So often-at least for me—events that end up changing my life seem so trivial at the time they happen that when, usually years later, I try to look back at them I get many of the details wrong and this is very much one of those cases. It was sometime in the late 1990s. I was working for a big corporate publisher on a magazine for musicians called GIG. We were already using the Internet everyday (In fact, I lived in California, and my “office” was in NYC). We used the phone and email and even transferred files—not without more failures than successes—and I flew into the city for a few days each month for final production.
One day, while working in my real day-to-day office (also known as “the garage”) I got a call, or maybe it was an email — that whole detail thing again — from Craig Anderton. Craig was, and remains, one of the most respected writers in the musician market, and at that time, he was pretty much the only one of us successfully using the Web. He had an early forum on AOL about music and audio and recording, and he was calling to tell me that I might be getting a call from one of the people who was a regular contributor to his forum. Craig’s forum was real recording-centric, and this guy, who Craig said obviously knew his stuff, was more about gigging and live sound.
And that is the somewhat twisted route that brought me to meet—and work with for a good decade—Mark Amundson. Mark wrote tech articles and Road Tests for GIG, and when I got tagged to move up to the pro market with FOH, Mark was one of the stalwarts I brought with me. (Along with Steve LaCerra, Jerry Cobb, David Farinella, Tony Gleeson, Baker Lee, Bryan Reesman, Jamie Rio…) Mark started out on the Anklebiter column, and continuing Road Tests, and soon moved into the Theory and Practice slot where he was a fixture ever since.
Mark was both liked and respected by both the industry and the readers. When we did our annual readers’ poll, Mark ranked at or near the top of the “most valued” contributors every time. When it came time for FOH to dip a toe into the book publishing world, there was never any doubt as to who would be the “go to” guy for that first one.
Although I worked with Mark a long time, I saw him rarely. In fact—as is not uncommon in this increasingly decentralized and freelance world—we worked together for several years before we actually met. He was doing some traveling for his day gig with Honeywell and came by my house in L.A., and he and I and Jamie Rio had dinner at some chain Mexican place. He had the worst taste in food, and for a big guy, I never saw him eat a lot. Even when we would see each other in Vegas after I moved and we would go have a meal, we never went to any of the really cool and interesting places this town has to offer (which we do when other friends come to town). We always seemed to end up at this little neighborhood Italian joint at the far southern end of the Strip, or once at Joe’s Crab Shack.
But his taste in food mirrored his approach to audio. He knew all about the new toys and tech, but leaned heavily toward the tried and true. He was always most at home behind his Allen & Heath analog console with his KT graphic EQs, his dbx compressors and a time-worn Yamaha effects unit running Crown or QSC power and EV point-and-shoot boxes. Oh, and three or four bi-amped wedge mixes from the FOH position as well. In short, he liked stuff he could count on. And, likewise, I always knew I could count on him.
The minister who gave the short eulogy a few weeks ago noted that Mark was a “musician and an engineer.” And what he saw as an unlikely combination (but we know better, don’t we?), he said drew Mark to two things—music and order. And while the guy did not know Mark well or have any clue as to the depths of his passion for good audio and good music, he did key in on an important element.
The order thing is what made Mark so readable. He had a unique ability to talk about even the most basic tech in such a way as to educate the newbie while reminding the veteran and never making him or her feel “talked down to.” He was eminently practical. I will never forget being at an AES show with Mark and Steve LaCerra as the EAW digital console was unveiled. It had a big knob in the middle—motor driven and assignable to about any function you wanted. As most of those assembled oohed and aahed over this shiny toy that was set up to respond differently depending on how fast or hard it was turned, Mark and Steve and I all turned to each other and said together, as if on cue, “Oh, that’s gonna break.” Order and practicality.
But Mark was drawn to, most understood by and will be most missed by those who have real passion for what they do. I will miss his writing. I will miss the regular “order” phone calls, where he insisted that I step off the crazy carousel that is the day-to-day existence of a magazine-editor/dad/musician/whatever has captured my short attention span that week and go over column subjects for the next few months. But mostly I will miss sitting down with him in the press room after a day at the Winter NAMM show comparing notes and him telling me about the small company with the really useful gadget we had found in the depths of the basement and how it—not the big line array or digital console—was the coolest thing he saw at the show. Because he valued order, I knew I could count on whatever it was not being a piece of crap but more importantly, when he told me, his passion was palpable.
That’s the Mark I am going to miss most.
