More Feedback: A Sound Designers’ and Composers’ Forum

The responsibility for creating the aural environment for a production falls on the shoulders of the sound designer and composer. Since our reference is to artistic matters, we recognize that everyone has his or her own style, individual creative voice, and techniques. We approached a representative group of sound designers and composers, whose backgrounds range from traditional to academic, and whose work ranges from abstract to highly commercial theatre. Their work represents all aspects of the best their f ields have to offer. We sought their views and input on issues that we felt would be compelling to you, our readers. We consciously did not aim questions exclusively for sound designers or composers. The essence and technology of the two disciplines cover so much common ground.

Although we (literally) “wrote the book,” we realize that we are not the last word in the processes of sound design and composition. We tapped the expertise of the professionals in this chapter, and in our esteemed colleagues’ responses, we were struck by both the similarities and vast differences in style and approach.

THE SOUND DESIGNERS AND COMPOSERS

Todd Barton is the Resident Composer and Music Director for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. His concert works have been performed by the Kronos Quartet, the Cavani String Quartet, and the Oregon Symphony Orchestra.

David Budries is chair of the Sound Design Program at the Yale School of Drama. He holds the chair of Music Production and Technology at the Hartt School, at the University of Hartford. He has designed sound and composed music for such luminaries as Athol Fugard, Mark Lamos, Irene Lewis, and Richard Hamburger. His work has been heard at Yale Rep, Hartford Stage Company, Center Stage, and La Jolla Playhouse.

Jill BC Du Boff is a New York–based sound designer who works on Broadway, off-Broadway, and regionally. She has also designed for television, film and radio. She has been nominated for two Drama Desk Awards and a Hughes Award and is the recipient of the 2008 Ruth Morley Design Award in recognition of excellence and pioneering in theatre, the first time this award has gone to a sound designer.

Victoria (Toy) DeIorio is the head of the Sound Design Department at the Theatre School of DePaul University. With a BFA in Musical Theatre, and studying classical acting in London at RADA and LAMDA, she transitioned from the performance artistry to the technical. Her compositions and sound design have been heard offBroadway, regionally, and in the little storefronts of Chicago where she is based. She has been nominated for five Jeff Awards, winning three; and has received two After Dark Awards.

Michelle DiBucci is an internationally recognized composer working in film, concert performance, and theatre. Film credits include music for Stephen King’s Creepshow and Twins starring Fernanda Montenegro. Concert commissions include the Kronos Quartet and Lincoln Center Institute. She has composed music for over thirty theatrical productions and collaborated on many international projects with director Gerald Thomas, including her opera Grail. Ms. DiBucci is on the faculty at Juilliard where she teaches in both the music and drama departments.

Brian Hallas has worked with Ping Chong since 1984 as a sound designer and composer and with Jeannie Hutchins creating music and sound. Other credits include Golden Child at the Kennedy Center with Bill T. Jones; Max Roach and Toni Morrison at Lincoln Center; and Fontella Bass on the road. He has produced and performed Welcome to The New Age of Folk, a collection of familiar songs in an unfamiliar setting.

Michael K. Hooker is currently a media designer for Walt Disney Imagineering. He created the sound design programs and served as faculty at the California Institute of the Arts in Valencia, California, and the University of Cincinnati College/Conservatory of Music. Michael also serves as a vice commissioner for the USITT Sound Commission.

David Lawson is a sound designer and composer for theatre and dance. His credits include Richard Foreman’s Trilogy, The Cherry Orchard at Juilliard, The Grapes of Wrath at Capital Rep, The Slow Drag at the American Place Theatre in New York City, as well as productions at La MaMa, BAM’s Next Wave, and numerous works with choreographer Carol Blanco and a CD of his music, The Blanco Dances.

Phil Lee is a partner in Full House Productions, a production facility specializing in audio for radio, television, film, theatre, and educational and Internet projects. He has designed sound scores for theatre and dance artists including Ping Chong, Eiko and Koma, Marleen Pennison, Meredith Monk, the New York Ice Theatre, and the Talking Band. His work has been heard at the Public Theatre, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, the Vineyard Theatre, La MaMa E.T.C. Dance Theatre Workshop, Town Hall, and ice skating rinks all over America. He is the recipient of a Villager Award for theatrical sound design.

Tom Mardikes has been sound designer for Kansas City Rep since 1982 and has worked on over 150 professional productions including The Emperor Jones, The Deputy, and The Tempest. His work is represented regionally and in national tours. He is the Chair of the Design/Technology faculty for the Department of Theatre at the University of Missouri/Kansas City and is Director of Recording for the Conservatory of Music/Kansas City.

Richard Peaslee has composed music for over fifty theatrical and dance productions that include scores for Broadway, New York City Ballet, The Royal National Theatre, The New York Shakespeare Festival and The Royal Shakespeare Company, and Peter Brooke, including Marat/Sade and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He has also composed the music for the Martha Clarke Music Theatre Groups’ productions, including The Garden of Earthly Delights for which his score received the Obie in 1984.

Elizabeth Swados has composed film scores and has created over thirty pieces on and off-Broadway, including Runaways, Doonesbury, The Haggadah, The Trojan Women, Jerusalem, Alice in Concert, Missionaries at BAM, and Cymbeline for The New York Shakespeare Festival. She has received five Tony nominations, Guggenheim and Ford Fellowships, and a grant from The Righteous Persons Foundation to film The Hating Pot about racism and anti-Semitism.

Jim van Bergan’s New York and world premiere designs include Robbers, Denial, All in the Timing, Ancient History, Bunny Bunny, and Nunsense. Other clients include Blue Man Group, The Big Apple Circus, the Metropolitan Opera, New York Philharmonic, and the Martha Graham Dance Company. He mixes the worldwide New Year’s Eve Ball Drop broadcast annually from Times Square, Cats on Broadway, and received a Drama Desk Award nomination for Lypsinka! A Day in the Life.

SOUND DESIGNERS’ AND COMPOSERS’ QUESTIONS

We asked members of the roundtable for their individual definitions of the role of a sound designer or composer. Their responses to this core question frame a broad spectrum of approaches to the creative process and final product. Their diverse perspectives of the role are evident throughout the entire roundtable discussion.

BRIAN H: As both a sound designer and composer, my role is the same: to create an environment in which the action can exist, and to help establish the emotional atmosphere in which the scene occurs. Sound, more than any other medium, can place you somewhere with the least amount of effort. You hear a sound, and you know immediately where you are. There is no middleman.

MICHAEL H: I try to integrate sound design and composition as one. Composing music is really no different than the process of “composing” a sound cue. In the grand scale, your entire set of cues fulfills the simplest definitions of music—“arranged noises.”

RICHARD P: In most of the shows I’ve worked on, the composer has also been the sound designer because that particular role didn’t exist for a long time, and also because producers, even today, don’t realize its importance and may not budget for it. As composer, you try to write the music appropriate for the production; as sound designer, you try to maximize its impact on the audience through proper miking and exciting production or reproduction. In the area of FX, I feel the roles overlap. As a composer, I never leave them entirely to the sound designer, although he may initially find the material; the composer often has a better feeling for what’s needed, having worked closely with the director.

ELIZABETH S: My role is to serve and interpret text and drama, to highlight subtext, and create sound scenery and light. The challenge is to understand the work of drama and its overtones as thoroughly and originally as possible and translate that understanding into music.

TOM M: Get a bead on where the production is heading. Scenery and costumes have to commit their designs very early in the process. Sound has the advantage of being able to count down to the last minute, and creating something very specific to the production.

