Assorted Nonsense

When I was but a young lad my father used to play an 8 Track (yes, an 8 Track!) of Tommy Makem and the Clancy Brothers called Live at Carnegie Hall.

I always remembered that 8 Track (yes!  An 8 Track!) and when I growed up (sic) into the strapping man I was briefly in my twenties I would think of it fondly.  Later,  in my couch potato thirties, I thought of it some more, but did nothing about it.

(I might be confused.  It might be Simon and Garfunkle that was on 8 Track, and Live at Carnegie Hall on vinyl.  Damn this aging memory.  No matter.)

But it wasn’t until my forties that I got around to purchasing Live at Carnegie Hall on CD.  I thought it was just a nostalgia purchase, a way to recapture a hint of my youth.  Once purchased, though,  I found myself listening to it all the time.  It is a beautiful performance, full of lively music, funny music, touching music.

That album wasn’t all I knew of them.  My father had other albums too.  I used to take them to CJRW Radio with me back when I was a DJ.  I did a six hour country show on Friday Nights called the Ranch Party, and I would often slip in some Tommy Makem and the Clancy Brothers.  I remember I used to play this one song I really liked called Isn’t it Grand, Boys.  I don’t remember much of it now, except that one line went: “Isn’t it grand boys, to be bloody well dead.”

One night after playing that song a regular listener called up to say that I should never play that song again.  It wasn’t that they didn’t like the song, it was that they couldn’t handle the sentiment.  They were of an age where perhaps they had seen too much of death, or perhaps they felt their’s was imminent, and they had yet to come to terms with it (who has?).  Out of respect for this regular listener’s feelings it was with some regret that I never did play that song again.

The last of Tommy Makem and the Clancy Brothers passed away the other day, Liam Clancy.  He may think it’s grand, but I don’t.  Thankfully his music and that of his colleagues live on because we live in an age where though artists may pass on, their work doesn’t (necessarily).  Just today I listened to Tommy Makem and the Clancy Brothers version of The Parting Glass from their performance Live at Carnegie Hall.

Good night, Mr. Clancy and friends, and joy be with you all.

Daniel Yaari (pictured above with a Neve console) is visiting CBC Radio from Israel to help us perfect some DaletPlus software.  But although Daniel works for Dalet these days, he’s really a recording engineer.

He sent me this picture today which I thought was kind of cool.  The console he’s standing behind is a Neve, which is one of the finest names in recording consoles.  I had the pleasure of flying a Neve Capricorn for several years in studio 212, the radio drama facility, at CBC Radio.  It was a fine sounding console, if a tad flaky paired with a Sonic Solutions digital editing system.

But the really cool thing about the console pictured above is that before Daniel’s studio in Israel got their hands it it belonged to The Record Plant.  Apparently tracks for John Lennon’s Imagine and David Bowie’s Let’s Dance (among many others) were recorded on it.

Take a look at the small set of speakers Daniel’s leaning on.  Those are Auratones.  We also have a set in studio 212.  I was giving Daniel and his family a tour of our facilities and when he saw the Auratones he laughed.  “Always have to check your mixes through Auratones!” he said, and he’s right, we frequently checked our mixes on the little Auratones to see what they sounded like on something a little closer to the kind of stereo people had at home.

One of Daniel’s favourite tricks was to dub his mixes to cassette and listen to them in his car.  I used to do exactly the same thing (only on CD) because there’s no better way to tell what your mix sounds like in a crummy listening environment than listening to them in your car.  I remember subjecting my sister Shawna to a night of driving around listening to an episode of the radio play Steve the Second in my Sienna.

Ah the good ol’ days…

Heard a lot of Rex Murphy today, first on Fresh Air, then on his own show, Cross Country Check Up.

Made me think of the first time I met the man.

I’d just returned from living in France, so I’d been out of the CBC Radio loop for awhile.  One of my first bookings upon returning was recording a little voicer from someone I assumed was a freelancer.

I met the gentleman in the studio and he handed me his script.  I helped him get comfortable in the booth, asking him if he knew how to turn his mic off and on and whether he knew how to adjust the volume of his headphones.  I did this because I’d learned that many freelancers and guests come from backgrounds far removed from radio and any little thing you can do to help them get comfortable in a radio environment helps their performance.  This particular freelancer did not let on that I might be telling him stuff he already knew.

He did one and only one pass on the script, which was a commentary the subject matter of which I’ve long since forgotten.  I do remember that I had two issues with the freelancer’s performance.  One was a slight vocal stumble at one point, and the other was a word choice that I questioned.

When the freelancer came out of the booth I mentioned both issues.  I did so because when you’re working with mere mortals, and even when you’re not, everyone involved in the process usually wants to get things right, it’s just a part of the job to point out mistakes so that they might be corrected.

