My Sound ‘Chip’
Posted 6/02/2010Louise Willcox MIBS describes some of the challenges of being a soundie, and takes the opportunity to get a few things off her chest!
'Low Noise Digital Recording' doesn't mean you can leave the mic at the opposite end of the room!
This isn’t an article about some new gadget, this is my personal rant. It will serve as therapy for me and, I hope, provide some amusement for you, too. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a sound person in want of professional respect in a broadcast environment is on a hiding to nothing. And as all men know, women tend to take things ever-so personally (and are good at sweeping generalisations too), so perhaps my perceptions aren’t truly representative of how the majority of sound practitioners feel. My husband (a sound man) says he copes with other broadcast professionals’ disdain for sound by treating it as a game to be won; and perhaps that’s the best approach.
My virtual ‘shoulder chip’ first started to grow after a well respected Radio 4 producer, on being told that new digital recording techniques meant ‘low noise and cleaner sound’, placed his microphones in one corner of a room whilst the sensitive interview took place in the other. Listening to completely unusable sound in the SADiE edit that followed, it fell upon me to explain that the noise referred to is electronic noise – the digital equivalent of tape hiss – and not the naturally occurring background noise or the acoustic of a room. He cannot be seen to admit that he doesn’t understand, and volubly blames the whole of my department for feeding him “bullshit.” He then proceeds to take all his radio editing elsewhere – never returning to use our services.
Noises Off
Whilst on the subject of noise – I ‘get it’ now. As a sound supervisor, I am responsible for eliminating everyone else’s induced or physical noise. It’s a fait accompli that one just has to accept. For instance, noisy kit in the studio or on location, which has been bought or hired by other departments without even a nod in our direction. Like the square wave interference from cheap lighting dimmers. LDs often vociferously deny culpability, but I managed to silence one who kept insisting there was something wrong with my cables (which were all star-quad), by producing an ancient Variac. I plugged the practical light into it, rotated the huge wheel, the light dimmed and – low and behold – no irritating buzz. Happily, the said LD had no choice but to admit defeat, although he scowled at me for the rest of the shoot.
Another common problem is the 50Hz mains hum induced in cheap mic cables when OB and studio resource providers indulge their inclination to ‘save money’ by buying non star-quad cable. And earth loop hums caused by inadequate earths – such as when you find the earth spike trapped under the genny tyre on a dry tarmac surface… and then notice all the electricians running for cover as you approach. Or cheap and noisy air-con in so-called ‘state-of-the-art’ refurbished radio studios where more money is spent on marketing the facility than on its construction! Fan noise from audio editing computers is another annoyance, despite repeated pleas for cooled and acoustically isolated equipment rooms.
Where’s that bloody awful noise coming from, Louise?”“The lighting rig.
Feel free to use your cut/dim switch…During a stressful LE show, when we had just finished rehearsing a ‘Jools Holland and his R&B Band’ number, I faded up the audience mics to aid communication with the floor and to rehearse my crossfade point to applause. Unfortunately, with no cracking applause to disguise their noise the Robo-scan lights can be heard singing their awful song. This caused the director to scream from the production gallery, “Where’s that bloody awful noise coming from, Louise?” I replied, “The lighting rig. Feel free to use your monitoring cut/dim switch.” Macho-man can’t have his sound supervisor getting tetchy with him over talkback so he storms into the sound gallery to give me ‘what for’! However, he leaves with metaphorically bleeding ears after a five minute diatribe from me about how all that “bloody awful noise” will be covering the whole of his transmission in aural crud, the various skilful techniques I will be employing to make sure that Joe Public doesn’t notice, and how I deserve a 50% pay-rise for coping with the economies (cheap tat kit) and excesses (expensive sexy noisy kit) of other ‘visual’ departments who can apparently ‘do no wrong’ whilst we struggle to get one extra microphone paid for. He went back and learned where his cut/dim switch was.
