Tangled up and Blue
Posted on February 18, 2010 with 0 comments
He emailed me again.
“Hey k, Lou here. I’d really like to help you set up those speakers. Give me a call when you get a chance. All the best, l”
My elbows on the console, I twirled a long tendril of hair around my finger and while continuing to stare blankly at the screen considered pulling it and for that matter all my hair out in one smooth, well defined motion. That would be the truest expression of how I was feeling on this bleak day in February, sitting alone in my studio, surrounded by knobs and wires. How had I gotten into this technological nightmare of always needing to know more than I did and having to be smarter than my clients at every turn? Had I strapped on my skis even once this winter or tuned into nature? The answer was clearly “No” because I’d been too busy trying to convince myself of my qualifications to be the professional that I am and tormenting myself to keep way ahead of myself as if running a marathon. I was about to crack.
Lou’s speakers in handmade walnut cabinets had arrived months ago and after an initial set up to the right and left of the console, I’d been advised to try them on the opposite side of the room. Sounds simple enough, but for me as head bottle washer, electrical engineer and C.E.O. of Pepperbox Studio, the implications were oppressive. Making the shift would require not only new, longer cables, but a renewed analysis of every other piece of related gear and how it would be affected. Pausing to reflect for a moment, I thought fondly of how my repeat visits to buy extension cords at the local hardware store had practically made me “family” or at the least conversant with every brand, style, rating, color and length; there was an upside. But then there was the issue of my studio circuits being on different inverters, only one of them a true sine wave. This was the real cause of my wiring woes. And why I was feeling more of a sinking feeling than an elated feeling as I gazed upon these two superbly gorgeous monitoring devices and contemplated the devious path I would have to follow to get them up and running in their new position.
My father was a renowned sociologist whose biggest technological achievements in life had been to put buckets under the eaves to catch rainwater, shoot at deer in the yard with an old Beebe gun and select “random” on the CD player. I can’t say I wasn’t a little worried about the gene pool when I decided to become a recording engineer. But my brother egged me on, gently but firmly. He was defying the odds himself and climbing the corporate ladder at Guitar Center in leaps and bounds, leading teams of pro audio sales personnel all over the country into higher levels of tech-nirvana. He arrived to my house one day, the back of his white van filled with boxes. After enlisting my son Wilder to be his number two, the boxes made their way up the three flights of stairs to my studio and a long unpacking session began. I was not allowed in – it was clearly guy time. And when they were done, before my very eyes and ears, Chapter Two of Pepperbox Studio began to unfold.
So it wasn’t really my fault that I was in this predicament today. The conspiracy to support my desire to record my own music in a self propelled manner had been driven by a pesky younger brother who was too smart and too nice for his own good. Knowing that I had little to do with the whole thing was somehow comforting. And because I love my little brother, it seemed to make sense to keep forging on, out of homage to him and his pesky persistent ways. I would show him - that I appreciated his help and belief in me. I would go on to tackle two winters of audio engineering courses and start entertaining clients in my refurbished studio. I would complete my first solo CD and move onto a second. I would start to network with the world, from my outpost in the middle of rural Vermont, through the magical medium of recorded music. And I would always, always, especially in times of technological defeat, find a way to pull myself up by my own boot straps and do him proud, remembering that it’s about the music first and foremost. His memory of being eight years old and my teaching him his first Beatles songs on guitar was that kind of milestone for him – and he never lets me forget it.
“Hey k, Lou here. I’d really like to help you set up those speakers. Give me a call when you get a chance. All the best, l”
My elbows on the console, I twirled a long tendril of hair around my finger and while continuing to stare blankly at the screen considered pulling it and for that matter all my hair out in one smooth, well defined motion. That would be the truest expression of how I was feeling on this bleak day in February, sitting alone in my studio, surrounded by knobs and wires. How had I gotten into this technological nightmare of always needing to know more than I did and having to be smarter than my clients at every turn? Had I strapped on my skis even once this winter or tuned into nature? The answer was clearly “No” because I’d been too busy trying to convince myself of my qualifications to be the professional that I am and tormenting myself to keep way ahead of myself as if running a marathon. I was about to crack.
Lou’s speakers in handmade walnut cabinets had arrived months ago and after an initial set up to the right and left of the console, I’d been advised to try them on the opposite side of the room. Sounds simple enough, but for me as head bottle washer, electrical engineer and C.E.O. of Pepperbox Studio, the implications were oppressive. Making the shift would require not only new, longer cables, but a renewed analysis of every other piece of related gear and how it would be affected. Pausing to reflect for a moment, I thought fondly of how my repeat visits to buy extension cords at the local hardware store had practically made me “family” or at the least conversant with every brand, style, rating, color and length; there was an upside. But then there was the issue of my studio circuits being on different inverters, only one of them a true sine wave. This was the real cause of my wiring woes. And why I was feeling more of a sinking feeling than an elated feeling as I gazed upon these two superbly gorgeous monitoring devices and contemplated the devious path I would have to follow to get them up and running in their new position.
My father was a renowned sociologist whose biggest technological achievements in life had been to put buckets under the eaves to catch rainwater, shoot at deer in the yard with an old Beebe gun and select “random” on the CD player. I can’t say I wasn’t a little worried about the gene pool when I decided to become a recording engineer. But my brother egged me on, gently but firmly. He was defying the odds himself and climbing the corporate ladder at Guitar Center in leaps and bounds, leading teams of pro audio sales personnel all over the country into higher levels of tech-nirvana. He arrived to my house one day, the back of his white van filled with boxes. After enlisting my son Wilder to be his number two, the boxes made their way up the three flights of stairs to my studio and a long unpacking session began. I was not allowed in – it was clearly guy time. And when they were done, before my very eyes and ears, Chapter Two of Pepperbox Studio began to unfold.
So it wasn’t really my fault that I was in this predicament today. The conspiracy to support my desire to record my own music in a self propelled manner had been driven by a pesky younger brother who was too smart and too nice for his own good. Knowing that I had little to do with the whole thing was somehow comforting. And because I love my little brother, it seemed to make sense to keep forging on, out of homage to him and his pesky persistent ways. I would show him - that I appreciated his help and belief in me. I would go on to tackle two winters of audio engineering courses and start entertaining clients in my refurbished studio. I would complete my first solo CD and move onto a second. I would start to network with the world, from my outpost in the middle of rural Vermont, through the magical medium of recorded music. And I would always, always, especially in times of technological defeat, find a way to pull myself up by my own boot straps and do him proud, remembering that it’s about the music first and foremost. His memory of being eight years old and my teaching him his first Beatles songs on guitar was that kind of milestone for him – and he never lets me forget it.