Tag Archives: Professionalism

An Audio Human’s Guide To Auditioning Pretty Much Everybody

My latest for Schwilly Family Musicians.

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.

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“Now, why in blue-blazes would a live-sound engineer talk about auditioning people for your band?

Simple.

I deal with the fallout if you louse it up.

There have been many instances in my time where I’ve had to struggle with a band containing at least one member who was a terrible fit for actually playing shows. It usually makes for a frustrating and bad-sounding gig, in which a large amount (maybe all) of the available electro-acoustical headroom for the show is DEVOURED in trying to fix the problems. Nothing is left over to otherwise translate the show to the audience in a cool way. It’s all been spent on mere survival.”

Read the rest of this article (for free!) at Schwilly Family Musicians.


Eggs, Baskets, And Such

If all your eggs are in one basket, and that basket seems to be going nowhere, it might be time to escape the basket.

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.

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I’m not exactly the biggest fan of the financial industry. The prevailing culture at the high levels of that business just rubs me the wrong way. However, this does not mean that applicable philosophies can’t come from them. To wit: Diversification.

Diversification of investment helps to shield you from market misfortunes. If you have all your money tied up in a traditional media company, and traditional media tanks, you’re going to be in real trouble. If you have some money in traditional media, some in tech, some in bonds (and so on), traditional media getting hammered won’t sink you outright.

It’s the same in terms of a music career. If absolutely everything is riding on a single, narrow specialization, you can face metric-tons worth of frustration and misfortune if that specialization isn’t “the in thing.” On the other hand, being able to fill multiple roles provides a bit of insurance. The more the roles differ from each other, the more insurance you have – and the currently fashionable skilset may just subsidize an unfashionable one.

Sometimes Problems Are You, And Sometimes They Aren’t

A barrier that some of us have to understanding this (I certainly have it, so I’m preaching to myself here), is the idea that things will always get better if we keep our heads down, do the work, and just wait things out.

You might want to ask how the horse-drawn carriage business is doing with that mentality.

Sure, there are still horse-drawn carriages, but they’re nothing more than a curiosity when compared to mechanized transport. It’s not a problem with cyclical fashions. It’s not a problem with horse-drawn carriage builders not having a great work ethic. It’s a problem with very few people needing or wanting a horse-drawn carriage anymore.

If our eggs are in some sort of metaphorical basket, a real bit of smarts is being able to determine when that basket just isn’t going to travel anymore. If the basket’s going nowhere, and it’s not in our power to make the basket go somewhere, we need to seek a different basket.

For example, I don’t think the “major, flagship, music-only recording facility” basket possesses any real momentum anymore. This is not to say that large studios for music production won’t continue to exist. They will, but they will continue to become more and more a luxury curiosity. With much of their capability having been computerized and miniaturized, the big studio with the large-frame console is far less necessary than before. This is why I personally don’t want to invest much in a large-studio-centric career. It’s not a good bet on average. The industry’s need for flagship music studios has dropped dramatically, and no amount of hustle, advertising, or longer work hours will change that.

This kind of thing also happens with bands and musicians. There are players out there who are locked into niche specializations:

“All I play is black metal.”

“We never do covers.”

“No solo projects allowed.”

“If we can’t be as loud as we want, we won’t play.”

These are just archetypes, of course, but you get the idea. I think you might also be able to see the potential problems.

If people in the area don’t want to go to black metal shows, it doesn’t matter how much you practice or how much marketing you do.

If there’s a great gig that would make your band real money, but requires covers, you’re outta luck.

If band members can’t pursue their own projects, and the band just isn’t “sparking,” they’re being denied other opportunities to have real careers in the business.

If the band is only really appropriate for enormous venues and giant festivals, you’re missing out on all kinds of other places to play – and this is a big deal if you’re not yet super-famous.

In contrast, the folks who are able to do lots of different things, at lots of different times, and in lots of different places are much less limited. I’m not suggesting that everybody has to be good at everything, but I am suggesting that it’s good to find a variety of things that your natural talents connect to. Even though the actual disciplines can be surprisingly different (like live-audio and recording), a lot of the basic concepts and terminology can transfer. Diversification isn’t trivial, but I don’t think it always has to be a monumental struggle, either.

We’re all limited, but imposing additional, artificial limits on ourselves can make us overly reliant on the world being in tune with exactly how we are. If we can diversify, we probably should.


Turning Down A Gig

If you’re unsure that you can do a show justice, don’t do it.

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.

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I really can’t say I’m on board with the concept of “Say ‘Yes!’ to everything!” I certainly agree that pigeonholing one’s self might not be a great idea, especially if you’re just getting started. An opportunity might get held out to you, and if you have too narrow a vision of what your career could be, you might miss something brilliant.

