Tag Archives: Small Venue

The Tipping Point

“Loud” can become a vicious cycle, and FAST.

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.

I’ve mixed my fair share of bands in small, “live” rooms. What I mean by “live” is that the space has a lot of hard surfaces. For any sound introduced into the space, a good deal of the pressure wave travels directly to the audience. At the same time, a large portion of the same wave encounters an acoustically reflective boundary, and re-emits into the room. The re-emitted sound has a pretty good chance of also reaching the audience, even if the overall intensity has dropped somewhat.

This is why audio humans, music folks, and audience persons say things like “this is a loud room.” It’s not their imagination, or just a trick of perception. It’s physics, and you might not realize it, but physics impacts your ability to build a fan base and get paid decently for your efforts as a band.

I’m serious.

I’m sure that you’ve heard all the old (and not old) saws about excessive volume driving people away. I’ve written about that on this site. There have been plenty of discussions about volume wars. What I haven’t heard much talk about, though, is how excessive volume not only drives people away, but also how people being driven away creates even more excessive volume.

The Cycle Of Increasing Loud

The hingepoint for all this is that humans are pretty decent at being acoustical absorbers. Pack a room with a bunch of water-filled creatures that drape themselves in fabric, and a fair amount of sonic energy is prevented from bouncing around.

If you remove people from the room, then the “human absorption” factor drops. As the absorption drops, the amount of sound that can travel to the remaining listeners goes up, as does the amount of sound that can travel to them indirectly after hitting a boundary.

So, here’s what happens.

A band that produces a good deal of volume gets on stage in a small room with lively acoustics. They’re still building their following (or it’s just an off night), and so there aren’t a ton of humans available for absorption. The indirect sound from room reflections combines with their already “just a bit hot” volume to create “kinda uncomfortable” volume. The folks who aren’t really into it decide to head for a different part of the bar, or go outside. Now, there’s even less absorption in the room, especially for the people who were hanging out next to the folks who just left. As a result, the “just slightly too loud” show is now “just slightly more just slightly too loud.”

A couple more people decide to take a break from the onslaught.

The room is now a bit less absorptive.

The show gets a bit louder.

Do you see where this is going?

The “loud” ends up building on itself, progressively clearing the room, until some equilibrium point is reached. The band is playing to fewer people, which makes the show less fun. If the venue is a bar, the show is less profitable for the room. On top of that, “walk up” traffic from people in the neighborhood is pushed away, because the show is uncomfortably loud while simultaneously feeling “dead.”

The band’s playing, but they’re not generating much momentum for their career.

For Your Own Sake, Stay Away From The Tipping Point

The key to not being bitten by a vicious cycle is to avoid feeding the cycle. If you’re in a band that needs to grow its fanbase, you will do yourself a huge favor by figuring out how to be elite at being quiet.

Seriously, you should become freaking NINJAS at putting on a show that generates less than 100 dB SPL C from the stage.

Although…maybe that’s not really ninjitsu. Maybe that’s more like “normal” difficulty. Get down to 97 dBC for a “heroic” rating, and 94 for “legendary” status. If you want to be a mythical figure, then you should be able to pull things back even farther when you notice that you’re in an exceptionally challenging room. Yes, your guitar tone might not “sing” in exactly the way it does when you get on the metaphorical gas in your practice space. Yes, the bass might not feel like it can move continents. Yes, the snare might not have that supermassive “crack-boom” that you always wanted.

But the thing is that nobody in the room cares about any of that, except for maybe those two dudes from the big-box music store who are totally opinionated about “creaminess,” and “breakup,” and “punch,” and “really taking advantage of those EL84 tubes,” and “rumble,” and “pop.” Ask yourself: Are they actually helping you write your ticket? Are they really the people you need to impress?

(The answer is probably “no,” by the way.)

Stay away from the tipping point, and you’ll have a much better chance of having more people in the room who love hearing your songs. That means a better show overall, more money for the venue, more money for you, and ultimately, a more viable career path.

…and isn’t that what this is all about?


The Elephant vs. The Garden Hose

If you make your production fit a small venue, it will fit anywhere.

Please Remember:

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

A while ago, I was a participant on Harmony Central’s live-sound forums. On those forums, a few people emerged as authoritative, experienced professionals who could be counted on as voices of reason. One of those people was W. M. Hellinger. Besides being the proprietor of audiopile.net (one of my favorite places to shop for audio cable), he was a regular dispenser of plain-old, hard-won, good sense. In my recollection, Mr. Hellinger could almost always be counted on to provide some gem of “in-the-trenches” wisdom, often related as an anecdote or amusing metaphor. One of his most memorable was offered in a thread regarding methods for working with a loud drummer:

“…if you’re having problems trying to stuff an elephant down a gardenhose, then either the elephant is too large or the garden hose is too small or maybe elephants were never meant to be stuffed down garden hoses, and it’s time to re-think the project.” Full context available here.

Poetry. Audio-cowboy poetry, but poetry just the same.

…and, like many other great metaphors, there’s a lot of meaning packed into it.

Elephants Are Hard To Compact

On several occasions, I’ve encountered acts with what I’ve come to call “Warped Tour-itis.” I don’t have anything against Warped Tour, or the bands that play on it, but I swear that the groups I’ve had the most struggles with would fit into the event perfectly. These are the bands that are trying to fit an auditorium or shed show into an enclosed place that seats 200 people or fewer.