DAVID B: As a conceptual sound designer, I am responsible for all aspects of the created aural environment. That’s everything that makes sound. I treat all sound design and composition as a creative endeavor. The primary difference is source material. I maintain that there is virtually no difference between a carefully constructed door close as a scene turning point and a carefully written and orchestrated musical phrase that serves the same function in the production design. Sound design is a compositional skill. In my opinion, you must give the same care and attention to the creation of music and sound props. Some young designers get caught up in the idea of being an “Artist.” They look too much to personal motivation and not enough to the shape or content of the entire show. If those folks can lose the idea of being an “Artist” they may find that they can actually create more real art, and in turn be a better partner in the design process.

With respect to the physical space, there are practical limitations to what you can achieve with sound and music. Obviously you can’t go around redesigning each physical space (although I’d like to at times), but we must work to achieve the dramatic goals of the production as well as possible in a given venue.

Anything that makes sound comes under my scrutiny, from scenic elements and props to music and sound effects. As a result, I will consult with a technical director when necessary to make a moving set piece quieter (of course, only if that is important to the production) and with props people to adapt the perfect prop. I will also work with composers to realize their ideas in three dimensions and with sound effects to create abstract environments or realistic sourcespecific sounds.

In the composition of incidental music, the goals are still the same. You need to provide an aural character that supports the scene and find creative ways of expressing that idea fluidly within the context of a production. If a singular style emerges for you, it can become a personal trademark and often you are selected for a particular production based on your perceived style within the industry. For others, flexibility, the ability to adapt quickly, and broad knowledge of musical history and styles become valued assets.

PHIL L: My role as a sound designer was to collaborate with the director to help him/her achieve his/her vision. It was to bring my expertise in the field of sound and my appreciation of theatre together to help enhance the production sometimes in ways the director might not have thought about or known was possible.

VICTORIA D: I am both a composer and a sound designer so my roles may overlap in many instances. The overall definition of the sound designer is a person who is in control of everything that makes noise in the production, whether it is practical or recorded. A composer adds to the mood, feeling, and pacing of the piece through music. They add the tension, flow, and motion to what you are watching visually, while working with the sound to inform the audience of where and when the action is taking place.

Describe your process. In developing sound designs or compositions, how do you communicate in first meetings with the director? Have you found a favorite director with whom to work? [Given that everyone starts by reading the script, the answers were quite varied.]

JILL DB: Most of the shows I design sound for are straight plays, so, unless otherwise noted, I will be referring to my experiences designing non-musical productions.

My process in designing sound for a show is twofold. Like most other designers I begin by reading the script and generating ideas. I will then delve more deeply into the script and clarify my ideas, producing what I call a “sound script.” This is a list, or grid, really, consisting of my ideas of where every sound effect, transition, underscore, and piece of music will go, what the purpose of that sound is, and any other notes I think the director should consider when thinking about the sound. I usually send this sound script via email so the director can make notes on it and send it back. Based on this exchange I begin designing the cues. I usually start with cues that I think are essential to rehearsal, cues that will need a lot of finessing before tech, and cues that the director is not quite convinced of. Often I will put an idea in the sound script that is not obvious from reading the play, and the director may be uncertain that we will need or want a sound in that place. The director will either say, “Alright, I’ll listen to what you have,” or “You should see that scene and then decide if you think we will need sound there.”

By this point I will have also been in contact with the production manager regarding budget, and what the house and set look like. This shapes the way I think about the sound for the production. If the production doesn’t have a lot of money, and we can only afford two speakers and a playback system, I will make sure that we can still have a fully realized design within the budget.

Another hurdle is load-in. If the show only has one day, or sometimes less, with festivals, I will have to prioritize my needs and make sure that the essentials can be loaded in on time. I will also make sure to touch base with the lighting, set, and projection designers, figure out where they will be hanging their instruments, and reserve real estate for my gear. When designing a system, I often take this into consideration, deciding what speakers I will be using based on the amount of space I can get in the grid. This knowledge is also important to take back to meetings with directors. If the production budget doesn’t allow for something that both the director and I believe are essential to the show, I will sometimes ask the director to go to bat for me with the producers. This is not a common practice, but sometimes it is necessary, and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Conversely, when discussing the design with the director, I will sometimes say, no, we can’t afford to have/do that, and come up with a creative alternative that suits the production. These ideas sometimes end up being the best ones.

At the point in the process when the director is in rehearsal and has a better idea of what the show needs, and often times, some new ideas, I try to have a meeting with them. Also, at some point either before or during the first week of rehearsal I will give them a CD to listen to. I then try and push for the director to use the music, underscore, or sound effects in rehearsal. This is key to the design because it gets the actors used to the sound, and the director can hear the sound and give notes before tech, when they are concentrating on all of the elements. I find this makes tech easier and more productive for sound. Some of the best shows that I have worked on were shows where the actors have had sound in rehearsal. This is because the actors learn the timing of the sound, and learn to use it while developing their character and blocking. Hearing the sound and integrating it into rehearsal is invaluable: a director can actually “tech” the sound while working on a scene and give notes about things like tone and length as well as decide if the sound is necessary or if there needs to be more. It helps the director to think about the sound in rehearsal rather than the stressful environment of tech. This can only benefit the design by helping to flesh out the sound and interweave in the play. I am often able to wrangle the stage manager or a PA to run the sound for rehearsal.

I will try to meet with the director one or two more times before we go into tech. Most of the notes during the rehearsal will either be given through email, in a rehearsal report, or over the phone. I will continue to bring in new CDs of sounds for rehearsal, so ideally by the time the show is ready to begin run-throughs in the rehearsal space, they have most of the sound to work with. These run-throughs are often very enlightening for me, and I will continue to shape the design based on what I learn from them.

The next step is generally tech. I try to use the ironically named “quiet time” to suss out the system, refocus speakers, EQ the system, and set levels. I will often invite the director to the second half of quiet time, especially if the show is particularly sound heavy. We will listen through the cues and set general levels and timings. After this final meeting before tech, I will usually come away with pages of notes, but something roughed in for every moment. I can then spend much of tech, while lighting projections or automation is working, to do these notes, and play them for the director. By working this way I am not scrambling to come up with many new things, and I can spend my time fine-tuning the sound. I prefer to work this way because I can spend time focusing on the more difficult moments and, ideally, am less stressed during tech.

VICTORIA D: After reading the script, I begin my research on the time period/genre and place of the play. After I do sufficient research, then I feel I can discuss these ideas with the director. It is always foremost in my mind that it is the director’s vision that I am fulfilling. My usual approach is to ask questions, and I try to never leave the meeting without feeling as I though I have some specific direction for me to pursue. Once I hear what the director wants for the feel of the production, I then add in how I feel artistically, and use my research to blend with the information that I received from my conversation with the director.

If I have the luxury, my design process truly begins after I’ve heard the play read out loud. I like to hear the aural quality of the actors and the speed and flow to really determine how the sound and music will fit in. On a basic level, the sound certainly can help illuminate time and place, but I also see sound as another character in the play. It lifts the play from being written word, said by actors, into the world of theatricality. It helps to guide emotion and suspense in the audience as well as provide something that can provoke a pure and kinesthetic response from the actors. My favorite directors are those who recognize this, and trust my experience and knowledge. These are the people who allow me to truly delve into the process with the experimentation of sound, and in return, I’m able to be a full artistic collaborator who can really influence the overall production.