What I worry about, though, is the idea that all gigs are good gigs to do. They aren’t. I’ve had some really lousy experiences, and while they ARE good for learning, I would prefer to have missed them altogether. Blindly agreeing to take every show offered (whether on the production side or the performance side) just isn’t smart. There are things you can’t do, and things you probably shouldn’t do, and sometimes you get both at once.

I Respectfully Decline

I was once offered a “one-off” show at a well-known club. The regular audio-human couldn’t make the night, and I was on the list of “people who can probably get this done.” The main act was a lower-level national, the kind where you would recognize the name of the bandleader based on their previous work with another band.

I can’t deny that the gig offered a special sort of opportunity. I would have the chance to get my hands dirty in (what I consider to be) a top-shelf club, working alongside folks who had really been places, and being “the dude who made it happen” on the behalf of another craftsperson whom I respect.

But I ended up turning the show down. You might think that’s a crazy decision, especially because of the opportunities presented above. However, my belief is that my decision to decline was the smart one.

Why?

Don’t Jump In Lakes With Unseen Obstacles

Jumping headfirst into unknown water is dangerous. You can hit an obstruction and end up badly injured. The analogy also applies to shows: Just “going for it” without really knowing what you’re getting into is risky. You can certainly get lucky – even very lucky – but you can also get very unlucky. If you end up in a situation where you’re not actually capable of doing the job adequately, some pretty serious fallout is possible. You can damage your reputation very badly…and damage the venue’s reputation badly, AND damage the reputation of the people who vouched for you.

In the case of the gig I turned down, I was dealing with a LOT of unknown terrain. I considered the venue to be one of the premier spots locally, but that consideration was by reputation and not empirical knowledge. I hadn’t been in the place physically. I’d never touched any of the installed gear before. I didn’t have any idea of how the FOH PA, monitor world, and the room acoustics “talked” to each other.

And it was a high-stakes show. When a national act at any level comes in, the rewards for success are high, and the penalties for failure are similarly large. I’m not saying that local bands aren’t important, or that their shows can’t have a lot riding on them. What I am saying is that a recognized act, on a one-night stand, where people are paying extra money to get in, is definitely a show where screwing up is NOT an option.

When screwing up is not an option, it’s a really bad idea to be in a possible pressure situation, in a room you don’t know, running a rig where you don’t have an established workflow. If something goes really wrong, you might just be toast – and your lack of familiarity with your work environment increases the chances of something getting away from you. At my regular gig, I know what’s likely to turn around to bite me in the face. At this other place? Not so much. At my regular gig, I have a carefully built set of tools for doing battle with things that are trying to bite me in the face. At this other place? Not so much.

In the end, I did not feel that I could reasonably guarantee a satisfactory outcome for an especially important show.

Consider The People Involved

Like I said before, the proposed show would have been done on behalf of another audio human. I respect this audio human and would want to work alongside them. (In fact, I really like the idea of working a show with this tech, in the aforementioned club, with the tech being in charge. The pressure would be low, and I could get a feel for how things work.)

However, for this gig I would not have been working alongside that craftsperson. I would be flying solo, so my closest working relationships on the night would have been with the bands. The thing is, the headlining act in question was stated to have a bit of an ego issue.

Working with egos is something you have to deal with. It will only be on occasion if you’re lucky, but you’ll still have to handle it. However, egos, plus a high-stakes show, plus unfamiliarity with the room and the PA is an unstable combination. Players with egos are used to having their needs met, and met quickly. If you’re going to work with folks like that, you need to be sure that you can deliver. If you can’t deliver, you might have a really ugly night. In an unfamiliar situation, you can’t be sure that you’ll be able to deliver. I don’t recommend doing a show like that by choice.

Like I said, I wasn’t sure that I could do the job adequately. I could not, in good conscience, claim that the only thing that would stop me from doing national-worthy work would be catastrophic equipment failure. So, I passed on the show.

Confidence Does Not Substitute For Ability

But, shouldn’t I have been confident?

No. I was right to not be confident.

When other people’s reputations are on the line, unfounded confidence and bravado are inappropriate. (Heck, they’re inappropriate when you’re the only one on the line.) There’s this notion that the best weapon against unfamiliar situations and difficult circumstances is an attitude of “I can do anything!” Unfortunately, believing that you can do anything and actually being able to do something (especially under pressure) are not equivalent.

I do things under pressure all the time, but that doesn’t mean that I can do any specific thing at any time, under pressure, and without preparation. Preparation was something that I would have had in very short supply.