Getting Hot Under the Collar
A problem with sound on a location shoot with a lovely male presenter could have had me blacklisted – even though I was a ‘researcher’ on an attachment from my sound job at the time. The director was self-shooting (if only) and, guess what? Yes… wanted me to be the sound recordist. Funny that. The three-year-old gender-confused director, operating wobbly-cam mini-camera (they’ll be switching off in droves…) is adamant that s/he must not see the personal mic in shot. Noting the presenter’s flimsy and virtually transparent (so what’s the point of hiding the mic?) cheesecloth shirt, I recount the endless hours I’ve spent in dubbing theatres unsuccessfully trying to un-muddy and de-rustle speech recorded though layers of clothing. All to no avail. So with a heavy sigh, a cardboard battery box lid for reinforcement, plus other accoutrement to hide the mic cable, I’m able to listen to the (frankly gorgeous) presenter as he delivers, with wonderful level and clarity, a fluff-free 30 second link. “What’s that noise?” I ask, noticing that it’s coincident with his body movements – time to investigate further.
I delve (not unwillingly) into the newly reinforced shirt once again but manage to get my engagement ring snagged in the gorgeous presenter’s copious chest hair! In other circumstances I would use this as an excuse not to move at all, but the clock is ticking and the increasingly wobbly camera of the three-year-old director is indicating s/he’s about to throw a tantrum. The noise problem is obviously the wiry chest hair scratching the back of the cardboard… but no cardboard means the mic will droop into gorgeous presenter’s navel. There is no time and no resource (a much over-used word, but in this case it means ‘razor’) with which to shave his chest, so I actually win the day and get to put the mic on top of said gorgeous presenter’s shirt, supported by the first closed button. Although not before the Adonis bravely says “pull!” followed by a short shriek of pain as I extricate my engagement ring plus one thick chest hair…. (calm down Louise!). Thankfully I can’t be black-listed by the spoilt brat director because I am part of the production team. Victory!
TV Drama
Our slightly frustrated author!
The worst TV drama director I ever worked for was actually an ex-sound recordist, and I reckon he was getting his own back for all the years he’d suffered. The programme was a daytime, low budget, TV drama. We are in totally the wrong type of studio to shoot a drama. Good old John Birt has ‘strutted’ his Producer Choice ‘funky-stuff’ and has made this classical music studio, with a reverb time of 2.3 seconds, too expensive for Radio 3 to use anymore. So the site management offered it as a cheap studio for the drama shoot. After I throw a dickey-fit, we get some blacks draped around the walls, but that only reduces the reverb time to 1.9 seconds so we desperately need to keep the mics close to the thespians’ orifices to minimise the awful acoustic. We are shooting with two cameras simultaneously and, yes, you guessed it: our director loves shooting a wide angle and close-up at the same time. It doesn’t matter how much I plead that we should shoot two CUs then two WA, our illustrious director carries on, regardless. So I try the ‘take him to one side over lunch’ approach, on the first day. You know the theory: if you humiliate people in front of other people, you get nowhere; be discreet. Oh yeah…
I gently explain to him that as there is no budget for post sync-ing on the show, if we don’t get the dialogue on the set we don’t get it at all. “Use radio mics then” is his reply. “Okay, we’ve got two, but fitting and removing them will waste five minutes before and after each scene, they sound crap, you’re supposed to be shooting 15 pages a day, and there are four people in most scenes. Oh… and in a scene coming up later one of them is getting undressed on shot and being put to bed,” say I. (At this point I realise that I’ve read further ahead in the scripts than he has, alienating him even further) “Can’t you meet me half way?” I ask. “Piss off!” comes the reply.
I tried planting mics on set and using radio mics (although as predicted, I get shouted at for wasting time), but there’s nothing I can do to make it work well. it ended up being the worst sound I have ever acquired, so I had my name taken off the credits and wrote a huge apology on the scripts I passed on to the dubbing mixer. As predicted, there is no money for post sync-ing and the broadcast was truly awful! Interestingly, the director didn’t work for our drama department again, but no one ever told me why.
