“Peabody, set the WABAC machine for the early 1990s”… (cue Scorpions “Wind Of Change”)… Commercial recording studios are thriving. The record industry has not yet had to deal with Napster, and most people think that streaming refers either to a bodily function or a style of fly-fishing. Multitrack tape machines are still king, and analog is living happily alongside digital reel-to-reel tape.
Then along comes the Alesis ADAT. Some of you may be too young to remember this (boy, does that make me feel old), but prior to the ADAT, battle lines were clearly drawn. On one side you had commercial recording studios with large-format multitrack tape machines and consoles. On the other side, you had the occasional home recording studio (used almost exclusively for demo purposes) with a 4-track reel-to-reel and an 8-channel mixer. Somewhere in the middle were demo studios that were able to help artists create a product of high-enough quality that a label might take notice — but not high-enough quality for release.
Into the Wood Chipper
Introduction of the ADAT not only blurred the lines but also put the entire recording industry hierarchy into the wood chipper. While the ADAT (and, later, TASCAM’s DTRS format) was engineered and priced for home and demo purposes, its sound quality was good enough for commercial release. Engineers and small studios quickly realized that they could use these machines to make records that sounded competitive on the radio, and — because multiple machines could be synchronized— they also had the option of buying into the system eight tracks at a time and expanding later. Mackie’s 8•Bus analog consoles provided the mixing platform.
Thus began the recording revolution of the 1990s. Economically, the result was that mid-level studios took a huge hit. The big boys took a hit, too, but a studio that could accommodate an orchestra or large band wasn’t going to feel much competition from an aspiring basement studio anyway. Very rapidly, every noodle head who could afford the gear began advertising that they had a “recording studio.” I literally became sick to my stomach seeing ads in regional entertainment newspapers (and later, Craigslist) that read, “Record your song for $10 per hour,” or “I’ll record and mix your song for $200.” Disgusting.
Some poor fools bought into these ads, and I imagine that sometimes the results were okay. But — just as owning a hammer does not make one a carpenter — the knowledge, background and audio experience is what makes an engineer, not just buying the gear. Heck, I can afford some pretty impressive video gear, but that does not make me a director by any stretch of the imagination.
The Live Sound Connection
What does this have to do with you? The live sound industry is now in the same situation. Gear prices have fallen to incredibly low levels — so low, in fact, that one sound company owner I spoke with this week referred to one of his digital consoles as “disposable. At this price,” he said, “I’ll use it until it breaks, then throw it out and get a new one.” It’s true that inexpensive gear may not hold up very well under touring conditions (even locally) but, there are two undeniable facts: (1) The sound quality of low-priced SR gear has grown leaps and bounds over the past few years, and (2) a lot of it meets touring rider requirements, even if it’s not the best option on the planet.
Democratization of the gear prices means it’s placed into the hands of people who formerly could not afford it, but that doesn’t mean those people are qualified to use it. The situation becomes a more serious issue when said individuals begin to bid on the same jobs as small-and-mid-level sound companies who know their XLR from their TRS and realize that “time alignment” does not mean you need to adjust your wristwatch.
The problem is that buyers often look only at the bottom line. Why should they pay $4,000 for a P.A. system rental when they can get one for $1,500? We need to educate them. A good friend of mine equates the studio business to that of owning a fine restaurant, and the analogy holds for audio vendors. We are not in the business of equipment rental. We are in the business of taking care of the needs of our clients, and that’s where your experience and knowledge raises you above the knuckleheads who went to a big box store, bought some gear and call themselves a sound company. You have to keep your pricing structure high enough to pay yourself, pay competent help and pay off the loans on your gear. When you try to compete at the bottom of the fish barrel, you’ll burn yourself.
If a client asks why your bid comes in at twice that of another “sound company,” explain to them that you have the expertise to handle their needs, that you understand the load safety requirements of a roof, silly details like the need for a split when using a separate monitor desk (see “Theory & Practice,” FOH, July 2017, page 41), and that when sh*t goes down, you’ll still answer the phone. I often follow up those points with “you can call me now or call me later, but you’re going to call me.”
A Tale of Two Shows
Witness two shows that I did last week. One was at a stage on the beach (I’ll leave out the location to avoid embarrassing anyone), and the next was at a festival. The beach show employed gear that was okay for the job, but I must say that I have never quite seen a line array deployed in quite such an, um, interesting manner. (Does “ground-stacked junkyard” bring any visions?)
When asked about the crossover, the “systems engineer” replied: “I don’t need a crossover. The console has built in filters. That’s the same thing.” Ohhh reaaaaaally? Ask Linkwitz and Riley and see if they agree. And you know what? The system sounded like the “crossover” was set wrong. I did my best to adjust the slope and corner frequency of the filters, but it just wasn’t happening. Surprise, surprise. Maybe if the boxes had been arrayed correctly in the first place, I might have had a fighting chance. “Front fill? Why do you need a front fill?”
The next day, I had the opposite experience thanks to Dave Brassard of Sound Concepts (Binghamton, NY). I walked into a P.A. that had been professionally deployed and tuned. Lo and behold, I didn’t have to worry about adjusting the crossover, and I didn’t have to hack out a chunk of EQ on the main L/R bus. Now why is that? It’s because Dave is a true engineer. Yes he has the gear, but he also has the chops to deploy and use his gear. It was no surprise that I was able to dial in my mix in a matter of minutes, and get the front fills adjusted so that the audience could hear vocals in the front rows. That’s always nice — you know, most of the time, the audience wants to hear the vocals. I’d take Dave running a pile of Fisher-Price gear any day over Knuckle Head trying to setup the best gear in the world. That’s why guys like Dave and you are worth their pay. Make sure your clients know it.