Bands, venues, patrons, and fellow production craftspeople deserve a level of work that’s commensurate with the show. You can’t ethically claim to be able to deliver that level of work if anything internal to you would prevent you from executing. Lacking familiarity with a rig and a room are factors internal to me, and they can stop me from doing work that sits in the same class as the gig. In such a case, I have to turn down the job.


Bore Me. Please.

July’s guest post for Schwilly Family Musicians.

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.

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From the article:

“Of course, your show should be exciting. It should be bursting with color, light, and sonic textures. The attention of everyone in attendance should be held rapt with every word, such that any notion of NOT being enthralled by your performance borders on the distasteful.

However…

The technical execution of your show should not be exciting at all. It should contribute nothing to the adrenaline rush of the experience. For the humans tasked with the practical work of ensuring that your show does burst with tangy lights and savory audio, pulling it all off should be routine.

Workaday.

Maybe even dull.

Why?”

Read the rest, for free, at Schwilly Family Musicians.


Where’s Your Data?

I don’t think audio-humans are skeptical enough.

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.

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If I’m going to editorialize on this, I first need to be clear about one thing: I’m not against certain things being taken on faith. There are plenty of assumptions in my life that can’t be empirically tested. I don’t have a problem with that in any way. I subscribe quite strongly to that old saw:

You ARE entitled to your opinion. You ARE NOT entitled to your own set of “facts.”

But, of course, that means that I subscribe to both sides of it. As I’ve gotten farther and farther along in the show-production craft, especially the audio part, I’ve gotten more and more dismayed with how opinion is used in place of fact. I’ve found myself getting more and more “riled” with discussions where all kinds of assertions are used as conversational currency, unbacked by any visible, objective defense. People claim something, and I want to shout, “Where’s your data, dude? Back that up. Defend your answer!”

I would say that part of the problem lies in how we describe the job. We have (or at least had) the tendency to say, “It’s a mix of art and science.” Unfortunately, my impression is that this has come to be a sort of handwaving of the science part. “Oh…the nuts and bolts of how things work aren’t all that important. If you’re pleased with the results, then you’re okay.” While this is a fair statement on the grounds of having reached a workable endpoint through unorthodox or uneducated means, I worry about the disservice it does to the craft when it’s overapplied.

To be brutally frank, I wish the “mix of art and science” thing would go away. I would replace it with, “What we’re doing is science in the service of art.”

Everything that an audio human does or encounters is precipitated by physics – and not “exotic” physics, either. We’re talking about Newtonian interactions and well-understood electronics here, not quantum entanglement, subatomic particles, and speeds approaching that of light. The processes that cause sound stuff to happen are entirely understandable, wieldable, and measurable by ordinary humans – and this means that audio is not any sort of arcane magic. A show’s audio coming off well or poorly always has a logical explanation, even if that explanation is obscure at the time.

I Should Be Able To Measure It

Here’s where the rubber truly meets the road on all this.

There seems to be a very small number of audio humans who are willing to do any actual science. That is to say, investigating something in such a way as to get objective, quantitative data. This causes huge problems with troubleshooting, consulting, and system building. All manner of rabbit trails may be followed while trying to fix something, and all manner of moneys are spent in the process, but the problem stays un-fixed. Our enormous pool of myth, legend, and hearsay seems to be great for swatting at symptoms, but it’s not so hot for tracking down the root cause of what’s ailing us.

Part of our problem – I include myself because I AM susceptible – is that listening is easy and measuring is hard. Or, rather, scientific measuring is hard.

Listening tests of all kinds are ubiquitous in this business. They’re easy to do, because they aren’t demanding in terms of setup or parameter control. You try to get your levels matched, setup some fast signal switching, maybe (if you’re very lucky) make it all double-blind so that nobody knows what switch setting corresponds to a particular signal, and go for it.

Direct observation via the senses has been used in science for a long time. It’s not that it’s completely invalid. It’s just that it has problems. The biggest problem is that our senses are interpreted through our brains, an organ which develops strong biases and filters information so that we don’t die. The next problem is that the experimental parameter control actually tends to be quite shoddy. In the worst cases, you get people claiming that, say, console A has a better sound than console B. But…they heard console A in one place, with one band, and console B in a totally different place with a totally different band. There’s no meaningful comparison, because the devices under test AND the test signals were different.

As a result, listening tests produce all kinds of impressions that aren’t actually helpful. Heck, we don’t even know what “sounds better” means. For this person over here, it means lots of high-frequency information. For some other person, it means a slight bass boost. This guy wants a touch of distortion that emphasizes the even-numbered harmonics. That gal wants a device that resembles a “straight wire” as much as possible. Nobody can even agree on what they like! You can’t actually get a rigorous comparison out of that sort of thing.