Their show was built to be the size of an elephant (in one way or another), and when faced with a “garden hose” of a venue, there’s no way to downscale. They just try to get through by force of will.

Now, sure, their physical setup might fit, but what usually doesn’t fit is the volume.

  • The drummer hits as hard as he possibly can. Especially the cymbals. All the time. His snare sounds like a firearm. (I’m not joking. One of these guys once smacked his snare while standing behind me, and I swear that it sounded like he had discharged a pistol.) It’s all about “being intense” and having “great energy” – which would be super fun if it didn’t hurt to be in the room with the guy.
  • The guitar players have all-tube heads, which sport big wattage. Those heads are connected to either a half or full-stack of cabs, and the rigs “just don’t sound right” if dialed back to anything less than “crushing.” Of course, if they could dial their amps back, they’d just get run over by the drummer. Even so, they want a lot of their rig in the their monitor wedge. And a lot of the other guitar player. And a lot of kick and snare, because they can’t hear the drums anymore. Plus some bass.
  • The bass player has at least one 8×10, powered by a massive head. It’s Ampeg, of course. The head is vintage, vintage being a synonym for “runs hot and weighs as much as the trailer it rides in.” The amount of energy produced by the bass stack is formidable. The bottom octave is felt as much as heard. Whatever subs are available to the PA, they’re overmatched by 6-10 dB.
  • The vocalist has to do the “scream” thing. There is literally no other option, except for when the guitarists have switched to their clean channel. At any other time, vocal-chord threatening volume is required.

Anyway, you get the point.

The band would sound great if they were in an open-air venue, and the average listener was a minimum of 50 feet from the barricade. In a small space, though, the results are uncomfortable. Or downright deafening.

…and the thing is, the “elephant” can’t be compacted.

The drummer’s kit is built specifically to be a certain volume. He can’t switch for a quieter snare, for instance, because he only has the “holy grail” snare that he poured all his money into. His muscle-memory is built around playing at full tilt, with sticks of a certain weight. It’s almost impossible for him to “turn down.”

The guitar rigs, in the same way, are built to get a certain tone at a certain level. In all likelihood, the guitarists invested all their setup money into those stacks. They have no alternative but to use them, and even with master volume controls onboard, they have to keep up with the (essentially fixed volume) drummer.

It’s the same for the bass player, because he has to keep up with the guitars, and it’s not as though the vocalist can scream at a “front-parlor appropriate” volume.

The elephant simply can not be scaled down to fit the garden hose – not at a moment’s notice, anyway.

The faulty logic in play is “if we create a show that works at large scale, then we’re ready for anything.” This seems reasonable, but it’s actually incorrect. It’s a forgivable mistake, because I’m fairly sure that all of us in live-music have made it. We assume that the band is the vehicle that carries the show, and a huge vehicle can carry any size of show. The truth is that the show (or, more correctly, the show’s context) is the vehicle for the band, and a band that’s too “large” will overwhelm the vehicle.

So – what to do?

Elephants Are Remarkably Easy To Expand

If the situation really is that you have to fit into a variety of garden hoses, then the solution is simple:

Make the elephant small enough to fit through the smallest hose you’re going to encounter.

If your show can run comfortably in a small club, then a competent crew can scale that show up to auditorium or shed-gig size when it comes time. When you get invited to that big show, the show itself will have the resources necessary to make the act big enough to fll a much larger garden hose.

If you’ve invested your time and money into a drumkit and play style that works nicely in a small club, you can be mic’ed up and reinforced for pretty much any number of people. When it’s time to play in a tiny room again, all you have to do is what you’ve always done.

If you’ve invested in a guitar or bass rig that sounds great at small-venue volume, then you’ll sound just as great when the amp gets sent through a PA sized appropriately for the show. (I’m not kidding. One of the biggest, most raging-awesome “PanterrrrRRRRAAAAAA!” guitar tones I’ve ever heard was the result of micing a Roland cube. I’ve had lunch boxes bigger than that thing.)

If your show is exciting, and yet manageable in a space the size of a postage stamp, then there won’t be any insurmountable issues to be found in making it happen on a huge stage. Sure, you might not take advantage of the whole area all at once, but that’s not what actually makes shows great.

The bottom line is that show production – audio, lighting, staging, logistics, whatever – is primarily an additive activity. Making things larger than life is pretty much what all the technology is built around, because that’s how the laws of physics work. Subtractive techniques are few in number and difficult to implement.

Small elephants fit down small garden hoses, and when you’re just starting out, the small hoses are what you’ll need to fit your show into. Small doesn’t mean “dinky” or “boring.” It just means compact.

So, build the most amazing, travel-sized elephant that you possibly can.


Between The Velvet Lies

The music business has a surprisingly low incidence of people being paid to be musicians. There are a good number of people being paid to “draw,” though.

Please Remember:

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

The big, red note is what musicians think they’re getting paid for. Actually, most musical acts are paid for their ability to bring out the people in the foreground.

If you were listening to rock radio in the late 80s and early 90s, you almost certainly heard “Holy Diver” by Dio. (I personally prefer “Rainbow In The Dark,” but what can you do?) “Holy Diver” has a line that – probably unintentionally – sums up the music business:

“Between the velvet lies/ There’s a truth as hard as steel”

There are a LOT of “velvet lies” in the industry.

“It’s one huge party, all day and all night!”

