On with the story…where was I? Oh, yes, I had decided to join the tech crew since I was not selected to appear in the fall play of my freshman year (our school had a fall play and a spring musical). That autumn the play was Miracle Worker. What part I thought I was fit to play I cannot say, but there was no way that Helen Keller was going to be portrayed by a teenager with the chest that I have. Suspending disbelief would be damn near impossible. And I was far too young to take on the character of Annie Sullivan with any semblance of veracity. So, I was billed in the program as the sound operator, a title that suited me, strangely enough, very well.
Miracle Worker was a difficult play to do sound for. There were 4 microphones on the two story set. Two overhead to handle scenes on the second floor of the set (Helen’s bedroom) and any action taking place from the middle to the back of the stage. There were also two floor mics for scenes down on the stages apron and proscenium area. Over a decade later, I am loathe to tell you how useless those floor mics were in a play with all the banging, brawling, and hand slapping that our Miracle Worker contained.
Second semester found me auditioning yet again, this time for the musical, Anything Goes. I was confident that with my dance background (I had ballet and gymnastics as a youth) I would be a perfect choice for the chorus since there were several phenomenal song and dance numbers in the show. How wrong I was. Sadly, my hopes and dreams were crushed when the cast list was posted and my name was nowhere on it. Soldiering on, I once again volunteered to join the tech crew and run the sound board.
Suffice it to say I was not the most popular kid in school, I was a quickly turning into a total drama dork, but I did have something the other kids did not, a Mackie 12 channel console. With it, I could control performers’ vocal volume over the pit orchestra. Yes, we were a well enough off school district that our High School had a beautiful theater complete with orchestra pit, downstairs dressing rooms, and a messy room piled high with props, costumes, and sets from show’s past that we called lovingly, the green room (although if memory serves, it was actually a light blue color with various paint samples from numerous sets).
The theater was not a space one could easily fill with just your speaking voice. It was bigger then a 99 seat theater, but not by much. The balcony was difficult to see from due a design flaw that required a wood railing directly in the sight line to the stage. The musical brought me more responsibility and really sparked my interest in audio as a career. I had 3 small radio frequency microphones that I mapped out between the actors so each would wear it during their big singing numbers. I felt so important handing out those battery powered mics to the students starring in the show. The mics transmitted their voices to my console where I could affect the pitch and volume…oh the heady power trip I embarked on with this duty.
Throughout rehearsals I grew more adept at hitting the proper level with the faders on the mix board. My confidence grew as did my fascination with sound. There were two men who came to school to set up the microphones, speakers, and give me a crash course in handling all of it. For this blog, I will call them C and J. These guys were kind enough to volunteer their time and experience to our High School even though their kids were not in the productions (they did have children my home town’s school district, just not in High School at that time).
Man, did I admire these guys! They were knowledgeable and what-more; they treated me like an intelligent adult capable of handling any situation that arose with their audio equipment. In retrospect, I now understand that most of the gear was rented, but it bolstered my confidence to feel their confidence in my abilities. Two years ago J even contacted me on one of his trips to the LA area and we had a lovely reunion. I thanked him for changing my life and sparking my ambition and interest in audio, a passion that inspired and lead me through an exciting decade of learning and working.
To be continued
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Working: Part 1
When I was 16 and had my driver’s license it became apparent that I could also take on the responsibility of having a job. Thankfully, I had the trust and encouragement from my parents to pursue a rather odd profession, that of a theatrical sound designer.
At 16 I had been running the sound board for my High School’s various plays, musicals, music recitals, and other odds and end productions for 2 years. It was an interest I sort of fell into during the first semester of my freshman year. Upon entry into high school I had the dream, as many of us do, that I would audition for the school play and wow the director into offering me the lead role. This was not to be…not even close for many reasons.
To start, exiting seniors are chosen as leads in plays and musical, sort of their final grand “hurrah” before heading out into the world. Second, my looks are not what anyone thinks of when you say, “Leading lady”. Short, curly haired, big busted Jewish girls are not what Cole Porter had in mind for Anything Goes. Now, we get to the true crux of why I was not chosen…my acting, my singing, and my dancing. As a child and even early adulthood I took private singing lessons and was also fairly active in gymnastics and dancing. It would be a stretch of the imagination to say that I was remarkable at either. I was mediocre, but I insisted on believing it was favoritism that led to my career in technical theater rather then being in the spotlight.
So when the callbacks were posted for the Fall play, it was with great disappointment that I did not see my name on the list. What I did see was a flyer requesting people for backstage help. My daydreams took flight once again. I would be backstage for opening night. The show’s young female lead would suddenly be gripped by stage fright at the last moment temporarily throwing the future of the show into chaos. Based on this irrational, I gladly signed up for backstage duty.
Long story short, 3 people were selected from the tech crew (as we were called) to work the sound board and the 2 spot lights (the lighting board was operated by a professional). I presume that the people the drama teacher chose were special in some way, perhaps more intelligent then the other people teching the show. Hindsight being 20/20, I now see that she just wanted the big burly young men to push the set pieces around and deal with props while the weaker sex was relegated to lights and sound. Harsh of me to surmise, yet wholly accurate.
This story is to be continued….
