ON MY OWN, PRETENDING HE’S BESIDE ME.
ALL ALONE, I WALK WITH HIM TILL MORNING.
How many times did my fingers do everything they could to make sure the audience experienced the full power of those words from arguably the most beautiful song in a score filled with beautiful songs, Les Misérables? Not that my fingers were tripping along the keys of a piano, or clutching the bow of a violin, or strumming the strings of a guitar.
My fingers were on the sound console. Just about my favorite place in the world.
The only drawback to being a successful Broadway designer for 25 years is that I rarely get a chance to mix anymore. I oversee the mix. I note the mix. I even get to choose the mixer. But that’s not the same thrill as being the person at the board, knowing that the slightest adjustment of any one of a number of knobs will subtly—yet greatly—impact the audience’s enjoyment of what they’re hearing.
A smart performer and a sensitive mixer is an unbeatable combination. How I loved giving that almost imperceptible bump in volume at the climax of a big dance number so the lead dancer could hear a little more, thus giving her the boost she needed to bring the number home. On those nights when that dancer (I’m thinking of the late Deborah Henry as Cassie in the international tour of A Chorus Line) would shoot me a conspiratorial look—“Thanks, Tony!”—while never breaking character … well, those are the moments I’d hoped to one day have before I went into show business.
Back then, I didn’t even know that a thing called sound design existed. I knew I’d work behind the scenes, but I wasn’t sure in what capacity. As soon as I stood at a console for the first time and realized that my love for and knowledge of music could be merged with my facility for equipment and electronics, I was hooked. Little did I appreciate that I was setting my sights on the most elusive of the four major design elements. After all, the scenery is on stage at its mark, or it isn’t. Clear. The lights are on and at their appropriate color or they’re not. Clear. The actor is wearing a costume and it’s not inside out. Clear. But when the level for the leading lady’s microphone is in its proper level for her 11 o’clock spot … not so clear. Except to the mixer, and (hopefully) the designer. Everyone else? Well, sound is nothing if not subjective. What sounds great to your ears might sound terrible to someone else’s. Lesson number one: TRUST YOUR EARS.
That’s why those lyrics from Les Miz mean so much to me: on my own. That’s how the mixer sometimes feels, I know from experience. And I imagine that’s how many a performer feels when s/he is in the spotlight. But the truth is, the two are linked: what the one is singing or saying, the other makes sure can be heard. I remember mixing Frances Ruffelle, the original Eponine in Les Miz on Broadway. Maybe it’s because Les Miz was the last show I officially mixed before making the transition to sound designer. Or maybe it’s because Frances and I collaborated so well. I remember discussing with her the poetic nature of the lyrics to “On My Own,” which employed sensual, visual imagery that Frances conveyed beautifully. The next night, I did my part, and when she got to the lyric:
IN THE RAIN, THE PAVEMENT SHINES LIKE SILVER.
ALL THE LIGHTS ARE MISTY IN THE RIVER
I touched-up the reverb on her s’s and t’s. The resulting shimmer in her voice worked in tandem with her interpretation of the song. The audience response was even wilder than usual. And Frances knew that she was not on her own. I was beside her, albeit at the back of the house, and very proud to be an integral part of presenting our show as artfully as possible.
Of course, not all performers are Frances Ruffelle. In fact, few are. Less secure singers often have inconsistent, sometimes erratic responses to what they perceive to be nightly changes in sound quality. I say “perceived,” because the actor is usually in the worst position to judge what we’re hearing in the front of the house, which is quite different from what he’s hearing—especially when there are no vocal monitors on stage. So in addition to striving for consistency in the mix, it’s crucial that a mixer understand that part of his job is to liaise with the performers; regular visits backstage for some face time with your cast will result in their having more confidence on stage. Makes sense, doesn’t it? If the cast knows you care, that you are—at every moment—“with” them, that you love their performances and your job, they will assume you have their “ears,” if not their back. Psychology 101, to be sure—but then a good mixer should study human nature as rigorously as he studies the latest model of microphone.
Which brings me to Shannon’s wonderful book. Because all the poetry, the politics, the partnerships that made mixing a show something I loved doing, none of it would’ve been possible unless I understood technically what a console is, what an orchestration is, what a sound effect is, etc. It’s like studying an instrument: you can’t play a symphony until you’ve mastered the scales and all the other technical requirements of your particular instrument.
My instrument is the console. I’ve been lucky enough to play symphonies on it. The information in this book will help you do the same; the love in your heart for what theatre can be will help you derive from it the kind of joy I’ve been lucky enough to know.
—by Tony Meola