Tag Archives: Small Venue

Some Tough Numbers

Alternative Title: Why it’s so hard to get paid and get promoted.

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.

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

I’ve heard plenty of legitimate complaints about concert venues and “promoters.” I put promoters in quotes because it seems like the loudest and most legitimate complaints are aimed at the folks who create concerts by charging musicians money (directly) to play their own music. The correct word for those folks is rarely “promoter.” The appropriate nomenclature is probably more like “parasite,” or “scam artist,” or “Sauron, Lord of The Black Land” if their activities are egregious enough.

(Seriously, if someone “offers you the chance” to pay them money to play a gig where “you’ll get lots of exposure,” do yourself a favor. Walk, run, bike, drive, or charter a spaceflight that will take you FAR AWAY.)

Anyway.

I’ve also heard lots of complaints about venues and concert producers that are less legitimate. Many of these gripes have a kernel of legitimacy in them, but the blame is misdirected. I have to admit that I get a bit “hot” when I hear misdirected blame, and I also have to admit that it’s taken me a while to realize that my annoyance isn’t really helpful. The problem is education and understanding, and if I’m sitting around being mad instead of helping people to get educated…well, I’m not participating much in a solution, am I?

To that end, I want to present the following. It’s essentially a set of numbers that I think explains certain aspects of the economics of small venues. These economics, in turn, help to explain certain entrenched realities in what it’s like to get paid for a small-venue show, and why small-venue promotion is the way it is.

BEFORE WE START: The venue I’m presenting in this article is a “hypothetical room.” It’s what you might call a composite character, and so it doesn’t directly represent any one venue that I’ve been involved with. Certain parts of the model may apply very differently to actual, individual venues in individual locales. Please proceed with caution.

A Theoretical 200-Seater

Let’s say that there’s a certain human who really digs live music. The opportunity arises for this particular human to put together their own room. The space isn’t massive – the capacity will be about 200 people – and the spot will be “competent,” though not exactly world-class.

The plan is to put on about 160 shows per year, which is three shows per week and a handful of special events.

The first cost to the venue operator is startup. This is to cover some basic, cosmetic renovation of the space, an audio and lighting rig, and a few little things that have to be addressed to be compliant with local regulations.

Startup Cost: $30,000

Zoinks! That looks like a lot of money. It’s not so bad, though, because the plan is for it to be essentially amortized over 10 years. Divide the startup cost by the expected 1600 shows, and…

Startup Cost Per Show: $18.75

The thing with gear is that it requires maintenance. Things break, or just wear down, and so there has to be money in the budget for fixes and replacements. The decision is made to put $1000/ year into a “fixit” fund.

Maintenance Fund Cost Per Show: $6.25

The next thing to consider is the cost of leasing the space. The building is owned by a landlord who is sympathetic to the arts, and so the rent for the 4000 square-foot space is pretty darned “rock bottom.” The rate is $1/ square-foot/ month. Do a bit of math on that, and you get this:

Rent Cost Per Show: $300

On top of the rent will be the utilities required to keep the lights and gear running, the water on, the room at a comfortable temperature, and so on. Some things in the building are efficient, and some aren’t. When it all comes out, the various “monthlies” might work out to this (a wild guess on my part):

Utilities Cost Per Show: $10

The next thing needed is a show-production craftsperson. They’ll be both an audio-human and a lighting operator, and they’ll be decent enough at their job that most musicians will be happy with how things go.

Production Tech Cost Per Show: $85

The venue operator decides that some help is needed in the area of running the door, taking money, and other tasks.

Venue Helper Cost Per Show: $40

With all of this in place, the venue operator wants the acts coming through the room to get some press. The decision is made to supplement the venue’s own website and social-media promo with a print ad in the local independent. It can’t be so small that it’s easy to miss, so the decision is made to secure a 1/6th page space. The ad is black and white to save a few dollars, and each ad has all the shows for the week. The per-week cost is $360, and that works out to:

Print Promo Cost Per Show: $117

One of the final things to take into account is PRO licensing with ASCAP, BMI, and SESAC. PRO licensing is what (in theory) gets artists paid for their songs being played as covers in bars, clubs, theaters, stadiums, and whatever else. The good news for our hypothetical venue is that it’s NOT a restaurant or bar – it’s going to basically be a theater. As such, the licensing will probably be worked out to be a small portion of the gross receipts from the door. With that being the case, we’ll just ignore the licensing cost.

Now then.

You put all of this together, and the price for our theoretical room to have a night of music is this:

Total Cost To Open The Doors For A Show: $577

In other words, this venue, which I think is doing well at controlling its costs and avoiding unneeded extravagance, starts every show in several hundred dollars of debt.

Let’s Have A Show

So, let’s say that three local bands book the room for a night. They decide to charge $10 at the door to keep the show accessible to as many fans as possible.

…and the turnout is pretty good! About 150 people show up, which creates a revenue figure of $1500. I don’t know about anybody else, but I don’t see that as too shabby. Here’s the thing, though: That $1500 is revenue, not profit. Profit is what’s left over after the expenses are deducted. Remember that it cost the venue $577 “just to show up.” What that means is that the raw profit for the show is $923, or just over 61% of what was taken in at the door.

You also have to remember that the person who is the venue operator is not the production human or the helper. As such, the venue operator hasn’t gotten paid yet.

If the venue operator is self-sacrificial, then they might just opt to take $100. In that case, each band would take home about $274.

If the operator wants to do things in equal shares, then the venue and each band would get $230.

If the argument is made that the venue and the bands each bore 50% of the risk of the show, then the venue would get about $461 and each band would be paid out $153 and change.

The Implications

The reality is that live music is a tough business for everybody. Even if the venue operator sacrifices themselves on the altar of getting the bands a few extra bucks, the per-band payout is hardly “2 million dollar tourbus” territory. In fact, there are some folks who, without knowledge of the sacrificial backend, would complain that they weren’t being respected as professional musicians. It’s understandable that they would have the complaint, because $274 doesn’t go very far when you split it (again) across multiple band members.

But the reality is that it isn’t an issue of respect. It’s an issue of economics.

The show outcome I concocted above was a pretty decent one. However, there are lots of shows with mediocre turnouts. Turnouts can be less than stellar for all kinds of reasons, and that leads to the particularly nasty problem of bands either not getting paid, or venues going under, or even both. For a $10/ admission show, our fictional venue has to have 58 people show up…for NOTHING MORE than to not be in debt that day.

And that’s if the bands get nothing at all for their trouble.

What’s more likely is that there’s something on the table for the bands. Maybe 50% of the ticket’s face value? Okay.

So, if 58 people show up on a $10 ticket, that means that the venue’s portion of the revenue is $290. In other words, the venue LOST $287 on doing the show. With an immediate 50% split, a combined draw of 116 people is what’s necessary for the room to stay out of debt that day.

That’s JUST to stay out of debt. The venue operator would get paid a whole $3 for that show.

…and remember that this is with print promotion factored in. Some folks are adamant that venues “should promote more,” and I can understand why that sentiment exists – but I can only be so sympathetic when the tough numbers roll in. That is, a venue operator has to ask the question: “What does promote more mean?” If it’s understood in terms of the print ad, then what if the promo effort is tripled to the equivalent of half a page in the local independent? That means that the cost for that show’s promo has risen to $351, and the venue’s revenue from the show now has to be $811 to not lose anything. With an immediate 50% split, a 200 seater selling $10 tickets has to be more than three-quarters full just to keep “above water” on the night.

(How many times have you seen a small-venue that’s below three-quarters full? Everybody’s experience is different, but I’ve seen that a lot. Even with people making special efforts at promotion and creating a show that’s an actual event, I’ve seen dismal turnouts. Dismal.)