PHIL L: I almost always began by marking up the script as I read it for possible places where sound would be appropriate. Then in first meetings with the director my first priority was to LISTEN. Upon getting a sense of what it was the director wanted to achieve and making some suggestions if I felt it was warranted at that time, I would revisit the script with the results of those first meetings in mind and begin to formulate an outline of what approach should be taken in the sound design. My favorite directors to work with were those directing their own work, so-called avant-garde author/directors such as Ping Chong and dance-theatre author/choreographers such as Marleen Pennison, Eiko, and Koma.

DAVID L: In reading the play, I’ll make note of basic information such as location, time of year, time of day, weather, etc.—whatever indications the playwright has given. For example, Julius Caesar. Act 2, Scene 1. Rome. Brutus’ orchard. Clock strikes.

Following this initial reading, I’ll get together with the director and get their ideas on how they intend to approach the work. Find out what their concept is for the piece. In my first reading of the play I have to be careful not to get too firm an idea of how I think the play should sound. There will be things (hopefully) that I’ll respond to on some personal level, that very well may serve as my angle into the work, but ultimately it’s my responsibility to interpret and implement the director’s vision of the play and to place their needs above my own. Usually, my interpretation of a play and the director’s will be pretty much in the same ballpark.

I like seeing the set design as early as possible. It gives me the clearest indication as to the overall style of the production. If it’s impressionistic or abstract, I’ll start to think of my work along those lines. It is important to me that the sound design fit in with the other design elements of a production.

“Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.”—Elvis Costello.

“Language is a virus from outerspace.”—William S. Burroughs.

RICHARD P: If you’ve never worked with the director before, the first meeting is establishing a friendly but professional rapport, general discussion of the work, noting their ideas about it and what they want from you. I don’t expect much else at this stage, although sooner or later I want to know how much they trust your judgment vs. how much they may wish to micromanage—also, how they express their approval as well as their tactful or untactful ways of saying they hated something you did.

I guess my two favorite directors and with whom I’ve had long collaborations are Peter Brook and Martha Clark. First of all, I respect their enormous talent. Also, they know a lot about music and appreciate its importance. Always they listen, they trust, they never dictate, but they edit their own as well as your work fiercely for the good of the whole.

BRIAN H: I grew up in the collaborative world of original theatre, where directors, writers, actors, and designers create new work. A designer’s job is to take ideas and transmutate them into realities; to start with a concept and create something tangible. I want to make somebody feel something, but in such a way that they don’t realize it’s happening, even though it may take a lot of technology for that to occur.

Communicating with directors is an equal challenge. They’re often as unaware of the details of your process as is the audience, so it’s best to be as concrete as possible with your suggestions, and not to expect them to be able to hear any given cue until you can present it in the flesh.

Since you have to start somewhere, I want to be at readings, writings, and discussions with the director and cast, so I have as complete an idea as the others about where to begin. And then I sit at home, alone with my equipment, where I work up a general set of sketches, music, or effects for the director to listen to, preferably from here to create material with the others.

Developing a soundtrack simultaneously and in the same room while the performers make their discoveries is my favorite approach. Many of the more satisfying elements for my soundtracks have come about at the same moment as a performer made a major find. This happy synchronicity needs be nurtured, which is why it’s a very rare luxury, indeed.

If I’m working in a less original style of theatre, where the soundtrack is mostly prerecorded music used in transitions and between the acts, I offer an overabundance of suggestions. There are always a few hard, cinderblock cues to follow you around, so the more you listen to, the better. You’re always working to solve problems, fill in blanks, and build bridges to the completion of the work. So I offer up solutions, blank filler, and buttresses.

My favorite director has been my most frequent collaborator, Ping Chong. He wants a soundtrack to be just that—the aural blanket against which the action plays out. He is visual, includes movement and text within his pieces, and expects the soundtrack to be cinematic. We share a similar sensibility in the way music and sound work, and as a result, we’re game to try anything.

ELIZABETH S: I read the text and as many books and poets who might be associated with the time and subject of the work. Then I listen to as much music as possible that represents the spirit or time. For instance, for Cymbeline I listened to every CD and tape of countertenors in early medieval music as I could find.

Since I’m often the director, it’s more what happens when I cast a piece and begin to understand the musical energies and personalities I’m looking for. When I work with Andrei Serban, we discuss the deeper meanings and dramaturgy of the piece and how the music can be an appropriate subtext to his interpretation.

I believe the director should be boss. And if he’s good, he knows what he wants. Music should serve his interpretation of the piece and therefore it’s no good to try showing off or fighting the emotional tonality. It’s because of this belief that I rarely let anyone else direct my musicals and operas—but on the other hand, when I do collaborate, I make a decision to be there for the whole good.

Andrei Serban is the best director I know. He loves music, loves risk, and has an instinctive knowledge of how to use music in original and challenging ways.

MICHELLE D: I read the play several times. The first time I read it I try not to think about anything but the story and characters. The second time through I have a pencil and notebook with me, and I begin to take notes about any thoughts that pop into my head as I’m reading. Sometimes they are musical and sometimes not; however, I have found if it is undecided what “sound world” the play will have, then the answer is often in the play itself. For example, when I was asked to write music for The Cure at Troy (a version of Sophocles’ Philoctetes) by Seamus Heaney, my second time reading through the play I noticed words like cave, volcano, seabirds, lurid, and flame trembles and dialogue such as “Absolute loneliness … The beat of waves and the beat of my raw wound” and “… we’re in a maze … shifting sand …. Clear one minute. Next minute, haze.” All of these words and thoughts were not only helpful, but were also my source of inspiration for the score.

Meeting a director for the first time with no prior history of introduction or mutual acquaintances can be a bit intimidating. Directors are some of the most well-informed people on the planet. Many I have worked with are both knowledgeable and articulate in history, politics, theology, literature, geography, and all of the arts. Some even know more about the specifics of some music than the composer. (Even though you may have had years and years of intensive music training, inevitably it will be a director who will want to speak about a piece you’ve never heard … like Sibelus’ Second Symphony !) With this abundance of knowledge comes a very large ego. (Although I am not implying that all directors are egocentric.) But let’s face it: directors need to be in charge of performers, designers, and technicians, and the play really is their “baby.” Supervising such a birth usually requires a kind of myopic vision where equality in collaboration is put on the side burner and everyone looks to the director to unify the work. Along these lines I should add that when you compose music for the theatre you need to “let go” of your ego and give way to what is best for the production. This means that no notes can be written in stone. The director can choose not to use certain cues, or may ask you to revise or rewrite or have the music played so softly it can barely be heard. When the music is prerecorded, he can also chop it up and splice it together in such ridiculous composites that your heart will skip a beat as you hear all the beautiful or sophisticated passages you worked on for weeks get reduced to some collage of sonic babble. If this bothers you, then I advise you not to work in theatre (or film or television or commercials, for that matter). The only mediums that allow the composer to have the final word are the concert world and opera. I have several longstanding relationships with directors who trust my judgment and I can usually persuade them to try and hear it my way, but ultimately their approval is necessary.

DAVID B: The specific situation often tempers how I start and proceed in my process. When working with a new team—director, designers, actors—I spend a lot of time with a script (prior to rehearsal) to develop a familiarity with the piece (play, musical, etc.). I attempt to do this without creating too many “plans,” meaning, I try to keep an open mind about the possibilities of the piece. Sometimes this happens before the first meeting with the director, sometimes afterward. In any case, the meeting with the director will hopefully yield some discourse that will inform the potential design road map. After a rough course has been plotted, I go to work developing drafts for the next presentation. These might include musical sketches, found music, soundscapes, or sound props, anything that has essential meaning to the work. This should be done in close connection to the rehearsal process. Some works (plays) require regular attendance at rehearsals. Others require less time. For me, all of them require a tight communication with the production stage manager, who is my touchstone during the rehearsal process. Of course, regular communication with a director is essential, but a good stage manager can provide a lot of “structural” content which is essential for shaping the design to the production. Once the essential vocabulary is developed, then I elaborate and create rough cue ideas that could be used in rehearsal. These are then refined, while I create as many as three or four options for each idea. These options allow you to work quickly in the technical rehearsal process where the cues/music are fitted, exchanged, and edited as necessary to complement or support the desired intention.

