Tag Archives: Experimentation

The Uncanny Valley Of Freedom

If you want to experiment, small venues are a great place to be.

Please Remember:

The opinions expressed are mine only. These opinions do not necessarily reflect anybody else’s opinions. I do not own, operate, manage, or represent any band, venue, or company that I talk about, unless explicitly noted.

“The Uncanny Valley” is something that you might not be familiar with. It’s the idea that, as humans, we become more and more comfortable with creatures and machines as they look more and more like us – until a certain point. Rather suddenly, a machine or animal reaches a point where it’s very human-like, and yet not human enough. We unconsciously interpret the thing as being a physically or mentally damaged person, and so we’re repulsed by it. Climbing out of the uncanny valley requires that the object of our horror become so lifelike that we can’t readily tell the difference between it and an actual human.

The reason The Uncanny Valley has its name is that, when you graph the above phenomenon, the “person is comfortable with the object” line climbs steadily, and then drops into something of a chasm before recovering.

What I’ve started to notice in the past years is that Uncanny Valleys are actually pretty easy to find. One of these valleys exists in the area of an audio human’s freedom to experiment and try new things. You might think that an audio tech’s ability to explore new techniques increases in a simple, linear fashion as venue size increases – but that’s not actually true.

There’s actually a huge downward slope in the “freedom” graph for sound persons, and it happens right after the curve leaves small-venue territory. As far as I can tell, anyway.

No Riders Means More Leeway

But why would this be the case? Why would small venues actually have the potential for more experimentation by a noise wrangler?

By my estimation, it all has to do with being in a spot that’s just right for doing things that are a bit out of the mainstream. To be in that spot, the venue has to be big enough for expanded system functionality and (or) advanced applications to actually matter, while being small enough that acceptability to the widest range of acts isn’t a major factor.

…yeah, that was kinda unwieldy. Let me make this a little more concrete.

Most mixing consoles that are widely used are either analog units – where the control surface is directly tied to the circuitry – or digital mixers that simulate this behavior to some degree. In defiance of these conventions, I use a semi-homebrew console that has no traditional control surface at all.

The industry standard stage-vocal mic is the SM-58. I don’t particularly care for the SM-58, and I’m not really wild about any other offering from Shure, and so my go-to mics for onstage singers are models from EV and Sennheiser. They’re mics that I’m interested in, at a personal level.

I could never get away with this if I worked at a mid-size venue.

The reason that I CAN experiment and do what I want in the small-venue environment is because I don’t have to conform to the expectations of acts that need wide compatibility and high predictability. As a guy that works primarily with local musicians, I don’t have to contend with concert riders that make demands for industry standard gear. I also don’t have to worry about ensuring the productivity of a large number of visiting audio humans.

Most of my locals don’t even HAVE a written list of production requirements. If they did, though, it would probably read:

“It would be great if you have two vocal mics available. If you have 3 vocal mics, that would be even better. We don’t care what the vocal mics are, as long as they basically sound like what they’re pointed at and don’t smell like the hippo enclosure at the zoo. If you’ve got mics, then we hope you also have a couple of speakers to point at the audience, and one or two to point back at us. Hopefully they’re okay to listen to and not ready to spontaneously combust. See you on Friday night.”

There’s a lot of freedom in there, because there aren’t a lot of specifics. When you get into bigger venues whose bread and butter is hosting regionals and smaller nationals, things suddenly change. The riders start to say things like:

“Must have 4 Beta-series Shure mics available.”

“Console must be functionally equivalent to a Soundcraft GB4-32.”

“No Peavey, Behringer, A&H, or Mackie.”

…and so on.

To do your job properly, you simply can’t be scratching your own itches and trying oddball solutions. You have to be ready to cater to a lot of people who need to walk up to something they can predict and be comfortable with immediately, and that means lots of “industry standard midgrade-pro” gear.

Let me be clear: There’s nothing wrong with working for a venue or provider who’s target market is the regional and national act. It’s a career path that can be very exciting and enjoyable. It’s just good to know what the expectations are.

Climbing Out Of The Valley

The audio-dude freedom curve does come back up eventually. For proof of this, see Dave Rat. When you get to the level of Dave Rat and his peers, your freedom for experimentation returns. The reason for this is twofold:

1) You are now trusted enough as a craftsperson, and are regarded as enough of a leader for people to put their faith in your experiments. You’re hired specifically to be you, as opposed to being hired because you can make audio gear work. (There is a difference.)

2) You have the resources necessary to execute your experiments in a nicely crafted way, where the fit, finish, and performance are at the caliber necessary for the acts that hire you.

There’s a certain level that you can get to where YOU are the one who writes up all the requirements. When you get to that stage, you can have all the crazy-cool notions you want. It becomes your job to have those notions and bring them to fruition, and so your “freedom curve” climbs higher and higher.

It’s important to note that “the curve” isn’t the same for everyone. For in-house audio humans, the freedom curve drops off after the small-venue scale, and then never recovers. For guys and gals that provide complete rigs for acts, the curve can have all kinds of peaks and dips. For folks that mix with their own front ends on other people’s systems, the curve can be pretty flat.

The bottom line is to figure out what excites you as an audio tech, and find a groove that works for you. If you love to do your own thing, buck the trends, and push the envelope, you can have a lot of fun in small venues.