Yes, the venue could try charging more, but it isn’t always clear how far up a ticket price can go before the cost actually ends up hurting more than helping. You can shoot yourself in the foot without even trying.

Yes, the venue could try selling concessions. However, if there’s no more room for “startup expenses,” and no more room in the space, then that’s not such an easy thing.

Yes, the venue could convert to being a bar, but the previous sentence also applies here – and it even applies more, because being a bar isn’t as trivial as selling cans of soda and bags of chips.

The uncomfortable reality is that it’s hard to get rockstar pay when the venue isn’t making rockstar pay for itself. There are some honest-to-goodness greedy-bastard venue operators out there, but there are plenty of upstanding folks who just don’t have the money to pay musicians for LearJet fuel (and the LearJet to consume it).

It’s not a lack of respect. It’s the economics of tough numbers.

Vocal Processors, And The Most Dangerous Knob On Them

If you were wondering, the most dangerous knob is the one that controls compression.

Please Remember:

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

Not every noiseperson is a fan of vocal processors.

(Vocal processors, if you didn’t know, are devices that are functionally similar to guitar multi-fx units – with the exception that they expect input to come from a vocal mic, and so include a microphone preamp.)

Vocal processors can be deceivingly powerful devices, and as such, can end up painting an audio-human into a corner that they can’t get out of. The other side of that coin is that they can allow you to intuitively dial up a sound that you like, without you having to translate your intuitive choices into technical language while at a gig.

What I mean by that last bit is this: Let’s say that you like a certain kind of delay effect on your voice. There’s a specific delay time that just seems perfect, a certain number of repeat echoes that feels exactly right, an exact wet/ dry mix that gives you goosebumps, and an effect tonality that works beautifully for you. With your own vocal processor, you can go into rehearsal and fiddle with the knobs for as long as it takes to get exactly that sound. Further, you don’t have to be fully acquainted with what all the settings mean in a scientific sense. You just try a bit more or less of this or that, and eventually…you arrive. If you then save that sound, and take that vocal processor to a gig, that very exact sound that you love comes with you.

Which is great, because otherwise you have to either go without FX, or (if you’re non-technical) maybe struggle a bit with the sound person. The following are some conversations that you might have.

You: Could I have both reverb and delay on my vocal?

FOH (Front Of House) Engineer: Ummm…we only have reverb.

You: Oh.

You: Gimme a TON of delay in the monitors.

Audio Human: Oh, sorry, my FX returns can only be sent to the main mix.

You: Aw, man…

You: Could I have a touch more mid in my voice?

[Your concept of “a touch more mid” might be +6 dB at 2000 Hz, with a 2-octave-wide filter. The sound-wrangler’s concept of “a touch more mid” might be +3 dB at 750 Hz, with a one-octave-wide filter. Further, you might not be able to put a number on what frequency you want, especially if what I just said sounds like gobbledygook. Heck, the audio human might not even be able to connect a precise number with what they’re doing.]

Sound Wrangler: How’s that?

You: That’s not quite right. Um…

[This one’s directly in line with my original example.]

You: Could I get some delay on my voice?

Audio Human: Sure!

[The audio human dials up their favorite vocal-delay sound.]

You: Actually, it’s more of a slap-delay.

[Your concept of slap-delay might be 50 ms of delay time. The audio-human’s concept of slap-delay might be 75 ms.]

Audio Human: How’s that?

You: That’s…better. It’s not quite it, though. Maybe if there was one less repeat?

[The audio-human’s delay processor doesn’t work in “repeats.” It works in the dB level of the signal that’s fed back into the processor. The audio-human takes a guess, and ends up with what sounds like half a repeat less.]

Audio Human: Is that better?

You: Yeah, but it’s still not quite there. Um…

Having your own vocal processor can spare you from all this. It also spares the engineer from having to manage when the FX should be “in” or bypassed. (This often isn’t a huge issue, but it can become one if you’re really specific about what you want to happen where.) There are real advantages to being self-contained.

There are negative sides, though, as I alluded to earlier. Having lots of power at your disposal feels good, but if you’re not well-acquainted with what that power is actually doing, you can easily sabotage yourself. And your band. And the engineer who’s trying to help you.

EQ Is A Pet Dog

The reason that I say that “EQ is a pet dog” is twofold.

1) EQ is often your friend. Most of the time, it’s fun to play with, and it “likes” to help you out.

2) In certain situations, an EQ setting that was nice and sweet can suddenly turn around and “bite” you. This isn’t because EQ is “a bad dog,” it’s because certain equalization tweaks in certain situations just don’t work acoustically.

What I’ve encountered on more than one occasion are vocal-unit EQ settings that are meant to either sound good in low-volume or studio contexts. I’ve also encountered vocal-unit EQ that seems to have been meant to correct a problem with the rehearsal PA…which then CAUSES a problem in a venue PA that doesn’t need that correction.

To be more specific, I’ve been in various situations where folks had a whole busload of top-end added to their vocal sound. High-frequency boosts often sound good on “bedroom” or “headphone” vocals. Things get nice and crisp. “Breathy.” Even “airy,” if I dare to say so. In a rehearsal situation, this can still work. The rehearsal PA might not be able to get loud enough for the singer to really hear themselves when everybody’s playing, especially if feedback can’t be easily corrected. However, the singer hears that nice, crisp vocal while everybody’s NOT playing, and remembers that sound even they get swamped.

Anyway.

The problem with having overly hyped high-end in a live vocal (especially with a louder band in a small room) is really multiple problems. First, it tends to focus your feedback issues into the often finicky and unpredictable zone of high-frequency material. If there’s a place where both positionally dependent and positionally independent frequency response for mics, monitors, and FOH speakers is likely to get “weird” and “peaky,” the high-frequency zone is that place. (What I mean by “positionally dependent” is that high-frequency response is pretty easy to focus into a defined area…and what THAT means is that you can be in a physical position where you have no HF feedback problems, and then move a couple of steps and make a quarter turn and SQUEEEEAAALLL!)

The second bugbear associated with cranked high-end is that, when the vocals are no longer isolated, the rest of the band can bleed into the vocal mic LIKE MAD. That HF boost that sounds so nice on vocals by themselves is now a cymbal and guitar-hash louder-ization device. If we get into a high-gain situation (which can happen even with relatively quiet bands), what we then end up doing is making the band sound even louder when compared to your voice. If the band started out a bit loud, we may just have gotten to the audience’s tipping point – especially since high-frequency information at “rock” volume can be downright painful. Further, we’re now spending electrical and acoustical headroom on what we don’t want (more of the band’s top end), instead of what we do want (your vocal’s critical range).

Now, I’m not saying that you can’t touch the EQ in your vocal processor, or that you shouldn’t use your favorite manufacturer preset. What I am saying, though, is that dramatic vocal-processor EQ can really wreck your day at the actual show. You might want to find a way to quickly get the EQ bypassed or “flattened,” if you can.

“Compression” Is The Most Dangerous Knob On That Thing

Now, why would I say that, especially after all my ranting about EQ?

Well, it’s like this.

An experienced audio tech with flexible EQ tools can probably “undo” enough of an unhelpful in-the-box equalization solution, given a bit of time. Compression, on the other hand, really can’t be fully “undone” in a practical sense in most situations. (Yes – there is a process called “companding” which involves compression and complementary expansion, but to make it work you have to have detailed knowledge of the compression parameters.) Like EQ, compression can contribute to feedback problems, but it does so in a “full bandwidth” sense that is also much more weird and hard to tame. It can also cause the “we’re making the band louder via the vocal mic” problem, but in a much more pronounced way. It can prevent the vocalist from actually getting loud enough to separate from the rest of the band – and it can even cause a vocalist to injure themselves.