This process changes dramatically when working with longtime collaborators. Often, design discussion is minimal and TRUST leads the way. A few essential words are exchanged, some references are made, and the drafting process proceeds. This is a very dangerous and exciting way to design. You still have to do the same legwork, but the result is often something better than you ever imagined. Of course this means that you and your team are very connected to each other’s style and manner. It’s like working in a very tight family where you know what each member is going to say before it’s said. Sometimes, I must admit, you can crash and burn, but it’s not usually too far to go to get back on the correct path.

TOM M: In my first meeting with a director, I am usually prepared to go in the direction that they want. My main thing is that I never go into a meeting without ideas. If given the opportunity, I will present them. If not, I just hang onto them for later. Directors, in general, do not have a sound vocabulary. Many have to work with selecting their own music and sounds early in their careers when they don’t have the luxury of working with sound designers and composers. So they get used to making choices—kind of becoming sound designers. Not knocking the director, but the choices too often tend to be clich é d. One has to steer them, and this is where it helps to have ideas. I’ve seen directors get very attached to a piece of music, making it a kind of anthem for a production. It is really just a place to start and begin to grow.

I have several favorite directors. I won’t name names, but one director who I work with often (a) has a hearing problem and (b) is the first to admit to know little or nothing about music and sound. I am turned loose. Our initial conversations last a couple of minutes and I go to work. So that is great fun. Another director who I have worked with frequently has it all worked out in their head so my job is to kind of pull it out and realize it. That really is not as much fun. That is more of a technician’s job than a designer’s job. It is more work. It can be good if there is collaboration.

MICHAEL H: During the first meeting I try and nail topics such as period, style, character development, the director’s feelings toward using music (underscore, framing, transitions, etc.), and if he/she would consider using original music. I listen for descriptives (adjectives) that might be part of their process—colors, emotional states, seasons, etc.

I see directors falling into one of two types. The first is an “actor’s director.” This is someone who seems only to be concerned with the acting, and tech seems to be an added bother. The second (and my favorite) is, of course, the “designer’s director.” This is someone who clearly wants to inspire and be inspired by his/her design team. The designer’s director is a team player and looks at theatre as a collaborative art.

JIM VB: I try to look at the script with a directorial or dramaturgical viewpoint. I note any obvious cues or thoughts about sound that I might have. I’m really trying to get a strong feeling for how I feel about the play, what it is saying, to whom, how the piece speaks, and why. It’s kind of the five-Ws approach: who, what, when, where, and why? I read it again with specific ideas and concepts, following them through and taking notes. Then, if I think I have a strong concept idea, I develop it and support it, looking for textual support, outside references, and musical ideas or quotes.

In my first meeting with the director, I try to absorb as much information as I can regarding their feelings and viewpoints about the piece, reaction, and intent on production style and values. Once I have soaked up as much information as I can, I try to share some of my insight and thoughts to find similar grounds or to reshape my thoughts and concepts to follow the director’s intent, and provide pointers for advanced or specific research. This meeting is mostly about “bigger picture” ideas and rarely gets specific on single cues, but might if there is a large sound sequence or collage that is integral to the performance or action.

On An Empty Plate in the Cafe du Grand Boeuf at the Berkshire Theatre Festival, director John Rando and I spoke at length over the phone about the ideas and concepts in the play and about the production. John told me that he was interested in underscoring several sections of monologues (vague ideas) which we later developed strongly in rehearsal. But in that same meeting, we had a short discussion about sound elements of a bullfight sequence that is integral to the play and needed a few specific ideas to be discussed. We didn’t even discuss other elements like miking or walk-in/walk-out music and if they would be desirable. We both wanted time to digest ideas and then meet again—especially after I had done some further research.

I find that some directors want and expect artistic collaboration from the sound designer from day one, whereas others consider us simply overtrained technicians. Regardless, I try to have a discussion on the process, find out how the director likes to work, schedule meetings to discuss research or for listening to sound sketches, or make specific dates to supply rehearsal cues for the director to work with. Once you have a dialogue in place, you understand how that director likes to work and where and when they might be open to listening to ideas. With some directors, you hold their hands while explaining a musical concept. With others, I include vastly different musical concepts with a group of music or sound sketches on rehearsal tapes or CDs, and await reaction. I find that directors will either not know what they want (have not heard/felt it yet) or your ideas are not in sync. Or the director knows what they want and can say to any idea: “Yes, no, absolutely not, maybe, or have you tried developing this idea … in this way?” The most important thing is listening to the director, since our job is to support their initial concept and ideas. So first you listen, then you advise and make options that will help narrow your options down and strengthen your concept.

I have a couple of favorite directors because they all work in the same collaborative style and we communicate the same way each time. John Rando, Chris Grabowski, Annette Jolles, and Jordan Corngold—all younger directors who know how to use their design teams and like to explore during the rehearsal process.

TODD B: As I go through the script, I observe allusions to music, metaphors, stage directions, etc. I familiarize myself with the possible role music might play in enhancing and illuminating the story. In the case of the Jacobean drama ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, I catalogued about thirty references to music in the text. All references focused on the concept of music of the spheres, celestial harmony, and the healing and serene powers of music. This was in dramatic contrast to the core of the story which portrayed a degenerate, violent, and decadent society where people’s lives meant nothing and a brother actually cuts out his sister’s heart! Eventually, most of the music cues were of a very ethereal and pristine character, which when played against the violence and terror on stage actually created more tension and horror than a “deep, dark, terrifying” cue would have.

My first meeting is usually with the director and all of the other designers (sets, costumes, lights, movement and vocal coaches, and dramaturge). It is often a brainstorming session where the director guides the exploration based on his or her sensibilities of the focus of the script. I usually come away from these meetings with a sense of the time, place, and general mood of the piece. I collect this information and allow it to expand and modulate my first impressions from reading the script, all in preparation for composing.

The most important question I always ask directors is, “If music was a character in the play how would you describe it? What is its gender? What clothes would it wear? What is its motivation? Is it onstage all the time, or only in specific scenes?” Such questions allow the director to talk in his or her native vocabulary and it also begins an “inclusive” dialogue with the music and the story.

I also ask directors to give me poetic images for specific scenes. In the case of ‘Tis Pity, the director at one point asked for “horribly beautiful” music. A tricky challenge but one worthy of the subtle and psychological power of music.

The general approach of my favorite directors is to acknowledge music as an active character in the play and to pay attention to the rhythm it brings to a scene. Of course, it is my job to first be responsive to the rhythm of the words and breath of the actors so that the music becomes an integral part of the overall dramatic gesture.

Please describe your style of composition. If you’ve had to emulate a period or composer, is it a consideration to keep your own style intact?

JILL DB: I didn’t come to sound design as a composer, but I have always been a remixer. I quickly learned that although I could make a lot of great music and some pretty interesting transitions using this method, I was limiting myself. I will often compose simple underscoring and transitions. My composing is based on the needs of the play, the energy of a transition, and sometimes, input from other designers. It is not that uncommon for a lighting, set, or automation designer to say to me, I need this transition to be loud to cover scroller noise/loud scene shift/lots of moving scenery. I am generally happy to oblige. I think that learning to compose for the needs of a thirty-to sixty-second transition has benefited me in this way. I do think that being a composer is extremely beneficial, to both the production and the art of theatre.