Actually, it’s a lot of work and heartache.

“It’s a sea of money!”

Actually, it’s more like a black hole that eats money. And time. Also souls, in some cases. A dark, howling vortex of – yeah, you get the idea.

“Everybody will love you!”

Actually, a lot of people will hate you, talk trash, snipe at every little thing you do and say, and be filled with vicious envy for any success that you have. Also, the hate grows proportionally to your level of success. Don’t forget to smile!

I could go on.

The point is that there’s the popular portrayal, and then there’s the real thing.

The “velvet lies” don’t just apply for the surface elements, though. The deep, critical concepts of music as a career are just as subject to falsehood. In fact, these falsehoods that touch “the innermost workings” are the most entrenched lies and half truths you’ll find in the biz.

You know why they’re so profoundly embedded? It’s because they’re the lies that we, as music industry people, tell ourselves and each other. Over and over. For years.

One of the biggest ones has to do with getting paid – or, more correctly, WHY musicians get paid.

The Velvet Lie: Bands are paid to play music.

The Truth As Hard As Steel: Some bands are paid to play music. Most bands are paid to bring a crowd.

I understand that what I just said is uncomfortable. It may even have made you steaming mad. Before you run off, though, please hear me out. This isn’t a judgmental thing at all. Heck, I’ve believed this lie myself. What I think, though, is that once we’re over the initial sting of the truth, ceasing to lie to ourselves actually makes us a lot happier.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe.

History

Decades ago, music clubs were media outlets. Before the Internet was a household appliance, before there were a million TV channels, and before consumer video playback, high-value entertainment (that wasn’t TV) meant going to a physical place. If you wanted to hear new music, that meant going to a record store or going to a bar/ club/ theater/ whatever. If you just plain wanted to be social, that meant going to a bar or club.

As such, the music venues had something of a captive audience.

Actually, it was only the good venues. I’m convinced that there were a bunch of craptastic music clubs back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, and they’ve just been forgotten or glossed over.

Anyway.

People went out to the clubs and bars because they wanted to be entertained in a way that they couldn’t be at home. The venue drew the crowd, and then paid bands to play music that entertained that crowd.

Yes – that’s correct. In that situation, the band WAS paid to play music. The bands that kept people happy and dancing, and that helped build the club’s reputation were booked more often and paid more coin. As far as I can tell, this is when the basic bar and club pay scales were formed.

What was also formed was the idea that bands in bars and clubs were paid to play music. At the time, this idea was true – or at least, true more often.

Now, though, fewer bars and clubs have a “capacity” captive audience. Just about every place has some regulars, but the “salad days” of your local venue being a media outlet are over. Still, there are situations where musicians are paid as providers of music. These situations are easy to identify. They occur…

…When Somebody Else Brings The Audience

If you want to boil this down to a universally applicable rule, this is about as close as I think you can get:

Musicians are paid as players of music when an event’s audience will be present for reasons independent of the music.

Okay. What does that mean?

Weddings. Birthday parties. Corporate events. Fashion shows. Festivals and conventions. Fireworks displays.

In all of these cases, the crowd’s primary interest is in something other than the provided music. Sure, the music may be an added sweetener – maybe even a very strong one – but the main purpose is something else. The event planner selects and books acts that they feel the event attendees will enjoy. Indeed, they may even choose an act that they hope will tip a “maybe” attendee towards being a “definite.” Even so, if there were no band there would still be an event. The implication, then, is another rule of thumb:

When the music provided is a secondary part of an event’s “draw,” a musician can rightly consider themselves a contractor who is entitled to guaranteed pay per hour or per appearance.

There are some music venues that CAN operate via this model. However, to the best of my knowledge they are a relative rarity. If you’re a musician who intends to play mostly in bars and clubs, then the assumption you should make is…

…YOU Are Expected To Bring The Audience

In these days of “superabundant” media, bars and clubs just aren’t THE destination anymore. To fight against this, bars and clubs bring in attractions.

The point of an attraction is that it attracts people. (Also, the first rule of Tautology Club is the first rule of Tautology Club.) If an attraction fails to bring patrons to the bar, club, or all-ages room, then it’s not much good as an attraction. That’s pretty obvious.

The thing is, though, that this change in the bar and club entertainment model was never explicitly communicated to the musicians. Heck, it was never explicitly communicated to the venue operators. I’ve been a venue operator, and I’ll tell you that a lot of things I did were essentially instinctual. It wasn’t until after the fact that I stopped to think about why things were the way they were.

So, anyway, the the no-longer-true idea that musicians in bars and clubs are paid to be musicians has hung around, caused misunderstandings, started fights, broken up friendships, and just generally made people unhappy. The “velvet lie” is so uncomfortable because it causes a mismatch between expectation and reality – the musician expects payment commensurate with their work as a musician, and the venue expects to pay in a manner commensurate with the act’s draw.

To avoid expectation mismatch with reality, I would thus propose the following:

When the music provided is the primary factor in an event’s “draw,” a musician can expect their pay to be proportionally scaled to their ability to attract attendees to a particular place.

Okay. Now you’re pissed at me, right?

Let me be clear.

I long for – THIRST for – a world where art has intrinsic value. I’ve made music myself. I make visual art myself. I believe that an artist’s time is valuable. I wish, and wish desperately, that any artistic work could be converted to a predictable amount of currency (or other buying power) at will. I hunger for a reality where the intrinsic value of human life is tangible at all times.

