Pop Shield

Anyone who has ever accompanied me to a pub quiz will know, I can be a right pain to be with if the house sound is wrong. Which – let’s face it – it generally is. 

I become distracted, distant and fidgety right up to the point where I’ve finished lurking around the end of the bar and surmised exactly how the bad mic is connected to the house’s cheap sound system and where the basic gain and EQ controls are to be found. 

My ‘party trick’ is to sneak in, whilst the quiz-leader is otherwise engaged at the opposite end of the pub, to dabble in a spot of vigilante engineering. If anyone on my quiz team starts clenching their teeth, or putting their head in their hands, I remind them that this is for the greater good, and simply must be done – by whatever means necessary. 

Usually it’s a case of just popping in a sneaky HPF button and backing off on the mic gain a notch. If it’s an especially lengthy pub for the quizmaster to circumnavigate, there’s probably time for me to cut some lower mids and top it up. 

A few weeks ago, I was on holiday on a volcanic island. The climate was wonderful and the surroundings were beautiful. I spent day one sitting by the gorgeous warm pool oscillating between Rapture Face and Pub Quiz Face. Under the palms, languishing in a recliner, I had resorted to wrapping a beach-towel around my head. Not to dry my hair, but to lessen the ear-splitting impact of Aqua Volleyball commentary being screeched into a handheld radio mic, interspersed with lossy files of cranked up bubblegum Europop being played through an unreputably-branded PA monitor via Bluetooth.

It was clear I could no longer jeopardise my hard-earned holiday happiness in the hands of this madness.  It was time to call on someone who knew what they were doing a bit more than this lot. And, as luck would have it,  I had such a person about my person. 

Stick ’em up you hotel staff punks because here comes the gain-lovin’ criminal…

I get to work. First off, find a table behind the speaker on the terrace to sit at. Next, proceed to analyse the situation, making a mental note of any inputs and outputs to the system.

Bingo. 

• Master volume maxed out 
• Mic gain concerningly high 
• Treble control maxed out
• Bass control maxed out
• Karaoke echo dialled in 

With no reps in sight, I immediately do the honorable thing, which is to reset the tone controls to 12 o’clock. This fixes the distortion within the speaker immediately.  The subconscious relief of a resort full of visitors is a palpable fantasy in my mind. 

Next I turn my attention to the playback level and mic levels. I turn off the echo – which I deem unnecessarily, unless Elvis is making a comeback to replace this overexcited man running the aqua class. 

Fit Guy comes over to the amp. Uh oh. I stick my nose in my novel, with one eye on him as he cranks up the bass control and the playback volume pot and walks away. Fair enough, no one was really vibing off being cajoled into remembering the moves to the Macarena at the comfortable levels I’d backed it all off to. 

Next off, another rep comes to pack the pool PA away for the day, to make way for the (thankfully superior) evening entertainment rig.  I watch like a hawk as she inexplicably turns the tone controls fully to the left,  leaving all the other gains and masters up. She switches the unit off, recoils the power cable, packs up the mic receiver and wheels it all away.

My work is done, until tomorrow.

And so, the rest of the week I can allow myself to crack on with the busy task of doing nothing. Relaxed in the knowledge that I can spare the ears of the hotel residents any time I choose to. Which I consider amounts to a pretty good Busman’s Holiday.

“I really miss Wobegons Wand” I announce at the brunch table one Sunday.

“What’s Wobegons Wand?” says Mini Pop.

“Wobegon’s Wand was a high quality fish slice regifted to me one mornign by the late, great Jerry Wobegon. We used to use it for making pancakes” I reply. “It was far superior to this metal one for using on a non-stick pan because it was silicone covered. And it had a tapered end. Flipping marvellous. But now it is no more.”

“Where is it now?” asks Mini Pop. “Did you get rid of it? “

“We had to let it go.” I reply. “It fell apart through overuse and went off to rest in the same place that dear Jerry did.”

“What?” Says Mini Pop. “The dump?!” 

I’m at that Lark In The Park with Nations Favourite, staring at the set list I’ve taped to an empty flight case and pondering. About exactly why so many of the classic chart hits by two of these big MOR bands on the bill seem to be obsessed by the vertical axis.

It’s like they were literally written with future elevator playback in mind.

Or perhaps I’m missing the spiritual aspect here.

Anyway…

‘Rise’ (up it goes).

‘Shine’ (down, from the sun above).

‘Out of Reach’. (presumably featuring an arm extended upwards, but arguably across).

‘Ocean Drive’ (in horizontal plane shocker!!!!)

‘Dreams’ (which appear in a little thought cloud above one’s head).

‘Live Again’ (rise up from the dead).