RICHARD P: What’s important is to do a score that is right for the show regardless of what style it may require you to write in. In fact, that may be a blessing, forcing you out of your rut and exposing you to other influences. “Keeping your own style intact” is not only unimportant, since the score will always have your fingerprints on it regardless, but also suggests that you are on an ego trip, not necessarily doing what’s best for the production. Since the collective fate of the show is what’s probably going to benefit you most, it’s wise to keep that in mind rather than making some “personal statement.”

ELIZABETH S: I have many styles. I’m a theatrical composer—an actor of sound. My style is to relate passionately to the action and motives of the characters. The only place I am outside of the “play” is when I write Judaica. Then I am composing for my ancestors and their writings. I emulate pure raw chant of every culture where a story is being told or a god is being summoned.

TOM M: I think that an artist develops their “voice” by trying numerous variations of the same thing. A designer studies artists, and takes what is needed for a particular production. Designers are great imitators and synthesizers, and rarely go back to the same well again.

DAVID L: My style of composition is largely environmental. I create the sonic landscape that the action of the play (or the dance) will take place in. My music is low on melody and rhythm and very big on things such as texture, ambiance, and tone color. There’s lots of vertical space in the composition. It’s a style I began developing in 1986 with The Manhattan Ensemble. We were doing a production of La Ronde and the director (Raymond Marciniak) thought it would be interesting to keep me out of the rehearsal process. I was to create a soundscape for the show, based on the few conversations we would have about the play.

Once I began working, I became aware of the fact that I had no idea as to what the rhythm of the play would be, what the actors sounded like reading the text, what the choreography would be like, and a number of other things I would’ve known (and planned for) had I been present at rehearsals. So I designed a piece that was more about “avoidance” than anything. Music that, I hoped, would not conflict with the other elements of the show. I developed the music around my general observations about set design: the set is always present, it doesn’t go anywhere. You notice it and study it, for as long as you like, and then it may be largely ignored as other things (like dialogue) demand more of your attention. But it is still there, resonating in sympathy with the rest of the production. The actors move through it, around it, and stand on it.

In dance I’m given a much broader canvas to work with. There’s not as much going on as in theatre. There’s nothing really to avoid bumping into. When working with choreographers, I’m able to use more conventional musical structures, which fills up a lot more vertical space and, in turn, requires more of an audience’s attention. The music becomes much more foreground.

In 1994, Carol Blanco asked me to write music for a piece she was choreographing called Edge. Again I was being asked not to attend rehearsals. (Is there a message here?) Instead I was to base my work on my interpretation of the title. The end result was very beautiful and worked extremely well with the choreography. What was interesting was that there wasn’t anything overtly “edgy” about either the music or the choreography.

I’ve never been asked to try and emulate another composer. That’s a musical discipline I simply don’t possess the skills for. I’ve been asked to create any number of locations, such as those of ancient China or Arabia. In these instances, I would more than likely try to avoid making the obvious statement in favor of some evocative suggestion. It’s important to leave enough room in a composition for an audience’s involvement. Give them just enough information to lead them gently down the garden path, but ultimately, let them discover for themselves what is most meaningful within the terrain.

VICTORIA D: I can’t really say that I have a particular stylistic mode of writing music because I really try to create music that lives in the world of each production. I do try to achieve a certain amount of elegance in my compositions, using simplicity and subtlety to get my ideas across. The thing that makes composition for theatre so exciting to me is the chance to write music that spans many different styles and genres. None of my pieces really sound like the others, unless they happen to be set in the same time period and place.

BRIAN H: My “style” is very electronic rock and roll, which, as we know, is quite diverse. However, I must say that one of my biggest surprises occurred last year working with Ubu Rep on a piece with a Jewish theme. I wrote a song which everyone loved and thought was an old Jewish song that I had dug up, and it worked with the show very well.

JIM VB: When I compose for shows, it’s because I need something that is not commercially available, and it’s often a hybrid of musical/compositive styles, or a soundscape that requires composition to function. So it’s much more about function and form for me. I’d rather work with a great composer on an original work than try to be the composer and sound designer. That’s simply too many hats to wear at once. I feel that composing a show is too much work on its own, and is a whole other job, so I’d rather be the sound designer in a collaborative relationship.

MICHELLE D: I am quite eclectic as a composer; however, I do have a strong aural attraction to bass instruments. Contrabassoons, bass clarinets, baritone saxophones, the lower strings, and the low register of the piano all are beautiful, evocative, and inspiring for me. With regard to composing music with historical references, there are always ways to have fun. For example, if you need to compose music for a Victorian salon, and the music is prerecorded, experiment with vintage microphones or different types of reverbs to add nostalgia to the piece. Or, if the play is set in the Renaissance, keep the harmony and style true to the sixteenth century, but instead of lute and countertenor, make it guitar and kazoo.

MICHAEL H: For me, there are no rules to obey when composing. If a show is locked into a specific period or country I do a lot of listening to existing music trying to absorb it all and “regurgitate” it back into new music. My background in jazz piano makes it easy to imitate and clone styles and orchestrations. I especially love composing for dance. Music and movement are made for one another. I use a stopwatch for scene timings in rehearsal and do a lot of outlining in the script—hopefully, to catch key words and phrases from which to let the music come. I always try and cut the music to fit the action rather than making a director restage to fit the music. My personal style is never a concern—I suppose it is always there.

How and when do you decide on what instrumentation to use?

ELIZABETH S: I select the instrumentation when I figure out what character deserves what instrument. I once scored a movie with Blythe Danner in it and she was, without a doubt, an alto flute. Imogen—in her sweetness and innocence (and pluckiness) was a harp. Shylock is a trombone. My kids are often drums. It goes on and on. Vocal always precedes instrumental whether talking or singing. In film, it’s image and expression.

RICHARD P: I decide instrumentation early on since it is integrally bound up with composition. Naturally, it will depend on style and budget.

PHIL L: My instrumentation was always sound effects.

BRIAN H: I determine the instrumentation as I go. The process of writing music is, for me, very subconscious, so I don’t usually think of things like instrumentation in an upfront kind of way. I suppose I have my basic palette. Of course, as with the song for the Jewish plays, the instrumentation becomes self-evident. As a self-educated musician, I don’t easily accomplish original “period” music, although the older I get and the more I know, the easier it becomes to attempt even this.

MICHAEL H: Sometimes instrument choice is dictated and driven by the script. At other times, I look at orchestrations as being “thick” or “thin”—big emotional moments get big drums, low brass and strings; sad underscores often get solo instruments like guitar or oboe. I love composing with non-Western instruments: taiko drums, mbiras, gamelan, tablas, and pan flutes. I have often composed with just sounds (not necessarily musical) and blend the line between sound and music. Character themes are fun to work in and out of scores. I often assign a certain instrument for a specific character with their melody intertwined throughout the show.

VICTORIA D: First, I research what the popular music was in the time period specified, and I listen to what instruments were used in those historical pieces. After that, I determine the force of the flow of the production and how I will use instrumental voicings to have the effect that I want on that flow. Finally, I decide on certain characters on stage who might have a particular instrument that either sounds like their voice, or expresses their character. If they have a particular theme that follows them around the play, I then match the perfect instrument to their character and their motives.

TOM M: It is innate. I just know, and have frequently wondered about that decision-making process myself.