If I could build a venue where anyone could get booked, and everybody who was booked made enough money to live in luxury until they were booked again, I would do so without hesitation.

Unfortunately, all of us are stuck with the reality we have until that reality changes.

So, what can we do?

The main step is to stop cuddling up with velvet lies. For most of us, the hard truth is that the value of a musical act is based upon attractional power. This is a tough pill to swallow for folks in the small-venue world, but once the pill goes down it gets a bit easier to manage.

Another bit of salve for the sting is that, at the highest levels of success and stardom, value based on power as an attraction is still the norm. Huge artists that get paid a flat rate from, say, Live Nation, are paid that guarantee because their proven draw is enormous. The risk to the promoter is relatively small in a situation like that, especially if the promoter has a lot of other big-name acts on the roster. Fundamentally, this is exactly the same at all show scales. This brings me to a closing thought for this article:

When the music is the main attraction, a musician’s pay is based solely upon the tangible value brought to the venue, minus the overall risk that a payout presents to the operator.

That’s the reality of the small-venue world. It isn’t velvet-soft, but it is the truth.


The Appreciation And Care Of Strong Singers

Strong singers are great to work with. You just have to remember to use the right strategies.

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.

I used to do a lot more work with exceptionally strong vocalists. In the period from 2005 – 2010, I was the operator of an all-ages music venue. In Salt Lake, if you were all-ages and all-genre, you did a lot (A LOT) of heavy music. Death/ Black/ Doom/ Whatever Metal. Hardcore. Screamo.

Pretty much every night, you would encounter vocalists who could produce levels that were surprising, staggering, or even frightening.

Nowdays, I mostly encounter vocalists with average to slightly-above-average power. As such, I have my mic-pres set up to afford about 9 – 15 dB of headroom to the singers I have around most often.

Every once in a while, though, I get a big surprise. When that happens, I have to adjust my tactics accordingly.

A Surprise From The Daylates

Picture the scene.

An Americana band called The Daylates has brought their show to Fats Grill. They’re a quartet of highly personable dudes who can REALLY play.

Plus, the lead guitarist’s actual, honest-to-goodness name is John McCool.

Seriously, when someone rolls up to a venue with “McCool” stenciled on their roadcases, things are about to get extremely real.

Anyway.

At this last show, we didn’t do a full-on check. We got tones for all the instruments, spread some things around in monitor world, and confirmed that the mics were audible – but we didn’t actually do a song. What I ended up with was a “ballpark” rock-band mix where the vocals had a very healthy amount of gain applied on stage and in the house.

And then, the actual show started.

Brian, the vocalist, got on the mic and promptly blew the band away. The backline was completely swamped by the lyrics…as in, the band was almost a whisper in comparison. He drove the console’s input stage into audible clipping. The low-mids and lows from monitor world were outrunning the “clarity zone” in FOH by a wide margin. I was hammering the “sane level enforcement” limiter on the console’s main output.

In a word: Dang.

Obviously, I was going to have to make some changes.

Using The Tools

Being able to really sing in a rock-band context is a mix of both talent and practice. In essence, it’s all about good “tool use.” The first tool is your own body. The second tool is the microphone.

Really strong vocal inputs come from two things.

The first thing is that the singer can actually “bring it to the table.” Actually being able to vocalize with serious output, great tone, and correct pitch is a major skill. Also a minor one. And Mixolydian too, not to mention all the other scales and modes out there. THAT’S A LITTLE MUSIC JOKE, FOLKS. Please, try the veal.

Anyway.

The second secret to a super-strong singer is that they get up-close and personal with the microphone when they’re singing at or below their average level. That is to say, a vocalist should be right up on the mic most of the time. If they’re going to get really loud in proportion to the rest of the show, then backing off a bit is “good form.” The “proportion” bit is very important. For a good number of metal vocalists, their average level and maximum level are basically the same – so they should be right on the mic at all times. For other folks, the range is wider.

…but why be right up on the mic?

Ironically, separation.

A singer’s proximity to the microphone element is (effectively) a “force multiplier” for their vocal strength. As many audio techs have said in a variety of ways, “the loudest noise at the capsule wins.” For a given sound pressure source, the apparent sound pressure level increases as distance decreases. So, if a singer wants to be clearly distinguished from all the sources behind them (drums, amps, etc), their chances go up significantly if they are – literally – right up in the mic’s grille. It’s essentially a classic signal-to-noise ratio issue, and proximity to the mic tilts the ratio in favor of the “signal,” that is, the vocalist.

Now, if you’re like Brian of The Daylates, what you’ve got is tremendous natural power coupled with a willingness to be as close as physically possible to the microphone element. This results in an excellent signal-to-noise situation, in addition to a very “hot” signal from the microphone, and some combination issues between monitor world and FOH.

In such a situation, the audio tech needs to be mindful of, and adjust for, a couple of major factors.

Gain and EQ

Mics can have “hot” output from receiving a lot of input, having a high-output element, or both. An important thing to note is that mic output which is proportionally hotter due to a high-SPL signal is a good thing. It lets you maintain your final system output level for that signal, while running at a lower gain. This increases system stability.

(This does NOT apply for mics which simply have high-output elements. The sensitivity of the element is a kind of fixed gain, so reducing the downstream gain just gets you back to the same overall gain as you would have had for a different mic. This being the case, there’s no stability benefit.)