Let’s pick all that apart by talking about what a compressor does.

A compressor’s purpose is to be an automatic fader that can react at least as quickly (if not a lot more quickly) as a human, and that can react just as consistently (if not a lot more consistently) as a human. When a signal exceeds a certain set-point, called the threshold, the automatic fader pulls the signal down based on the “ratio” parameter. When the signal falls back towards the threshold, the fader begins to return to its original gain setting. “Attack” is the speed that the fader reduces gain, and “release” is the speed that the fader returns to its original gain.

Now, how can an automatic fader cause problems?

If the compressor threshold is set too low, and the ratio is too high, the vocalist is effectively pulled WAY down whenever they try to deliver any real power. If I were to set a vocalist so that they were comfortably audible when the band was silent, but then pulled that same vocalist down 10 dB when the band was actually playing, the likely result with quite a few singers would be drowned vocals. This is effectively what happens with an over-aggressive compressor. The practical way for the tech to “fight back” is to add, say, 10 dB (or whatever) of gain on their end – which is fine, except that most small-venue live-sound contexts can’t really tolerate that kind of compensating gain boost. In my experience, small room sound tends to be run pretty close to the feedback point, say, 3-6 dB away from the “Zone of Weird Ringing and Other Annoyances.” When that’s the case, going up 10 dB puts you 4-7 dB INTO the “Zone.”

But the thing is, the experience of that trouble area is extra odd, because your degree of being in it varies. When the singer really goes for it, the processor’s compressor reduces the vocal mic’s gain, and your feedback problem disappears. When they back off a bit, though, the compressor releases, which means the gain goes back up, which means that the strange, phantom rings and feedback chirps come back. It’s not like an uncompressed situaton, where feedback builds at a consistent rate because the overall gain is also consistent. The feedback becomes the worst kind of problem – an intermittent one. Feedback and ringing that quickly comes and goes is the toughest kind to fight.

Beyond just that, there’s also the problem of bleed. If you have to add 10 dB of gain to a vocal-mic to battle against the compressor, then you’ve also added 10 dB of gain to whatever else the mic is hearing when the vocalist isn’t singing. Depending on the situation, this can lead to a very-markedly extra-loud band, with all kinds of unwanted FX applied, and maybe with ear-grating EQ across the whole mess. There’s also the added artistic issue of losing dynamic “swing” between vocal and instrumental passages. That is, the music is just LOUD, all the time, with no breaks. (An audience wears down very quickly under those conditions.) In the circumstance of a singer who’s not very strong when compared to the band, you can get the even more troublesome issue of the vocal’s intelligibility being wrecked by the bleed, even though the vocal is somewhat audible.

Last, there’s the rare-but-present monster of a vocalist hurting themselves. The beauty of a vocal processor is that the singer essentially hears what’s being presented to the audience. The ugliness behind the beauty is that this isn’t always a good thing. Especially in the contexts of rock and metal, vocal monitors are much less about sounding “hi-fi” and polished, and much more about “barking” at a volume and frequency range that has a fighting chance of telling the singer where they are. Even in non-rock situations, a vital part of the singer knowing where they are is knowing how much volume they’re producing when compared to the band. The most foolproof way for this to happen is for the monitors to “track” the vocalists dynamics on a 1:1 basis – if the singer sings 3 dB louder, the monitors get 3 dB louder.

When compression is put across the vocalist immediately after the vocal mic, the monitors suddenly fail to track their volume in a linear fashion. The singer sings with more power, but then the compressor kicks in and holds the monitor sound back. The vocalist, having lost the full volume advantage of their own voice plus the monitors, can feel that they’re too quiet. Thus, they try to sing louder to compensate. If this goes too far, the poor singer just might blow out their voice, and/ or be at risk for long-term health issues. An experienced vocalist with a great band can learn to hear, enjoy, and stop compensating for compression…but a green(er) singer in a pressure situation might not do so well.

(This is also why I advocate against inserting compression on a vocal when your monitor sends are post-insert.)

To be brutally honest, the best setting for a vocal-processor’s compressor is “bypass.” Exceptions can be made, but I think they have to be made on a venue-to-venue, show-to-show basis.

All of this might make it sound like I advocate against the vocal processor. That’s not true. I think they’re great for people in the same way that other powerful tools are great. It’s just that power tools can really hurt you if you’re not careful.

Transient Impact

Music that hits hard requires careful management of the parts that don’t hit hard.

Please Remember:

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

A few weeks ago, I had the unexpected pleasure of working with a band called “Outside Infinity.” I say that the pleasure was unexpected because I had some major concerns going into the show. Metal, as a genre, can be pretty challenging in a small space. The sheer volume can be tough (or even impossible) to work with, and the arrangements are often quite dense – which compounds the volume problem. Several instruments banging away at full-blast can make for lots of challenges when trying to differentiate each part of a mix.

Outside Infinity had none of those problems. In fact, they were a prime example of how heavy metal – or any type of music that you want to “hit hard” – actually achieves that goal. (They were so much fun to listen to that I’m pretty sure I had a stupid grin on my face for large portions of the night.) I was really impressed by the sound that they had crafted, and I started to think about it.

Why were they so much fun?

Why did they capture what I’ve loved about heavy metal in the past?

Why did their sound have what so many rock and metal bands want, but so often fail to achieve?

I think that the generalized answer to all of those questions is this: Transient impact.

The Stopping Is As Important As The Starting

There are a number of necessary elements to a really great song performed live in a really great way. The lyrics have to be interesting, of course, and a memorable melody (or overall musical theme) is required. Skipping those steps will efficiently torpedo a tune’s ability to grab and hold an audience. There’s more, though: The overall sound of the song has to keep the listener interested. It’s analogous to eating a meal that leaves you remembering the food for years. Every bite is delicious, yes, but certain bites contain an extra explosion of flavor that plays on the mouth and tongue…and then dissipates. That “taste transient” pokes out from the “steady state deliciousness” of the rest of the meal, creating an ebb and flow of special delight, anticipation, and reward.

But if that burst of flavor just continued unabated, with no steady-state to contrast it against, then the “burst” wouldn’t be attention-getting anymore. It would BE the steady-state, and would quickly become unremarkable.

Sound behaves in a way that’s fundamentally the same. We perceive it differently, and the time-scales involved are sometimes much shorter, but the transient content is still the basis of what holds attention. Transient content is the determining factor behind the (ironically) nebulous idea of music that’s “really defined.” In music that aims to convey power and force, sounds that hit above the steady-state, and then swiftly decay are what cause the individual parts to “slam into you.” Everything just banging away at full throttle, continuously, for several minutes, has no impact. No spark of flavor. The brain starts to have trouble distinguishing the music from noise, because of the lack of anything to lock on to.

The mastery of stopping notes at the right time is what creates epic riffs. The mastery of creating a pleasing steady-state, which is then punctuated by sharp, sonic flavors, is the essence of the “thunderous” rock show.

…and because transients are all about proportionality, it is entirely possible to create a pile-driving artillery barrage of a show within the confines of a small venue. More on that later. First:

Dynamics And Articulation

Music, especially rock and metal, has a long history of breaking rules and pushing boundaries. This is what drives innovation, and it’s a good thing. However, there are certain rules that can’t truly be broken successfully. Those rules are the ones that are based in fundamentals of the physical universe and human perception.

One such rule is that, for a particular musical part to seem “big,” the other parts around it must be proportionally small. There are different ways of achieving this, but it all pretty much boils down to volume. The “small” part must either be quieter across the entire audible spectrum, or quieter across the most important part of the spectrum occupied by the “big” part. Especially in the small-venue context, plenty of bands shoot themselves in the foot with this. I’ve heard too many groups that interpret the instrumental breaks of their songs as “there’s no vocal, so now all the instruments should play as loudly as they can, occupy every frequency possible, and we’ll just hope that the audio-human can crank the actual solo above all that.”

