CAS Quarterly

C A S Q U A R T E R L Y I S U M M E R 2 0 2 1 83 James: I'm currently writing a book about production sound mixing that I intend to be a college textbook. I'll be reaching out to members of the CAS for some stories from the trenches. I truly enjoy teaching production sound to future filmmakers. It sometimes takes a while for the message to get through, but once it does, it changes the quality of their films for the better. I like to think I'm having a positive influence on them, helping them to become better filmmakers. I am keen to help elevate production sound as a dis- crete department and course of study within film schools. I'd like to be able to produce more sound mixers and other sound creatives rather than only teach to directors and producers. Chris: I'll finish with a story. My first job was not a paying job. I swept up at a music studio in Englewood, New Jersey, and learned about microphones whenever my boss felt like teaching me. He didn't pay me but he gave me a second job so I could make money. On weekends, I copied eight-track tapes for a penny a tape. After about three months, my boss got a call to do a TV documentary in the Midwest. He didn't want to leave his stu- dio, so he asked me if I wanted to do it. "It's simple," he said. "Interviews with scientists. All you have to do is attach the mic to a lanyard and hang it around the guy 's neck." The job paid $25 a day. Of course, I wanted to do it! When I got to the Midwest, the produc- ers told me they didn't want to see any microphones in the shots. The mics were RCA BK-12's, which are about the size of my thumbs. How was I supposed to hide them? I tried clipping them underneath the men's ties. Every time the men leaned back, their ties bulged out like they had tumors. I went to the men surreptitiously. "Please don't lean back when you talk!" I said. Now, their voices sounded muffled because the microphones were under their ties. I went to the men a second time. "Could you speak really LOUDLY?" I asked them. The men were wearing heavily starched lab coats. Every time they ges- tured, their coats went crackle and pop! I went to them a third time: "Uh—if it's okay—could you sit real still when you're speaking on camera?" The scientists were wonderful men. They sat as still as stones and spoke at the top of their lungs. They gave me great interviews. At the end of the job, the direc- tor decided to get some shots in their laboratory. I decided to go for some sound effects. They gave me a pair of asbestos gloves and I stuck my mic into a cage of feral cats. The cats hissed and howled and bit my gloves. The director said he'd use the effects, along with the interviews. I went back to the East Coast knowing what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a soundman. I thought I was ready. I went around New York City telling people I was avail- able. I didn't realize that my first job had been easy. The second job was difficult. I had 12 people talking together in a room. They were improvising, so you didn't know who was going to talk next. I hung three microphones from the ceiling and recorded their discussion through all three mics simultaneously. (And mixed all three mics onto one track.) "Newman" the pro- ducer said when I played him the produc- tion track, "That's the worst sound I ever heard in my LIFE." But I didn't know what else I could do, and I'd already invested in the Nagra recorder—so I kept going. And eventually, I had a career. Mark Ulano CAS James Coburn CAS

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