Other than a slight headache, Rick was feeling pretty good, considering he drank 10 beers and two shots before leaving the bar at 3 a.m. He should have realized that the only reason the waitress was flirting with him was to sell him more beer and to generate a larger tip. "You would think I'd know better after 34 years on this planet," he said to himself as he walked into his small bathroom.
He would have liked to soak in a hot tub, but the bathroom was only large enough for small shower stall alongside the toilet and the sink. As he ran the water, he berated himself for not only falling prey to the charms of the waitress, but for spending $75 of his last $100. "Hey, I deserve to have a good time once in a while," he rationalized, but the reality that he was down to his last few dollars with no prospect of any upcoming gigs bothered him more than he would have liked to admit.
Up until the last few years, Rick was constantly working as an audio engineer for some of the top bands in the business. He was continually in motion with his touring bands and was mixing large shows on every continent while making some decent cash. He lived the rock ‘n' roll life, and it was a party in every town. He was a single man, and his only responsibility was to make sure that each month the rent was paid for his studio apartment in Manhattan. It wasn't a great apartment, but he had been renting it for years, and Rick saw no reason to ameliorate the situation because the rent was cheap and he lived in New York City, which had no shortage of work for a man with his skills.
A Streak of Darkness
Somewhere along the line, despite his success, there was darkness inside of Rick that he could not escape. Rick picked up a bit of a cocaine habit, and unfortunately for him, life on the road began to take its toll as an existence that was once fun and games became more of a hedonistic lifestyle. The way of life became a life of getting high, and Rick, though not realizing it, became more and more irritable and alienated from his crew. He could still mix, but his demeanor changed, and the drinking and drugs made him difficult to deal with during sound checks and shows, not to mention the time spent traveling on the bus. He was never fired or confronted because of his behavior, but after a few months of down time, the band started a new tour and he was just not called. He tried getting in touch with the bandleader and the tour manager as well as management, but was stonewalled. Rick finally managed to get in touch with his monitor engineer who, to his credit, told Rick why he wasn't asked back. Rick was furious and denied everything. He screamed about the hypocritical, druggie band leaders that railroaded him because of their own jealousy, but the monitor engineer told him he had to get off the phone, and Rick was left with his own rage and a vague idea that he had screwed up.
After that incident, Rick managed to pick up some minor tours as well as some one-off type of road shows, but word of his woes had gotten around until Rick was relegated to working with local bands doing a show here and there in the Manhattan clubs. He finally realized that he needed to change, and managed to get himself into a program for his addictions. It had only been six months since he joined AA and last night was the first night he had fallen off the wagon. Even though he had been warned that these things might happen, he was still upset with himself and was reaching for his cell phone to call his sponsor when the phone started vibrating in his hand. It was an incoming text message from Chris James, an engineer who Rick had worked with a few years back when Rick was still at the top of his game. "Need a sub for gig in Maine tomorrow evening, good pay, call Sarah 1 800 555 1212." Rick tried to call Chris to find out some more about the gig, but only received a voicemail message stating that he was out of the country for a while. Rick sent a text to Chris, but Chris did not respond, and after waiting for 15 minutes Rick dialed Sarah's number. A female voice answered after the first ring.
"Sarah, this is Rick Matthews, Chris told me to call regarding a gig in Maine."
"Yes Rick, I assume that you can do the show," she said, curtly. "An e ticket will be waiting for you at LaGuardia Airport's Jet Blue terminal with the flight scheduled to leave tomorrow morning at 11:29 a.m. A car will pick you up in Portland at 12:48 p.m. and take you to the venue. See you then."
"Wait!" cried Rick.
"Yes," Sarah replied patiently.
"Who's the band and what do I get paid?"
"$2,500 has been wired to your account," said Sarah, "and it's a new band you probably don't know, but Rick, I must be going, see you tomorrow." With that, she hung up the phone, leaving Rick staring at his phone with a strange sense of foreboding.
The flight to Portland was uneventful and although Rick had confirmed that the $2,500 had been transferred into his account, his previous night's sleep was fitful. He couldn't fully remember his dreams other than fleeting thoughts of driving a car with no steering wheel or pedals and a large red button that he was not allowed to push. He dismissed the dreams as anxiety about starting his new gig, but his apprehension remained and was only exacerbated when he was picked up at the Portland airport by a mute driver who kept the limo's partition up during the drive to the venue. Rick tried to make conversation with the driver, but was completely ignored. Rick even tried knocking on the partition, but to no avail. When they arrived at the venue, the driver did not get out to open the door for Rick as most limo drivers do, but Rick didn't care, as he just wanted to get into the venue and start working.