Acoustic Isolation
It’s interesting that on the lowliest of PSC shoots you’ll be instructed to hide mics, yet when on a TV sports show it’s quite okay to see as much kit as possible. It looks like DPA headset mics have become a necessity for in-vision positions with no acoustic isolation from a crowd. Thank goodness sports production teams seem to understand the need to use the right tool for the job.
Actually, whilst on the topic of acoustic isolation, can you remember a time when broadcasters had their own TV studios which were acoustically isolated from the rest of the world? Now they are more likely to be demolished or turned into open-plan office areas, while the programmes are shot in cheap-to-hire empty warehouses. Is it really cheaper, I wonder?
Apparently, much of Life on Mars was shot in BBC Manchester’s New BH ‘mothballed’ (soon to be demolished?) TV Studio A. I should imagine they were able to shoot 24/7 if they wanted to; no interruptions from low flying aircraft, roosting starlings (!) or bin men emptying various receptacles. Notice to all broadcast money people: you can shoot pictures anywhere; it is acquiring usable sound that’s difficult. Most important of all: WORDS ARE PLOT! Feature Film studios are called “Sound Stages” – the clue is in the title! I understand the need to post-sync dialogue for special effects scenes, but for ‘studio’ scenes shot in warehouses, how’s the industry coping with the dodgy sound? Answer: Post-production budgets off the scale… and let’s not discuss what happens to the performances!
Okay then… I will! When I’m watching an episode of New Tricks, enjoying the witty script, the consummate performances and Denis Waterman’s (not so new, now) teeth, I get psychologically slapped when a couple of lines of post sync dialogue are mixed in. Three things happen: I hear the difference in the acoustic; I sympathise with the dubbing mixer who has had the onerous task of trying to match the reverberant acoustic of the (warehouse?) ‘studio’; and I notice the difference in the performance. When post sync-ing inaudible lines one gets bound up with lip-sync, timecode, the technology of the ADR program, and trying to get the job done as fast as possible (time being money, and all that). No matter how consummate a professional your thespian is, performance is always affected.
Its old hat now, but I cut my teeth doing Fisher Booms on multi-camera dramas. Lighting, sound, shots: all were a compromise, but you got some absolutely fantastic ensemble performances. The actors would ask “is this the take” and boy, did you feel the difference. Picture the scene: me, squirming with embarrassment because I’ve just tapped Timothy Dalton on the head whilst showing the LD a mic shadow. The scene is the one where Rochester (Timothy) has to admit to Jane Ayre that he already has a mad wife in the attic, and she ends the scene by telling him the wedding’s off. Three rehearsals later we go for a take. “Cut” says the 1st AD. Timothy looks up to find me in tears on the boom and said, “You’re forgiven.”
Wild? I was Livid!
Gathering wild tracks can make you livid!
And don’t get me started about asking for wild-tracks! I’m on location, shooting scenes next to a high-speed rail line. (You’ve mentioned it at the recce but everyone tells you – the sound recordist – that sound will be fine… When did they become such experts?) I’m pleased that the director is actually helping by choosing shots that allow me to get close to the dialogue, and I’ve got it all covered, despite the nearby racket. All I need now is a few minutes’ wild-track to help smooth out the joins in the dub – but I’m forced to wait until the end of the shoot at this location. Everyone one on the crew is looking daggers at you; getting to the pub is far more important. You walk into the middle of the set and scream “For goodness sake (clean version), just stand still and shut up!” Then some wise-cracking idiot comes right up to the mic and asks you if it’s the wrong time of the month. Pity he couldn’t come up with something more original.
