In 1977, a large group of musicians performed David Dunn’s Sky Drift while moving slowly across a Southern California desert, documenting the concert with four stationary microphones. A year later, Dunn presented the work in New York as a ‘performance/documentation’, playing back the audio recording for a seated audience. This article explores issues of ‘liveness’ in recorded sound, ‘transparency’, ‘aura’ and ‘the work itself’ in order to examine the consequences of this act: what does it mean for a recording of an outdoor performance to be shared at an indoor concert event? Can such a complex and interactive experience – with widely dispersed musicians and mobile audience members – be successfully converted into a fixed document? What does a recording capture and what must it exclude? Because Sky Drift constantly shifts the physical relationships between musicians and audience across a vast outdoor landscape, each listener’s experience represents an equally valid sonic perspective on the piece. As a result, it is unclear how a satisfying recording might be made or what it might even mean to ‘hear the music’ at all. When relocated – away from its original outdoor context – Sky Drift is deprived of much of its potential to communicate meaning.