Hooverin' and the space between notes

"Music is the space between the notes."
- Claude Debussy

Most of us spend most of our work time focusing on the "things" that make up our product or service: the features, the words, the sounds, the icons, the buttons, the graphics, the content and so on. We try to define and control every aspect of the user's experience. Every moment of the user's experience. But what if the non-things--the space between the things--is just if not more important?

A few years ago, I went to a [John Dodds, you might want to cover your ears for a moment] Travis concert (British indie-rock band). In the midst of the show, front man Fran Healy (known in the US for wearing a utilikilt on the Letterman show) talked about a concert he'd been to the night before, at Red Rocks Amphitheater.

The show he went to was Neil Young -- friends and relatives, featuring several... well-seasoned musicians. What Fran learned that night influenced his music going forward, and the way he described it went something like this:

"These guys are so natural and casual. While we are always trying to f***ing fill up every space--the space between the notes--they play the most amazing things like they're just hooverin'."

At that point, he made a gesture that I later learned (from the English-to-American dictionary) was a back-and-forth vacuuming motion. (Apparently "Hoovering" is a reference to the Hoover brand vacuum). He wasn't referring to the mindless repetition of vacuuming--he was explaining that for these musicians, playing this amazing music appeared that easy. Relaxed. Not frantic. There was no desperate need to fill all the space.

Some of the best musicians, I'm told, play fewer notes than you actually hear. They play in such a way--and leave enough space--that your mind fills in more. (Granted, it was a DeadHead that told me).

Artists know that negative space carries weight. It is not simply an absence of content. The "white space", as it's sometimes referred to by graphic designers, IS content. And it's not just the forgotten stepchild of a composition... it is a first-class citizen. A thing that deserves as much (if not more) focus as the apparent subject of the work.

Comedians say that "timing is everything." But by "timing", they almost always mean "the pause." The PAUSE is not merely a void between the Things That Matter.

Newbie writers (like me) are taught that it's the words you cut out that matter most. We're told to edit until nothing else can be removed. That's great advice, and when I have time to edit (rare for a spare-time blog post, but required with a book), I start hacking off all those extra words. (Like, "off all those"). But removing words isn't enough. We must insert space. Space for the reader to become engaged.

Space for the reader to reflect, process, and co-create the meaning.

And they can't do that if we're filling all the space--pushing content out like a firehose.

Newbie teachers/trainers often make the same mistake. We fill in every available space, just like those first-time desktop publishers who "abhor a vacuum" and cram words and clip-art into every square millimeter of a flyer.

But real learning takes place between exposures to content! Long-term memory from learning happens after the training. The space between the lessons and practice is where the learning is made permanent. If we don't leave that space, new content keeps rushing in to overwrite the previous content, before the learner's brain has a chance to pause, reflect, and synthesize the proteins needed for long-term memory storage.

I can think of a few other examples of rushing in to fill all the space... I hope you'll add some of your own:

* A software company that adds features so quickly that users never have a chance to organically evolve their use of the app in a way that nobody imagined. Obviously this depends heavily on the type of product, but figuring out the ideal "space for user evolution" is one of the tricky parts.

Note: this is not necessarily the same as featuritis--where the company adds too damn MANY features and hurts usability. This is about introducing things based on current use of the product without allowing time for new uses to emerge.

* A church that fills every space of a service... conducts every prayer... never allowing the member/attendee a chance to reflect.

* Toys that specify explicit, carefully-constrained use. (When the best toy, as Stephen just mentioned in the comments of my previous post, could be the open-ended use-your-imagination box the over-featured toy came in.)

* A speaker that never pauses. Not all pauses are awkward. Pauses aren't necessarily--to use the radio term--dead air--they may be the most alive part of the conversation or presentation. The pause is usually where all the interesting things happen in the other person's head! [Note to self: it won't kill you to shut up.]

* The graphic design that allows no white space, or does not respect the "weight" of that space.

* The movie that explicitly describes every detail allowing no room for personal interpretation. Where every character says exactly what they're feeling and thinking.

* The article or blog post that just keeps hammering... relentlessly... without any space for the reader to use their own imagination. Without space for the reader's neurons to do anything but let the words flow by and right back out. Like, say, this one.

[insert space]

[allow pause for reflection]

Bonus link: Urban Housework

Oh yes, I almost forgot the reason I made this post. I saw Neal Young at Red Rocks last night. As part of the CSNY Freedom of Speech tour. And yeah, they were definitely Hooverin', letting us--the audience--fill the space between the notes.