With a vocalist like Brian, you do need to reduce your preamp gain to keep the signal out of clipping. That’s exactly what I did.

What did NOT happen, however, was a preamp gain reduction significant enough to restore the usual balance that I have between FOH and monitor world. Everybody on deck seemed to be happy with the lead vocal blend as it “settled in,” so there was no need for additional changes. What this meant from the FOH perspective was that the vocal started out a bit muddy.

Why?

Beyond just the simple fact of the monitors being louder, their tonal balance was different. This is a side-effect of having the vocalist very close to the microphone element. Single-element directional mics work by creating conditions necessary for audio traveling to the rear of the element to be significantly more delayed than it would be otherwise. As a result, the audio arriving at the rear of the mic is out of phase with the audio arriving at the front. This effect is different at different frequencies. For a given delay time, low frequencies will generate a smaller pressure difference than higher frequencies, because they have less “cycle time” available. This being so, the element has to be increasingly damped at higher frequencies to get an overall response that’s actually pleasing.

When the singer gets right up on the mic, the overall sound pressure at the capsule increases. However, the high frequencies are more damped than the low frequencies. This means that the effectiveness of increasing proximity to the element is greater for low frequencies than high frequencies. This is what causes “proximity effect” – the boost in tonal richness when a singer is close to the microphone.

Now, then…

In a small-venue situation, the monitoring on deck interacts – greatly – with the sound from FOH. Part of the tech’s job in a small room is to get a nice balance between the “monitor wash” and the PA that’s meant to cover the audience. In a reasonably decent room, the monitor wash is mostly midrange and below. The high frequencies get soaked up to some degree. As such, the contribution from the FOH PA will need to have less midrange and low-frequency content…unless FOH is completely overpowering monitor world.

In a small room, completely washing out the monitor spill with FOH is usually – to use formal terminology – way too !@#ing loud.

So, what I ended up with was a much louder than normal monitor contribution, and (because of proximity effect) that contribution had a lot of low-mids and bottom end. Like I said, the vocals were a bit muddy “out of the gate.”

The fix was to aggressively high-pass the vocals in FOH, while applying some mild taming to the low-mids and bottom end in the monitors. You don’t want to get crazy with changing the monitor mixes, because you can’t necessarily be sure that what sounds great at FOH is actually tonally pleasing to the players on deck. At FOH, however, you can get as nutty as you like, because you probably have a pretty good idea of what the audience is hearing. High passing the vocals (or cutting away the general area where monitor world and FOH are combining) lets you use your FOH power for what really matters – the high-mid and high frequencies which govern vocal intelligibility.

With the FOH audio trimmed to work well with the monitor wash, the mix cleared up nicely.

The bottom line is that a powerful singer who is willing to get close to their mic is a joy to work with. You just have to be ready to do your part.


Buy A Little Amp

Large, powerful amplifiers were necessary in the early days of rock and roll. Not anymore.

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.

Nothing screams “Rock Band” like lots of gear. I myself will readily admit it: I LOVE the look of big, “ugly,” powerful, solidly-built amps and speaker cabs. You get all of that into a room, and by gum, everyone knows that you mean business.

Having people think that you mean business is a really good feeling. Heck, it’s an addictive feeling.

But it’s just a feeling.

What counts a lot more than looking like you mean business is to actually mean business, and then prove it beyond all doubt with your actual music. Proving you mean business in the small-venue context doesn’t require a lot of gear. It simply requires that you have enough gear.

Sure, you do want a bit of “cushion” or headroom, but a whole ton of it isn’t necessary. In fact, it can even be detrimental. We’ll get into that in a bit – but first, let’s talk about where the “big gear” thing came from.

The Days Before PA (As We Know It)

Way back when, in the days when men were real men, women were real women, and cars cost about as much as five tanks of gas today, you could count on one general rule for live-sound reinforcement:

You either made enough noise acoustically, or you had a dedicated amp.

The exception to this (but not by much) was the vocalists. Each vocalist might not have had their own PA, but the typical reality was that the PA only had a handful of inputs – and the PA only did vocals. The idea that you would put all the instruments through one sound rig was a foreign concept.

As a result, if you were doing a big show, you needed big amps. The drums might carry pretty well, but if you were going to get that guitar solo all the way to the back row, you needed serious firepower. Even as PA technology grew by leaps and bounds, the notion that guitarists and bass players would make all their own noise stayed entrenched. Hey – they already had the gear, right? Why fix what isn’t busted?

At this same time, the founding fathers of amplified guitar and bass were creating the tones and textures that would define those instruments for decades. They were getting those sounds through gear that had to be big, heavy, and loud to do its job. Especially for the guitar players, who loved (and still do love, for good reason) the thick, satisfying roar of power tubes being driven hard, the acoustical output was in-freaking-sane.

They got away with that volume because it was expected, and also because they were playing to huge crowds. Most of the audience wasn’t in the first few rows, and so the noise wasn’t as deafening.

Now, fast forward to 2013.

The iconic gear that defined the sound of rock and roll instruments is still very much in fashion. Sure, there have been various improvements in materials, construction, cost management, and design, but all of these creatures of the amplifier kingdom are fundamentally the same animals as their counterparts from 1969. They’re big, they’re heavy, and their most rockin’ sounds require stadium volume (or a power soak, if you don’t want stadium volume).

