I remember the first time I mixed sound at the North Sea Jazz Festival in Holland. I was the engineer for a Brazilian jazz artist and The Hague in Holland was the first stop of a three-week European tour. Also, I might add, this was my maiden voyage into the world of being a touring engineer. I was enthralled to say the least, by everything and everyone around me. The atmosphere was electric, and I could think of being nowhere else as I was sure that I had arrived at my own personal nirvana. I was feeling alive and energized to be a part of an international, artistically vibrant music scene that touted a who's who in the world of jazz and blues, and I was particularly elated to be rubbing shoulders with some of the most famous and talented musicians on the planet. At check-in for the festival, we all received our packet of instructions and schedules and had to have our pictures taken for our identification cards. I still have my ID card with the "cool" picture of me, under which is written Baker Lee, JVC Jazz Festival, North Sea, 1986, Technician. It was a defining moment –I was shocked because it was the first time I saw the word "technician" associated with my name, and all at once, it legitimized me and alienated me at the same time. I was officially a "technician"–it said so on my JVC Jazz Festival picture ID card–but somehow, I didn't relate. Technician is a cold word and makes me think of laboratories where some 'technician" in a white coat is marking down numbers in a book while observing rats stumble through a maze after they have been injected with some experimental fluid. "Technicians" have pens neatly stacked in a plastic holder inside the outer breast pocket of their lab coats. "Technicians" have no sense of style and are absent-minded, to say the least. Where is the artistry? My mind recoiled at the thought that I, the artistic audio engineer who wove beautiful tapestries from the multicolored musical threads that emanated from the stage, could be reduced to a single cold word–"technician."
Yet, there I was, standing in the middle of The Hague with my ID badge that clearly identified me as just that and nothing more. It did not say "artistic technician," nor did it say anything about being musical, sensitive or being a man of emotion and grace. It just stated, in a very practical way, "technician." Still in shock over my newly-affirmed title, I retreated to the nearest bar and had the bar technician pour me a tall one while I pondered my new reality.
It's important to remember that if one should say a musician is a great technician, it may be perceived as a backhanded compliment, and while most great musicians are excellent technicians, not every technically-adept player is a great musician. Music is about feeling and emotion. To play certain styles of music requires more than a technical comprehension of an instrument, it requires a feeling and empathy for the music itself, an understanding of the language is absolutely required. It is this same understanding of the language that is needed by the audio engineer if they are to make the music soar as a cohesive whole.
Being a technician is more than reading VU or LED meters, it's more than knowing the technical aspect and functions of the electronics that occupy a rack and it is definitely more than reading a computer screen and knowing microphone patterns. Believe me when I say that I am not denigrating any of these skills and I know perfectly well that they are welcomed talents, but a skilled audio technician needs to understand the medium in which they work so to convey what the artist is trying to say, much in the same way that a translator from one language to another will be able to infer linguistic nuance.
As a technician, I have been fortunate to work with a large variety of artists from all over the world and much of my learning has come from being tossed in the fire, so to speak. I have been informed as to how a bouzouki should sound and how it should sit in the mix. I have been told in a few different dialects how to mix a talking drum and I have been educated in Latin, reggae, and R&B. I have mixed hard rock, folk rock, chamber music, jazz and opera, and I will confess that while I have a natural instinct for certain music and I have had the good fortune to learn how to mix a variety of music, for some music I just don't have the feel.
A few years ago, I received a request to go to Norfolk, Va., to mix a large gospel band, the deal was made and I found myself in a huge church with a large African-American constituency. It was an important concert with an expected audience of about 2,000 and naturally, the music director, as well as some of the band members, was concerned that I might not be the right person for the job. I came well-recommended and the hour was upon us, so everyone sighed and forged ahead.
The band consisted of bass, guitar, drums, Hammond organ, grand piano, three lead vocalists and a 20-person choir. I ran six monitor mixes from Front of House including stereo sidefills and because the church was long and narrow, I had a delay stack about 50 feet from the downstage edge on either side of the room. Remember, I was in strange territory and there was a bit of distrust in my ability because of my ethnic differences, but I used all my technical know-how as well as a bit of artistic compassion, and the show swung. The band was great, the singers were strong, and with the help of my mix, the spirit flowed through the room, proving to me that there is more to the technician than technique. We live in a fractured world that needs to be put back together and though we are not negotiating a Middle East peace treaty or discovering the cure for any variety of deadly diseases, we are being called upon to do our part and if we just apply a bit of compassion, technique and artistry we may all be able to pick up the millions of pieces and put them together as a great mix.