TODD B: Often instrumentation is my first consideration. I’m drawn to timbres and textures, so early in the process I spend most of my time finding the “right” musical palette or musical language. The same note or series of notes played on a penny whistle has a completely different impact when played on a prepared piano or an electric bass. The instrumentation is an inseparable element of the music’s character.

Please talk about the pros and cons of working with live musicians vs. MIDI instruments.

RICHARD P: Live musicians bring feeling and flexibility to a score—MIDI technology, a whole new array of sounds and manipulation of sound. It’s not necessarily an either/or situation, and I’m strongly in favor of the use of both in the same score.

VICTORIA D: In music, live musicians are always the preference for me because of their intricate expression that they can bring. There is nothing that compares to the sound of a real human being using their energy and breath to create the sound from their particular instrument that they have worked their entire life to perfect. However, this is not always possible, and there are wonderful computer programs that simulate live musicians very well. In fact, they are getting better all the time.

The ease of MIDI is that it can be changed or manipulated well into the process, unlike a live recording which has to be edited or re-recorded if something needs to change. MIDI is very effective when you can’t find musicians that play a particular instrument, or to create an entirely new instrument based on sounds that may not be considered as traditional musical notes.

PHIL L: The only time I was involved in music was when I was working with a composer, recording live musicians for music to be used in addition to the design I was creating. Let me state right here that I consider composition and sound design to be two very different disciplines and art forms and that I believe one needs the assistance of the other if original music and sound design are going to be incorporated in the play. I’ve worked in sound most of my life and I know I don’t have enough of a musical sensibility or the talent to ever consider myself a composer and I’ve never worked with a composer or heard the results of sound design done by a composer that made me believe they had any idea what they were doing in terms of sound. I know there are many people on this panel who consider themselves to be both a composer and a sound designer, but I would deign to say that their strengths lie in one area or the other and that if it wasn’t for synthesizers and digital recording the sound designers wouldn’t be able to compose and the composers wouldn’t be able to create sound design. And I hate MIDI!

TOM M: I don’t like things that replace real musicians. No theatre affords live musicians for a play (or it is rare), so I at least try to use real musicians when recording the score. I hate scores that use synthesizers imitating real instruments as finished cues for a production.

JIM VB: There are two strict schools, and I’ve worked with both of them. Both can be extraordinary experiences and both can be failures. My personal preference is to work with live musicians, but that’s also because I do a good deal of live recording and broadcast, and there is no substitute for good musicians. Let me reemphasize—GOOD musicians! MIDI can do wonderful things, but let’s face it, there are places where you want twenty-five strings and places where you want five keyboardists. I think a good example of the two would be if you look at the score of Show Boat and the score of Sunset Boulevard—both require large orchestras, but one includes a great deal of multiple synth work, and they have very different sounds. Modern music has a different bent and includes the combination of both pop music’s influence on the orchestrations in modern musicals and the technological advances of wireless miking. These have made modern musicals both more compressed and louder by default. On the flip side, they also have made some musicals spectacular—with a greater dynamic range, total intimacy, and raw power when it is needed.

The orchestrations are better if fully controlled by a musician—meaning that whether your orchestra is a forty-plus-piece symphony or a single pianist, you will have better options and opportunities than if using a non-dynamic playback or MIDI orchestration.

MICHELLE D: The pros of live musicians, if they are “live” for the performance, is that they are able to respond to each individual performance as the actors become more comfortable and their performances evolve. The actors may want to take more or less time with certain scenes, potentially disrupting a prerecorded underscore. However, when the musicians are present they are ready to assist the actors rather than limit them to the same performance every night. I find no pros in working with MIDI instruments supposedly simulating a real person, like playing a flute sound on the synthesizer. However, using MIDI instruments for new sounds (new instruments) is always an exciting venture and has opened up so many new color possibilities on the composer’s palette.

ELIZABETH S: As I’ve indicated, my roots are so much in ritual and ceremonial theatre, I believe that instruments talk, comment, and play off of humans. Therefore humans must be playing the instruments. Electronic mediums are only appropriate if the range and world of the drama and its characters warrants ultra-modernization. I did a piece called Millennium Lounge about college kids as they face the year 2000. We used MIDI in that because the personal world was being lost to them and replaced by technology. I am a huge fan of Laurie Anderson and by no means judge others who make fabulous use of technology.

BRIAN H: MIDI instruments never talk back. Live musicians never get lost without a backup, unless, of course, they drink.

What is key to producing sound designs and compositions that unify as a seamless piece of work?

DAVID B: For me, the key is listening and communication. Once you determine the aural palette of the piece or what the essential elements are, it’s not hard to coordinate the music and sound components. If you listen and talk, this process is quite simple and coherent. What sometimes happens is that one partner in the process takes off on his or her own path, ignoring the foundational elements. Other times production partners simply don’t understand the general intention. If you talk about the piece in depth with your production partner, it is possible to have regular collaborative successes.

JILL DB: I think that the key to producing sound designs and compositions that unify as a seamless piece of work is different for everyone. A big part of this also depends on who the director is. If the director is open to trying things and excited about the sound for the show, then it is easier to make a seamless piece of work. Sometimes the director is scared of sound, or doesn’t know what it can do or how it can be used, and that takes a bit more convincing. I have found that when sound is integrated into rehearsals, it is easier to have a comprehensive design. This is the case because both the actors and the director utilize and integrate the sound ideas when blocking and rehearsing a scene. This makes the overall arc of the deign much more natural and seamless.

PHIL L: I think it’s a great mistake and a disservice to the production you are COLLABORATING on to ever think of your design as a seamless piece of work. If it is, why do you need anything else, like a play, to accompany it? It is supposed to complement and enhance an already scripted work (or if not scripted something where another visionary in another area than sound is working with you) and as such should not be seamless or particularly stand on its own.

VICTORIA D: The most valuable lesson I have learned is to maintain the same key signature, or complementary key signatures, throughout a play. Pieces of music can then move around within a production if the flow changes during tech without losing integrity of mood and feeling and thereby literally giving the show a feeling of seamlessness. You can also combine a few pieces together to make a longer piece as well.

I also like to use musical themes in the production. Those themes may be determined by character, mood/emotion, time period, action/pace, or place. You can follow these themes throughout the production, changing with emphasis as the show progresses.

BRIAN H: Unity in design has no magic “key” to its formula. I think you need to be constantly aware of the whole while working on the pieces, although in most shows I’ve worked on, the whole is yet to be discovered until very late in the game. You just have to be current with the show’s progress. On the occasions when I haven’t been, it’s been very difficult to let go of pieces I loved but that didn’t fit.

TOM M: It is important to use musicians and create your own palette. I feel that is the single most important aspect to having a complete design for a production. It has to sound like it belongs together. An interesting production that worked wonderfully was Les Liaisons Dangereuses. The director wanted to explore the use of Jean-Philippe Rameau, who wrote in the mid-eighteenth century. We hired a harpsichordist for the recordings. My idea was to have the music progress from being very period and very posh at the beginning, and as the wickedness, shallowness, and deceit of the characters becomes more revealed, the music would deconstruct; still harpsichord, but something unimaginable for the period. I likened this, in my explanation of the idea, to Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey, which begins very beautifully and the inner ugliness becomes exposed on the painting at the end. So, from CDs we found Rameau selections that worked well for the many different scenes and told the harpsichordist what selections we wanted to use. She had the score for most of Rameau’s harpsichord work, and was able to review it before the recording session. The director came to the session and we were able to adjust tempos, timings, beginnings, and endings very specifically. When we completed the Rameau section of recording, the composer then went to work with the harpsichordist recording dissonant chords, noises, and scrapes so that he could build up the deconstruction in ProTools. The final cues worked so that the harpsichord sounded very natural for most of the first act, stereo cues coming from the set, as if there were a harpsichord on stage. The deconstruction begins near the end of Act I and the cues grew progressively from four-track to six-track and eventually eight-track cues. It enveloped the audience and got quite wild. This scene change music worked in conjunction with the attitudes of the actors playing servants, and the mundane activity of moving furniture and chairs developed quite an attitude and commentary.