The problem is that stadium volume from amplifiers is no longer required, or even desirable – especially not in small rooms.

The 100 Watt Amp Problem

Let’s talk about some of what’s going on when an all-tube, 100 watt, gorgeous sounding amp is really doing its thing. Let’s make some conservative assumptions to start:

  • The 100 watt rating is the continuous power generated by the amp at a full-tilt, maximum overdrive, supersaturated roar.
  • The cab is a 4×12, wired so that each loudspeaker gets 25 watts.
  • Each loudspeaker has an average sensitivity of 95 dB SPL at 1 watt, measured at 1 meter.

The tone is killer. So is the volume.

Each cone is producing about 109 dB SPL, continuous. The summation of those four cones is 115 dB SPL, continuous, at 1 meter. The average audience member is probably sitting about 22 feet (6.7 meters) away. The venue isn’t totally dead, acoustically, so the average SPL decay is 5 dB per doubling of distance, as opposed to 6. This works out to 13.7 dB of volume decay for the average audience member.

So, for the most part, the audience is hearing about 101 dB SPL, continuous, of just the one guitar. Add another guitar of similar volume, and the continuous level is 104 dB SPL. The bass player fits in with a 99 dB SPL contribution, which takes our total to 105 dB SPL. The drummer is a spirited lad, able to make 100 dB SPL himself. Now we’re at 106 dB SPL. The vocals probably have to be at a minimum continuous level of 102 dB in order to be distinguishable, so that takes us to a grand total of…

Just under 108 dB SPL, continuous, for the average audience member, and that’s not including monitor wash.

For most people, that’s pretty dang loud. In a bar, that kind of level is hard to deal with when placing or taking orders (assuming that the bar is in the “average level” zone – which IS the case in a good number of rooms).

There’s no denying that the tone of the guitar is spectacular, but that spectacular tone is causing an audience discomfort problem, and potentially an economic problem for the venue.

This is bad for you.

Also bad for you is that, to get really good separation, the singer (who’s about 12 feet from the cab) has to be able to produce about 125 dB SPL at their mic capsule. This means that you need a singer with lots of power, stamina, and great pitch control at full volume…or less pitch control, but more raw power in reserve.

On top of that, for the vocalist to feel like they’re really hearing themselves in the monitors, the wedges will need to be making about 115 dB SPL continuous at the singer’s ears. If the singer is really powerful, and the wedges are good, then this should be achievable. If the singer isn’t really powerful, or is having an off day, or if the wedges are a little cheap, getting that kind of level may be a battle. Now, you’ve potentially got gain-before-feedback issues.

The Upshot

That arena-ready amp rig sure does sound good, but:

  • It probably costs a fair amount of money to acquire.
  • It takes up a lot of room.
  • It’s heavy.
  • It has to get really loud before it sounds right.
  • It forces everybody else to keep up.
  • It makes monitors harder to manage.
  • It can drive audience members away.
  • The venue can lose money.
  • It reduces the FOH audio tech’s options for the rest of the band (because the tech’s first priority can be forced towards just keeping up with you).

Bummer.

There’s a fix.

Buy a little amp.

There are plenty of all-tube combos out there that top out at 10 watts. That’s really all that you need. Get those tubes really hot to get the tone you want, and you’ll probably have about 105 – 110 dB SPL at 1 meter.

And you’ll be able to do it with a piece of gear that’s easy to carry.

And you’ll be able to do it with a piece of gear that you can fit anywhere.

And you’ll be able to do it without making your vocalist work themselves to death.

And you’ll be able to do it without forcing everybody else to keep up with you, whether in terms of volume or equipment purposes.

And you’ll be able to do it without flattening the audience.

And you’ll be able to do it while the bar still makes money.

And you’ll be able to do it while allowing the audio tech to make meaningful choices to get you the best sound possible.

And, because PA technology has come a very long way, that one amp will still work for you when you’re playing stadiums. The crew will just stick a mic in front of it, and turn that 10 watt amp into a 10,000+ watt amp with great coverage and smooth frequency response across the entire audience.

I can certainly understand that you might want a big rig because of the way it looks, or because there’s something very specific about the sound that can’t be perfectly replicated by other means. I do get that.

But big amps just aren’t necessary anymore, and they can be more trouble than they’re worth.


Only So Much Addition

A PA system can only do so much – the band’s overall volume has to be right, and their proportionality has to be right, too.

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.

My last article was primarily written to technicians. However, the issue of “only being able to get so much, in comparison to full-tilt boogie” has big implications for musicians playing live. Small venue, big venue, whatever venue, there’s an important reality that has to be faced:

There’s only so much that a PA system or monitor rig can add to the sound of an instrument or vocal.

Now, this certainly holds true in the aesthetic sense. There’s a practical limit to the amount of sweetening that can be applied to any particular sonic event. A drumkit (for example) that sounds truly horrific can’t really be “fixed in the mix,” especially if the tech doesn’t have hours to spend on making it sound like a different, much better drumkit. What really needs to happen is for that set of drums to sound decent, or even amazing, without any outside help. At that point, the PA’s job is to make those drums loud enough for the audience (if the drums aren’t already), and maybe add some “boom” and reverb – if appropriate.