The Trouble With Mister Floyd

A proposal for a show that incorporates a live, Pink Floyd tribute act with dance.

Please Remember:

The opinions expressed are mine only. These opinions do not necessarily reflect anybody else’s opinions. I do not own, operate, manage, or represent any band, venue, or company that I talk about, unless explicitly noted.

A while back, a friend paid me a compliment. She said that she would love to bring me out to where her ballet company performs, so that I could assist with the audio. She was sure it would be a great show.

(Thanks, Gina! I definitely think it would be cool to work with Ballet Ariel.)

One day, I was in desperate need of a project to do, and I hit upon the idea of melding a full-tilt, Rock and Roll presentation of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” with a similarly full-tilt, dramatic interpretation of the story through ballet.

In the end, I couldn’t quite get the results I wanted by just using “The Wall,” so I pulled in other Pink Floyd songs to introduce themes that would motivate the characters in ways I found interesting. I’m still basically ripping off “The Wall” as it was presenting in cinematic form, just with certain tweaks and a different ending.

Here’s what I ended up with. My guess is that the show could be pulled off for about $250,000 – anybody have any rich uncles who love Pink Floyd?

The Set

The idea for the set is to have a raised area for “Pink” and “Floyd” to perform, which is backed by a large platform for the band. The band area is roughly halfway enclosed by plexiglass sound barriers, which keep the band mostly visible while reducing their stagevolume’s contribution to sound in the house.

It is critical that the stage be well braced. Resonance from the platforms could be a huge sonic problem otherwise. The band portion of the stage should be carpeted, to help absorb sound.

The cost to construct the stage will probably be around $10,000.

The thumbnails below link to full-size versions of the pictures.

The Lighting Rig

The lighting rig is a huge piece of the show’s “soul,” and is also the show’s largest technological element. It is meant to be a primary driver of the show’s emotion and pacing, at a level equal to the physical movement by the performers and the music provided by the band.

A certain amount of restraint will be necessary, because the temptation will probably be to overuse the rig. We do want it to do some exciting things, and to do those things fairly frequently – but not so frequently that the audience simply filters the light show from their mind.

The experiment inherent in the rig is that there is no traditional front-lighting. Everything is from the side and/ or above. This is something of a risk, but the risk can be mitigated by performing the show in a space where front-lighting is already installed. The key luminaires, FX devices, rigging, and video gear are as follows:

  • 2 Haze Generators
  • 4 Geyser RGB Fog FX Units
  • 42 SlimPAR 12 IRC Sidelights
  • 48 SlimBANK Over-side lights
  • 28 BeamBAR Beam FX Units
  • 24 Intimidator Duo Moving Heads
  • 1 Rear projection screen
  • 1 5000+ ANSI lumen projector
  • 95 4′ sections of Featherlite Truss
  • 20 Featherlite square truss connectors

These pieces, along with their associated control gear, cabling, and miscellaneous items, are estimated to cost $67,000.

The Complete Stage, With Figures For Scale

The FOH Audio Rig

Like the lighting rig, the audio system needs to be extensive enough to be “big,” but the temptation to overuse it will have to be resisted. To that end, it seems reasonable to set a goal of having 50% of the audience experience an average level of no more than 100 dB SPLZ, slow. (Ideally, 94 dB SPLZ, slow would be the upper limit.)

Specifics in terms of the audio rig are not as important as those of the lighting rig. Many different kinds of subwoofer could be suitable, for example. In general, the audio system should include:

  • 8, 18-inch subwoofers
    • 4 amplifiers
  • 8, 15-inch subwoofers
    • 4 amplifiers
  • 8, 15-inch LF full-range enclosures, biamped, for the main stacks.
    • 8 amplifiers
  • 8, 12-inch LF full range enclosures, biamped, for the main stacks.
    • 8 amplifiers
  • 4, 15-inch LF full range enclosures, single amped, for surround FX.
    • 2 amplifiers
  • 10, 12 inch LF full range enclosures, single amped, for various fills.
    • 5 amplifiers

This FOH audio rig, along with its associated control and processing gear, could be built at a low-end cost of $25,000. The high end cost, of course, is unlimited. The cost does increase considerable when a monitor rig, mics, and accessories are added, but these have been left out for brevity.

The Cast

The overall imperative for any cast member is to be able, and indeed, delighted, to perform in a “full-tilt rock and roll” show with a live band, atmospheric effects like haze and fog, as well as lights that move and change rapidly at times.

Floyd: The main character.

It’s absolutely imperative that Floyd be VERY strong at duet and solo work, and also able to emote in ways that will seem very concrete and natural to the audience.

Mother: Floyd’s Mom

She will need to be a good soloist, but even more important is her ability to work well in a duet. Like Floyd, she needs to be able to project emotions in a very obvious and relatable way.

Daddy: Floyd’s Dad

The most important thing for this cast member is his ability to act in a vaguely menacing (but still palpably unsettling) way towards Floyd in several scenes. He only ever appears as a ghost. Some competence as a soloist and in duets will be required, but deep experience is probably not necessary – unless the choreographer decides to create some technically challenging moments for him, of course.

Pink: Floyd’s best friend.

He mostly needs to be able to be convincing as a young person who is “partners in crime” with Floyd. However, there is one key moment, late in the show, where he will need to deliver on some key emotions as a ghost. This may be a good part for a dancer who is just ready to transition into duets and solos.