Instead of responding to my constructive criticism the freelancer thanked me for recording him and left the studio.  I remember thinking, well that was interesting.

It wasn’t too long afterward that I discovered the freelancer wasn’t a freelancer at all but a well established broadcasting personality in Newfoundland on the cusp of becoming a well established broadcasting personality nationally.  I don’t think he intended to be rude by ignoring my attempt to improve his performance in the studio.  I expect his confidence in his performance by that point in his career was such that he knew it was fine and that I was just being picky.   I can’t remember what word choice I had taken an exception to but knowing what I know about the man now I’m fairly certain that whatever it was he was right and I was wrong.  He was probably just bemused by my attempt to correct him.

I’m letting him off a bit easy.  He should have at least acknowledged my remarks before leaving the studio.  There was perhaps a little bit of the CBC “class” system at play, in which he was the talent and I the mere technician.

But I’ve met the man a few times since then and (although he never remembers me from encounter to encounter, there’s really no reason why he would) he’s always unfailingly polite and as far as I know a nice guy.  Plus I have developed enormous respect for him as a talent.   I love his commentaries and I appreciate his stance on most subjects (his remarks this morning on Fresh Air concerning the science and politics of Global Warming were spot on).  The sheer breadth of his vocabulary and the skill with which he wields his weapon of choice — words — commands my respect.

I can’t remember who wrote it, but the best line I’ve ever read about Rex Murphy was a blurb on the cover of one of his collection of essays.  Paraphrasing here, but it went something like:

“When Rex Murphy dies, they’re going to have to beat his mouth to death with a stick.”

Love that line, love Rex Murphy, a true Canadian institution.

Even if he did ignore my criticism.

Things are back up and running. And it’s inspired me to get the most out of this blog. I’ve enabled my audio plugin (which I actually didn’t even realize was disabled… that’s how lax I’ve been lately). So I’ll try to post some audio clips over the next little while. Like this one, featuring my good buddy Matt Watts, whom I haven’t seen in a dog’s age:

That’s Holly Lewis in there as well. The clip is from Steve the Second, one of my favourite drama productions from my previous life as a radio drama guy. Ah, the good old days.

Incidentally, the last time I saw Holly Lewis she said to me, “Still sulking, eh?”

That’s because they were doing Canadia 2056 at the time and I had been reassigned to work on Q instead of producing Canadia. Holly was right, I was still sulking at the time, but I’m smiling these days, as things have turned out pretty well. I actually enjoyed story editing Canadia, and I didn’t have all the pressure of producing it. And I have to admit it turned out pretty well with Greg DeClute at the helm. And in retrospect my time on Q was pretty interesting. Got to meet people like this, for example:

And of course it all led directly to my present gig, which has been one heck of a positive educational experience.

Well that’s enough of a trip down memory lane. Why don’t we close with this clip, just for fun. And at this point I have no idea what clip I’m actually going to post… so it’ll be a surprise for all of us:

Yeah, that works.

Today a producer called me into a booth to ask a question about the documentary he was working on. He wanted to know about the placement of music.

I listened to the little bit that he wanted me to hear, which was essentially a guy talking, and then some music, and then a guy talking. The talking was interesting and well edited, and the music well chosen. But it didn’t work as well together as it could have.

He wanted to know my opinion, so I gave it to him, ’cause I spent twenty years doing this kind of work, and I love it.

First, find the post in the music (the part of the music where it becomes so pronounced that you’re better off not talking over it… often there’s more than one possible post). Place the post directly after the end of the talking and bring the level of the music up. All the music before that point should sit nicely underneath the talk.

The reason you do it this way is to create a little tension, like in many other kinds of art. You want to make the listener (or reader, or viewer, depending on the kind of art) want to know what’s coming next. He hears the music underscoring the words, suggesting a change in tone, and he wants to know what it means, so he sticks around until he finds out. It’s also more aesthetically pleasing to the ear, suggesting that this is something well put together, some thought has gone into it, so perhaps its worth sticking around.

It’s not rocket science this kind of stuff, but a little bit goes a long way toward giving a production a certain sheen.

How do you know when it’s right?

When you listen back and you get a little shiver running up and down your spine.

I know what you’re thinking:

 Joe, thinking?

Dangerous.

I know what else you’re thinking:

Aren’t you on hiatus?

I am.

I’m also on vacation.  For the next three weeks.  And I plan to do a lot of thinking during those three weeks.  Some decisions to be made.  Some plans to make.

But one thing I’ve already decided:

I’m probably going to end the blog hiatus sometime in August.

You see, I like blogging.  I like the outlet.  I like the creativity.  I like the people.  I’m not crazy about WordPress, which can be pretty annoying at times, but I can deal with that.

I think I’m cheating myself by not blogging.  Maybe I’m cheating the three or four of you (hi Mom!) who oddly enough seem to enjoy this blog.  You deserve better than me not blogging.  Hey, it’s the least I can do for you.

