What we think of as normal in this era of regimented specialization is the one-in-a-dozen take, where everything goes just right. We so rarely see the real people behind the perfect curtain, being flawed and fucking up. But because of the holy shit moment at the end, getting the music just right suddenly became secondary. They had no choice — this was the take. The whole thing is a mess: the guitarist and saxophonist both miss notes, the drums are regularly off-beat, and to top it off, the players privately hate each other. Shortly afterwards, the lead singer would quit the band.
This is life.
Isn’t it beautiful?