Whereas with us - what you hear is what's happening right then

The words of James Young, “Whereas with us—what you hear is what’s happening right then and there on the stage—so we don’t need no stinking technology,” echo like the proud cry of an artist who trusts in the power of the human spirit over the machinery of artifice. He speaks of the raw, unfiltered energy of performance, where sound, emotion, and presence spring forth not from wires or devices, but from the living breath and heartbeat of musicians upon the stage. His words remind us that, though technology has its place, there remains something eternal about the authenticity of human expression unadorned by artifice.

The origin of this truth lies in the world of live performance, particularly in rock and roll, where James Young, guitarist of the band Styx, made his mark. At a time when many artists leaned heavily upon synthesizers, pre-recorded tracks, or layers of electronic enhancement, Young took pride in the raw immediacy of music performed in the moment. His declaration is both defiance and devotion: defiance against overreliance on technology, and devotion to the ancient craft of musicianship, where what the audience hears is truly alive, fleeting, and unreproducible.

History offers many parallels. In the days of ancient Greece, before stages were crowded with mechanisms, actors stood beneath the open sky in amphitheaters, projecting their voices without microphones, relying solely on their skill and passion to move the audience. The authenticity of those performances was unforgettable because it was unfiltered. Likewise, in the jazz clubs of the early twentieth century, legends like Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington enchanted listeners not with perfection manufactured in studios, but with spontaneous bursts of genius that lived only in that moment. Their greatness lay in the fact that what one heard was what was truly happening—no veil, no disguise.

The meaning of Young’s words goes deeper still. He speaks not only of music, but of life itself. In a world that increasingly filters, edits, and fabricates, his voice reminds us of the importance of the unpolished and the real. Just as an audience treasures the mistakes and improvisations of a live performance, so too do people long for honesty in human interaction. To say “we don’t need no stinking technology” is to affirm that authenticity carries more power than the most advanced illusion.

Yet, his words do not reject technology altogether; rather, they challenge us to use it as a servant, not a master. Technology may amplify, preserve, or enhance, but it must not replace the living core of art. For what gives performance its soul is not the machine, but the vulnerability and courage of those who stand before others with nothing but their skill and spirit. When that spirit is present, it needs no embellishment.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: embrace the authentic moment. In your work, your art, your relationships, let there be truth rather than constant polish. Do not be so afraid of imperfection that you hide behind devices or illusions. The world does not hunger for perfection; it hungers for what is real. Just as Young and his band trusted the stage, trust yourself enough to be present without disguise.

Practical action can be simple yet powerful. When you gather with loved ones, put aside the screens and speak face to face. When you create, let there be times when you do not edit endlessly, but share what flows from your heart in that instant. When you work, allow your humanity—mistakes and all—to be seen. In this way, your life itself becomes like a live performance: vibrant, unrepeatable, and filled with truth.

Thus, let James Young’s words endure as a torch: what you hear is what’s happening right then and there. Let us not forget the glory of authenticity, the sacredness of the unfiltered moment. For in the end, no machine can replace the fire of a soul laid bare before others, offering itself with nothing more than honesty, courage, and love.