The flipside is, if we can actually hear it, we should be able to measure it. If a given input signal actually sounds different when listened to through different signal paths, then those signal paths MUST have different transfer functions. A measurement transducer that meets or exceeds the bandwidth and transient response of a human ear should be able to detect that output signal reliably. (A measurement mic that, at the very least, significantly exceeds the bandwidth of human hearing is only about $700.)

As I said, measuring – real measuring – is hard. If the analysis rig is setup incorrectly, we get unusable results, and it’s frighteningly easy to screw up an experimental procedure. Also, we have to be very, very defined about what we’re trying to measure. We have to start with an input signal that is EXACTLY the same for all measurements. None of this “we’ll set up the drums in this room, play them, then tear them down and set them up in this other room,” can be tolerated as valid. Then, we have to make every other parameter agree for each device being tested. No fair running one preamp closer to clipping than the other! (For example.)

Question Everything

So…what to do now?

If I had to propose an initial solution to the problems I see (which may not be seen by others, because this is my own opinion – oh, the IRONY), I would NOT say that the solution is for everyone to graph everything. I don’t see that as being necessary. What I DO see as being necessary is for more production craftspersons to embrace their inner skeptic. The lesser amount of coherent explanation that’s attached to an assertion, the more we should doubt that assertion. We can even develop a “hierarchy of dubiousness.”

If something can be backed up with an actual experiment that produces quantitative data, that something is probably true until disproved by someone else running the same experiment. Failure to disclose the experimental procedure makes the measurement suspect however – how exactly did they arrive at the conclusion that the loudspeaker will tolerate 1 kW of continuous input? No details? Hmmm…

If a statement is made and backed up with an accepted scientific model, the statement is probably true…but should be examined to make sure the model was applied correctly. There are lots of people who know audio words, but not what those words really mean. Also, the model might change, though that’s unlikely in basic physics.

Experience and anecdotes (“I heard this thing, and I liked it better”) are individually valid, but only in the very limited context of the person relating them. A large set of similar experiences across a diverse range of people expands the validity of the declaration, however.

You get the idea.

The point is that a growing lack of desire to just accept any old statement about audio will, hopefully, start to weed out some of the mythological monsters that periodically stomp through the production-tech village. If the myths can’t propagate, they stand a chance of dying off. Maybe. A guy can hope.

So, question your peers. Question yourself. Especially if there’s a problem, and the proposed fix involves a significant amount of money, question the fix.

A group of us were once troubleshooting an issue. A producer wasn’t liking the sound quality he was getting from his mic. The discussion quickly turned to preamps, and whether he should save up to buy a whole new audio interface for his computer. It finally dawned on me that we hadn’t bothered to ask anything about how he was using the mic, and when I did ask, he stated that he was standing several feet from the unit. If that’s not a recipe for sound that can be described as “thin,” I don’t know what is. His problem had everything to do with the acoustic physics of using a microphone, and nothing substantial AT ALL to do with the preamp he was using.

A little bit of critical thinking can save you a good pile of cash, it would seem.

(By the way, I am biased like MAD against the the crowd that craves expensive mic pres, so be aware of that when I’m making assertions. Just to be fair. Question everything. Question EVERYTHING. Ask where the data is. Verify.)


I Blame Theater

High-school theater solidified my production-tech habits.

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.

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I like being told that I’m doing a good job. I’m not saying that I’m good at getting compliments – I do try to say, “Thank You,” but there are also times where I just shrug, “Aw, Shucks,” and scratch the back of my head. I still enjoy them, though.

I recently had the occasion of being praised by Rylee of Advent Horizon. He was very appreciative of my staying behind the console and actually listening to the show for the entire duration of the event. This is, apparently, not an attribute shared amongst all audio-humans. It seems that there are a good number of sound craftspersons who dial up a band and then completely check-out. Even at the physical level. They just “bail,” and that’s it.

I find that almost shocking.

I also find it bewildering that more small-venue production people don’t help with loading in and out. It’s just bizarre to me. If you’re sitting there, ready to rock with nothing else to chase after, and gear is moving, why aren’t you facilitating the moving of that equipment? If the gear gets in, the show goes on, right? The show has to go on!

Anyway.

The comment made me think about where the differing attitudes toward production might have come from. In my case, I think the “blame” can be set squarely on the shoulders of high-school theater.

Serious Enough

I got into theater (drama class, actually) by way of a scheduling accident. What I mean is that all freshman at my high-school had an elective class, which you had to carry so as to complete your schedule. You couldn’t choose to have free time, but you could indicate a preference as to what those final few credit hours would be. I wanted art, but my request apparently wasn’t recorded properly, so I was hurriedly stuffed into Tom Delgado’s drama class.