(The best bands avoid this problem by interpreting the solo instrument as being “the new vocal,” and thus they keep all the other instruments in a supporting role until it’s their turn to be in front.)

Anyway.

In music, there are lots of broad-brush ways to accomplish this necessary contrast. There are the overall dynamics of individual parts across a number of beats, and there are also the rests – where a part is silent for a time. Whether formally or informally, these contrasts can be reliably notated. It’s pretty easy to explicitly define the necessary negative space, whether by a symbol for a rest, a “pp” for being very quiet, or a scribbled note saying, “For the fingerpicked guitar part, no drums at all and everybody else turns way down.”

There’s something else, though, that’s required for mastery. It’s hard to explicitly notate. It’s articulation.

Articulation (as I see it) is the manner in which notes and chords are played. It’s a crucial part of getting transients to contrast with the rest of the music, because it involves dynamics and rests that are too short and frequent to write down…and yet have a massive effect on how other parts sound. Playing a power chord with a “micro rest” at the end can be key to getting a kick-hit to punch through. Making that kick-hit decay into silence quickly can make room for a note from the bass. Going through a run of notes where each tone is connected, but there’s a very slight volume drop just before the next sound, can make for a clean and precise solo line. The singer hitting a big note and then backing off means that they can help support that solo line without a miniature volume war erupting.

The very best bands have a reliable handle on making this all work – even if they’re not explicitly aware of what they’re doing. Their riffs are powerful and defined because the individual notes have space around them. Their drum hits are forceful and satisfying because there’s space for them to stick up above everything else – and yet the drums don’t overpower the tonal instruments, because the individual hits decay into the “steady state volume” before the tonals hit THEIR next transient.

This leads me into that promised bit about how this is possible in small venues.

The SPL Difference Is The Key, Not The Absolute SPL Magnitude

A common mistake in trying to reproduce big-show impact in a small room is trying to replicate the big-show’s absolute SPL (Sound Pressure Level). It’s very easy to think that “so and so sounded huge, and they were making about 115 dBC in the center of the crowd, so that’s what we should do.” What tends to happen, though, is that reaching that kind of level chews up all the power available in a small-venue audio rig. The result is a show that doesn’t have those oh-so-cool transient hits, because there’s just no room for them to assert themselves.

Instead of defeating yourself with excessive volume, what you have to think about is WHY the big-show PA was making 115 dBC in the center of that huge crowd. It’s proportionality. Several thousand humans having a big party can make a surprising amount of noise – and so, to be clearly audible, the audio rig has to make even more noise. If a giant crowd is hollering at 105 dBC, then the audio-human running the system up to 115 dBC is understandable…if maybe a bit excessive. (Or not. It depends.)

From that previous paragraph, you can see that the proportionality between the steady-state volume of the crowd and the steady-state volume of the band was 10 dB. In certain kinds of small venues, that might be a little bit too much. A window of +6 to +9 dB of continuous level above the crowd is worth trying for in most contexts – in my opinion. Note that the “trying” part is most likely going to be in the downward direction. Getting loud is surprisingly easy, but holding your level in check to a point where the crowd is still pretty-darned audible is HARD. It’s hard for bands, and hard for audio-humans, but it’s worth trying for.

The point of holding your continuous level down, beyond just being nice to your crowd, is that it creates space for your show’s transients. Especially if you’re a metal band, and you want that big, thunderous kick, your best chance is to be had by giving the PA lots of room. If the audio-human has to run the system at full tilt just to keep up, then there probably won’t be enough power available to put those chest-thumping transients where you want them to go. On the other hand, keeping the show’s continuous level at a manageable point means that there’s reserve power – reserve power that has to be available to create large, proportional differences for things that need accenting.

Running the audio for Outside Infinity was fun, because they had an instinctive handle on negative space and transient impact. There was plenty of power available for the musical peaks, because the continuous level of the band was appropriate and comfortable. They knew how to articulate their notes so that the music was sharp and defined. I was really impressed.

And, if you take the time to think about your music’s transients, you’ll probably also have a good shot at being that impressive.

Small Venue Shows Are Worth It

In my opinion, the real backbone (or maybe the launchpad) of the live-music industry is the small venue.

Please Remember:

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

On a day-to-day basis, small venues probably provide more opportunities for live-music experiences than any other kind of performance space.

It would stand to reason, then, that making the small-venue show the best it can be is worth thinking about, talking about, and putting resources into.

My Interview On AMR

I was invited to do a radio show on AMR.fm! Here are some key bits.

Please Remember:

About a week ago, I was invited into “The Cat’s Den.” While that might sound like a place where a number of felines reside, it’s actually the show hosted by John, the owner of AMR.fm. We talked about a number of subjects related to local music and small venues. John was kind enough to make the show’s audio available to me, and I thought it would be nifty to chop it all up into topical segments.

The key word up there being “chop.”

That is, what you’re hearing in these files has been significantly edited. The whole thing was about two hours long, and there was a lot of “verbal processing” that occurred. That’s what happens during a live, long-form interview, but it’s not the best way to present the discussion afterwards. Even with having tightened up the key points of the show, I’ve taken pains to not misrepresent what either of us were getting at. The meaning of each bit should be fully intact, even if every sentence hasn’t been included.

So…

The Introduction

Supatroy

A quick reference to an earlier show that featured Supatroy Fillmore. (Supatroy has done a lot of work in our local music scene.)

Why The Computerization Of Live-Audio Is A Great Thing

Computerizing live-sound allows guys like me to do things that were previously much harder (or even impossible) to do.

How I Got Started

A little bit about my pro-audio beginnings…way back in high-school.

Building And Breaking Things

I’m not as “deep into the guts” of audio equipment as the folks who came before me. I give a quick shout-out to Tim Hollinger from The Floyd Show in this bit.

Functional Is 95%

A segment about why I’m pretty much satisfied by gear that simply passes signal in a predictable and “clean” way.

The Toughest Shows

The most challenging shows aren’t always the loudest shows. Also, the toughest shows can be the most fun. I use two “big production” bands as examples: Floyd Show and Juana Ghani. The question touches on an interview that I did with Trevor Hale.

I Worry Most About Monitor World

If something’s wrong in FOH, I can probably hear it. If something’s not quite right on the stage, it’s quite possible that I WON’T hear it – and that worries me.

Communication Between Bands And Audio Humans

I’m not as good at communicating with bands as I’d like to be. Also, I’m a big proponent of people politely (but very audibly) asking for what they need.

The Most Important Thing For Bands To Do

If a band doesn’t sound like a cohesive ensemble without the PA, there’s no guarantee that the PA and audio-human will be able to fix that.

Why Talk About Small-Venue Issues?

I believe that small-venue shows are the backbone of the live-music industry. As such, I think it’s worthwhile to talk about how to do those shows well.

Merchant Royal

John asks me about who’s come through Fats Grill and really grabbed my attention. I proceed to pretty much gush about how cool I think Merchant Royal is.

What Makes A Great Cover Tune?

In my opinion, doing a great job with a cover means getting the song to showcase your own band’s strengths. I also briefly mention that Luke Benson’s version of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” actually gets me to like the song. (I don’t normally like that song.)

The Issues Of A Laser-Focused Audience

I’m convinced that most people only go to shows with their favorite bands in their favorite rooms. Folks that go to a bar or club “just to check out who’s playing” seem to be incredibly rare anymore. (Some of these very rare “scene supporting” people are John McCool and Brian Young of The Daylates, as well as Christian Coleman.) If a band is playing a room that the general public sees as a “venue” as opposed to a “hangout,” then the band isn’t being paid to play music. The band is being paid based on their ability to be an attraction.