At 16 I had been running the sound board for my High School’s various plays, musicals, music recitals, and other odds and end productions for 2 years. It was an interest I sort of fell into during the first semester of my freshman year. Upon entry into high school I had the dream, as many of us do, that I would audition for the school play and wow the director into offering me the lead role. This was not to be…not even close for many reasons.
To start, exiting seniors are chosen as leads in plays and musical, sort of their final grand “hurrah” before heading out into the world. Second, my looks are not what anyone thinks of when you say, “Leading lady”. Short, curly haired, big busted Jewish girls are not what Cole Porter had in mind for Anything Goes. Now, we get to the true crux of why I was not chosen…my acting, my singing, and my dancing. As a child and even early adulthood I took private singing lessons and was also fairly active in gymnastics and dancing. It would be a stretch of the imagination to say that I was remarkable at either. I was mediocre, but I insisted on believing it was favoritism that led to my career in technical theater rather then being in the spotlight.
So when the callbacks were posted for the Fall play, it was with great disappointment that I did not see my name on the list. What I did see was a flyer requesting people for backstage help. My daydreams took flight once again. I would be backstage for opening night. The show’s young female lead would suddenly be gripped by stage fright at the last moment temporarily throwing the future of the show into chaos. Based on this irrational, I gladly signed up for backstage duty.
Long story short, 3 people were selected from the tech crew (as we were called) to work the sound board and the 2 spot lights (the lighting board was operated by a professional). I presume that the people the drama teacher chose were special in some way, perhaps more intelligent then the other people teching the show. Hindsight being 20/20, I now see that she just wanted the big burly young men to push the set pieces around and deal with props while the weaker sex was relegated to lights and sound. Harsh of me to surmise, yet wholly accurate.
This story is to be continued….
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
A Tale of Two Stories
As some of you may know I am currently in the process of moving. I will be going from a one bedroom apartment where I have resided for the past 7 years to half of a duplex. Now, there is something, I must confess that has been weighting on my mind about this particular residence. It is 2 stories high. Not a big deal to many, and I did indeed live on the upper floor of a condo one summer in Northridge, but in this case, the second level fills me with dread. This is all rooted in my childhood, as many neuroses are.
Our family lived (and my parents still live) in a ranch style home, we did not have to climb stairs on a daily basis, never huffing and puffing up and down to get this, that, or the other thing. Our delicate constitutions never bothered by lifting our knees to waist level to rest in an upstairs bedroom.
So where did this utter phobia of stairs develop?
I give you the two story house.
My best friend’s family lived in a two story house, the source of my angst. If we were upstairs we needed to be down, if we were downstairs we needed to be up. We were the equvilent of cats, always on the wrong side of every door. And Heaven forbid if we needed to go anywhere because there was always something left behind in the dreaded “UPSTAIRS”. Little kids racing from the car, to the house, and up those miserable stairs then snatching the missing item and doing the race in reverse. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, ready to pass out…that is what I associate those DAMN stairs with.
Not to mention the dubious habit the boys in the family had of leaving a multitude of sharp edged or hard cornered doodads on one or two steps so that when you were in a hurry you would smash your foot on one or land right on top of it either breaking it or injuring yourself.
Anyone who has lived with me, and there are few and far between in that category, know that I’m the sort of gal who likes neat piles of stuff, close at hand. Easily accessible items to entertain myself, none of this upstairs/downstairs nonsense. Plus everything you ever want to use downstairs is inevitably upstairs so once you use it you have to then haul it back up. I tell you, people were not created to climb stairs on a regular basis.
Perhaps my archnemisis....the stairs will become my friendly advocate by helping tone and tighten my miniscual glut muscle and then again, perhaps I will camp out in the living room with the dog when I feel too lazy to travel to my bedroom...
Our family lived (and my parents still live) in a ranch style home, we did not have to climb stairs on a daily basis, never huffing and puffing up and down to get this, that, or the other thing. Our delicate constitutions never bothered by lifting our knees to waist level to rest in an upstairs bedroom.
So where did this utter phobia of stairs develop?
I give you the two story house.
My best friend’s family lived in a two story house, the source of my angst. If we were upstairs we needed to be down, if we were downstairs we needed to be up. We were the equvilent of cats, always on the wrong side of every door. And Heaven forbid if we needed to go anywhere because there was always something left behind in the dreaded “UPSTAIRS”. Little kids racing from the car, to the house, and up those miserable stairs then snatching the missing item and doing the race in reverse. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, ready to pass out…that is what I associate those DAMN stairs with.
Not to mention the dubious habit the boys in the family had of leaving a multitude of sharp edged or hard cornered doodads on one or two steps so that when you were in a hurry you would smash your foot on one or land right on top of it either breaking it or injuring yourself.
Anyone who has lived with me, and there are few and far between in that category, know that I’m the sort of gal who likes neat piles of stuff, close at hand. Easily accessible items to entertain myself, none of this upstairs/downstairs nonsense. Plus everything you ever want to use downstairs is inevitably upstairs so once you use it you have to then haul it back up. I tell you, people were not created to climb stairs on a regular basis.
Perhaps my archnemisis....the stairs will become my friendly advocate by helping tone and tighten my miniscual glut muscle and then again, perhaps I will camp out in the living room with the dog when I feel too lazy to travel to my bedroom...
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