A couple of months later, Mr. D let us know that there would be opportunities for us to become “techies.” Being fascinated by lights and sound, I jumped at the chance. There was no turning back. Hopelessly addicted, I spent the rest of my high-school career either being backstage or wishing I was. It’s good that I had a huge dislike of being in trouble, because I otherwise would have skipped every class possible in order to spend more time either on stage or in the booth.

When asked about how long I’ve been in audio, I include my high-school experience. Although some folks might regard student theater as “amateur,” I didn’t find it to be so. It’s probably one of the reasons that I stayed so engaged: Tom’s program took us seriously, so we took IT seriously…and it was all serious enough to be real, honest-to-goodness experience in production. Sure, we didn’t have every possible tool and toy (although we did have a lot of gear and a nice facility), and yes, we weren’t perfectly disciplined in every area (we yakked over the com system like talking was going out of style), but we got stuff DONE, DANGIT! Stuff that was plenty big and complex, requiring deliberate, multi-step preparation as well as grace under pressure.

There are a bunch of people floating around the world today who learned how to handle the idea of executing a big project to plan, as well as how to just shrug their shoulders and “deal” when the plan inevitably goes out the window, because they were Tom D’s techies way back when.

Rewards

I mentioned that Mr. Delgado’s program took us seriously. He also took us seriously at a personal level. “D” encouraged and expected professionalism. Folks that took pride in their work and were fascinated by the whole production, right down to the screws used in the sets, were given the choice assignments. If you were just RABID about the whole thing, you’d get the nod.

And rabid we were.

If it was Saturday, and we were going to have a workday starting at 1 PM, we’d show up at 11 AM just to be in the vicinity of the building.

If it was time to move a bunch of heavy stuff around and clean up, we were on it.

If the order of the day was carpentry, we were on deck with drills, speed squares, and pencils, eagerly translating the design-drawing into physical reality. The miter saw was stupidly fun to use, as I recall.

If there was painting to be done (and there always was), we’d suit up in some overalls and get moving.

Time to hang lights? Just give us a minute to find the wrenches. And a ruler. What’s the scale of the drawing, again?

Time to redo the counterweights for the fly system? We can get up to the grid, unlocked ladder or not.

And if it was time to get some hands-on with an audio or lighting console, we were definitely interested. (So interested that I think it got unhealthy. I personally had a death grip on the lighting computer. I think I actually managed to hobble the program for techs down the line, because I was always jumping in to run the thing. Sorry, guys. I couldn’t help myself.)

The point is that everything was part of the show, and you were expected to do everything as much as was actually practical. If you wanted a shot at driving a console in the booth, you also had to be willing to get dirty and do some lifting. In a very real sense, the path to FOH control was the path of moving gear. If you wanted to get to FOH, you had to do your bit at the not-FOH stuff. If you wanted to “stay in the booth,” you had to keep being available for other tasks.

In the same vein, failing to be present during an actual show was…unthinkable. The whole environment of the live production was such that nobody had to be explicitly told that they had a job to do, and they had to be in the appropriate spot to do it. Being on-station and being ready to act were just the way things were. There wasn’t a sane alternative. If you weren’t engaged, the show wouldn’t work. The idea that you’d dial up a mix and then NOT “watch the store” for the entirety of the night would have gotten you some very strange looks from our crew.

So, when I’m lucky enough to do things differently from other live-show techs, it’s because I went into high-school theater not knowing any better…and I came out not knowing any better even more.


Projector Hangers

Just throwing a bunch of sound into a room is NOT pro-audio.

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.

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Since pre-school, I have known that calling people names is not a very nice thing. It’s not something that Winnie The Pooh would do, except by mistake, and if he did make that mistake, the end of the episode would have all the residents of the Hundred-Acre Wood coming together to learn a very special lesson. Eeyore would say something unintentionally funny. Christopher Robin would say “Silly old bear.”

But I sometimes do invent derogatory names for people and organizations. I especially invent those names when people or organizations manage to get things wrong in a very complete and glaring way – particularly when it comes to live audio.

(In the name of fairness, let me present that audio-humans are sometimes called “Squeaks.” It’s a reference to some of the unpleasant sounds we’ve been known to make, which includes feedback. I believe I have earned the label on more than one occasion.)

Anyway.

Events over the last couple of weeks have led me to concoct the epithet, “Projector Hanger.” A Projector Hanger may also be called a “D!@# Projector Hanger,” or a “G!@ D!@# Projector Hanger,” or even a “F!@#$%^ PROJECTOR HANGER,” depending upon just how much of a metaphorical mess they’ve left for folks like me to clean up.