JIM VB: In reference to the one-woman shows Keeping the Word and The Handshake, these are prime examples of strong compositions that tie in to the same world as the sound effects, environments, and ambiance. The key is staying in the same milieu, and collaborating on every aspect of the sound with the composer, director, and performer. The audience is always responding to the sound of the music, the soundscape, and the actress—so we must always be on the same page, and have the same intent. Since these works are single, continuous cues, the soundtracks are immense and required huge amounts of work, and a great deal of development, as well as trial and error in the process of creation. But like a great film, these plays then have a life of their own, and develop their own genre. And unlike a normal sound design which would have no life without actors, I feel that these soundscores would be quite interesting to listen to alone. They would make sense by themselves, yet only become extraordinary within the performance, the ultimate collaboration.

MICHAEL H: The key—communication and collaboration.

What is your approach to technical rehearsals? What are your top priorities?

VICTORIA D: My approach to technical rehearsals is to be as prepared as possible. I never want anyone to be waiting on me unless it is completely necessary. It’s still fairly new for sound designers to make quick changes to their cues in a technical rehearsal, but I feel it’s very important for me to be able to do this. I want to make sure I am well prepared with my cues programmed into the system so that tech will continue to run smoothly. This makes me overprepared at the start.

I believe everyone’s priority is teching a show efficiently while respecting everyone’s artistic vision. Tech is the point in the rehearsal process where all the creative minds must come together smoothly to achieve the production values of the show. Clear communication and consideration for other designers’/director’s ideas is essential to getting through the process efficiently.

I work best when a really focused stage manager runs the tech while keeping an eye on the clock. When there are too many voices trying to run the tech, it can get very confusing and much more difficult to honor the overall artistic vision.

JILL DB: Before tech begins, I will get together with the director, by meeting, over the phone or via email exchange, and make sure that I am totally clear on all of the sound moments. Ideally the director will have heard most of them, and worked with them, or at least approved them by this point. I will also give the stage manager a more comprehensive version of the sound script, which will include the page the sound is on, the word it should get called on, and the purpose of the sound. This ends up being an outline for the SM, and not set in stone. The calling will often change when lights are added, or will be called on an action rather than a line. I will usually go through the cue script with the stage manager before tech.

By the time tech rolls around, I will have also had quiet time, and set starting levels for the sound. I find, however, no matter how prepared I am for tech, the first few cues always take the longest. Learning the language of the show, working with the other designers and putting the show in the space are all elements that can only be done during tech. Once this language is established, tech is a lot of starting and stopping. I use this time to work on notes and setting levels. I try to get as much done before tech so that my focus is on refining the sound for the space and creating new cues if necessary.

I will also make sure to stay in constant contact with the lighting designer during tech, either through the SM or directly. I try to make sure that our timings line up and that we are generally on the same page. I have worked on shows where the lights and sound are telling two different stories. By talking to the lighting designer and sometimes even playing them the music or sound, we can make sure we are both working towards the same goal.

The hardest thing about tech is the stopping and starting. When I have a long cue, such as underscoring or background ambiance, it is sometimes difficult to tell if it will work in the show. By stopping and starting, a cue that would normally play for three minutes is played for three hours while the other designers are working on the scene. This can make it hard to gage where certain builds will fall within a scene. Only by running the scene in real time can this timing be figured out, and, generally this doesn’t happen during tech. The top priority for tech, I think, is getting through the show and hearing every sound in the space, with the director.

PHIL L: One of the reasons I’m no longer doing sound design is because I hated technical rehearsals. I would be there all day waiting for them to get the lights right while we eventually got to the half-hour or so it took to check our cues. In those circumstances my top priority was to stay awake. In shows with very complex sound designs such as Marleen’s or Ping’s my top priorities were timing, levels, and usually running back to the studio to make last-minute updates to the cues.

MICHAEL H: I ask for a preliminary cue setting time (“quiet time”) with just the sound operator and myself to set preliminary levels, routing, and timing (fades). The house engineer will have had drawings in advance in order to get effect speakers and the mains in place and in rough “focus.” This makes the cue-setting process go much faster. The stage manager and sound op will have my cue sheets well in advance of tech.

During tech, my priorities are to nail playback levels with the engineer and cue placement with the stage manager. Second to this, I focus on continuity and blending with the action on stage, scenery transitions, and lighting. I try to sit near the director and involve them in this process to the extent that they feel comfortable. If (after discussion and trial) a director is not comfortable integrating a cue into their action—then I have provided the wrong cue—period.

RICHARD P: What cues come out of which speakers at what level is what techs are about for me. Making sure the sound operator is competent, that he has a clear cue sheet, and that the sound equipment is in good working order is also vital. Other than that, I find having a walkman with some good tapes most useful to kill the many hours while they sort out the problems with lights, set, and actors.

JIM VB: Once a system is installed and tuned, I want to have preliminary time to rough in assigns and levels. I want to get the sounds set so that when we begin tech, I can use the elements of sound as they should be used, not to stop, hold, set a level, develop a pan, and change a count while the actors wait. Inevitably you will have to do that, but I want to have the entire show roughed in and have options for every cue so that tech time can become my play time. I’d much rather spend the time listening to a few fade options than trying to set assigns and levels, which are very easy to do in advance. If I have had my pretech quiet time and dry tech time, tech with actors is a lot of fun. My biggest priority in tech is the operation. Have I built the show accurately? Can the stage manager call the sequence right? Can the board operator execute the show easily and consistently? Since the technical process can be a real pain (I always hear it called “Tech Hell,” but don’t ever want to see the process that way personally) I want the sound team to be together and well prepared, so that when the artistic staff sees that a shift, transition, cue, or even a scene doesn’t work, we can address the bigger picture in a collaborative process. To me, that is what the essence of tech should be about.

ELIZABETH S: I like to be completely ready by tech and leave nothing in the music to chance. I’m not one who likes to decide on sound, etc. in the final days of rehearsal.

DAVID B: My approach during the tech process is very organized and full of “options” (some people think too full of options). If I can’t react quickly to a change in perspective or a new idea on the floor, I don’t feel that I am a good design partner. The days are long gone when you can get away with a statement like, “I’ll fix it in the studio and you’ll be able to hear it tomorrow.” You have to act in the moment, or the moment’s gone.

In general, when working with conceptual sound design, textural composition, or soundscapes, I work elementally (with individual stereo elements or layers—lots of two-track and four-track layers. In Hartford I have sometimes used eight-track layers). This gives me the ability to change a mix value without having to constantly run back to the studio and rebuild a cue. This also allows for greater image broadening or spatialization as layers can be assigned to different playback areas within the performance environment, creating depth and distance. By broadening the image and creating depth in the sound design, you can give the audience a very rich experience without having it be too obvious or overstated. You can also make as large a statement as necessary. However, this requires a good operator or an automated system. At this point, I still prefer to use manual operators as opposed to automation; however, I am very encouraged by recent developments in Richmond and LCS system operation.

