Performers sometimes expect FOH people to perform virtual miracles in the way of responding to the most vague requests–and I've rarely encountered a sound guy who isn't able, and willing, to do so. But it doesn't hurt to try and make the harried technician's job a little easier, especially when the working situation is
particularly stressful and muddled. Sometimes it can really pay off… A while back I was asked to play saxophone at a charity gig, despite the fact that the venue was some way from my home and I could only get there and back
by train, and also despite the promoter being more interested in talking about how a couple of the country's major politicians would be present than in stating specifically what he wanted from me. "10 minutes of saxophone" was precisely what I was asked for: when pressed, he added, "maybe with an Asian flavor–there'll be a lot of Asian people in the audience."
No problem: I edited together a 10-minute ambient, vaguely Asian backing track, burned it to disc and took it and my horn along to the venue for a 6 p.m. soundcheck on the appointed day.
Once I'd made it through the ranks of police and security people who were there for the protection of the political bigwigs, I walked into a scene of utter chaos. The promoter was nowhere to be seen, the hall was still being set up for the audience and it soon became clear that although a 7:30 p.m. start had been projected, no running order for 20 or so performers and speakers had yet been established. Up on the stage, a harassed-looking sound man was dealing with a queue of singers requesting soundchecks, handing him piles of CDs and wanting bits of music playing from each of them, even speakers asking how their PowerPoint presentations would be set up, and so on. It wasn't hard to size up the situation! So when it came to my turn I gave the guy a sympathetic grin and told him I wouldn't need a mic or a monitor, or even a soundcheck: all he'd need to do was play the CD I gave him, at what he thought was the right volume for the hall, and I'd give him a wave if I needed it any louder. He smiled gratefully, and smiled once more as he turned to the next person in the queue and I wished him the best of luck.
Somehow the event got started at around 8. Between the hard work of the sound man setting up for each participant on stage and an assistant manning the desk at the back of the hall, it was even running pretty smoothly. I was getting worried, though, and it must have shown: while one speaker was presenting, the sound guy asked if I was okay. "Fine about the playing," I answered, "but there are another two people due on before me, the acts are overrunning, my slot's 10 minutes, it's nearly 9 p.m. and my last train out of town leaves at 9:30!" He replied, "Just be ready to pack your sax in the wings stage left as soon as you've finished, and I'll sort you out."
I duly went on, did my bit–the volume level was fine–and once I'd hurriedly changed and packed the sound man whisked me out of the back of the hall, flashing his AAA pass to get me past the police line, and then raced me along a short cut through the town center as we exchanged comments on what a shambles the organization of the event was. As soon as the station was in sight he stopped, we shook hands, I ran for it and arrived on the platform just as my train was pulling in. Without his help I'd never have gotten home that night… What a guy. And, in the chaos of it all, I never even found out his name!
If there's a moral to this story, it's one for the artists: be good to your FOH man and he'll be good to you. He'll be good to you anyway, coping with your demands as best he can in the worst of situations–but if you temper those demands so as to make his life a little easier, he may turn out to be invaluable to you. I hope I meet that guy again someday–my first question will be, "What are you drinking? … after the show, of course!"