Metaphorically.

A Projector Hanger is an A/V integrator who has no business installing a public-address audio system (because they have no clue about what makes such a system actually work well), yet installs such a system anyway. They attach this fundamentally screwed-up monstrosity to the bit of the install they actually do understand: A reasonably bright projector, maybe with HD capability, which is pointed at a screen and supplied with various inputs at some convenient location. This final bit of behavior actually provides a gateway to identifying – and hopefully avoiding – Projector Hangers.

Point-N-Shoot

Projector Hangers are adept at directly firing some sort of light emitter at a reflective target, such as a proper screen or brightly-painted wall. They seem to assume that this is the way to go for everything, and so they have an alarming tendency to fire sound emitters (loudspeakers) directly at reflective targets. Reflective targets like…hardwood floors. This creates an acoustical crapstorm of multiple, secondary arrivals, ensuring that everybody in the room is sitting as deeply in a reverberant field as may be practicable. Intelligibility drops like a rock as transients from words spoken into a microphone smear, bounce, ricochet, and rattle to the maximum extent possible. Gain before feedback throws up its hands and takes a sick day as overhead loudspeakers fire into the sides of microphones, and also as those microphones pick up even more re-entrant noise from the vortex of acoustical reflections.

(A primary indicator of a Projector Hanger is that the audio side of the system LOOKS nice, being unobtrusive and able to blend in with the decor, but the actual audio from the audio side SOUNDS awful.)

More Is Better, Right?

The Projector Hanger is a lover of large images. Wide throw. Multiple screens. Make sure everyone can see it! They apply this same mentality to audio, seemingly thinking that the key to everyone hearing well is for everyone to just hear something. Anything!

To accomplish this, the Projector Hanger installs a lot of speakers, with the intent that sound should be sprayed everywhere. So, even before the sound from all those loudspeakers smacks into the floor, a nightmare of multiple arrivals and destructive interference has been summoned. Also, the Projector Hanger can be counted on to compound this problem by deploying loudspeakers in spaced pairs. (The ability to reproduce stereo sound from a playback device is paramount, even if the critical application for the system is to reinforce the signal from a single microphone.) These spaced pairs further aggravate the multiple arrival and interference problems, and also feed the gaping maw of the acoustical issues: Why just hit the floor with a bunch of sound when you can also hit the walls!

Math Is Hard

Another indicator that a Projector Hanger has been on the loose is when equal numbers no longer correspond. For example:

The Projector Hanger, wishing to be helpful, installs an easy-access XLR jack for a microphone line. The jack is labeled “Mic 1,” and the label even looks like it was silkscreened directly onto the jackplate. It all looks so PRETTY.

They then permanently wire the output of that jack to a set of terminal blocks on a super-classy input mixer and amplifier. The control knobs on the device were clearly labeled at the factory, so that a person could easily find the gain controls for various channels. It would make sense, then, that the jackplate labeled “Mic 1” would be wired to “Input 1” on the mixer-amplifier unit. Of course, that’s not what happens. In an astounding bit of mental gymnastics, perhaps influenced by the literary horrorscapes of HP Lovecraft, the Projector Hanger decides that “1” is actually equal to “2.” That’s where the jack is wired. Input 1 is actually used for the installed wireless system – but no labeling is put in place to clear this up.

One day, an audio-human ties into the system through “Mic 1.” All the knobs on the mixer-amplifier are down, meaning that no signal passes through the system. The audio-human rolls the volume up on “Input 1,” but no noise is heard. The audio-human naturally thinks that there’s a cabling problem, and proceeds to waste a huge chunk of time looking for the bad connection. Eventually, the sound craftsperson gives up and deploys their fallback option – only to later discover that the whole mess was caused by a moronic, undocumented connection scheme.

I can see the argument in my head right now.

Projector Hanger: “Why didn’t you try more knobs?”

Sound Person: “Why can’t YOU COUNT?”

The Backup Is Better Than The Primary

The interface (or, perhaps more appropriately, catastrophic collision) between a pro-audio tech and a Projector Hanger is highly instructive in other ways. I mentioned above that a series of problems might force an audio human to take an alternate route. This alternate route might have been, say, patching into a single, inexpensive, powered loudspeaker sitting on a tripod stand.

Now then.

Before this particular debacle, the sound person had been trying valiantly to spray-paint the acoustical turd that the Projector Hanger had created. To this end, a very large number of parametric EQ filters had been used. By “large number,” what I mean is, “all that were available.” The EQ transfer function applied to try to make the system usable was (quite frankly) insane, and was implemented across two processors. One was patched across the total output of the audio human’s mixer, and the other was inserted on a wireless headset.