Look – it’s complicated. Just listen to the audio.

Everybody Has Due Diligence

Bands and venues both need to promote shows. Venues also need to be a place where people are happy to go. When all that’s been done, pointing fingers and getting mad when the turnout is low isn’t a very productive thing.

Also: “Promoting more” simply doesn’t turn disinterested people into interested people – at least as far as I can tell.

Shout Outs

This bit is the wrap up, where I say thanks to everybody at Fats Grill for making the place happen. John and I also list off some of our favorite local acts.

A Vocal Group Can Be Very Helpful

Microsurgery is great, but sometimes you need a sledgehammer.

Please Remember:

Folks tend to get set in their ways, and I’m no exception. For ages, I have resisted doing a lot of “grouping” or “busing” in a live context, leaving such things for the times when I’ve been putting together a studio mix. I think this stems from wanting maximum flexibility, disliking the idea of hacking at an EQ that affects lots of inputs, and just generally being in a small-venue context.

Stems. Ha! Funny, because that’s a term that’s used for submixes that feed a larger mix. Submixes that are derived from grouping/ busing tracks together. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

I’m in an odd mood today.

Anyway…

See, in a small-venue context, you don’t often get to mix in the same way as you would for a recording. It’s often not much help to, say, bus the guitars and bass together into a “tonal backline” group. It’s not usually useful because getting a proper mix solution so commonly comes down to pushing individual channels – or just bits of those channels – into cohesion with the acoustic contribution that’s already in the room with you. That is, I rarely need to create a bed for the vocals to sit in that I can carefully and subtly re-blend on a moment’s notice. No…what I usually need to do is work on the filling in of individual pieces of a mix in an individual way. One guitar might have its fader down just far enough that the contribution from the PA is inaudible (but not so far down that I can’t quickly push a solo over the top), while the other guitar is very much a part of the FOH mix at all times.

The bass might be another issue entirely.

Anyway, I don’t need to bus things together for that. There’s no point. What I need to do for each channel is so individualized that a subgroup is redundant. Just push ’em all through the main mix, one at a time, and there you go. I don’t have to babysit the overall guitar/ bass backline level – I probably have plenty already, and my main problem is getting the vocals over the whole thing anyway.

The same overall reasoning works if you’ve only got one vocal mic. There’s no reason to chew up a submix bus with one vocal channel – I mean, there’s nothing there to “group.” It’s one channel. However, there are some very good reasons to bus multiple vocal inputs into one signal line, especially if you’re working in a small venue. It’s a little embarrassing that it’s taken me so long to embrace this thinking, but hey…here we are NOW, so let’s go!

The Efficient Killing Of Feedback Monsters

I’m convinced that a big part of the small venue life is the running of vocal mics at relatively high “loop gain.” That is, by virtue of being physically nearby to the FOH PA (not to mention being in an enclosed and often reflective space) your vocal mics “hear” a lot more of themselves than they might otherwise. As such, you very quickly can find yourself in a situation where the vocal sound is getting “ringy,” “weird,” “squirrely,” or even into full-on sustained feedback.

A great way to fight back is a vocal group with a flexible EQ across the group signal.

As I said, I’ve resisted this for years. Part of the resistance came from not having a console that could readily insert an EQ across a group. (I can’t figure out why the manufacturer didn’t allow for it. It seems like an incredibly bizarre limitation to put on a digital mixer.) Another bit of my resistance came from not wanting to do the whole “hack up the house graph” routine. I’ve prided myself on having a workflow where the channel with the problem gets a surgical fix, and everything else is left untouched. I think it’s actually a pretty good mentality overall, but there’s a point where a guy finally recognizes that he’s sacrificing results on the altar of ideology.

Anwyay, the point is that a vocals-only subgroup with an EQ is a pretty good (if not really good) compromise. When you’ve got a bunch of open vocal mics on deck, the ringing in the resonant acoustical circuit that I like to call “real music in a real room” is often a composite problem. If all the mics are relatively close in overall gain, then hunting around for the one vocal channel that’s the biggest problem is just busywork. All of them together are the problem, so you may as well work on a fix that’s all of them together. Ultra-granular control over individual sources is a great thing, and I applaud it, but pulling 4 kHz (or whatever) down a couple of dB on five individual channels is a waste of time.

You might as well just put all those potential problem-children into one signal pipe, pull your offending frequency out of the whole shebang, and be done with the problem in a snap. (Yup, I’m preaching to myself with this one.)

The Efficient Addition Of FX Seasoning

Now, you don’t always want every single vocal channel to have the same amount of reverb, or delay, or whatever else you might end up using. I definitely get that.

But sometimes you do.

So, instead of setting multiple aux sends to the same level, why not just bus all the vocals together, set a pleasing wet/ dry mix level on the FX processor, and be done? Yes, there are a number of situations where you should NOT do this: If you need FX in FOH and monitor world, then you definitely need a separate, 100% “wet” FX channel. (Even better is having separate FX for monitor world, but that’s a whole other topic.) Also, if you can’t easily bypass the FX chain between songs, you’ll want to go the traditional route of “aux to FX to mutable return channel.”

Even so, if the fast and easy way will work appropriately, you might as well go the fast and easy way.

Compress To Impress

Yet another reason to bus a bunch of vocals together is to deal with the whole issue of “when one guy sings, it’s in the right place, but when they all do a chorus it’s overwhelming.” You can handle the issue manually, of course, but you can also use compression on the vocal group to free your attention for other things. Just set the compressor to hold the big, loud choruses down to a comfortable level, and you’ll be most of the way (if not all the way) there.

In my own case, I have a super-variable brickwall limiter on my full-range output, a limiter that I use as an overall “keep the PA at a sane level” control. A strategy that’s worked very well for me over the last while is to set that limiter’s threshold as low as I can possibly get away with…and then HAMMER the limiter with my vocal channels. The overall level of the PA stays in the smallest box possible, while vocal intelligibility remains pretty decent.

Even if you don’t have the processing flexibility that my mix rig does, you can still achieve essentially the same thing by using compression on your vocal group. Just be aware that setting the threshold too low can cause you to push into feedback territory as you “fight” the compressor. You have to find the happy medium between letting too little and too much level through.

Busing your vocals into a subgroup can be a very handy thing for live-audio humans to do. It’s surprising that it’s taken me so long to truly embrace it as a technique, but hey – we’re all learning as we go, right?

Mixing For The Stream

The sound for a stream and the sound for an in-room audience have competing priorities.

Please Remember:

Over the last several weeks, I’ve had the pretty-darn-neat job of mixing for livestreamed shows. AMR.fm is doing these live broadcasts on Monday nights, broadcasts that include Q&A with bands as well as live music.

It’s pretty nifty, both as an event and as a technical exercise. Putting your best foot forward on a live stream isn’t a trivial thing, but a big part of having fun is rising to a challenge, right?

Right?

Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that. You know that challenges are where the serious enjoyment is. (Unless the challenge is insurmountable. Then it’s not so fun.)

Anyway.

The real bugaboo of doing an actual, honest-to-Pete live gig that’s also being streamed is that you have at least two different audiences, each with different priorities. To keep them all happy, you need to be able to address each separate need independently (or quasi-independently, at least). I use the word “need” because of one particular reality:

In a small-venue, the needs of the show in the room are often contrary to the needs of the show on the stream.