The Groupies: Two “hangers-on” who get close to Floyd and Pink, briefly.

Both will need to be able to project an obvious (but NOT overdone) sort of “average intelligence rock girlfriend” persona. The twist is that, in one scene, they must be able to project a marked prowess as they dance, sensually, with Floyd and Pink. The Groupie who ends up with Floyd will need just that much more emotional ability than The Groupie who ends up with Pink.

The Company: Everybody else. Certain characters may be drawn from the company pool, if necessary.

The company plays concert goers, teachers, schoolkids, regular folks, and so on. The cast members who are the strongest technical and emotional performers should be selected to fill the roles of Pink and Floyd’s teacher, the “undesirables” singled out during In The Flesh, and so on.

The Show

Note: This section is not consistent in terms of details. The really important things are
specified, but there is quite a bit that will have to be determined later.

The audience is seated with the main curtain down. House-light flashes and aural tones should signal 5 minutes, 2 minutes, and 1 minute to show.

The show actually begins with the house-lights up. This is to promote safety for The Company, because they enter through the house. As they walk through the audience seating, they should chatter excitedly about being able to get into the “Pink and Floyd Concert,” amongst other things.

The house-lights dim slowly. The Company should offer the appropriate banter like, “Oh, wow!” and “It’s starting!”

The house goes black, as completely black as possible without compromising safety. The Company goes silent.

After a few seconds…

Prologue – In The Flesh?

The stage explodes with color, light, and sound. Pink and Floyd have started their show. The Company goes wild (silently, as they’re now in full “dance” mode) and go up to the stage to give their rapt attention to Floyd.

[Important – after this point, unless otherwise stated, all cast members are always silent. References to saying things, shouting, narration, etc, are to be mimed or danced and not actually vocalized.]

Although what Floyd sings might be a little confusing, lyrically, The Company is completely enthralled and joyful.

At the ending and plane crash, The Company erupts in celebration…and then freezes at the climax of light and sound.

The screen reads: “Bomber Shot Down – Crew Missing, Presumed Dead”

The Thin Ice

Daddy, as a ghost, stands a bit upstage. Downstage, Mother comforts Floyd, “singing” the song to him.

The Company “ice skates” around Mother and Floyd. When the music rises, Floyd tries to move away from Mother and interact with the “skaters,” but Mother, frightened, clings to him.

Another Brick In The Wall, Part 1

Mother and The Company exit the stage. Floyd attempts to reach Daddy, but he keeps retreating from Floyd’s touch.

The Happiest Days Of Our Lives

The screen reads: “School begins at 8:00 sharp! Tardiness will not be tolerated.”

Floyd finds Pink, and they “go hide” somewhere to have an illicit smoke. They are of course, found by their teacher, who “shouts” at them to “STAND STILL LADDIE!”

The teacher catches Pink, but Floyd gets away and comes downstage to “narrate” to the audience.

As the music rises, The Company (some as teachers, some as students) enter.

Another Brick In The Wall, Part 2

This entire scene is Pink, Floyd, and the students having a passive-aggressive battle. The teachers should turn their backs to give the students the opprotunity to “shout.” (“HEY TEACHER! LEAVE THEM KIDS ALONE!”) The students should be just barely restrained when the teachers are looking at them.

As the scene closes, Floyd goes home and goes to bed. There is silence. Floyd falls asleep, and then Daddy appears as a ghost.

Floyd jolts upright.

Welcome To The Machine

Daddy shows Floyd a vision of a possible future life. In this life, everyone has been “good girls and boys,” and are now productive (but somewhat lifeless) workers in a factory. The work is boring and mechanical.

The screen reads: “Work begins at 8:00 sharp. Late arrivals must be pre-approved with form 86-T, and you must contact your supervisor, undersupervisor, and supersupervisor three weeks in advance.”

There are blasts of steam (actually fog) throughout the scene.

As Daddy “talks” to Floyd, he should whisper in his ears, move around him in an almost predatory fashion, and invade Floyd’s personal space often. However, at no point should Daddy and Floyd actually touch.

There should be a sense of mounting horror (on Floyd’s part) at the prospect of being put to work in the factory.

Time

Suddenly, the clocks strike. Horrified, Floyd watches as the factory workers fall over, lifeless.

The factory workers slowly rise, and help Daddy by acting out his “narration” of the song. At first, they move as carefree youths, but then seem to panic as the guitar solo comes in. An unseen terror is chasing them.

At the mention of the sun, they run out of energy and start collapsing. Less and less able to move. They seem to be dying off. Things seem to be falling out of their hands.

As the song ends, Daddy walks away.

Mother

Floyd wakes up, and finds his mother for support.

Mother tries to reassure Floyd. At first she seems successful, but as her parts of the song progress, it’s made clear that all she’s capable of is clinging to Floyd, preventing him from getting out of her sight.

At the end of the song, Floyd becomes abruptly repulsed. He runs off.

On The Run

Mother pursues Floyd, but can’t seem to catch up to him. Floyd links up with Pink, and they start to “write songs,” and “play shows” to The Company. Whenever Mother gets close, Pink, Floyd, and The Company always move on, looking cheery.

At the “boom,” the screen reads: “Pink and Floyd Song a Smash Hit!” The foggers let out a large, sustained blast.

