospheric depth and emotional nuance, is precisely such a rock, inviting listeners to open a door and discover a new chapter within themselves.
