Take Note, Martinez June 19, 2008

Behind the Stage: The Sound and Sometimes the Fury

Just about any concert you attend has a major element you may not even be aware of: there is generally a sound system, and where there is a sound system, there is a person who is tasked with running that sound system. Now, this may seem like a simple enough task -- plug in the microphones, the instruments, turn up the volume to an appropriate level, and let the show begin. And in a vastly simpler world, such would certainly be the case. But that's not the world we live in. Not at all.

You see, there are entire schools of sound. There are people who are pro-rolloff, and those who are opposed to rolloff beyond a certain frequency. There are those who feel like a high-end boost for the singer would be more out of line than offering tea to Osama Bin Laden. And others who see a low-end tendency as the direct work of the devil. Take a look at the modern sound board, and check out buttons and knobs and other thingies, and you'll see that these things were not designed for working musicians, but rather for sound people. People of the Sound, as I've come to call them.

Let me try to break it down. For nearly four decades, I've been the guy who has owned and operated the PA (public address) system, the heavy, obtrusive and essential collection of speakers, amplifiers and mixing boards that make up a typical sound system. This is largely due to the fact that 1) I've owned the PA system, and 2) owned the van large enough to carry said PA system. My technique for sculpting the sound in a typical band situation goes like this: plug in the mikes for the singers, turn me down more than the others (I sing with, um, gusto), put a little more treble on the mix than bass, turn up the volume until it feeds back, then turn down the volume about two notches, and walk away. Done. Sound is set up and ready to go.

But every now and then, we'd play a job where there was a sound system installed, and a person to run it. At that point, we would do something called a "sound check." This consists of standing in front of each and every mike, and going "test, test" for about ten minutes each, until the sound person nods and we move on to the next mike. And then, lo and behold, the instruments would also get miked. Drums would get miked, amplifiers would get miked, everything. Even in small clubs. Why go to all that trouble to mike everything in a small club, when you already have enough amplifiers and drums to carry the day unmiked?

Well, turns out that's not a question you want to ask a sound person. I've asked on a number of occasions, and I get a look like I'm a total moron. And ok, maybe I am a total moron. But why mike drums in a room the size of an average living room? Do we think the drums won't get heard? And why would you mike my guitar amp in a room that size? Is there a danger that I will be drowned out by the miked drums?

Well, the answer, as it was offered to me, is this. Apparently there is a theory that the drum sound won't carry over the frequencies of the other sounds -- bass guitar and regular guitar -- so you mike the drums and poof! out comes clear, pure drum sounds. And then why mike the guitar amp? Well, never got an answer on that one, but here's my theory -- sound people like to be in charge. Sound people are very, very territorial about the air space they are in charge of, and that means no tin-eared musician is going to decide what the audience gets to hear, and how the audience gets to hear it. No, no. The sound person is in charge of that.

Not long ago, I was playing at a local nightspot, and the sound person wanted to mike my guitar amp. Well, I'm old and grizzly enough now to refuse the offer with impunity. So I do, and halfway through the night, the sound person whispers into the monitors that I need to turn down my amp, which is not up all that high (because, folks, believe me, I KNOW how to play loud, and I know when it's not that loud). So I do turn it down, and now the band can't hear me. As the primary rhythm instrument, I need to be heard, so I turn back up. And then I do the worst thing a musician can do in this situation -- I ask the audience if I'm too loud. They all come back with a very loud "No!" and the show continues. But it was clear from that point on that I am not a favorite person of the sound guy. Why? Because I took control of the air space, and the performance. The nerve.

This is not to say that sound persons aren't welcome fixtures at a performance. They certainly are. But my goodness, many do tend to take the whole thing to a level of seriousness that seems rather over the top. This is undoubtedly in the name of wanting the best results for the band in question, and I will probably reap the results of this column at future shows with sound persons who read this space.

Nevertheless, let me say that, when it comes to running sound, thank you to all those brave sound persons who endure not only way too much volume from the out of control musicians, but who also brave the abuse of said musicians later, who vent their puny frustrations in local publications. To you I say, roll off the 80 hertz frequency and turn up the reverb!