Learning To Fly

Pink and Floyd perform their hit song to their adoring fans (The Company). Floyd seems free and happy, and The Company is ecstatic. The only one not seeming to enjoy things is Mother, who is unintentionally overwhelmed by the crowd and unable to get close to her son. She is essentially invisible to everyone.

(Mother’s part shouldn’t be too big in this scene – it has a dampening effect on the emotional tone, and this scene is meant to be one of the few really happy ones.)

Have A Cigar

The screen reads: “Pink and Floyd Continue Topping The Charts!”

Pink and Floyd are being wined, dined, congratulated, back-slapped, and buttered up by The Company as recording industry execs. In terms of formation, there are three areas:

The center, where Pink and Floyd spend most of their time.

The inner circle, where the execs are fawning over Pink and Floyd.

The outer circle, where the execs “talk” amongst themselves, count their money, and anticipate a very profitable future.

At the end of the scene, Pink and Floyd walk off, and are met by The Groupies.

Money

Pink and Floyd take The Groupies out for a night of partying. This scene should be very unambiguously about conspicuous consumption, and (at least) heavily imply that the characters fall into using alcohol and hard drugs. These are young people caught up in an imaginary-yet-real world where they can have anything they want. Pink should be noticeably more affected by his drinking and drug use than Floyd. The Groupies mostly act as starry-eyed hangers-on.

Young Lust

The screen reads: “Pink and Floyd – Are These The Girlfriends? Exclusive Photos Inside!”

The Groupies definitely want to hang on to Pink and Floyd, and so now they reveal their true prowess – sensuality. This scene should provide a great opportunity for The Groupies to show off movement that is an order of magnitude more fluid and technically impressive than what they’ve done before.

At the guitar solo, Pink and his Groupie run off, leaving Floyd and his Groupie to do a short, but intense duet.

At the end of the scene, the song ends and silence falls. Suddenly, the phone rings. Floyd picks is up, and reacts with disbelief, then shock and grief. He and his Groupie exit.

The screen reads: “Pink Dead in Auto Accident. Substance Abuse a Factor?”

The Great Gig In The Sky

Pink starts out bewildered. The Groupie is lying lifeless nearby. As the vocal part comes in, The Company enters as angels. They “wake” The Groupie, and escort both her and Pink to heaven. They both look apprehensive as they arrive, but it’s soon clear that they’re both pardoned. They go off happily, trailed by The Company.

Wish You Were Here

Floyd is alone and dejected. All he has to express is his grief in a lengthy solo. He is alternately lit dimly and in silhouette.

At the end of the song, Floyd sits down and switches on a TV. He becomes cold and distant.

One Of My Turns

The Groupie enters, and, oblivious to Floyd’s feelings at the start, does her routine of being fantastically impressed by the house. She tries to get Floyd’s attention, but becomes crestfallen as all her strategies fail.

Floyd begins his part in a self-absorbed way, seemingly oblivious to The Groupie. However, as the song’s intensity rises. He begins interacting with her.

The key thing for this part is that The Groupie does feel threatened by Floyd, but not in the same way as Floyd was threatened by Daddy earlier. Floyd is not a creeping, psychological menace. In fact, he doesn’t mean to threaten her at all – he’s dangerous because he’s suddenly gone manic.

At the end of the scene, The Groupie runs off in terror.

Don’t Leave Me Now

Floyd is now alone, and not by choice. The Company enters, but stands in a semi-circle upstage, their backs turned to Floyd.

At the guitar solo, The Company suddenly turns and tries to get Floyd’s attention. They are now fans, people who desperately want attention from the semi-mythical figure they’ve constructed for themselves.

At the end of the scene, Floyd becomes enraged.

Another Brick In The Wall, Part 3

Floyd angrily chases The Company away, rejecting everyone and everything. He is, briefly a very intentional menace.

Goodbye Cruel World

Floyd, with very muted movement, expresses his alienation.

Sorrow

Floyd spends this entire scene down center, brightly lit, with his head down. He moves very little throughout the lengthy song.

In turns, everyone who Floyd has hurt enters and “has their say.” Mother first, then The Groupie, then members of The Company as fans.

Daddy enters as a ghost, and moves close to Floyd accusingly. Pink also enters as a ghost, and is clearly unhappy with what’s going on. It should be clear that he’s not really upset with Floyd. Concerned would be more accurate.

Near the end of the scene, one or two members of The Company (as recording execs) come on stage and force Floyd to his feet. They are demanding that he keep playing.

The screen reads: “Can The Show Go On?”

In The Flesh

Floyd is still alienated, but gets onstage to do the show. The fans are less animated this time. They’re even a little confused – especially as Floyd says “Pink isn’t well, he’s stayed back at the hotel.” (Pink is very, unambiguously dead, and they know it – but Floyd is in denial. If this can’t be readily expressed through movement, that’s fine. Sometimes a few unanswered questions in an audiences mind are perfectly acceptable.)

As Floyd starts suggesting that people who don’t fit be put “up against the wall,” the fans very quickly (and frighteningly) go along with him. They reject, threaten, and throw out anyone that Floyd points out.

At the climax of the song (which is the end), Floyd runs off by himself. He doses himself with drugs, and falls asleep in the silence.

Two Suns In The Sunset

Pink enters as a ghost. He presents Floyd with a vision of the future, much like Daddy did. In this future, the UK is destroyed in a nuclear attack. Pink is much more sympathetic than Daddy, although Floyd is a little frightened of him.