One way that is manifests in practical terms is that…

You Probably Don’t Want A Board Feed

“Board Feeds” can be wondrous things. In a large venue, with reasonable stage-volume, there’s a real chance that everything is in the PA, and at “full range.” That is to say, the mix includes all the instruments (even the loud ones), and the tonal shaping applied to each input is only minimally influenced by the acoustic contribution from the stage. The PA is being used to get the ENTIRE band out to the audience, and not just to fill in the spaces where a particular input isn’t at the right volume.

In the above scenario, taking a split from the main mix (before loudspeaker processing) could be a great and easy option for getting audio to stream out.

In a small venue, though, things can be rather more tricky.

I’ve written about this before. In a small room, putting everything in the PA is often unnecessary…and also a bad idea. It’s very possible to chase everybody out with that kind of volume. Rather, it’s desirable to only use the PA for what’s absolutely necessary, and ignore everything else. The “natural” acoustical contribution from the band, plus a selective contribution from the PA come together into a total acoustic solution that works for the folks in the room.

The key word there is “acoustic.”

A small-venue board feed to a live stream is often the wrong idea, because that feed is likely to sound VERY different than what’s actually in the room. The vocals might be aggressively high-passed. The guitar amps might not be present at all. The drums might sound very odd, and be very low in the mix.

And it’s all because the content of that feed is meant to combine with acoustic events to form a pleasant whole. Unfortunately, in this situation, a board-feed plus nothing is lacking those acoustical events, and so the stream sounds terrible.

The Right Mix For The Right Context

Obviously, you don’t want the stream to sound bad, or even just “off.” So – what can you do? There are two major options:

1) Capture the total acoustical event in the room, and stream that.

2) Have a way to create an independent mix for the stream that includes everything, and in a natural tonality.

The first option is easy, and often inexpensive, but it rarely sounds all that great. Micing a room, even in stereo, can be pretty “hit or miss.” Sure, a nice stereo pair in a symphony hall is likely to sound pretty good, but most folks aren’t playing symphonies in a concert hall to a quiet crowd. As likely as not, you’re streaming some kind of popular music style that’s taking place in a club, and the crowd is NOT being quiet.

Now, even with all that, there’s nothing wrong with taking the first option if it’s all you’ve got. I’ve personally enjoyed my fair share of concert videos that are nothing more complex than “micing the room.” Still, why not reach higher if you can?

Trying for something better requires some kind of “broadcast split.” There are different ways to make it happen, but the most generally feasible way is likely the route that I’ve chosen: Connect each input to two separate mix rigs. A simple splitter snake and a separate “stream mix” console are pretty much what you need to get started.

The great thing about using a separate console for the broadcast is that you have the freedom to engage in all kinds of weirdness on either console (live or stream), without directly affecting the other mix. Need a “thin” vocal in the room, but a rich and full tone for the stream? No problem! Do the guitar amps need no help from the PA, but do need to be strongly present for the broadcast audience? No sweat! Having separate consoles means that the “in-studio” audience and the stream listeners can both be catered to, without having to completely sacrifice one group on the other’s altar.

Having a totally separate mix for the broadcast is not without its own challenges, though. It would be irresponsible for me to forget to point out that mixing for two, totally separate audiences can be a real workout. If you’re new to audio, you might want to have a different person handle one mix or the other. (I’m not new to being a sound human, but I still have to cope by giving neither the live nor the broadcast mixes my full attention. I take every shortcut I can on “broadcast day,” and I let plenty of things just roll along without correction for much longer than I usually would.) Even with separate mix rigs, the broadcast mix is still partially (though indirectly) affected by the acoustical events in the room – like “ringy” monitors on deck. That being so, any “live” problem you have is likely to be VERY audible to the broadcast audience. If you’re the only one around to manage it all, that’s fine…but be ready.

I should also mention that having some way to do “broadcast levelling” on the stream feed is a good idea. Especially in my case, where we transition from Q&A to music, the dynamic range difference involved can be pretty startling. To the folks in the room, the dynamic swing is expected to some degree. To the stream listeners, though, having to lunge for the volume control isn’t too pleasant. One way to create a broadcast leveller is to insert a brickwall (infinity:1, zero attack) limiter with a long (say, five seconds) release time across the entire broadcast mix. You then set the threshold and output gain so as to minimize the difference between the loud and soft portions of the program. Using automatic levelling does sound a bit odd versus doing it manually, but it can free up your attention for other things at times.

Then again, automatic levelling does require you to do more to manage your broadcast-mix channel mutes, because a side effect of making everything “the same amount of loud at all times” means that your noise floor gets CRANKED.

…but hey, if this gig wasn’t interesting, we wouldn’t want it, right?

The Peavey PVXp-12

As usual, Peavey delivers a competent product with only a few downsides.

Please Remember:

I’m sure that Peavey encompasses many adjectives that start with “P,” like “proficient” and “pugilistic.” (They’re feisty.) My favorite Peavey adjective, though, is “predictable.”

Now, don’t get me wrong! I love innovation and “cool new stuff,” but I also love being able to get cool new stuff that I know is made well. That’s where Peavey delivers: They make affordable gear that delivers usable performance and holds up under the rigors of live-audio. You know what to expect when you order a box with the Peavey badge, and that is tremendously valuable for live-sound humans.

When it comes to speaker enclosures, the big “P” has never let me down. Even when a box has suffered some sort of problem, the issue was either too subtle for most people to notice, or correctable with a few minutes of work. Almost every Peavey loudspeaker that I’ve ever owned is either still in service somewhere, or was traded up for the next box. I had some cheap subs that I overpowered (because I was young and dumb), and they endured the punishment that I was dishing out for gig after gig after gig. The voice coils did get pushed a bit out of true, but the drivers never entirely quit – in fact, the only component to actually fail was the crossover on one of the boxes. A quick bypass operation later, and I had a working sub again.

It’s fitting, then, that my monitor-wedge woes would be brought to an end by a bevy of Peavey units. After some disappointing misadventures with offerings from Avid/ M-Audio and Seismic Audio, a sextet of PVXp-12s has put the smile back on my face.

I Don’t Have Lots Of Numbers, Because I Don’t Need Them

When I did my review of the monitor wedges I procured from Seismic Audio, there was a fair bit of testing involved. Numbers…you know, quantitative analysis.

I haven’t done anything like that for the PVXp-12s. They might be able to do what Peavey claims they can do, or they might not.

But I don’t care.

Why?

Because, whatever the PVXp boxes do, they do enough of it to satisfy my needs as a small-venue audio human. What’s more, they do what they do in a seemingly effortless way.

You might not think that says much, but it actually says a lot – and loudly. I measure when a piece of gear is giving me a reason to be skeptical. If I have no reason to “pick at” a manufacturer’s claims, then I don’t. Peavey claims that PVXp-12s can produce a peak of 127 dB SPL with music. Of course, every time a manufacturer says “peak,” you can subtract 3 – 6 dB to get an idea of what the box will actually do in real life. My guess is that a strong vocal input through these units has a fighting chance of doing 120 dB SPL continuous at a listener’s position. That guess is backed up by the fact that, over a good number of shows, I have never been able to observe the DDT™ (Peavey’s proprietary limiting system) indication on the units that I have. In contrast, other monitor wedges that I’ve had in service would either light their limiting indicators regularly, or be in audible distortion.

The bottom line is that I don’t have to nitpick the PVXp-12s. I don’t care if they can actually reach the claimed 325/ 75 watts continuous into the LF (Low Frequency) and HF drivers, because whatever wattage is actually being dissipated is plenty. I commonly “double up” two units, which gives a theoretical “maximum continuous vocal output” of 123 dB SPL.

Quite frankly, if you need more than that on stage, your show doesn’t belong in a venue that seats 200 people or fewer. Either that, or somebody is playing WAY too loud and needs to be fired.

