Loudness Targets Aren’t Creative Decisions - But They Can Undo Them

Loudness gets discussed as though it's a target to hit, rather than the result of everything that came before it.

“-14 LUFS”.

“-9 LUFS”.

These numbers keep appearing in conversation as though they’re the goal itself – like reaching them might somehow guarantee impact, professionalism, or perfect translation. Obviously, it doesn't work that way.

LUFS are useful because they measure something peak meters never really could. They tell us roughly how loud something feels over time, rather than simply how close a waveform is to digital zero. In a world where Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube all apply loudness normalisation during playback, that's genuinely useful information. The important detail, though, is that the file itself isn't changing on these platforms. Instead, the playback volume is simply turned up or down.

In practice, this means that a heavily limited master may still appear louder in certain contexts (CD/Vinyl/etc), but on streaming platforms you’re most likely going to wind up with limited dynamic range, less movement between sections, and gaining very little (if anything) in return.

This is where loudness discussions start drifting away from the music itself. A meter can tell you how loud something feels, but it can't tell you whether the arrangement still breathes, whether the chorus actually lifts, or whether you've compressed the life out of a record simply to meet a target.

Now, the obsession with loudness didn't appear out of nowhere. During the CD era, louder records often did sound more exciting in direct comparison. In radio playlists and quick A/B tests, extra level frequently translated into extra energy, and digital limiting made it possible to keep pushing average loudness higher and higher. But while that environment may have changed, the instinct didn't really evolve with it.

This isn’t to mean that loud masters are automatically bad, and it definitely doesn't mean dynamic masters are automatically better. Some records are supposed to feel relentless. Modern hip hop, EDM, metal, and pop, all rely on a different kind of physical impact than jazz, orchestral, or acoustic music. The question isn't whether a record is loud. It's whether chasing loudness starts flattening the very things that gave the music impact in the first place. Because a track can absolutely measure loud while still feeling small.

Usually that collapse happens gradually. The arrangement gets denser, the limiter works harder, transients soften, and the gap between sections narrows. Nothing sounds obviously broken. The record just stops opening up. That's why I think the "master to -14 LUFS" or “master to -9 LUFS” advice can be so misleading. It treats loudness as though it exists separately from the music carrying it. But two tracks can measure exactly the same and feel completely different depending on their arrangement, balance, and emotional role.

By the time something reaches mastering, many of the important decisions have already happened. Dense arrangements reach saturation faster because more elements are competing for the same perceptual space. Uncontrolled low-end burns through headroom quickly. Too much compression during production often leaves mastering engineers trying to manage congestion instead of enhancing energy.

The cleanest loud masters usually earned that loudness earlier. Not through restraint, but through organisation. The arrangement leaves room for important elements to lead. The low end is shaped instead of simply enlarged, and the mix understands hierarchy. Loudness becomes the natural byproduct of clarity, control, and intentional density.

Most good mix and mastering engineers aren't chasing ideological numbers. They're balancing consequences. How much level can this track hold before the vocal loses depth? Does the snare still crack properly? Does the chorus still expand? Does the low end stay controlled once the limiter starts working harder?

Those are musical decisions disguised as technical ones, and I think that's probably the biggest problem with this hangover from the loudness wars and optimisation culture in music as a whole – measurements are seductive because they look objective. The number is visible. The target feels concrete. But the meter only describes one part of a much larger system, and once the measurement becomes the creative objective, it’s easy to start sacrificing what what’s being heard for what’s being seen.

Impact was never created by level alone. It comes from contrast, density, balance, and the relationship between sections. A chorus feels huge partly because something smaller came before it. A kick feels heavy because there's enough space around it for the weight to register. Loudness isn't something you add to a record at the end - it's usually the result of dozens of decisions that happened much earlier. And while the meter can describe the outcome, it can't tell you what was sacrificed to get there.

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Further Reading:

For readers who want to go deeper, start with iZotope's guide to LUFS, which explains perceived loudness measurement without turning it into a tutorial. Spotify's loudness normalisation documentation shows exactly how platforms adjust playback and why louder masters get turned down.

For the psychoacoustic side—why contrast creates impact—iZotope's psychoacoustics article bridges perception and production clearly. The AES loudness standards overview provides authoritative context on how these measurements evolved.

Finally, REW (Room EQ Wizard) remains essential for anyone measuring their own playback chain, because loudness perception depends heavily on listening environment.