Although the presentation of this piece is concrete, the intention is that the nuclear attack is a metaphor for the self-destructive behavior that Pink and Floyd have engaged in. The trouble is that expressing a complex and non-concrete concept like that is probably impossible, so we just have to leave things ambiguous.

Comfortably Numb

The screen reads: “The Show Must Go On”

In the silence, Floyd wakes up. He doses himself again, and then, in a daze, goes onstage to do a show.

The Company enters as fans. They are facing Floyd, and interact with him, but they are strangely distant and move slowly. Pink and Daddy enter as ghosts and observe. Daddy is disapproving. Pink is worried.

Near the end, Mother enters. She has finally found Floyd, and manages to get close. As the song ends, in the silence, Floyd waits for the crowd’s adulation. However, he hasn’t done what they want. They become angry, and try to get their hands on him. Daddy is egging them on.

Run Like Hell

Floyd is now the target of The Company. Daddy chases Pink away. Mother is pushed down and out of the way. Floyd’s star has now fallen completely, and the crowd wants vengeance.

Floyd is finally cornered, and roughly pulled to center stage.

The Trial

Daddy stands up-center. The Company enters and flanks him. They join hands, and “speak” with one voice during the trial, becoming a composite character. They slowly close in on Floyd.

The final pronouncement of the court belongs to Daddy. He suddenly separates from The Company and gets right in Floyd’s face. At the order to “Tear down the wall!” The Company sets upon Floyd.

There are flashes as the explosion sounds.

Outside The Wall

As the lights come up we see Floyd cowering. Downstage, we see Mother, who has fallen. Daddy’s ghost enters, and angrily tries to get his hands on Floyd. Before he can get there, though, Pink’s ghost heads him off. Pink gently beckons to Daddy, and they move upstage right.

The Groupie enters, and tries to help Mother to her feet. Floyd looks up and sees them. He approaches, and takes their hands.

A change comes over Daddy, and he follows Pink into a strong light coming from offstage up-right.

Fade to blackout.

Bows

The band begins playing an instrumental version of “In The Flesh?” They vamp the middle part as necessary to extend the piece.

If at all possible, each member of the cast should be given the opportunity to bow as an individual. After the cast has finished, they part to allow a good look at the band, who takes their bow by way of playing the ending to the song.

Immediate blackout – main curtain, house lights.


Mixing A Live Album: Bass

Making the bass guitar work is as much about the midrange as the low end.

Please Remember:

The opinions expressed are mine only. These opinions do not necessarily reflect anybody else’s opinions. I do not own, operate, manage, or represent any band, venue, or company that I talk about, unless explicitly noted.


Experiments Are For Discovery

Don’t do experiments to save money. Do experiments to learn things and get maximum ownership.

Please Remember:

The opinions expressed are mine only. These opinions do not necessarily reflect anybody else’s opinions. I do not own, operate, manage, or represent any band, venue, or company that I talk about, unless explicitly noted.

If you yourself aren’t crazy enough to want to build your own amplifier, or construct your own loudspeaker, I’m betting that you know somebody who does. Hey, you know me, and I built my own digital mixing console. That’s pretty “out there” for most audio folks.

The reason people get these bats in their belfries is because building things is fascinating. You get to figure out what actually makes audio gear work – you get a hands-on trip through the actual tradeoffs that industry designers have to handle.

That’s the point of doing experiments: Learning something.

I’ve seen something unfortunate surrounding these endeavors, though. There’s a tendency for people to get into these projects solely for the purpose of trying to save money. When they discover (in one way or another) that doing an experiment is highly likely to actually cost more than buying a finished project, they bail out. Any excitement they had is completely wrecked.

It’s sad, really.

Makin’ Sawdust

It’s pretty easy for folks to get taken in by websites promising that you can build a superior loudspeaker for less than what it costs to buy one outright. The problem with the assertion is that it forces a lot of assumptions onto both the builder and the project:

  • It assumes that the builder knows how to use the necessary tools.
  • It assumes that the builder has the tools handy, or can obtain them for little cost.
  • It assumes that the tradeoffs made in the project design to allow for inexpensive components are well-understood by the builder.

On that last point, there’s one site for speaker enclosure plans that repeatedly touts how the designs outperform far more expensive models. The thing is that the supplied designs DO outperform their commercial counterparts – but only in one area. The DIY speakers are great if you want to get the maximum per-watt output available from inexpensive drivers, but not so great if you want deep LF (low frequency) extension and consistent overall response.

Once you couple the above with having to buy your own tools and deal with your own construction mistakes, you’ve pretty much burned any monetary advantage you might have had. There’s also the whole problem of how amplification and processing costs have dropped like a rock…as long as those components have been engineered into the actual speaker enclosure. If not, you have to provide that externally, which further drives up the cost of your homebrew project.

Now, sure, you might be able to find a sweet-spot where you can build a box with higher-end parts at a good price. If you’re not trying to maximize profit, and you’re willing to ignore the effective cost of your own labor, then you just might manage to save a few bucks in some way. It’s all just a game of moving the numbers around, though, where you can conveniently sweep certain costs under the perceptual rug.