‘High’ (up again).

‘Lifted’ (case closed).

“It’s a Full Tilt Audio procurement exercise that we’re lumbered with for the next ten years.  Thanks a f****** lot!  It’s not a broadcast desk, it’s a PA desk.  And it’s not even a very good PA desk!!!”

“My general approach to MADI is… You can take your MADI and you can STICK IT UP YOUR A***!  It’s an absolute nightmare and that usually applies to the people operating it rather than the kit.  It’s a world of pain. You’ve got to assume that some clever b****** is going to f*** you over.”

“Happy so far?  Good.  Because there’s bad news on the way”

“These arrows here are cursor keys in the fantasy land that Dither & Co. inhabit.  Curses.”

“The broadcast add-on brings a stab in the dark by Dither & Co. to guess what broadcasters may need.  And without ANY BROADCAST EXPERIENCE WHATSOEVER they have created this extension that in some fantasy world may do some things.  We’ll see in a minute how s**** those options are.”

“You will rapidly realise all of the menus are s***.  It’s all written by different software engineers and none of them join up.”

– Lead engineer tows the official company line during the Dither and Co desk training

You may remember, that I have a recurrent nightmare where I am trying to record to or playback from a non-compliant (and frequently edible) format such as ‘sandwich’ or ‘marmite’.

Today I awoke from an anxiety dream. I had been sent to Germany on an aeroplane to mix a live concert by the space rockers “Choose”.  My colleagues Runabout and G have decided we are going to record on a new state of the art multi-track format However they are a bit vague about it since they have decided to focus their efforts on hacking into the local TV network and hijacking it with World Cup footage. As far as I can work out, the ground-breaking new format looks pretty much like a jar of crane flies.

During the load out from the aeroplane hold, the lid of the format jar comes undone and several flies escape.  I try to catch them and stuff them back in.

We arrive at the venue just in time to witness on giant screens that the audience are already in place. The artist is coming out onto the stage. We start to try and record the concert without any time to rig or test the gear.

In a panic, I open the drawer of the ‘crane fly recorder’ to load up a fly. But I discover our outside broadcast engineer has already placed one in there.  Out it flits.  I quickly but carefully catch it and stuff the spindly aphid back in the drawer. But its wings are too big for the aperture and now I’m risking killing the fly. The opinion seems to be that you have to multitrack onto a live fly (-otherwise it’s a dead format, right?)

Just then, Mike phones. He suggests we ignore all contractual commitments and mix straight to stereo. “Tell the record company ‘this is what the engineer had intended’” he says. Then I wake up in a sweat.  Argh!

So it’s July, the hollyhocks are high.  Fat pigeons can scarcely stay up in the sky.  I’m up with the lark and down to the poshest hotel in town to a press junket with A-List American film star Douglas Michael.  First off, collect a peli-case of gear from The Mothership.  It’s big and black and got rackety wheels.  It contains microphones, headphones, cabling, power supplies, a record machine and a portable ISDN unit.

Next off go and see the Dave Wrong production crew.  Due to staff sickness I am to be accompanied by their production apprentice, PA.  I have time in hand so I test absolutely everything with the exception of dialling out on the ISDN kit.  I say to Paul ‘it’s all working fine and it should be straightforward but if anything is going to go wrong it will be dialling out of the hotel’.  I’ve heard on the grapevine that there is a fairly low success rate in this particular hotel.  I call London Control and confirm the line details.

PA and I head down to the underground to Embankment.  We reach the hotel with plenty of time in hand.  I eschew the revolving door and opt for a side door into a lobby where a grand piano stands. In the absence of a reception desk, we start to walk through the lounge where all around there are tables of wine glasses filled with cut flowers.  The globe chandelier light is the size of a cow.  I drag the deafening pelicase across the marble floor and onto the sponge carpet where we are directed by a man in a waistcoat to a lift.  He instructs us to get out at the second floor and the doors close.  Shortly afterwards they open on the other side of the lift.  We walk out and are immediately redirected back into the lift by the same man.  Second time in the lift we are joined by another corporation sound engineer with a matching pelicase riding to the second floor. 

We exit the lift and walk towards another man who leads us along a suddenly busy corridor, past umpteen doors of press suites. TV cameras are setting up, and lots of people are sitting around on laptops.  We eventually reach a press office where we meet a lady called Laura who walks us all the way back along several corridors.  She scowls at the noisy case.  “Interviews are taking place in here” she says, stating the bleeding obvious.

