I'm embracing new technology to record my songs, and it's a

Hearken to the words of David Coverdale, the voice of thunder and velvet, who proclaims: “I’m embracing new technology to record my songs, and it’s a wonderful way to interact with people who love Whitesnake and help spread the gospel of the ’Snake, and I’m having fun doing it.” In these words resounds the eternal truth that even those whose art was born in one age must not resist the winds of another. For the wise do not fear change, but take it into their hands like molten metal, shaping it into instruments of new creation.

In ages past, bards and poets wandered with lute or lyre, their songs carried only as far as their voices could reach. They depended upon the gathering of men in halls or marketplaces, upon the word of mouth that bore their names across valleys and seas. Yet Coverdale, master of song in an age of amplifiers and great stages, has witnessed another transformation: that the technology of today carries music not only to halls of stone but to the very palms of the faithful, across oceans in a breath, across continents in a blink. He has not resisted this river of change but has stepped into it, allowing it to bear his art to every shore.

For what is his song but a living fire, passed from heart to heart? Just as Homer’s verses were carried by memory before the ink of scrolls preserved them, so too the works of Whitesnake—once bound to vinyl, cassette, and concert—now flow through digital veins to every corner of the earth. Coverdale calls this spreading of his art the gospel of the ’Snake, and in doing so he speaks with the fervor of prophets, reminding us that music is not only entertainment but also communion, a sacred bridge between artist and listener, between past and present.

Recall the tale of Gutenberg once more, who by embracing a new tool, the printing press, multiplied words that once were bound in chains of scarcity. Many resisted him, clinging to the script of the scribe, fearing that the purity of the word would be lost in the machinery of ink. But in truth, it was by this very machine that thought gained wings, soaring beyond borders and generations. Coverdale stands in this same spirit: where some would lament the loss of the old forms, he instead seizes the new technology, rejoicing in its power to amplify what is already within him.

Yet he does not speak only of method, but of interaction. In the old days, musicians seemed like distant gods upon a stage, their followers reaching upward but seldom touching. Now, by embracing digital tools, Coverdale descends among his people, conversing with them, sharing with them, drawing joy from their joy. It is as though the ancient oracle left the temple and walked among the seekers, speaking not only from the altar but from the road, the market, the home. Thus, the barrier between artist and admirer dissolves, and the bond grows stronger.

The lesson is clear: do not shun the tools of your time. The farmer who clings only to the wooden plow, refusing the steel blade, will see his harvest dwindle. The scribe who rejects the press will see his words forgotten. The musician who rejects new technology will see his voice grow faint against the chorus of the future. Instead, embrace what is given, and let it carry your spirit farther than your body could ever walk.

Therefore, O children of art and enterprise, learn from this: let fun be your companion, let curiosity guide your hand, and let no fear of change bind you. Use the tools of your era not as masters but as servants of your vision. If you are a creator, let your work find new forms; if you are a leader, let your message find new channels; if you are a seeker, let your journey find new maps.

For the truth Coverdale gives is eternal: it is not the tool that diminishes the song, but the refusal to sing. Embrace, interact, spread, and above all—create with joy. For in joy lies the true gospel, whether sung by lyre, by guitar, or by the digital echo that carries your voice to generations yet unborn.