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 | | | | Jul31Written by:Neal Margolis
Friday, July 31, 1998 6:00 PM  Here I am trying to explain Rip Rowan's survey of the Prorec readership.
And he's asking about my profession, that is, my area of expertise, and whether I'm an amateur or expert. And I'm thinking, "Profession? What can this mean today, where digital audio tools are ever-more-accessible, where more people can have more control over the entire process of musical design- performance- engineering- production- distribution."
It's All Me, Now!
So, I'm wondering, does this profession concept make any sense at all any longer? I consider myself:
- an amateur musician
- an amateur audio engineer/producer
- an amateur computer engineer / system integrator
- an amateur graphic designer
- a professional multimedia designer (I get paid)
My excitement about digitized audio design / recording / production tools starts with the fact that I don't need to relate to other "professions" to get the job done. I don't have to turn over a project to a recording engineer, to a printer, to a CD mastering / duplication house. The process of creating a recorded musical performance is (at least for me) not linear, where specialists in various professions have to let go at certain phases of a project. Whether it's a jewel box tray card, or a freshly burned CD, I can see/hear some approximation of the final product minutes after I conceive it.
 The Old Project Cycle
So, where are all these professionals?
I love it! When it starts in my heart and eventually comes back at me through the speakers, I get positively giddy with the excitement! Karl Marx is smiling - I own all the means of production. Me -- a working-class average kind of a guy! Cool!
Yeah, I know it's still a nerdy pursuit, where Cakewalk has to talk to a Pentium which must coexist with Windows Ninety-something-or-other, which has to collaborate with the latest Real Audio Player which has to be on speaking terms with an AWE 64 (yeah, I know - a glorified game card, but at least it's Gold). Nerdy? Sure, but I think a lot less nerdy than running a Neve 8036 24x8x28 along with a ragtag gang of Lexicons, Yamahas, Tascams, Korgs, etc., etc. and all at $150 per hour, if you're lucky. And, as long as enough people are willing to try these new powerful tools of music creation, they will certainly become even more powerful and easier to use.
The End of the Project Cycle
Along the way, the digital process seems to render obsolete the notion of a "completed" project. How you consider it final if I can punch in a new lead break and burn a new CD -- or repost a new Real Audio file - any time I want to, in a matter of minutes.
 The New Process - No Cycle
All my musical works are in process and alive as long as I want them to be, no matter what phase of development/production/release you think they're in. It's like what Lucas says about digital film processes in Wired magazine (http://www.wired.com/wired/5.02/features/fflucas.html):
"Instead of making film into a sequential assembly-line process where one person does one thing, takes it, and turns it over to the next person, I'm turning it more into the process of a painter or sculptor. You work on it for a bit, then you stand back and look at it and add some more onto it, then stand back and look at it and add some more. You basically end up layering the whole thing: you write, and direct, and edit all at once."
Hello, Fibre Pipes, So Long, CDs
Of course, as long as musicians are feeding the channel from conception to studio to CD mastering to duplication to Tower Records, we will need some of these specialist professions, particularly on the dupe/distribution end. But as soon as the internet bandwidth gets a little wider, I expect the traditional channel to dry up - perhaps along with the Tower Records physical site itself. We'll be able to unpave the parking lot and put up a paradise.
So, I just cleared space for my CDs in the attic -- next to my quarter-inch reel to reel tapes, my audio cassettes, my vinyl disks, and my 78's - uh, I'm one of the older folks. Because the audio professions are dissolving, getting out of my way, leaving me a clear, direct shot from my home (a.k.a "studio") to my listeners, who get only my creative work -- there are no supporting professions to credit to blame, just me and my nerdy friends.
Where did the Milkman Go, and Why Did we Need Him in the First Place?
Where this leaves the "profession" of music, I'm not sure. Remember when you stopped relying on the iceman because you could make your own at home?
Or, when the milkman stopped coming around because you could keep dairy products for a week without spoiling?
Or when you no longer had to rely on a telegraph operator because your sweetheart's voice was piped right into your living room?
Or, when you no longer had to take the elevator three floors down to the computer room where the Data Center High Priest would solemnly pass your department report over the counter so you could burst the continuous form perforations and run the report back up to your boss's waiting eyes?
Or, remember when you didn't need ice because your mother knew how to use natural herbs and spices to preserve food?
Or when you didn't need a milkman because your cow was just a short walk from the house?
Or when your sweetheart was always within the call of your voice because there was no transportation system to carry him away?
Or when you didn't need a computer operator because you had all the information you needed right at home, thank you very much.
When we can no longer do it for ourselves, we need a professional, until we find that we can do it for ourselves, thank you very much!
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