When the fallback solution was implemented, the tech bypassed all the EQ. All that crazy finagling could not be counted on to be helpful in the situation, so it was better to start from scratch. This was unfortunate, but the operator was poised and ready to fight any problems in realtime. Some faders for wired mics were pushed up on the console.

The sound was, actually, very good. With nothing beyond basic channel EQ, the single, ugly, cheap loudspeaker on a stick was handily beating the CRAP out of the multi-unit, nice-looking, expensive install. The headset mic also had plenty of usable gain, although the audio human did use a few inserted filters to clean up a bit of mud and harshness. When an emergency-implemented “I don’t know what else to do, so let’s just get through it” solution works better than the thing that was all planned out…

…you might just have had a run in with a Projector Hanger.


Regarding Arrangements and Audio Humans – A Letter

A guest-post for Schwilly Family Musicians.

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.

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Yes, that’s me in the picture up there.

Anyway…

‘It has come to my attention that some of you have, often by accident, placed more responsibility in my hands than might be prudent. This may have come from many things: A misunderstanding of how our roles intersect, an overestimation of what physics will allow me to get away with, misplaced hero-worship, or other such thoughts.

What I am referring to specifically is the idea that your song arrangements are best managed by way of a sound person wielding a tremendous chain of signal transduction and processing equipment. You’ve seen and heard concert setups that have impressed you, and you’ve thought, “This gear, in the hands of a competent tech, will make us sound good.”

My dear Bands, I don’t wish to be combative or contradictory, but I cannot agree with you on that concept.’

Read the rest (for free!) at Schwilly Family Musicians.


Perishable Skills

Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.

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.

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Big Blue Ox was on the stage for soundcheck, and there was a bit of a problem. Because I get so much drum bleed through the vocal mics at my regular gig, I’ve given up on using overheads or hi-hat mics. The issue with this was that Big Blue Ox plays with some pretty gnarly timing swings, and they need the hat to help them count.

Up on stage I went with a “pencil” condenser, ready to unleash one of my favorite tricks. When space and time is limited, I use gaffers tape to mount a mic on the hat stand, with the mic pointing up at the bottom hat. With everything in place, I trotted back to the console. The input that I expected the mic to be on was dead, but I was seeing a bit of action on the next input over. “I must be off by one on my patch,” I thought.

I won’t go into everything else that followed. Suffice it to say that the mic was repositioned, cables were swapped, and a snake line was ultimately bypassed…

…and then, I finally realized my mistake.

Months earlier, I had deactivated the phantom power on the final bank of inputs to my mix rig. I don’t use ribbon mics, and I make it a point to use DI boxes for getting line-level inputs into the PA, so I’m used to the idea of just having phantom applied to everything. (It saves me from having to check if it’s needed for a particular line. I just plug in and go.) My shutting down the phantom on the final few inputs wasn’t a problem originally, because those inputs are usually a handful of dynamic mics for drums. Also, that removal of phantom was an anomaly.

An anomaly I no longer thought to check for, because – as I said – I always have phantom applied to everything. It makes my life easier about 99% of the time.

My “check for phantom” skill had perished, and the result was a comedy of errors. It did finally dawn on me that phantom might not be engaged, and we did eventually get hi-hat in the wedges. Personally, I think it was all pretty danged funny.

But it’s still important for me to recognize that the skill had withered on the vine.

Use It Or Lose It

I was first introduced to the phrase “perishable skill” through the series “Carrier.” (It’s that documentary about the USS Nimitz.) As the ship is underway back to the US, a situation occurs where the flight deck is pitching dramatically. This is used as an opportunity to provide some continuing-education to the naval aviators aboard the boat. The captain states something to the effect of “Landing on an aircraft carrier is a perishable skill.”

As it turns out, there’s plenty involved with show production that’s also a perishable skill.

The competencies that tend to drift to the wayside are the little things. The routine practices that escape conscious thought. Especially prone to quiet death are the bits that get “automated.” Automation can take the form of tasks that are actively executed for you, but it can also show up when a process becomes passively implemented. For instance, my choice to just leave phantom applied to every line entering the console. Pressing the phantom switches isn’t something that I’ve created a robot to do, or a process that requires some sort of scripted action. Once pressed, the buttons stay that way. I just assume that the phantom is on. It’s a passive implementation.

I’m the same way about the patching of physical lines to the console. Barring an equipment failure, input 1 on the snake is input 1 at the console, all the way down the line to however many inputs are in play. I never think to check for physical crosspatching, because I prefer to avoid it. This once bit me VERY hard at a show I did in Ogden on an unfamiliar audio rig…

Anyway.