That’s why “doing it cheaper” shouldn’t be the goal. The goal should be to have fun, learn something about woodworking, get a feel for what works and doesn’t in loudspeaker design, and ultimately have something in your hands where you can say, “I MADE this.” That’s where the real value is – and that value is far in excess of the few bucks you might save if you get lucky.

Console Yourself

Get it? “Console” yourself? It’s a play on…anyway.

In a purely “cash” sense, I did effectively save some money by building my own mixing system. To get fundamentally equivalent functionality and I/O, I would have had to spend about $1000 more than what the build cost. However, it’s important to point out that other, no less important expenses had already been made.

I already knew about the construction, care, and feeding of DAW computers.

I already knew enough about computers in general to be my own tech support.

I already knew enough about signal flow that I could effectively set up my own console configuration.

I already had enough overall experience to know what I wanted, and be able to actually leverage the advantages of the system.

I already had a spare console if something went wrong.

The value of all that goes beyond $1000. Several times over.

Again, though, that’s not the point of building your own digital console. The point is that you get to have a rig that’s truly yours – that you’re responsible for. You get to pick the compromises that you’re willing or not willing to make. You get to be the “proud parent.” You get to discover what it’s actually like to run a system with a custom front-end.

There was a time when pro-audio gear was something that you essentially had to construct yourself. It wasn’t a commoditized industry like it is now. These days, though, economies of scale make it vastly cheaper to buy things off the shelf when compared to doing your own build.

As a result, you shouldn’t do DIY experiments to save money. You should do them because they’re awesome.


Personal Monitoring Is Just That…Personal

Successfully deploying in-ears takes time, patience, and a willingness to experiment.

Please Remember:

The opinions expressed are mine only. These opinions do not necessarily reflect anybody else’s opinions. I do not own, operate, manage, or represent any band, venue, or company that I talk about, unless explicitly noted.

IEM (In Ear Monitoring) systems have an undeserved reputation:

They are supposed to fix everything in an instant.

That’s baloney, but it’s easy to believe – and it’s also got a kernel of truth embedded in it.

The true thing about in-ears is that they do solve one particular problem in an instant. That problem is audible “wash” from on-stage monitor loudspeakers. Yank the wedges off the stage, hand the artist a receiver and a set of earbuds, and *Bamf!* Life is a lot quieter, and feedback stops being an issue for monitor world – well, in the usual sense, anyway.

“Bamf,” by the way, is the sound made when something magical happens, and that magical something is accompanied by a good-sized puff of grey or black smoke. Magical events accompanied by white smoke go “Poof!”

The false notion about in-ears is that, right out of the box, you are assured of superior monitoring. That’s a lie. If you buy an IEM rig and get a perfect solution on the first day, you are one lucky dog. I’m not bagging on in-ears! I think they’re great, but you have to be realistic about ’em.

IEM systems also describe themselves as “personal monitoring systems,” and the word “personal” is very key. One size doesn’t fit all (literally, in point of fact). When you take the leap into using IEMs, you can save yourself a ton of disappointment and consternation by embracing this idea:

Getting personal monitoring to work for you is going to take more work than just opening the box and connecting the cables.

They Are The Driver, And You Are The Horn

In a certain sense, an IEM earpiece is like a compression driver that a loudspeaker manufacturer would mate to a horn.

It might not be obvious from first glance, but the high-frequency section of most pro-audio loudspeakers is actually two components. The part that’s easy to see from the outside is the horn/ waveguide/ lens/ etc. It’s a carefully designed device (albeit a passive one) that helps the HF driver couple efficiently with the air in the room. Any horn you run into will have a certain subset of HF drivers that it can mate with properly. If the HF driver doesn’t properly mate with a given horn, you can end up with a loss of efficiency, poor frequency response, or both.

Now, manufacturers usually want to sell a good number of horns and/ or drivers. With that in mind, some defacto standards have appeared for HF driver exit diameters, general compatibility, and attachment methods. There are almost certainly some horns and drivers that are made specifically for each other, and won’t work in any other combination, but there are a lot of interchangeable parts out there as well. If you’re a builder of HF drivers, you can pick an overall horn spec and build a bunch of drivers that will fit nicely.

Things aren’t quite that nice for IEM earbud designers.

Sure, most human ears are within a certain percentage of an average canal shape and canal opening diameter, but even folks in the +/- 1 standard deviation range can have a lot of variation. An IEM manufacturer has to figure out how far they’re willing to go to get a workable fit for most users, while keeping their costs at a sane level.

Usually, this means including a few different-sized “sleeves” for the system’s included earbuds.

Even so, you may have trouble getting a good fit. If you don’t get a really good fit with your in-ears, you’re going to have a crappy time. If the driver isn’t right for the “horn” (actually, your ear canal), all the upstream components – the receiver and transmitter – effectively lose the ability to do their job well. A bad fit means less usable level, along with more stage-volume leakage (a double whammy). A bad fit means sound that’s tinny, bizarre, or downright painful.

A bad fit makes the best IEM system seem like a bad investment.

Personal Monitoring Means Working On A Personal Solution

There’s good news here, though. The reality is that, by purchasing a good in-ear transmitter and receiver, your investment is on a great footing. All you have to do is complete that investment properly.

In general, I would urge anyone buying an IEM rig to view the supplied earbuds as a “starter kit” only. Also, I would urge you to view the expense of the system in the box as only about 1/2 to 2/3 of the total cost necessary for a good solution. If the “starter kit” gets you great results without having to buy any additional pieces, then that’s killer. However, you shouldn’t expect this outcome.