We arrive at a room. Laura looks in and says “Do you have someone else with you?”  My paranoia ramps up and I wonder if we really look that incompetent.  Then I realise our Corporation lift-fellow is already setting up.  “You’re in the wrong room” Laura tells him.  He immediately packs up and I hand him a portable recorder operational manual he had left behind.  “Might be needing that…” I say.  Laura tells us we will be joined by a hotel IT specialist soon. 

The room is simply ridiculous.  The pile carpet is nearly a trampoline. There is a velvet chaise longue and the bed has been removed to give extra space, leaving just a floating padded headboard. There’s a marble bathroom with a double sink with white pressed flannels set out in an array.   The toilet has a double decker toilet roll holder: the bottom roll sealed by some kind of insignia sticker and the top one has the little origami triangle thing going on. 

I get to setting up the kit, being steady and meticulous about everything.  I can feel I am overly fussing over precisely how it is all set out, how the cables are laid, etc.  It has more than overtones of my Ryan Berry experience.  I am feeling confident but won’t be happy until the line is established. 

Just as I have finished setting up and testing the equipment, the IT man appears to show us to our ISDN point.  I plug in and test and hear an error message. The man scratches his head and replugs us to another point.  I retest.  No connection. I’ll be back in a moment he says and disappears, presumably to a patch point elsewhere in the hotel, for about ten minutes.  In the meantime I call London Control to confirm I am trying to dial in and to triple-check all the details.

The man reappears and says try again.  I try again.  Error message.  I am on the line to London Control and for good measure obtain an alternative number from then. I try it, no improvement.  To spare you the details this little game of patch-test roulette goes on for some time, with our IT friend disappearing and coming back.  Eventually he gets his IT friend to stay with us on the phone while he stays in the apparatus room playing patch bay battleships. We are in phone contact with the show and we are all preparing to go over to plan B – telephone conversation with local recordings, otherwise known as simul-rec or double-ender.  

As time is up, the IT guy scuttles off just as Douglas Michael is brought into the room.  Plan B it is then. “Ten minutes” says a lady, then leaves Douglas with us.  He is dressed in a gentlemanly summer casual way – linen shirt and slacks.  He puts his glasses and phone on the side bureau.  He sits down in a leather chair with his legs disarmingly astride. We introduce ourselves “Hello I’m Pop from the Corporation recording for Dave Wrong on Nations Favourite”  “Pap” he says? “Pop.” I project. “Unfortunately we have not been able to connect on the ISDN so we’ll do it on the phone and record it locally if that’s ok I say”.  “Sure”  he says.  We wait for the phone to ring, a few seconds which feel like an eternity.  PA answers her phone while I confirm with Douglas that he is happy to hold the phone to one ear whilst holding the mic up to his mouth.  He seems ok with this, I’m sure he’s done it a million times.  I put on my headphones, put the device into record, adjust his mic proximity, knock back the gain, and sit back. 

No further hitches.  The interview wraps in good time before any hassling is required and Douglas shakes our hands, stands up and walks out. Me and PA look at each other with a look that said “what just happened there?”  The IT men are nowhere to be seen.  I play back the start of the recording and it is there.  “Phew.  Let’s get this packed up and get out of here”.  I say.  I call London Control to thank them and before leaving I quickly use the room toilet, making sure I do the ridiculous triangle back again afterwards and don’t touch any of the towels.  I do however wash my hands in the sink and notice the soap is called ‘Inner Calm’.  How apt.

As we walk back through the lobby, PA and I pause to take a quick photograph.  Suddenly a woman apparitions.  “Can I help you?” she says.  “Yes please, the exit”  I reply.  She walks us for a few paces to a set of four of five steps and informs us that someone will help us down the steps.  Never mind I’ve been lugging it up and down the underground up to this point. She asks us if we have had a nice stay.  It’s akin to saying ‘nice suitcase’. A porter in a waistcoat then appears and carries the case down the steps and enquires if we are expecting a car. “Just walking to the tube” we say. He walks us another few paces and hands us over to his two colleagues in suits and top hats who swing open a massive double door for us out onto the street. Another world.  

On the tube we are quiet and drained.  I scour the ISDN manual for error message information. We get back to the Nations Favourite studios, whereupon I plug the record machine into a computer and it fails to recognise it.  Luckily Nick is super helpful and has a card reader to hand.  We try several different options before realising the card format is corrupted in some way. Eventually, after a scrabble for adaptors, we are able to dub the interview out through the line output in real time.  Nick pieces it together.  “Sounds lovely “ he says.  

I return the kit, feed back the various issues to the people who need to know.  Then I head off to Maid Of Orleans to start setting up for a live evening session with 1960’s art school / British blues explosion Stoning Rolls also-rans, The Beautiful People.  It goes pretty well.  By the end of the day I’m all beat.