From: "Stuart Hirotsu" <kotonk544@yahoo.com>
To: <RobandSonja@comcast.net>
Subject: mem-wahs
Date: Monday, October 29, 2007 3:53 PM
aloha Rob
Thinking about yer request for some descriptions of
way-back daze, and I am reminded of your propensity
for remembering my participation in sessions I never
worked. For example, you have "memories" that include
my knowing Ed Bannon, when the truth is I came on
board well after his exit. I heard stories of him,
including his insistence that a certain soldering
method on the jack bays improved response at 20k.
There is no question in my mind that you will elicit
far more interesting responses from Gordon and
Missbach, both of whom spent far more time in your
early Tres Virgos sessions than I did. That said, I
will offer the few vestiges of memory I might recall.
A couple of caveats...
Obviously, what I write will be from my perspective
and told as I would; it will require some re-tooling
to fit into your memoirs. Secondly, I refer to what
Paul Newman offered in a making-of documentary, where
he mentioned a reunion with his WWII flight crew, and
they disagreed on almost every "memory" recalled.
The LEDE Tres Virgos (as opposed to the Garage Tres
Virgos) was coming on line about the same time I was
trying to get my audio life started. Impressed by all
the media coverage in Mix mag, I sought out a visit
during a trip to the Bay Area. Bob Missbach
graciously gave me the grand tour while carpenters and
electricians buzzed around us. Even then, the control
room was cosmetically worlds beyond the funky sound
holes I'd worked in up to that point. The real kick
came when Bob pumped music through the 813's and let
me sit in the sweet spot. In a second I knew that I
wanted to devote a good part of my life to working in
that room.
With the faith and naivete of a priest, I sent resumes
on a regular basis. Two major complications in these
career plans were my lack of experience and the 400
mile commute my Southern California residence would
require. A move to Northern California and a
willingness to accept any entry level job helped
address those complications, and eventually I got a
call from Mr. Robin Yeager.
The job was the typical go-fer position we all brag
about when we describe our humble beginnings: brewing
coffee, making ciggie runs, and cleaning the trash.
At 20 hours a week it was manageable, even with the
40+ mile commute (each direction) between San Rafael
and Redwood City. The fun started when I was allowed
to assist a graveyard shift project. Those sessions,
on top of the regular duties I had, gave me a good
taste of the hours an audio life involves. So far, no
big deal...
After a week or three trying to keep up with the
hours, I mentioned to Robin that the commute was
getting to me. He looked at me like I was insane, and
I didn't know what to make of it. At this point we
hadn't worked together, seeing each other mostly in
passing. So when he mentioned something about my
living in Kentfield, a small town just minutes away
from the studio, I was stumped. It didn't take very
long to realize that he had misread the Kentfield
Avenue address on my resume, believing it to be the
city. Eventually he admitted that if he had known I
was living so far away, he would never have hired me.
In the long haul he kept me on board, and I eventually
moved to San Rafael. Had he slowed down a bit when
first reading my resume, I might not have known all
those years of audio life. Truth is, there were times
when I cursed his fast reading.
After Tres Virgos, Robin went indy style and hired me
to assist. By then we had worked many hours together,
developing a work style that earned praise from other
studio rats. At first I would watch him edit,
mentally trying to keep up with the cutting. As my
skills evolved, Robin would hand over more and more
duties to me, and eventually I took on most of the
editing. Then there was this one session in
Richmond...
A gentleman with a thick Middle Eastern accent wanted
to produce "dense" music, a genre that Robin initially
questioned. This producer responded to Robin's
hesitation by clarifying, with intense volume, "You
know, dense music! One-two-three, everybody dense!!"
Since Robin had recorded tons of R&B, it seemed like a
good match. And since we often edited several
versions of an R&B mix, I figured to get some razor
time.
I didn't figure that Robin would take the editing
himself, but I wasn't bothered; I thought I'd try to
anticipate his cut points as I had done in days past,
a good mental exercise. (Keep in mind that this was
in the days of actually cutting the tape; no computer
editing here.) I must admit I wasn't paying much
attention to the first instructions until it became
clear that the playback was never satisfying to our
very vocal (borderline belligerent) client. Since
Robin was one of the best editors I'd known, I started
to tune in to the back-and-forth between them, hoping
to discover the problem. It didn't take very long to
find the problem; it took longer to believe it.
In my time working with Robin, he taught that what the
client really wanted could differ dramatically from
what they asked for. I had sat in on dozens of
sessions where he would not literally do what the
client asked, but he got what they wanted. Yet, for
some inexplicable reason, it became clear that on this
strange evening he was following this client's
instructions literally. Problem was, our client would
describe the "same" edit differently each time, and
none of them ever resulted in 4/4 time.
The frustration filled the room, seeped out the doors,
and poured into the bay. I still had difficulty
believing that Robin didn't see the problem, but he
obviously assumed that our esteemed (or maybe just
steamed) client could count to four more than once.
The edits still came out sounding like crimes against
time. I couldn't hold back anymore, and we had a chat
(outside the room and away from our client) about this
very strange scenario.
When he realized what was happening, there was a look
of relief, as if someone had returned his sanity and
dropped it back into his brain pan. As Robin tells
this story, I had a very eloquent speech, but I doubt
it was worded that well. Bottom line: Robin went back
to the deck, edited the piece in a musical fashion,
and our client got his dense mix.
Stuart
Thanks Stu- that was at Starlight Sound in Richmond as I recall. "One-Two Tree Fo' DENSE DENSE DENSE!!" Who was that guy anyway?