What you should expect is to use the in-box phones to verify that the system can transmit and receive audio that has interference and harmonic distortion at, or below, the threshold you are willing to accept. At that point, you need to make the rig yours.

If the drivers in the buds that came with the system are what you need, great. If not, go hunting for an earset that can handle what you want. (Not every set of IEM drivers will be great for low-frequency content at high-volume. I you’ve got to have that, you may need to do some more shopping.) Once you’re sure that the drivers can do what you need, you can start experimenting in earnest.

Get yourself a bunch of compatible sleeves in different sizes and materials. Get some “flanged” sleeves, too. Try to get maximum comfort, along with a bud-to-canal seal that you have to work hard to break. Try using different sleeve sizes in different ears – I’m willing to bet that your ear canals are not exactly the same size on both sides of your head. (Mine aren’t.) Experiment with letting the cable for the buds hang, and putting the cable around the top and back of your ear. Really “go for it” in rehearsals to see how well the fit holds up in response to movement, sweat, and jaw opening.

If you can’t get quite what you want, then you should spring for custom molds. (This is the ultimate in terms of making an in-ear rig yours. Custom molds fit you exactly, and nobody else.) I’m not an IEM user myself, because I’m not a musician and I usually mix wedges, but I do have custom-molded earplugs. I’ll just say this – when I occasionally forget my customs and have to use a set of “generic fit” musician’s plugs, the difference in comfort and ease of use is NOT subtle.

The bottom line?

Just getting an in-ear rig is the beginning of the personal monitoring journey. To get to the end of the journey, you’re going to have to do some work and take some wrong turns. However, when you do finally get your system properly personalized, it will be a thing of beauty.

You just have to be willing to actually go on the adventure.


In Praise Of The Small Venue

Small venues are great because of their intimacy, their flexibility, the freedoms they offer, and the new music you can find there.

Please Remember:

The opinions expressed are mine only. These opinions do not necessarily reflect anybody else’s opinions. I do not own, operate, manage, or represent any band, venue, or company that I talk about, unless explicitly noted.

The funny thing about this article is that I was going to write it as the lead-off piece for this site – and then I got sidetracked.

Anyway.

I think small venues are killer. Killer places to work, killer places to play, and killer places to check out music. Of course, that just my opinion.

I think I can justify that opinion, though. As I see it, small venues have innate strengths to be found in their smallness. Sure, large halls, “shed” gigs, sizable festivals, arenas, and stadium shows have strengths. Lots of strengths.

And strength.

As in, “brute force.”

In the end, though, your local bar, all-ages room, or mini-theater can do things in a way that only they can really do…because they’re small. Also, my suspicion is that most of us are going to spend a lot of time working in small venues. There are only a few Dave Rats and Evan Kirkendalls in the world, who work on big rigs almost all the time.

Please don’t get me wrong! The guys and gals running the big shows have a lot of wisdom for us, but at the same time, I think we should try to identify and appreciate the advantages that we “little giggers” enjoy on a daily basis. This isn’t sour grapes! I think big shows are amazing creations, and that they would be very rewarding to work on.

The point is to appreciate the great things about the context that you’re currently in. Like…

Intimacy

Intimacy has become an overused word in the music business. However, it has become a cliched buzzword precisely because it’s actually important. Intimacy is probably THE main trait of the small venue, and it works for pretty much everybody involved – musicians, techs, and concert-goers alike.

For the musician:

Intimacy means that your audience is just a few feet away. Audience members can actually be interacted with as individuals, instead of as a giant mass. You can take a break, step off stage, and make friends with people in the crowd, all with ease. (That’s how you build an audience, by the way: You make personal connections with people.)

An intimate show seems more personal, because it is – every word and note becomes potent, because there’s so much less inertia. Huge crowds are certainly fun, but if a big chunk of them aren’t on your side, you will probably only notice the hostility – the few people who love every second are invisible, swallowed up in the monster. At a small venue, the people who like you are much easier to hear, see, and connect with. They don’t get lost in the crowd, and because the crowd is small, it’s easier to “turn” a visible portion of the audience towards your favor (assuming you have the skill to do so.)

For the tech:

Small shows are great because communication with the folks on stage is (usually) much easier. You don’t have to have runners and comms. All you need is a talkback, and sometimes you don’t even need that. If something needs fixing on stage, you don’t have to discuss what it is with monitor world, and then get someone to do what’s needed. You just walk up there and deal with it.

When you work in close proximity to the artist, it’s easier to figure out what they need. It’s also much easier to get to know the artists as people, and become friends with them. This also makes it much easier to work with the artists, because knowing people helps you understand their needs and how you can fulfill them properly. If the artist is your friend, or at least known to you as an actual person, it’s a much shorter path to being on the same team.

Successful shows are all about teamwork, by the way.

The other great thing about an intimate show is that you can actually get to know the audience – you know, the OTHER people you’re there to serve throughout the night. In the same way as the talent, you can get to know the audience as actual people. You can make eye contact, and even talk to them. You can even become friends with them!

It’s not impossible to connect with audience members at a big gig, but I don’t think it’s as easy.

