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 | | | | Feb29Written by:Bob Lichty
Tuesday, February 29, 2000 6:00 PM  We all ended up behind the console for our own reasons. For some, it was a chance to record our legacy, our music that we would share with family and friends forever (and maybe even sell some). For some, once the drugs wore off, the sex became dangerous and the rock and roll a little loud and a little old, it seemed a good alternative to a real job. And there are even some of us who have known all along that our dream job would involve long days, little money, ear fatigue, serious relationship issues and a basic lack of a life for this thing called audio.
Idealism in the Real World
I knew at age sixteen that I wanted to be George Martin. Maybe with some Daniel Lanois, Hugh Padgham, Prince and Jam and Lewis thrown in for good measure. I have always been amazed at the emotional impact music can have on a person. Any genre, if I can feel it, I'll like it. So to have the ability to craft a song and get a performance out that gives goose bumps, well it just seemed to be the perfect career (besides, I never had much luck with the sex thing, I avoided the drug thing and I played keys and sax so the rock and roll thing was only on the outskirts for me).
And so, with a pocketful of experience from an internship, a heart full of good intentions and a head full of naiveté (along with a trunk full of vinyl and the start of a CD collection) I headed off to college to learn to be a producer and engineer. I was going to learn through books, hands-on experience and camaraderie how to capture a winning performance. And while I did learn the physics in sound, the basics of signal flow and what makes effects work the way they do, the reality is I never did learn how to produce. In fact, what I really learned in college was that college bands don't make jack against the door, even on a night when the place is packed; that somehow you can learn to share a 12 by 12 space with a roommate and his girlfriend(s) for a year; that wherever you live your neighbor is going to think that CCR and Steve Miller are God's gift to music and deserve to be played at 110 dB all day, every day; and finally that James Taylor's Greatest Hits, Roxy Music's Avalon and The Cure's Disintegration are great choices for, let's say, those intimate moments.
After 4 ½ years I finally graduated with my degree in audio production, a minor in music composition and darn near a degree in history. Basically, a triple in "would you like fries with that." Not that my college experience wasn't a good one, it was, and learning the social skills that come in a University environment were well worth it. But let's face it; sending out resumes and tapes to studios doesn't really do a lot. (I do still have my rejection letter from Paisley Park somewhere; it just seemed way too cool to throw away.) The truth is that the studio where I had been interning closed during my senior year, casting a rather dark cloud over my once seemingly bright future. So, I put my studio hat down for a while and hit the road as a live sound guy. To be honest, I thoroughly enjoyed live sound, but I longed for the controlled environment of the studio. There was something a bit unsettling about 1200 concertgoers holding $25 tickets relying on me to keep a show in tact while relying on power that was, as best, questionable. I think those months led to my Philips Milk of Magnesia habit.
Reality in the Ideal World
Anyway, a good friend of mine that I interned under called me to say there was an opening where he was currently working. It was in the duplication department (paying dues never really ends), but it was a door into one of the busiest facilities in metro Detroit. The problem; it was an ad studio. All day, every day, voice over work and post for TV commercials. How in the world could I could an emotional performance out of some guy shouting "SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY…" or bring tears to young women's eyes recording a commercial about Odor Eaters? My day of reckoning had arrived.
I ran dubs day and night for about six months. We had a great team and the pressure cooker environment somehow drew us all close together. But the fact of the matter is, I longed to get out of there. I would stay at night and practice in the rooms, often recording my own tunes. This enthusiasm caught the attention of the manager who moved me out and made me a "floater", filling in when regular engineers were sick or on vacation. I also seconded in the audio post rooms. So the day finally came, a set of Hardee's commercials, my first solo run at Ron Rose Productions. I felt a little cheap and dirty going in, and to my fault, a bit above such work. "This was it", I thought, "I've sold out."