A Mysterious Gig
He stepped out of the car and immediately noticed that something was very odd. The venue, if that's what one might call it, looked like an abandoned warehouse surrounded by vacant lots on one side and with a view of the harbor on the other side. Rick had been to Portland before and he knew it as a beautiful, bustling city, but now as he looked over the harbor it seemed as deserted as the lots surrounding the venue. Just then, the door to the venue opened, and a thin, dark-haired woman stood in the doorway beckoning to Rick. "I'm Sarah," she called. "Now hurry, there's not much time!"
Although Rick was confused by the immediacy of her attitude, nonetheless, he ran to the door and burst into an unlikely scene. The place was packed with people and the band was on stage. The band was looking agitated and as soon as they saw him with Sarah they all started waving and pointing. The crowd then took notice of him as well and they too started pointing and waving to an area at the back of the room. The tension in the room was palpable, and the audience as well as the band appeared to have been waiting for quite a while.
Sarah quickly led Rick through the crowd to the front of house position. "There," she screamed, "That's your board, now start the show. And Rick, try to avoid the red button!" With that said, Sarah turned and disappeared into the crowd. Rick looked toward the stage and the band anxiously looked in his direction; the crowd was restless and becoming more and more demanding. Rick tried see his front of house speakers, but couldn't see the hang; he looked down at the console and panicked. He had worked on many different consoles and was familiar with most of the newer digital boards, but he had never seen anything such as the console that lay before him. The entire console was approximately two feet wide by two feet deep and gunmetal grey. The entire workspace was flat, and except for the red button in the upper left corner, there wasn't a knob, fader or screen to be seen. He placed his hands on the grey metal and it was warm to his touch. "Head amps," he thought to himself, "Where is the input gain?"
As If by Magic..
At that moment the board lit up, and Rick's channels came into sight. It was digital, or so it seemed, but he didn't need to touch the board to make any changes in level, all he needed to do was have a finger near the knob he wanted to turn and think of the change that he wanted to make, and the faders and knobs then moved into the correct position. He motioned the band to play, and they started to play an upbeat song. The crowd went wild, and Rick's hands were flying over the console trying as quickly as possible to get the mix in place. He would think "EQ" and the EQ section of each channel would be displayed for him to adjust. He would visualize a compressor or reverb, and that section would suddenly appear on the metal face of the console, but as fast as he was moving, he still wasn't moving fast enough, and the crowd was once again getting restless. He thought to himself that the kick drum should be tighter and the snare back in the mix a bit, and just as he was going to bring up the channels to adjust them, he realized that the changes had already happened. "Talk about intuitive boards," he mused. Keeping his hands slightly above the console he started to envisage his mix and how it should sound.
He could change his mix channel-by-channel, section-by-section or in blocks just by thinking the changes. At one point he thought that the background vocals should all be panned a bit to the right and all the same volume. It happened instantly. He could think of what he sonically wanted and the board would immediately respond. It was as if the console were reading his every thought and sensing the sound he was trying to achieve. The band was playing a fast, highly charged song, and Rick's thoughts were mixing the audio through his communication with the console. As the band changed, so could Rick. It was amazing how quickly and precisely Rick was able to catch the nuance of every song, and he was feeling elated as this new technology elevated him to a new level.
A Bump and a Beer
"What I need now," thought Rick, "is a little bump and a beer to keep me clear, and it might be a perfect night." All at once it happened. It sounded as though the frequency 2.5k started blaring through the speakers at 100dB. People started screaming and clasping their ears. The band stopped playing and Rick frantically sent telepathic orders to the console, but nothing changed. It was as though the console had picked up the negative parts of Rick's personality and threw them into the mix as darkness surrounded the venue. The red button began to blink repeatedly and underneath the button a red "Abort" sign began to flash as well. Rick remembered that he was warned about pushing the red button, but the 2.5k frequency was destroying all his rational thought and all he wanted to do was make it stop. He slammed his hand down on the red button and the sound system fell silent. Relieved, he looked toward the stage, but the horror had just begun. The speakers that Rick couldn't see earlier opened up as if they were portals to another time and space and out poured a slew of flying terror. Hundreds of demons flew from the speakers, ripping and tearing at the crowd as Rick fell to the floor trying to give the console new commands, but all was lost and it was over. Pandora's Box had been opened once again, unleashing death and destruction upon the world. There was no turning back. The gray, otherworldly console with the red button had just been too intuitive.