For the concertgoer:

For the folks in the crowd, intimate shows are great because all the seats are “expensive,” without actually costing an arm and a leg. Think about it: People pay insanely large sums to sit in the first few rows at big gigs, because that’s where you can actually see what the artist is doing in a direct way. I’m not saying that huge video walls aren’t cool, but they just aren’t the same as being able to see what the band is doing with your own two eyes. (Again, if it was the same, then there wouldn’t be a market for the first few rows.)

Then, there’s the whole “meet and greet” thing. At small shows, the chances are much higher that you can actually say hello to the players and shake hands. The chances are astronomically higher that you might even be able to have a real conversation, because fewer people are competing for the artist’s attention. Often, you can just walk up to the musicians with ease, because there’s no need for a bunch of security humans (and a barrier) 20 feet away from the downstage edge.

This also works for the folks who want to see how the production is done. Especially at bar gigs, people curious about how the lighting is rigged, or the PA is stacked, or how the console is set up, can usually go right up to the appropriate person and ask. They can walk over to the rig and take a gander. Again, the bigger show, the harder it gets to find out how it all comes together. It’s not impossible, of course, just more challenging.

Flexibility

Another great thing about small venues is that changes and problems don’t necessarily wreck a show, because there’s a greater ability to “flow” around the issues. If something needs to change in a hurry, it’s often easier for that to happen at a small show.

For the musician:

Flexibility means that if you want to change the order of a multi-act show, you can do it without a massive disruption. You can also change your set around, bring up guest musicians who will just take care of themselves (because they don’t necessarily have to get put into the PA), and generally make changes on the fly. The reason is because there’s so much less in the way of logistical choreography that has to happen. Sure, every change has an effect, but the number of people who have to coordinate for the change to happen is small.

For the tech:

Small-venue flexibility is great if you have limited resources. Not enough mic-lines? Chances are that extra amp on stage can carry things without your help (if the musicians are good). Need to change the lighting a bit? Well, since there are only a few instruments, you can just “grab and go.” Heck, you might even be able to reprogram most of the show in a few minutes. Need to change something about the PA? A small sound system is easy to reconfigure, if you have the tools, because the number of pieces involved is quite manageable. Again – the choreography required to make a change is minimal.

For the concertgoer:

Flexibility is great for concertgoers, because the show can go on even when problems crop up. Lose the whole PA for some reason? You’re pretty much screwed in a giant space. In a small venue, the opportunity for an amazing, all-acoustic rescue is still there. Did an act drop out suddenly? Putting in a replacement band isn’t a huge process.

(Very cool, spontaneous things can happen at big shows, too. It’s just not usually as easy. There are a lot more people involved, a lot more gear involved, a lot more logistical issues to work out…you get the picture.)

Freedom

Another wonderful something about small-venue shows, where the logistics are far more contained and the stakes aren’t astronomically high?

There’s so much more freedom to experiment.

For the musician:

If you want to try out your new songs, the ones you’re unsure about, you can. There’s less at stake than at a huge gig. Also, if you want to try out some totally weird amp configuration or exotic instrument, you don’t have to do a bunch of tech rehearsals. You can just try it, and if it doesn’t work, so what? You only lost, what, ten minutes? (Of course, you have to know when to abandon an experiment for the time being. Not everybody does.)

For the tech:

Because a lot of small-venue shows tend to be free of highly-specific tech-riders, the house crews can often experiment as far as their budgets will allow. If you don’t have a lot of BEs (band engineers) asking for specific console and processing setups, you can try your favorite configurations – or even opt for a “homebrew” digital mixer that would never be accepted on a normal rider. Want to use your favorite mics, the ones that don’t normally get asked for? No problem – very few acts will be requiring a certain transducer for any particular instrument or vocal. (Just make sure your favorite mic is actually a good choice for that application.) Want to try a new lighting fixture or two, maybe do something unconventional? Give it a shot! It’s unlikely that the acts will be bringing in an LD (lighting designer) who’s absolutely got to have all industry standard gear of a certain “grade.”

I should definitely mention that I think there’s an “uncanny valley” for experimental freedom. In the small-venue world, you can experiment because there are fewer people to please, and they are usually easier to please. The limitation is resources.

Then, there’s a vast middle-ground where people aren’t interested in pushing the boundaries, and just want what’s worked for them for however long. In the middle ground, you’re subject to the whims of bands, management, and tour crews who aren’t interested in your crazy notions, and who tend to be notably risk-averse.

After that, though, there’s the point where you “leave the valley.” That’s where you have the stature, trustworthiness, and resources of, say, Dave Rat, and can freely try all kinds of neat things again.

New Music

I’ve been known to say that “every huge, international act is a local band somewhere.” I say that because there’s sometimes a stigma attached to the term “local band,” as though bands that are just starting out and have a limited fanbase are somehow inferior.

It’s just not true. There are tons of acts that could eat [insert huge artist’s name here] for breakfast, and who just aren’t widely known for whatever reason. Besides, every huge act (that isn’t a “manufactured” group) started out playing in the bars and clubs. They had to grow into their big shoes. They had to start somewhere.

To me, the implications are clear: If you want to create new music, have a chance at hearing new music, work with people making new music, and just generally “be present for the creation,” small venue shows are the ones to look for. The sound isn’t always great, the number of lasers in the light show is small or zero, and the roar of the crowd isn’t as loud.

But the small venue is where a ton of really worthwhile things get their start.