The final years of my BBC career: there was no TV studio in the new base, TV OBs were slaughtered years before, and we few who were left in ‘sound’ worked on live radio strip shows, short pre-recorded (the night before) early morning radio programmes, a bit of radio drama and the occasional radio OB. On one occasion I was assigned the daily pre-record and at my booked time of 1600hrs I walked into the studio to switch on and get ready. However, the producer was already there, tetchily tapping a pencil. “We’ve a down-the-line interview, now!” “It takes 10 minutes to wake up the studio, and to boot up the SADiE and the desk,”
I sigh. “This must be the tenth time you and I have had this conversation…” The pencil tapping increases in speed. “How about you get us both a cup of tea, and I’ll be ready by the time you get back,” I suggest. The pencil tapping gets even faster as the producer suppresses the urge to remind me that s/he is the customer and I am the service provider (well done, John Birt – no more ‘One BBC’) but remains silent only because s/he isn’t capable of working the studio without me. I work fast, whilst mourning the passing of the ‘old’ 30 minute line-up time for a quarter-inch tape edit, and with everything up and establish communication down-the-line only to discover from the ‘meet-er and greet-er’ that our contributor is stuck in traffic.
Spool later down the same day: I had been strapped to a SADiE for about five hours de-umming umpteen contributors and cutting items to the desired length – much of it without the producer who often returned to the office to set up other interviews (here’s a tip: the producers who bring back cups of tea get Christmas cards!). I had recorded the presenter’s links and edited them into the programme, and I was complimented on how fast I was working — although I knew this was really a ploy to get me to work even faster to avoid an overrun. The session was approaching the 2100hrs end of booking deadline; “We can’t overrun!” (and the pencil tapping starts again). I refused to be intimidated. “Why don’t you tell the boss this booking just isn’t do-able in the time?”
Some wise-cracking idiot comes right up to the mic and asks you if it’s the wrong time of the month!There was a stony, fear-filled silence, followed by more pencil tapping… until I demanded silence. We reviewed the 15 minute programme, playing SADiE at double speed (that’s one way for an absentee producer to check my edits…) and once done, at 2055hrs, the producer and presenter scarpered with unseemly haste, leaving me to “drag and drop” the finished .wav file onto the Radio 4 replay server. However, the system then was still new and crashed a lot, and the gods weren’t on my side that night. I finally got the file across to R4’s server at 2124hrs. Unfortunately, my train was due to leave at 2125 and there’s no way I’d be able to catch that. So I spend a miserable 35 minutes being consoled (again) by the only other occupants of the building – the two security men – before catching the last train home at 2215hrs.
I was scheduled to work the same hours the next day, and I arrived to be greeted by the news that, having seen my overrun logged on the system and because the producer had left the studio before 2100hrs, the office is refusing to pay for the overrun. My boss is disposed to believe the ‘customer’, of course. Give me strength!
And Finally…
In 1981 I was an optimistic trainee workinng on a radio drama when a rather portly, 40-something sound recordist with two days’ stubble (which wasn’t fashionable back then), along with a cameraman, director and presenter, came in to the studio to shoot a fly-on-the-wall ‘making-of’ documentary. The sound recordist was the classic caricature, not noticing anything going on around him when inside his cans, yet regularly throwing them on the ground and muttering under his breath in a disgruntled fashion while, strangely, being completely ignored by the rest of his crew. He looked miserable most of the time, and smiled only once during the whole week whichw as when he had to put a radio mic on one of our more glamorous lady thespians. I remember thinking, “What’s the matter with him?”
Now, I know!
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Well said, Louise! I was a BBC boom swinger and occasional acting recordist working out of TV Film Studios, Ealing in the 70′s. The ‘one BBC’ spirit was still alive – I loved the place. With a fine director such as, for example, Mike Leigh, you’d go to the ends of the earth to get the perspective, acoustic and intelligibility perfect – and you’d be thanked for it. Others… well… I felt the rot began with Total Costing. And by the time Mr Birt moved in I’d moved on. But be proud! The great are always misunderstood by the lesser.
Comment by Howard Owens — 07/03/2010 @ 20:21
Magnificent, Louise. I feel so much better for reading your rant. I don’t think we have ever met, and that is odd, because you appear to have been living inside my head for some considerable time. And as for the “wrong time of the month” – well, I often get asked that too!
Nick.
Comment by Nick Ware, mibs — 17/03/2010 @ 22:01