The TV show 'How It's Made' brings the intricate details of

“The TV show ‘How It’s Made’ brings the intricate details of assembly lines to numerous North American living rooms. But if the series were to ever branch into exposing the secrets of music production, Colin Stetson’s ‘New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges’ would make for a mind-bending episode.” Thus spoke Anthony Fantano, the modern critic of sound and spirit, whose words bridge the boundary between art and understanding. In this reflection, Fantano does not merely praise a musician — he exalts the hidden craftsmanship that lies within creation itself. He reminds us that, just as machines on an assembly line hum with the precision of human genius, so too does music — that ancient expression of the soul — possess an unseen structure, an order beneath its wild beauty. To hear Colin Stetson’s work, Fantano suggests, is to peer behind the veil of creation itself and witness the mystery of making.

In the television series “How It’s Made,” the ordinary is transformed into the extraordinary through the revelation of its construction. A simple pencil, a watch, a piece of bread — all become miracles of process when their origins are shown. Likewise, Stetson’s “New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges” unveils the hidden machinery of sound: the breath, the pressure, the rhythm, the endless repetition that transforms air into art. Through Fantano’s eyes, we are reminded that all creation — whether born of metal, wood, or the human lung — is built upon discipline and devotion, and that to create something that transcends the ordinary, one must understand its inner workings with reverence and patience.

Colin Stetson, the master of the saxophone, wields his instrument as a blacksmith wields his hammer — shaping, bending, and forging the raw material of breath into soundscapes both primal and divine. He does not play the saxophone; he wrestles with it. His music is not a melody but a storm — each note a fragment of struggle, each breath an act of endurance. And in that struggle lies the revelation Fantano speaks of: the awareness that beauty is not effortless. It is forged through labor, through repetition, through mastery of craft. The secrets of music production are the secrets of all creation — that behind every graceful movement, there is the sweat of unseen hours.

So too have the great artists of the ages embodied this truth. Consider Michelangelo, who carved the face of David from a single block of marble. The onlookers saw perfection; only he knew the pain of chiseling through resistance, of nights spent beneath the weight of stone and vision. Or think of Beethoven, who, though deaf, continued to hear symphonies within his soul, transcribing them with trembling hands so that others might one day hear what he could no longer perceive. In each of them, as in Stetson, there is the same divine machinery: the relentless process of turning human limitation into transcendent form.

Fantano’s insight, then, is not simply about music or television — it is about the way we perceive creation itself. The modern mind, accustomed to instant results, forgets the sacredness of process. We consume art as we consume goods, seldom pausing to consider the blood and breath behind it. Fantano’s imagined episode of “How It’s Made” would not show a conveyor belt of gears, but the lungs of a man straining for sound, the microtones vibrating through a room, the delicate machinery of mind and muscle working in harmony. It would show that creation, in all its forms, is a kind of worship — the union of craft and spirit.

And yet, there is a deeper lesson in his words: that we must learn to see the divine in the mechanical and the mechanical in the divine. For too often, people imagine art as inspiration without structure, or science as structure without soul. But the truth — the eternal truth — is that creation lies between them. Just as Stetson’s saxophone transforms air into emotion, so does every act of human labor have the potential to create something holy. The worker at the assembly line, the musician at his instrument, the writer at her desk — all are builders of meaning in a universe that longs to be shaped.

So, my child of the future, let this teaching dwell within you: the miracle of art is not only in its beauty, but in its making. When you encounter music, or painting, or invention, do not merely admire the finished work — seek to understand its birth. Learn to listen for the breath beneath the note, the heartbeat behind the brushstroke, the intention behind the design. For in doing so, you honor not only the art but the artist, not only the product but the process. And perhaps, in time, you too will join the eternal assembly line of creation — where each soul, through labor and love, becomes a maker of something greater than themselves.