There’s another sense of “what the sound system can add”, though, that’s much easier to quantify. This is the relatively simple reality of how much SPL (Sound Pressure Level) an audio rig can deliver for a given input from a given acoustical source. This “amount of level deliverable” is often less – even a LOT less – than what the rig can do on the spec sheet. (This can often be surprising, especially to musicians and techs who are still working on gaining practical experience with live performance.) The other side of the coin is how much overall level the PA should be adding to the show to have the result sound decent, and be at a comfortable for the audience.

How Much Should The PA Contribute?

When trying to get a handle on how much the FOH (Front Of House) PA should add to the show, there are a number of things to consider:

  • How loud is the band, all by itself?
  • What do you really want the PA to be doing? (Carrying the room? Just putting a bit more “thump” in the drums? Vocals only?)
  • How much level will the audience and venue operators be happy with?

It can actually be helpful to work backwards through these points.

In small venues, the amount of tolerable level usually isn’t very high. Although some “pure music” rooms might work with 115+ dBC SPL continuous (decibels Sound Pressure Level, “slow” average), most places that cater to 200 patrons or less will probably see 110 dBC continuous as very, very loud. The problem is that, with a band and monitor rig that are REALLY cookin’, 110 dBC is very easy to achieve – and the PA isn’t even turned on yet!

In general, I recommend an upper limit of 105 dBC continuous for everything when working in a small venue. Band, monitor bleed, and FOH. Even that might be too much for some places, but it’s a start.

Once you’ve established how loud the whole show ought to be, you can begin figuring out what the PA’s contribution should entail. The handy rule of thumb here is that, for a given maximum volume, greater PA contribution requires you to keep a tighter rein on the stage volume.

To help illustrate this point (and others), I’ve prepared some audio samples in OGG format. I’ve used a live recording of a drum kit from Fats Grill, along with a reverb processor, to roughly simulate three conditions:

Of course, this is an imperfect representation. Although most PA loudspeakers are designed to be somewhat directional, they still excite the reverberant field – they often don’t “dry out” the sound quite as much as these samples do.

Still, these clips give you an idea of what happens as more PA is applied. The overall level goes up, the PA sound starts to overcome the stage volume, and the transients get more defined. Putting more direct sound, with clean transient response into the audience is usually a good thing – but notice how much volume the PA had to add before the drumkit really “cleaned up.”

On a discussion forum, I believe that Mark from audiopile.net made a simple, profound, and very true statement with important implications: “Audio engineers don’t feel like they have control until they are 10 dB louder than everything else in the room.” With this guideline in mind, the issue crosses into the first point:

If you want the PA to really define how your band is heard by the audience, then the band’s stage volume should be about 10 dB below the PA. If the maximum volume for a small venue is about 105 dBC SPL continuous, this means that the band and monitor rig need to stay in the close vicinity of 94.5 dBC SPL continuous.

I’m not gonna lie – squishing a rock band into a box smaller than 95 – 100 dBC SPL is tricky. It can be done, but not everybody is willing to take on the challenge and make the decisions involved.

This is why, most of the time, small venue sound involves careful compromises. The PA is often used only to “fill spaces.” That is, the guitar amps might carry the room with only occasional reinforcement for solos, while the midrange and high-end from the drums is stage volume with a bit of “kick” from the subs. The vocals will be getting pretty much constant attention from the FOH rig, of course. In the end, the contribution from the FOH PA is minimal…or at least kept under tight control.

Proportionality Can Kick Your Butt

Beyond the issue of raw volume, though, is the conundrum of how much an audio reproduction system (be it an FOH PA or a monitor rig) can add to a given acoustical event on stage. This is where “sounding like a band without the PA” becomes really critical.

Here’s why.

For most audio rigs that are even half-decent, gain-before-feedback is at least as critical, if not more, than total output power. That is, a loudspeaker might be physically capable of creating earth-shattering SPL, but the squeals and howls of feedback will prevent you from actually getting there. Either the overall differentiation between the stage volume and the PA volume is too great, or the differentiation between on-stage sources is too great.

This is a little abstract, so here’s an object example.

Every so often, I’ll run into a group that has a proportionality problem. They’re not too loud for the room by any means – they might be an acoustic duo, for instance. The issue is that one person is vigorously strumming a big-body guitar, using a pick. Another person is playing a different guitar, with a much smaller body.

…and they’re playing fingerstyle.

Delicately.

Hoo, boy.

Depending on the players, that big guitar might already be a LOT louder than the small guitar – and then, the player of the big guitar decides that they want a pretty healthy amount of monitor level. No problem for the big guitar, especially if the instrument is free of resonance problems and includes a decent pickup. The small guitar? Well – it doesn’t have a pickup installed, so we had to mic it. We were only able to get “so” close, and the player’s not making a whole lot of level anyway.

The chances are that feedback issues will prevent even the most competent monitor operator from making that fingerstyle guitar compete with the big boy.

It’s not the absolute volume that’s the problem. It’s the proportionality. The massive level differential between the two instruments just can’t be dealt with in a live situation. In the studio, where feedback is basically non-existent, it’s another story. Here, though, getting through the set will be a struggle.

As a generality, I would propose the following guidelines for the feasibility of what a small-venue audio system can add to an onstage source’s volume – especially when talking about monitors on deck:

  • +3 dB – Usually trivial.
  • +6 dB – Usually very simple, if not entirely trivial. Depends on the situation.
  • +10 dB – Average, may be challenging for sources that are resonant, or when using certain microphones.
  • +20 dB – Difficult to impossible, can be done in certain cases with instruments that have well-isolated pickups and physical feedback reduction. May be possible with certain microphones in certain orientations relative to the monitors, or with common microphones and in-ear monitors. With line-inputs, noise may also be a problem.
  • +30 dB – Generally impossible unless the source is completely feedback isolated. Noise from line inputs will probably be a big issue.

