Would you like me to introduce you? Why music and advertising should go back to the start

Would you respond well to ‘oi’, or ‘you, mate’? Would you feel comfortable entering a house without a door? Would you appreciate a welcome without a handshake, a smile, a warm embrace or a loving hug? Would you send Christmas presents unwrapped?

It’s good to have a proper introduction, isn’t it? Continuing with the theme, have you ever rushed onto a dance floor at the first wail of Donna Summer’s I Feel Love, the first bass notes to Another One Bites the Dust, or the machine-gun kick-drum pattern that opens Blue Monday?

It’s good to have a proper introduction, isn’t it? 

A well-written introduction has traditionally been one of the most important elements in music composition but, due to a shifting media landscape, digitisation and declining attention spans, it’s becoming a lost art. Nevertheless, the rich history of song intros has a great deal to teach both music professionals and advertisers about the nature of dynamics, suspense and release, the value of delayed gratification and, ultimately, about impact.

Above: The White Stripes' Seven Nation Army opens with its iconic riff, "the essence of the song in microcosm". 

At GAS Music we have an ever-growing playlist of songs with great intros but what’s increasingly clear is that there is no one-size fits all formula for what makes a great intro. Some present the essence of the song in microcosm, leading with a strong riff, hook or bass line [Seven Nation Army], others favour more of a lead in [Gimme Shelter]. Still others take a more abstract approach, setting the scene with sound effects, foley or ambient sound [Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere].

The stylistic possibilities are endless, but what all these songs share is a level of attention to detail that demonstrates a holistic understanding of structure, the role of dynamics, and the part both play in creating impact. These aren’t songs built as carriers for a good, sellable hook (though they have these in spades), they’re composed as complete worlds, with hills and valleys, peaks and troughs. But, because of this, their moments of impact are, well... just that much more impactful.

Research from Ohio State University shows that the lengths of song intros declined by a phenomenal 78% between 1985 and 2015.

Despite this rich history, the song intro is a dying art. Research from Ohio State University shows that the lengths of song intros declined by a phenomenal 78% between 1985 and 2015. This is down to a confluence of market forces, technological developments and resultant consumption habits. Listening to music was once accompanied by a whole ritual of retrieving a record from a shelf and carefully removing it from its sleeve, before setting it up on a turntable platter, cueing the tone arm, etc. 

The shift from physical to digital formats, though, has meant that it’s easier than ever to skip between artists or songs, replacing this ritual with a couple of taps of a keypad. As a result, it has become commonplace to skip songs or sections of songs that don’t provide an instant payoff. This problem is exacerbated by Spotify’s policy that a ‘listen’ must constitute more than 30 seconds play time, otherwise the artist receives no remuneration.

Above: The first four bars of Smells Like Teen Spirit's iconic riff, with its gentle, clean guitar tone, make the introduction of distortion, drums and bass hit harder.

Composers and producers have responded by cutting intros, with most of this year’s chart hits bringing in a vocal within fewer than ten seconds (often just one or two). Add to this the still growing influence of TikTok as a platform for discovering music and we find ourselves in a world in which instant impact seems to be the name of the game.

But are we missing something without these intros? A good intro is about playing with dynamics and producing suspense. It’s about the build-up of tension and a climactic release as the song hits its stride. If we aim for instant impact, we’re ignoring any build-up. Moments of quiet emphasise the loud, the peaks tower over the valleys; there is no climax without a climb. Consider the iconic riff to Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit. The first four bars of the riff, played with a gentle, clean guitar tone, make the simultaneous introduction of distortion, drums and bass hit so much harder.

All peaks all the time really means no peaks at all. And permanent high energy is a recipe for a burnt-out nervous system and numbed perception.

The problem with reaching straight for instant gratification is a general compression or flattening of the audio field. All peaks all the time really means no peaks at all. And permanent high energy is a recipe for a burnt-out nervous system and numbed perception. Fundamentally, what this means is a race to the bottom in terms of impact.

We see similar trends in advertising. We’ve written already about the diminishing returns in licensing iconic heritage music, but we might also consider that the average commercial will reach quickly for the chorus of its chosen track. There is sound logic here: the chorus tends to be the energetic climax of a song, as well as generally containing the crucial lyrical message, and the catchiest melody. But, by neglecting the less upfront parts of a song, we miss the opportunity to utilise other elements, to play with form and dynamics, create shifts in energy and, ultimately, increase impact.