I won’t be able to blog about the CBC, though.  I won’t take down the stuff I wrote when I was CMG (a member of the union Canadian Media Guild) but now that I’m a Manager I cannot responsibly comment on activities within the CBC.  Aside from promoting stuff; that I can do.  But I’ll leave any editorializing aside.

Plenty of other stuff to blog about though.  Important things.  Stupid things.  Fun things.

Horrible things.

(And a gold star to the first person to name the Star Trek episode that came from…)

See you in a month. 

Here’s another casualty of the untimely and senseless destruction of Assorted Nonsense Version 1 that I think is worth reposting.  It’s a brief conversation with science fiction author Larry Niven that I had at Torcon 3 in 2003:

Here’s a rather shifty-eyed Joe the Story Editor talking about the writing process on Canadia.  Why I can’t look in one place is beyond me.  My wife said I look nervous.  I don’t recall being nervous, but I was rather taken by surprise by the whole thing.  I hadn’t been told they were interviewing that day and I just happened to drop by the studio.  Matt said, hey, why don’t you give an interview about story editing?  So I did.  I’ll know better next time.

 There are a lot of infinitely more interesting interviews with infinitely better-spoken people on the subject of Canadia here.

Someday I’ll do a longer post about my experiences working on Canadia.

 Someday.

On my birthday my wife teased me about getting old. I said I didn’t mind… lots of people don’t get the chance to turn forty-three. Little did I know that on that very day Canadian Blues Great Jeff Healey would be one of them, passing away at the all-too-tender age of forty.

I was fortunate enough to meet the man twice, once way back in the spring of ninety-two, when I’d been working as a CBC Radio technician for all of four years. Here’s a piece I wrote in my journal at the time about meeting him:

Spring Nineteen ninety-two.

I was asked to work overtime and it turned out to be a two-hour booking packaging My Kinda Jazz, hosted by Jeff Healey.

Myself I’m not really into the kind of music he plays, although I do like the kind of music he apparently prefers, which is the sort he featured on his show. Antiquated jazz, dating back well into the Forties and beyond. Anyway, when he got to the studio booth he greeted me over the talkback, having been informed of my presence in the control room by the producer. I thought this was a friendly thing for him to do, as it’s not of unheard of for people to completely ignore us technical types until they just about trip over us.

I said hi back, and he commented that he couldn’t hear me very well over the talkback. This was unimportant, really, as in all likelihood I wouldn’t be talking to him during the show, but I decided to look into it anyway. I went to the booth and pointed out a certain knob that I suspected might have control over the volume of the talkback. He had his hand partially over the knob in question so I couldn’t turn it up myself, and as he is blind, I was pretty sure he didn’t know which knob I was talking about.

I did sort of a stupid thing, I said, “It’s the one just to the right of your hand”, and then reached out and touched the knob, also brushing his hand slightly. It let him know the position of the control I was talking about, but I think it annoyed him greatly. I guess I was acknowledging his handicap and underestimating him.

He said huffily, “No, that doesn’t have anything to do with it, that’s the monitor control.”

I suppose I had a thing or two to learn about dealing with blind people, not to mention studio booth controls. Finally I just adjusted Healey’s mic and with my tail between my legs returned to the control room. (Found out later you can’t adjust the level of the talkback, it’s pre-set.)

If Healey really was annoyed with me it didn’t last long; there was a bit of friendly banter before we started the show. The packaging went well, it was a straightforward sort of affair, chatter, song, chatter, song, with all the songs prerecorded by Healey one right after the other on a DAT. I guess he has a DAT machine home. Made my job easy.

Just so happened it was March 25th, 1992, his twenty-sixth birthday, I think, the producer (David, I don’t know his last name) told me.

Healey was quite knowledgeable about his subject matter. I couldn’t tell how much he was reeling off the top of his head or how much he derived from his notes (all in braille). All the tunes were from old 78′s, his own; apparently he has a collection of about 6000 or so (note: as of 2008 it numbered 30,000 plus).

We played a song from Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, one of four versions the Duke recorded of this particular song, called the Mooch. There was a muted trumpet solo in the song, and Jeff remarked in the intro that what the trumpet player used for a mute was a plunger. I asked David if Healey was joking and he assured me he wasn’t. Maybe they were having me on, I don’t know, but during the song David asked Jeff over the talkback if the plunger the guy used was a used plunger. Jeff laughed and remarked that if it was, it was probably a “shitty plunger”.

He sat with his eyes closed the entire booking, rocking a bit to the music, and when he left he didn’t say goodbye.

My buddy Matt Watts has won an Actra Award for his work on Canadia.

Way to go Matt!

I’m proud of you, man… you deserve it.

(That’s Matt taping Apocalypse Al… I don’t have a shot of him taping Canadia… sorry!)