I’ll also mention that, at one show, the lead singer asked for a pretty good amount of kick in the wedges. A box loaded with a 12″ LF driver can’t be asked to deliver crushing “boom,” but for that show (which was of about average overall volume), the PVXps delivered enough thump that I didn’t need any kick in the FOH (Front Of House) PA. Not bad for a box that retails at $350 – at least, in my opinion.

As far as sound-quality goes, I don’t really know what to say. PVXp-12s “sound like music to me,” which is to say that they seemed to be tuned in a pretty sane fashion. No, you’re probably not going to have a spiritual experience when you listen to these boxes, but that’s not what they’re for. The primary purpose of a sound-reinforcement box is to deliver sufficient output, cleanly, with a smooth response across the critical frequencies for music (about 100 Hz to 12 kHz, or a little more depending on the application). That’s what these Peavey’s seem to do.

If your experience is similar to mine, you may actually need to apply a 3 to 6 dB, 1 – 2 octave wide boost at around 2 kHz, along with a less pronounced, 1-ish octave wide boost at 8 kHz to make the boxes “flat.” It all depends on what you want, though.

Again, there just isn’t much to say. As monitor wedges, my PVXp enclosures pass signals and don’t make me struggle. That’s all I want, and judging by the number of compliments I get regarding the sound on deck, that’s all that most bands seem to be looking for. I know there are better sounding boxes out there because there is ALWAYS a better sounding box out there, but everything beyond the basics is gravy…and gravy is pretty expensive.

The Quibbles

Another piece of Peavey’s predictability – at least for me – is that they always seem to make some kind of design decision that causes me to scratch my head. It’s a different thing for every product line, but I swear, it isn’t Peavey unless I want to write a letter to them that reads: “In regards to this design aspect of this product…REALLY?”

The PVXp-12 is no exception in this regard.

To start with, the XLR input on the boxes is connected to circuitry with much higher gain than the TRS input. On one hand, this makes some sense. It allows people to plug a microphone directly into the box and get results without having to hit a mic/ line switch. On the other hand, not having a switch to select mic/ line gain means that using the XLR jack for line-level input requires that the input potentiometer be set quite low, in its “finicky” range. Even there, I have to trim my monitor send masters down about 6 dB to keep my on-channel sends in an operational area that’s consistent with other things.

Now, this isn’t a huge deal. It’s certainly a “first world problem,” which can be corrected with just a bit of doing. I can acknowledge that. Still, I’m a little surprised at Peavey apparently thinking that a robust, multipin connector shouldn’t be the first choice for line-level AND mic-level audio.

There’s also the issue of how the input plate is located. For some cables, you may find that a monitor placement causes a certain amount of shearing (sideways) force on your cable’s strain relief. This may or may not be enough to cause a problem – it’ll depend on your usage patterns, though.

Another oddity is that the Peavey design department apparently lives in a world where only one side of a box needs to be angled for monitor usage. This means that, whether you want it or not, a PVXp-12 doing monitor duty will have the HF horn on the stage-right side. If you want to “bookmatch” a pair of these boxes when doubling them up, you’re out of luck. It’s hardly a critical issue, but I swear, even manufacturers who build questionable boxes have figured out how to let you lay the enclosure on either side.

Going back to the level potentiometer, I’ve found myself wishing that it would be easier to get a “repeatable” setting for the knob. If you’re using the XLR input for line-level signals, it’s impossible to accurately see where the knob is if the box is in a monitor placement. In fact, to accurately set the knob, the box has to be rotated onto its face. Further (and this isn’t just a Peavy thing), the knob is of a “continuous sweep” variety. I just don’t understand why – on a piece of gear that is probably going to be used in multiples – level controls aren’t given clickstops for easy and accurate repeatability.

All of this is just nitpicking, though. Sure, you can spend more on a speaker enclosure. Sure, there are other boxes which may be more or less “your taste.” Still, my opinion is that the PVXp-12 is a great example of how far we’ve come in terms of affordable gear. Think about it: These boxes are biamped, with all kinds of nifty processing that’s been set at the factory, and it’s all been stuffed into a pretty compact package. I got started in pro-audio during the ’90s, and the functionality in a PVXp-12 wasn’t even something we were dreaming about then.

Maybe it’s just me, but there seems to be a lot of “bang” in these Peaveys for the bucks you’ll pay for them. The boxes aren’t flashy, and there’s no hype surrounding them…

…and there’s no need for any of that, because these units just go to work, get to work, and consistently deliver.

Well, they do for me, anyway.

Inconsistent Distance

In small rooms, audience proximity to loudspeakers can mean a wildly different mix.

Please Remember:

I love doing “advanced application” stuff where people don’t expect it. It’s not that I’m into complexity for complexity’s sake, but I do like to exceed expectations when possible. So, when The Floyd Show wanted to take things to the next level by having quadrophonic sound available, I was pretty thrilled.

I was so thrilled that, the second time we did a show that way, I went a little too crazy. I put a bunch of channels through reverb and delay, and pushed all that through the rear speakers. Loud. I wanted to hear it!

About a third of the way through the show, one of the club’s security humans came up to me.

“Dude, you’ve REALLY got to turn those down.”

Oops.

What went wrong? Was I tearing people’s heads off?

No, as I found out later. What was happening was that some people were getting an overpowering “FX to dry” ratio – and it was all because they were really close to the rear loudspeakers.

The Correct Solution Over Here Is Wrong Over There

In small-venue sound, there’s a bit of truth that’s hugely relevant…and yet rarely discussed:

A mix “solution” that is the result of both acoustical sources and PA reinforcement is spatially dependent. A listener at a different point in space is not necessarily receiving a solution of the same validity as people at other points in space.

In other words, what sounds perfect in one spot may not sound all that perfect when you’re on the other side of the room, especially if a listener gets (proportionally) very close to part of the PA.

Why?

SPL (Sound Pressure Level) increases as distance to a source decreases. Not everybody knows the math involved for modeling this reality with physics, but I’m pretty sure that almost everybody has an intuitive grasp of the idea. (The math actually isn’t that hard, by the way.) The reason this matters so much for small-venue audio humans is as follows:

If the sound reinforcement system is only responsible for a portion of a mix “solution,” a listener that is in close proximity to the system is likely to be experiencing a mix which is overbalanced in favor of the PA.

(Yes, this is essentially a restatement of the first point.)

A Common Example

To look at this in familiar terms, let’s consider a PA system that’s only reproducing vocals. The PA is located just in front of the band, with about twenty feet between the stacks. Everything else in the room is coming from the band’s instruments on stage. An audio human, situated 30 feet from the stage, in the center of the audience area, creates a mix solution that they like. This mix solution is, of course, a blend of the PA plus everything else. The validity of the solution depends on the blend’s proportionality remaining the same.

For many points in the room, the proportionality does indeed remain relatively stable. It remains stable because the DIFFERENCE in distance from the listener to either the PA or the band doesn’t change too wildly. In fact, as listeners get farther away, the proportion between the distance to the PA versus the distance to the band is reduced – that is, the proportion gets closer and closer to being 1:1. If you’re somewhere behind the sound operator, your chances of getting basically the same mix solution are pretty good – even if you’re off to one side.

(Of course, that mix solution may be highly colored by room reflections – that is, reverb – but the fact remains that what you’re hearing is the “correct” solution plus reverb. Then again, to be fair, very strong and/ or unpleasant reverberation can result in a total acoustical sound that’s utterly terrible…)

Anyway.