The way to get around these issues is to fix them before you arrive at the venue. If somebody is getting positively drowned during rehearsals, it’s simply not a safe assumption that a PA system (even a professionally operated one) will fix the issue. If everybody is clearly audible in rehearsal, on the other hand, then your proportionalities are either right on the money or “plenty close enough.”

This may sound a bit preachy, but I want to assure you that there are big benefits to “sounding like a band” before a PA system is added to the equation. If you’ve done the hard work of being balanced without outside help, then you have a much better shot at sounding killer with PA and monitor rigs that are only minimally adequate – or operated by a minimally competent audio human. Even better, when you get to work with great gear and great techs, they’ll be able to put their maximum effort towards presenting a flat-out amazing sonic experience for your fans. They’ll be able to do this because they won’t have to make the compromises necessary to fix big imbalances amongst instruments, or between the instruments and the vocals.

Bottom line? Being at the right volume, both in terms of absolute levels and relative balance, is a huge part of creating a brilliant stage show.


In Praise Of The Small Venue

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

Please Remember:

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

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

Anyway.

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

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

And strength.

As in, “brute force.”

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

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

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

Intimacy

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

For the musician:

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

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

For the tech:

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

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

Successful shows are all about teamwork, by the way.

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

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

For the concertgoer:

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

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

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

Flexibility

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

For the musician:

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

For the tech:

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

For the concertgoer:

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

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

Freedom

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

There’s so much more freedom to experiment.

For the musician:

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

For the tech:

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

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

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

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

New Music

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

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

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

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


The Heck Do You Mean By “Small?”

When I say “small,” what I mean is “seating capacity for 200 or fewer,” amongst other things.

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.

I’m a fan of defining words clearly, no doubt about it. When it comes to subjective terms being used in technical contexts, my blood pressure can rise in a hurry. “Loud” means different things to different people. “Great monitor mix” means different things to different people.

I mean, even something as not-subjective-sounding as, “50% less lead guitar in this wedge” means different things to different people. Somebody might actually want the guitar down by 3 dB, which is actually half power. Somebody might think that 50% less is -6 dB. Some folks think it’s -9 dB. Geeze.

Subjectivity – it’s not as easy as it looks. Anyway…where was I?

If you’re U2, or Metallica, or Pink Floyd, or [insert ginormously popular act here], “small venue” could probably mean anything less than 20,000 seats. For other bands, filling a 1000 seat auditorium would be a huge show. The biggest. In the history of ever.

For the purposes of this site, my definition of “small venue” looks like this:

  • 200 patrons or fewer can be seated.
  • The square footage of the stage plus the audience area is 3500 square feet or smaller.
  • Backline producing x dB SPL (Sound Pressure Level) at the downstage edge – the place where the stage meets the rest of the venue – is perceived by someone sitting in the farthest seat as producing a minimum of x-12 dB SPL. This is assuming that the venue is otherwise empty and unobstructed.

(That last condition is pretty darn easy to accomplish in a 100′ long venue with a stage that’s 25′ deep. The distance from the downstage edge to the back wall is 75′. The farthest away that anyone can sit is only four times as far away from the backline as the downstage edge. The level decay at a fourfold increase in distance is 12 dB SPL, and that’s assuming that there are no acoustic reflections in the venue at all. It’s theoretically possible to build an indoor venue where the SPL contribution from acoustical reflections is negligible, but it would be really, really expensive.)

I should mention that each point is not necessarily dependent on any other point. You could build a venue where the longest dimension was only 30′, and then add a soundproof wall between the performers and the audience. The wall would break the x-12 dB SPL condition for the farthest seat, but the capacity and square footage points would hold up just fine.

Of course, I do have some subjective definitions of a small venue:

  • Anywhere that loading in an 8×10 bass cab causes someone (especially the audio tech) to think/ mutter/ say “Geeze,” or “Why?”
  • Anywhere that micing backline is optional for FOH (Front Of House) sound.
  • Anywhere that the settings on an amp from a previous gig or practice cause someone (especially the audio tech) to think/ mutter/ say/ exclaim “Geeze,” “Wow,” “Gosh,” “Whoa,” “Holy !@#$,” or  “That’s only on [number less than 5]?!”
  • Anywhere that somebody’s prized tone causes intestinal discomfort, bleeding, psychological problems, etc. (Also, sometimes where somebody’s prized tone is caused BY psychological problems, but that’s another issue).
  • Anywhere when a drummer is playing at a volume that seems easy and comfortable to him/ her/ it, and yet the SNARE HIT -ompletely drowns ou – TOM ROLL -verything els- KICK KICK KICK TOM ROLL KICK KICK CRASH CRASH CRASH SNARE HIT -hinks he’s John Bonha- SNARE FLAM SNARE FLAM KICK KICK CRASH -oo loud with earplugs.
  • Anywhere that the PA can be run at a continuous level that’s no more than 1/8 of its maximum continuous power, and still be considered “loud” by half the audience or more.

There’s the implication here that musicians and audio techs can make almost any venue too small, but that’s probably a topic for another time.