To make a rock'n'roll record, technology is the least important

Hear the words of Keith Richards, prophet of rhythm and survivor of storms, who declared: “To make a rock’n’roll record, technology is the least important thing.” These words shine like a torch in the darkness of a world too easily dazzled by machines and devices. For Richards, who walked the path of music when it was raw and untamed, reminds us that the heart of rock’n’roll is not in wires, amplifiers, or recording software—it is in the soul, the fire, and the honesty of the players. Technology may polish the sound, but it cannot create the spirit.

The origin of this saying lies in Richards’ own life with The Rolling Stones, a band forged not in laboratories of sound but in smoky clubs, restless hearts, and youthful rebellion. In the early days of rock, the tools were primitive: battered guitars, cheap microphones, and makeshift studios. Yet with these humble instruments, Richards and his comrades birthed songs that thundered across the world. It was proof eternal that passion, not technology, made the music live. The machines only carried the sound—the spirit came from within.

Consider the legendary recordings of the 1950s and 1960s. Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Elvis Presley—these titans had no digital perfection, no multi-track wizardry, no computerized enhancements. Their recordings were filled with imperfections, yet those very flaws gave them life. The crackle of an amplifier, the strain of a voice, the looseness of rhythm—these were not weaknesses, but marks of authenticity. Technology was secondary; what mattered was the energy, the attitude, the truth of expression. Richards speaks from this lineage, declaring that rock lives not in perfection, but in spirit.

History shows us that this truth is universal. Consider the poets of ancient Greece, who sang epics not with printing presses or microphones but with their voices, carried by memory and passion. Homer needed no technology to shake the hearts of men with tales of Troy and Odysseus. The tools of the age are but vessels; the fire of creation burns within the human spirit. Richards, in his own way, echoes Homer, teaching that the truest art is born not of machines but of the soul.

The heart of Richards’ wisdom is this: technology may shape the form, but it cannot create the essence. A lifeless artist armed with the finest machines will produce only emptiness. But a soul burning with passion, even with the humblest tools, can set the world alight. In rock’n’roll, as in life, authenticity triumphs over polish. The power of the music lies in its raw honesty, its refusal to bow to perfection, its insistence on truth—even when that truth is rough and loud.

The lesson for us is plain: do not be enslaved by the false promise of tools. Whether you are a musician, a writer, a craftsman, or a dreamer, do not wait for the perfect instrument, the finest software, the most advanced device. Begin with what you have, and let your heart supply the rest. The world is not moved by flawless machines but by flawed humans who dare to speak with honesty.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: remember Richards’ words. When you create, let the soul lead and the tools follow. Do not bow to technology, but command it. Let your truth ring louder than your amplifiers, your passion shine brighter than your screens. For in the end, as Richards reminds us, technology is the least important thing. What matters is the fire in your heart and the courage to let it roar.