Where problems start to happen is in the area in front of the FOH (Front Of House) engineer. The closer that a listener gets to the front of the room, the more the proportionality between the sound sources diverges from 1:1. In this particular example, a person standing dead center, four feet from the stage is almost three times closer to the stage than they are to the PA. It’s quite likely that, for that listener, the stagewash is overpowering the vocals-only PA to some degree. (The issue is probably compounded by the listener being out of the throw patterns of the PA speakers, although that’s beyond the scope of this article.) On the other hand, a person that’s down front and off to one side could be getting four times as much PA as stagewash, if not more. For them, the vocals might be a bit too “hot.”

Some Things Can Be Fixed. Other Things…

The bottom line here is that if the PA (or even just some part of the PA) isn’t the whole mix, then you have to be mindful of where and how your mix solution can change. In my case, what I failed to consider was that the people in the back of the room were getting an overdose of FX from the surrounds. I pulled the rear speakers down, and everybody was a lot happier. The folks in front probably weren’t getting much from the rear boxes anyway, so it wasn’t a big loss to them.

You can’t fix everything, though.

In small venues, people can listen from all kinds of places, and you probably won’t have the gear available to cover all of those places. Big shows can fix their problem areas with fills and delay stacks of all kinds, but little shows just have to “shoot for the average.” In my personal opinion, if 75% or more of the audience seems to be getting basically the same mix, then you’ve done your duty. Of course, trying for 100% is usually praiseworthy, but completely overcoming the problem of inconsistent distance in a small venue is expensive, time consuming, and chews up a lot of space. In fact, 100% coverage might not even be what you want – in small rooms, it can be very nice for people to be able to “get away” from the full-blast of the show.

(You also have to consider other psychology that’s involved. For some folks, an “off” mix is a tiny price to pay for being able to be nose to nose with their favorite band. A happy audience is a happy audience, any way you slice it.)

The Acoustic Crossover

If you don’t need it, don’t spend power (or volume) on it.

Please Remember:

For loudspeakers, a crossover is used to separate full-range audio into multiple “passbands,” with each passband being appropriate for a certain enclosure or driver. For instance, there’s no need to send a whole bunch of high-frequency information to a large-diameter speaker if you’ve also got a handy device that’s better for top-end. On the flipside, failing to filter low-frequency information is a good way to wreck a “meant for HF” output transducer.

A beautifully implemented crossover creates a smooth transition from box to box and driver to driver. Crossovers can also help with getting the maximum performance out of an amplifier/ loudspeaker chain – again, because pushing material to a driver that can’t reproduce it is a waste of power.

Most of the time, we think of a crossover as an electrical device. Whether the filter network is a bunch of passive components at the end of a speaker cable, or a DSP sitting in front of the amplifiers, the mental image of a crossover is that of a signal processor.

…but remember how I’ve talked about acoustical resonant circuits? The reality of the pro-audio life, especially in small rooms, is that the behaviors of electrical devices show up in acoustical form all the time. In the past few years, I’ve found that creating acoustical crossovers between the stage wash and the FOH (Front of House) PA can be incredibly useful.

Why This Matters In Small Rooms

In a small venue, you don’t always have a lot of power to spare. It’s rarely practical to deploy a PA system that can operate at “nothing more than a brisk walk” for most of the show. Instead, you’re probably using a LOT of the audio rig’s capability at any given time.

Even if you have a good deal of power to spare, you often don’t have very much volume to spare. A small venue gets loud in a big hurry – not only because of acoustics, but because the average audience member is “pretty dang close” to the stage and PA.

Taken together, these issues present hat-explodingly good reasons to avoid chewing up your power and/ or SPL budget with audio that you just don’t need. Traditionally, dealing with this has taken the form of not reinforcing entire sources or channels. (This can oftentimes, and unfortunately, be appropriate. I’ve done several shows where one person was so loud that everyone EXCEPT them was in the PA.) An “all-or-nothing per channel” approach is sometimes a bit too much, though. What can be better is to use powerful and dramatic, yet judiciously applied subtractive EQ.

Aggressive Filtration

A good way to illustrate what I mean by “powerful and dramatic, yet judiciously applied subtractive EQ” is to show you some analysis traces. For instance, here’s my starting point for a vocal HPF (High Pass Filter):

vocalfilter

The filter frequency is 500 Hz. Effectively, I’m chucking out everything at or below about 250 Hz.

“But, doesn’t that sound really thin,” you ask?

Indeed, it does sound a bit thin at times. If I don’t have a lot of monitor wash, or the singer doesn’t have a voice that’s rich in low-mid, or if they just don’t want to get right up on the mic, then I need to roll my filter down. On the other hand, in situations where the monitors were loud, the vocalists had strong voices, and they had their lips stuck to the mics, I’ve had HPF filters up as high as 1 kHz or more.

The point is that the stage-wash often gives me everything I need for low-mid in the vocals, so why duplicate that energy in the FOH PA? If I create a nice transition between the PA and what’s already in the room, I only have to spend power on what I need for clarity.

Now, here’s a trace for a guitar amp:

guitarfilter

Of course, you don’t necessarily need something as extreme as this all the time. What’s great about filtering a guitar like this, though, is that you’ve thrown away everything except the “soul” of the instrument – 400 Hz to 2 kHz. Especially with “overly scooped” guitar sounds, what you need for the guitar to actually sit in the live mix is more midrange than what you’re getting. Of course, you could turn up the ENTIRE guitar to get what you need – but why? You’ll be killing the audience. It’s much better to “just turn up the mids” without turning up anything else.

…and even if the guitar is only really in the PA during solos, this kind of filter can still be a good thing to implement. If you have to REALLY get on the gas for a lead part, you can avoid tearing people’s heads off with piercing high end – as well as avoid stomping all over the rhythm player and the bassist.

By combining a highly filtered sound with the stage volume, you effectively get to EQ the guitar without having to completely overwhelm the natural sound from the amp. (This is just an acoustical version of what multiband equalizers do anyway. You select a frequency range to work on, and everything else is left alone. Whether this happens purely with electrical signals or in combination with acoustic events is relevant, but ultimately a secondary issue.)

Now, how about a kick drum?

kickfilter

Again, this kind of thing isn’t appropriate in all contexts. You wouldn’t do this for a jazz gig…but in a LOT of other situations, what you need from the kick drum is “thump” and an appropriately placed “pop” or “click.”

And that’s it.

In a small venue, reproducing much of a rock or pop kick’s midrange is unhelpful. All you do is run over everything else, which makes you turn up everything else, which makes your whole mix REALLY LOUD.

Instead, you can create an acoustical crossover to sweeten the kick “just enough,” without getting any louder than necessary.

All Wet

Saving power and volume also applies for situations where you want effects to come from the PA. It’s very easy to get too loud when you want to put reverb, delay, or even chorus on something. The reason for this is because these effects have a “dry” (unprocessed) component, that has to be blended properly with the “wet” sound. What can happen, then, is that you end up pushing the entire sound up too far – because you want to hear the effects. The “dry” sound in the signal combines with the “dry” sound in the room, which makes for an acoustical result that isn’t as “wet” as you wanted…so, you push the volume until the “dry” sound through the PA overwhelms the sound in the room.

That can be pretty loud.

Instead of brute force, though, you can just tilt the “wet” ratio much further in favor of the effect.

In fact, I’ve been in some situations where, say, a snare drum was in exactly the right place without any help from the PA. In that case, I set up my routing so that the snare reverb was 100% wet – no “dry” signal at all. I already had all the “dry” sound I needed from the snare in the room, and so I just turned up the “all wet” reverb until the total, acoustical result was what I wanted.

The bottom line with all this is that, in a small space, you can get pretty darn decent sound without a screaming-loud PA. You just have to use the sound that you already have, and very selectively add the bits that need a little help. The more fine-grained you can be with the creation of this acoustic crossover, the more you can bend the total acoustical result to your will…within reason, of course.