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If you work with musicians (or you are one) then youâve probably seen this article by Ari Herstand called â10 Things You Should Never Say On Stage.â Some of it is common sense (âYour city sucksâ), some oddly specific (âThis song is about my grandma who died of cancerâ), and some is sorely needed (âAny requests?ââbecause then youâre gonna get the guy who yells out âFreebird!â and feels oddly satisfied with the freshness of a zinger so stale that not even Dolly Madison would try passing it off as edible.)
The final no-no is âHow does it sound?â
Herstand writes:
This is a slap in the face to the sound guy. Never ask the crowd that. It should sound amazing. If it doesnât, then itâs either your fault or the sound guyâs fault. Either way, you just pissed off the one person not in your band who can actually make you sound WORSE.
As someone who has booked shows for over ten years I hate this question but for other reasons. Hereâs why:
âHow does it sound?â
"LOUDER!" cries the jackalope, one of the six folks who showed up to sit through their friendsâ project. Or "TURN IT UP!", another clever variation on the theme. The band will proceed to take this advice as gospel because the people verbally poking them are clearly in the know.
This almost always happens two songs into a bandâs set. Two songs in, almost every time. I could set my watch to it if I still lived in 1857 and used a timepiece. But occasionally a band is halfway through their set before asking âHow does it sound?â Which leads me to my own scientific finding:
"How does it sound?" really means one of two things: (1) They are too timid to ask for more monitors, thus the passive aggressive approach; and (2) they're insecure about their talent and wondering why no oneâs throwing any goddamn panties on stage. And thatâs because in a lot of cases, the answer to the question is âNot that great. You guys should practice. But after the next song Iâm gonna sit at the bar and watch ESPN, while tuning out the rest of your set.â
Of course, sound advice is not limited to the folks on stage. A couple of months ago, a patron came back to the booth to complain about the volume of the cello. He thinks itâs too loud. I stand up, step out of the sound booth, and gesture towards the board. âOK. Go ahead and fix it.â
This is the last thing the guy expects, and he replies âOh, youâre being passive-aggressive. Well, thatâs cool.â (Only in Seattle, right?) He does not take me up on my generous offer of letting him prove that heâs better than me. He slinks off and is never heard from again.
And just a few weeks ago, some kid on mushrooms came up to the booth and said âHey, do you have any control over the speakers on the left hand side, man? Because something sounds real funny, like wrong or something.â
âSorry,â I say, gesturing towards the 16-channel mixing board. âThis only controls the right hand side of the stage.â He makes a face and skulks off before I can say that Iâm kidding. He then stands in front of the stage and busts out some dance moves that remind me of those guys with the orange flashlights who land planes at night.
How does it sound? Fine. Since no musician will take the advice in this article (they canât read), it will continue to happen. Maybe Iâll ask myself this question on my death bed, just before I flatline and that one machine makes that high pitched noise that says a guy is dead. You know what I mean. I saw it in a movie once.
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