Well, being in true confessional mode, that first session was a train wreck. While we ended up with spots by the end, we went way over in time and we had to remix on a different day. What a lesson. Over my couple years at Rose I realized that the work I was doing was teaching me a great deal. I still needed to get good signal to tape, I learned to be pretty darn efficient with a razor blade, and I learned the most important part of production, dealing with clients. Trust me, all the guys in the world who say "Can you make the guitar sound more purple" can't compare with ad producers who will get fifty-plus takes and take a single word from each of those of those to make a single sixty-second spot. Patience, my friends, truly is a virtue.
Landing the Big Gig
I finally did land a gig at a music house in Indiana. And it was actually there, while milking every bit of emotion out of a performer I could get, doing my dream gig, that I actually faced the big sell out. For it is there that I became a victim of the technology game. The room where I was working, you see, was attached to a very large retailer, so we were constantly given new toys to try out. (The flip side to this, of course, was stuff would also get sold out from under us.) I know, having the latest and greatest seems like the dream of every engineer out there, but it can really evolve into a nightmare.
It really hit me after we sold our TAC Magnum board and got our brand new Euphonix. Believe me, I can't complain about the marvelous things the Euphonix can do, but after my first couple projects on it I pulled out some old projects from the TAC, and even my really old stuff from Rose done on either 8-track ½" or early AudioFile systems and a Soundcraft board with one Yamaha SPX 90 for effects. The sad thing is I loved the sound of the old stuff. I realized we were victims of "bandwagoning." We bought the Euphonix as a status piece. We didn't really need it. It was technology for technology's sake. And the learning curve involved meant I had some projects suffer. Wow, talk about a sell out.
I mean, what really is the definition of a sell out? Is it not allowing yourself to do something beneath your potential just for the glory? And it was glorious sitting at that Euphonix. Total recall automation, built-in effects, lots of flashing lights. But there are at least two projects on the shelf that, while very good projects, I know suffered due to the learning curve.
I recently spent time at a "miking techniques for surround sound" seminar. There is a movement starting in 5.1 audio mixing. Not just for post, but for music. And while there are certain applications where it can be done with stunning beauty and realism, the fact is there are people out there who will misuse this stuff to the point it becomes silly. (Kind of like those early stereo recordings.) I don't blame the good folks at DTS or Dolby; the potential for surround is really quite mind-boggling. (Think of the symphonic hall recording with the choir marching in from the back, or the live album in surround!) I blame the tech-heads who don't really know how to properly use the tools they've been given, and dive in and make fairly ludicrous things happen. Yes, we all need to play and experiment and have a good time and see what the cymbal roll sounds like passed through all five speakers. But please, keep it on your own reel. Don't release it!
We live in an industry driven by technology. It comes at us faster than the speed of sound with promises bigger than any Odor Eaters ad. There are some who, in total rebellion, choose to live in a vintage analog world. And some of us in our 24-bit, 96k towers try to snicker and laugh at the poor fools with their tape hiss. But guess what, I have nothing but respect for the vintage guys, because they found something that worked and stuck with it. Some of those houses continue to turn out some of the best sounding material out there. Me, I'm not afraid of technology, I embrace it, but within reason. I've been a fan of Pro Tools for a long time, and it is the hard disk system I continue to use to this day. I was a Performer fan from early on as well, and it is still the sequencing software I have. My keyboards are still a Kurzweil K2000, Korg M1 and Wavestation, and a Yamaha V50. I could upgrade, but I've gotten a good collection of sounds and I know these boards well. And what is my recording format? Other than Pro Tools I have a 2" Otari that I use whenever I can, and a stack of ADATs when tape costs are an issue.
Lessons Learned
My journey in audio has taught me a valuable lesson; it isn't where you work, or even what projects you're working on that makes you a sell out. I think it's when you are working beneath your potential just to keep up with the Joneses. We too easily think "newer" means "better", but there's been a lot of garbage sent to fester in the audio community the last few years. There is something to be said for the old adage "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." Every now and then, an exciting new development comes along and those of us here at ProRec do our best to keep you informed of these things. But don't let your judgment get clouded by smoke and mirrors. After all, I don't think any of us started our adventures behind the console with the goal of becoming a sell-out.
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