Issue link: http://digital.copcomm.com/i/1279181
22 I M PS E . O R G ask about. The location guy said, "Hey, we shot some things at this ranch, but it's just flats, there are some structures, but it's not really real." It was too windy that day so we couldn't do our bird ambiences or our other atmospheres. We had a field day. When you have a strong wind and a not very strong structure, something that was cheaply made to be temporary, there are a lot of leaks, there's a lot of holes and gaps. I stayed there all day recording wind textures. What it feels like to be inside a log cabin in a windstorm. I almost didn't do it because it didn't seem like what we needed. Except when we got there… Inside of these structures they start[ed] speaking and singing. It sure was spooky. It can make your editorial life so much easier if you are able to get right in on it, even during production, if you're fortunate to know that you're going to be working on this thing, and sometimes you catch a lot of stuff that you don't have to scramble for later. I find field recording to be a particularly special facet of post-production sound because opportunities for endless technical tinkering are relatively restricted: it's difficult to get bogged down in the gear once you've made your initial investment. Once you have your mic in hand and your recorder is rolling, you are limited to capturing the physical realities of the world around you. In essence, it boils down to what you can do to tell the story using listening, a shared sensory experience. After you have your mics plugged in and your headphones on, forget about what you expect to hear, and listen to the sounds as you change positions. Focus on what is, and let that lead you to what could be. I often find myself in what is referred to as a "hunter's trance" while recording ambiences. I sit, my attention completely consumed by the air as it tickles the delicately thin membrane of my mic. I take note of every flickering blade of grass and the gentle groans of the trees as they complain about the atmospheric stressors they are forced to endure. A lonely bird calls out in the distance, answered only by its echo, before being joined by a like-minded singing partner. The first droplets of rain strike the dry earth with a dusty dull thunk, and what feels like hours of recording turns out to be a mere handful of minutes. Field recording is a portal through which I am able to experience complete focus. Being a field recordist is as much about your lifestyle as it is the act of recording. You must be a lifelong learner, and a chronicler of experiences and interactions. It's impossible to say when the remote beaver dam hidden off a long-abandoned logging road will suddenly become a priceless sonic resource, or when your eccentric hammer wielding, anvil smashing, blacksmith friend's collection of working antique steam whistles will become the characterful backbone of some dystopic futuristic soundscape. You never know what weird seed of exposure could turn into a fruit-filled phantasmagoria you can feast upon. Every outing is a scouting session for possible source material. Sometimes you need literal representations of sounds that people might recognize and have personal experience with, in their day-to-day lives, and sometimes you need to adopt a more impressionistic approach, maybe even construct a prop or two. Eventually you will accumulate a Rolodex of resources to call upon. At this point, you might find yourself thinking something along the lines of—why wouldn't I just record all these sonic wonders as I discover them? Maybe I could set up a vendor website and sell my sounds in little pre-packaged bundles, all tightly cellophaned to preserve freshness? As a sound designer, I am sorely remiss every time a characterful sound slips through my fingers without being recorded and whisked away into the cavernous reaches of my library hard drive, a treasure to gather dust until a moment of inspiration compels me to retrieve it. The fact is, no matter how thoroughly I record a sound source, there will always be something missing in my recording that a little bit of narrative intent would have improved. There is a reason that stock video footage is rarely used to bear the brunt of the narrative burden in a film. A modicum of intent is your most powerful tool. In today's veritable cornucopia of boutique sound effects library vendors, it seems as though the need for custom field recordings could be rendered obsolete, but I find this notion to be utterly absurd. There is simply far too much nuance within the art of storytelling. This is what we need to remember. Above all else, we are storytellers contributing to the cultural zeitgeist, and it is through stories that we, human beings, define ourselves. Compressed timelines and shrinking budgets can pressure us into operating under a cookie-cutter factory mentality, but the product of our labor has the potential to outlive those of us who helped make it. The extra day or two that it might take to record material that can elevate "I think a lot of it comes down to perspective. It almost doesn't matter what the microphone is, but what … your mental attitude to what the scene is, and how the most prominent character in that scene might be hearing things. So, it's kind of like putting yourself in the right place, when something is happening." –ERIC POTTER