The point is that a skill unused, especially one that’s “small” or routine, will tend to atrophy. I’m not here to rant and rave about having a refresher for every little thing, because I’m not going to do that – and you probably won’t either. Instead, I think it’s just wise to understand that our production routines tend to create blind spots. Complacency, and all that. Getting into a groove is a great thing, but whatever is outside that groove can easily escape from us. If we keep in mind that skills are perishable, and that our choices of what to push away from conscious management determine what perishes, we can be ready when the unexpected occurs. We can ask ourselves what might have gone wrong that’s not part of our usual workflow, and troubleshoot accordingly.


Let ‘Em Get Away From It

Maximum coverage isn’t always appropriate for small venues.

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.

arrayWant to use this image for something else? Great! Click it for the link to a high-res or resolution-independent version.

I love the idea of a high-end, concert-centric install.

It excites me to think of a music venue where the coverage is so even that every patron is getting the same mix, +/- 3 dB. Creating audio rigs where “there isn’t a bad seat in the house” is a point of pride for concert-system installers, as well it should be.

Maximum coverage isn’t always appropriate, though. It can sometimes even be harmful. The good news is that an educated guess at the truly necessary coverage for live audio isn’t all that hard. It starts with audience behavior.

What Is The Audience Trying To Do?

Another way to put that question is, “What is the audience’s purpose?” At my regular gig, the answer is that they want to hang out, listen pretty informally, and socialize. This is an “averaged” assessment, by the way: Some folks want to focus entirely on the music. Some people barely want to focus on the tunes at all. Some folks would hate to be stuck in their seat. Some folks wouldn’t care.

The point is that there’s a mix of objectives in play.

This differs from going to show at, say, The State Room or, even more so, at Red Butte Garden. My perception of those events is that people go to them – paying a bit of a premium – with the intent to focus on the music.

At my regular gig, where there’s such a diversity of audience intent, perfectly even coverage of all areas in the room is counterproductive to that diversity. It forces a singular decision on everyone in the room. It essentially requires that everybody in attendance has the goal of being primarily focused on the music as a foreground element. This is a bad thing, because denying a large section of the audience their intended enjoyment is likely to encourage them to leave.

If they leave, that hurts us, and it hurts the band. As much as possible, we should avoid doing things that encourage folks to vamoose.

So, I’m perfectly happy to NOT cover everything. The FOH PA is slightly “toed in” to focus its output primarily on the area nearest the stage. The sound intensity is allowed to drop off naturally towards the back of the room, and there’s no attempt at all to fill the coverage gap off to the stage-left side. People often seem to congregate there, and my perception is that many of them do it to take a break from being in the direct fire of the PA. They can still hear the show, but the high-frequency content is significantly rolled off (at least for whatever is actually “in” the audio rig).

If I knew that almost everybody in the room was primarily focused on the music, I would take steps to cover the room more evenly. That’s not the case, though, so there are “hot” and “cool” coverage zones.

Cost/ Choice Parametrization

Another way to view the question of how much coverage is appropriate is to try to define the value that an attendee placed on being at a show, and how much choice they have in terms of their position at the show. This is another sort of thing that has to be averaged. Not all events (or people) in a certain venue are the same, so you have to look at what’s most likely to happen.

When you state the problem in terms of those parameters, you get something like this:

coveragenecessity

If the cost of being at the show is high (in terms of money, effort spent, overall commitment required, etc.) and the choice of precisely where to take in the show is low (say, assigned seating), then it’s very important to have consistent audio coverage for everyone. If people are paying hundreds of dollars and traveling long distances to see a huge band’s farewell or reunion, and they’re stuck in one seat at a theater, there had better be good sound at that seat!

On the other hand, it’s not necessary to cover every square inch of an inexpensive, “in town” show, where folks are free to move around. If the coverage isn’t what someone wants, they can move to where it is what they want – and, if they can’t get into the exact coverage area they desire, it’s not a huge loss. For a lot of small venues, this is probably what’s encountered most often.

Now, please don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. What I’m definitely NOT saying is that we should just “punt” on some gigs.

No.

As much as possible, we should assume that the most important show of our careers is the one we’re doing now.

What I’m saying is that we need to spend our effort on things that matter. We have to have a priorities list. If people want (and also have) options available for how they experience a show, then there’s no reason for us to agonize about perfect coverage. As I said above, academically perfect PA deployment might even be bad for us. They might not even want to be in the direct throw of our boxes, so why force them to be? In the world of audio, we have finite resources and rapidly diminishing returns. We have to focus on the primary issues, and if our primary issue is something OTHER than completely homogenous sound throughout the venue, then we need to direct our efforts appropriately.