The listening position for conceptual design is very important. I try to select a location that is somewhat central to the delivery system coverage. The goal is to be in a position that is representative of the general listening area. Moving around throughout the room is also very important. While in communication with my assistant, I will request specific cues be played while I roam the room. This is to confirm the effectiveness of the delivery system design as experienced from several locations.

The reinforcement design listening position is tougher because it is permanent for the run of the production. Ideally, you’d like a representative listening location; however, that is rarely possible due to the practical issues of audience seating. On Broadway, taking up nine seats represents a significant loss of cash over the run of a successful show. In the best of circumstances, audience seats, usually rear-of-house center, provide a reasonable (although not perfect) location. In some productions the sound is considered more important than in others, so it is possible to negotiate for a good position or have an audio perch built that does not take up audience seating. The “perch” approach is quite expensive and only appropriate for shows that expect long runs. Although I have also experimented with remote mixing positions, the majority of production sound mixing personnel do not favor this approach. This is quite understandable. A remote mixing position requires the use of a sophisticated listening system (dummy head or CALREC soundfield) and a monitoring system (like a mini surround monitor) in a remote location. This space is best if it is visually connected, but aurally isolated. These are very tough situations for the mix engineer. It takes a long time to get familiar with that style of mixing and it’s hard to get completely comfortable and confident. I know I’d prefer to be in the house.

BRIAN H: In the theatre, sound is the bastard child, very often a second thought. It’s consistently the last element to be allotted time in a concentrated period during tech—that sacred “quiet time” (when everyone else is at dinner). Sound often shoulders the blame for rough tech rehearsals. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to fight for tech time. It’s best to be well prepared for this.

Since tech rehearsals are usually devoted to the lights and there’s a lot of time to kill, I try to maintain a sense of purpose and a sense of humor. Basically, I try to get rough levels as early as possible, then worry about fitting in artistically during the run-throughs of different scenes.

TODD B: Cue placement and the level of sound/music is critical—the wrong place and the wrong level and it functions as a completely different piece of music and is completely inappropriate. However, cueing is the most important element. Cueing has to be in sync with the actors’ breath. It is the intervals between an actor’s breath that ultimately determines the tempo and rhythm of a scene—the music and sound must be responsive to this or you are dead in the water. The people responsible for this finesse night after night (and I’m talking about recorded cues) are the stage manager and the sound operator. They are the “performers” of your music and sound design and should be treated with the same respect and trust as live musicians—it is their responsibility and art to breathe with the actors, to breathe with the story.

Please discuss your aesthetic approach to sound reinforcement. How do you organize your system? Please comment on the amount of reinforcement for musicals.

MICHAEL H: I modify my “aesthetic(s)” for each show, but, in general, I have two:

(1) To make the sound system disappear (both visually and aurally). In this type of show, I want the audience to key into the action on the stage and not focus in on sound coming from speakers. I use very carefully set delays on almost every reinforcement speaker to help with imaging. I want focus to pull toward the stage. I try to keep the mains out of sight lines and often volley for speakers hidden in scenery. For traditional and older musicals (Oklahoma, etc.) I go for minimal miking of the orchestra, concentrating mainly on areas and using a more distant (ambient) positioning of microphones. I try to fill in and assist the acoustic sound. For more modern shows (Sondheim, etc.) I go for a more “studio” sound with each instrument close-miked and careful baffling and deadening of the pit.

However, this transparency only happens to a certain degree. Ultimately, I expect that the audience will accept the reinforcement early on in the musical and hopefully it won’t become an issue. Your brain levels out such anomalies and makes them seem normal and acceptable.

(2) Rock and roll! For rock operas (Tommy, Jesus Christ Superstar, etc.) I make no attempt to conceal the equipment or the reinforced sound.

My systems come in layers of coverage. I am a great proponent of left-center-right (LCR) systems. If I have an inexperienced mixer, I will keep the voices C and the music in the LR. With an experienced mixer (or automation), I will spread the voices to reduce combing and open up the sound. Sometimes I do a LCR with an A/B center—but I must admit there is some guilt in specifying such a pile of equipment and having more stuff in view than the lighting rig. The next layer is the delay fill system(s) used to provide even coverage (frequency response and sound pressure level [SPL]/volume) to the far reaches and awkward spaces in the theatre. Usually every speaker in the house has a delay in the chain. Many designers don’t think about timing as part of their systems—for me, it is just as important as frequency response and SPL. The third layer is the effect playback system. I almost never use the reinforcement system to reproduce sound effects. The fourth layer is the foldback system providing mixes for the conductor, stage manager, and performers (occasionally the hearing assist system, too).

Generally, I shy away from compressors—except on electric bass, close-miked brass, and the occasional uncontrollable singer. Most modern speaker controllers provide adequate protection, so I rarely limit the mains. All of this is, of course, predicated on having a topnotch production mix engineer.

JILL DB: My aesthetic approach to sound design varies based on the space, the show, the budget, and the set. I generally like to have a set of main speakers, an upstage pair, and a pair of subs in my skeletal system. If the show has enough money/space, I will often add an offstage pair, and surrounds. My two favorite playback systems are SFX and QLab. These allow me to do anything, and do it quickly and easily. When I design a show, I will always begin by organizing it in my head for one of these two systems.

VICTORIA D: My goal with sound reinforcement is to make it appear as though the sound is coming directly from the voice on stage. I do not believe that, just because there is amplification, it should sound amplified. It should feel enhanced. My aesthetic is clarity. As a designer, it is up to you to make sure the audience hears everything that is happening on stage. For example, take the end of a big chorus number: if there is a quiet scene that directly follows, I keep the level of the mics up louder than I normally would because the audience’s ears need to readjust to what they’ve just heard. Then slowly, during the scene, I bring the levels down to speaking level so that I have somewhere to grow when the next big show-stopping number comes along. I create dynamics by using the physiology of the human ear.

When I organize my system, I think of the most efficient way for the sound engineer to choreograph their hands. Live musicals are fast moving and anything can happen, so I make sure that equipment is placed within reach, and that characters’ mics are grouped together on the board in a straightforward and easily accessible way. Each input must have the cleanest signal path in its routing, just in case something has to change quickly during a show.

RICHARD P: As far as sound reinforcement goes, the best is when you are totally unaware of it—when instruments and voices sound perfectly natural. This should not rule out adding reverb and EQ, which can help greatly if not overdone. Musicals are tricky because balance between singers and orchestra is no longer in the hands of the orchestrator and can be upset by levels on the board.

BRIAN H: Reinforcement is so often dictated by budget in my world that it has become almost a nonissue. Some of the greatest compliments I’ve received have been for shows with two speakers, a sixtywatt amp, a 6 × 2 mixer, and cassette decks. It’s all relative.

DAVID B: In general, my approach to sound reinforcement is to try to keep it as simple as possible. That doesn’t mean that the delivery system isn’t sophisticated, but that every attempt is made to preserve spatial information and natural sound quality of the performance unless the objective is otherwise stated. It also means that every attempt is made to minimize excessive equalization by insisting on good loudspeaker positions, carefully aligned delay systems, and careful microphone selection and placement using high-quality radio microphone systems. Whenever possible, I separate the vocal/music reinforcement system from the sound effects system. More often than not, the systems are completely different in focus and flexibility. This separation allows each system to be optimized for their respective tasks. One of the key factors in a successful sound reinforcement design (aside from a well-arrayed and balanced system) is an experienced music mixer.

In general, the Broadway musical production aesthetic seems to be the prevailing trend. That trend is characterized by higher sound pressure levels creating a very visceral experience. For some productions, I wouldn’t have it any other way. For others, I’d like to hear more subtlety. This move toward louder productions creates a lot of problems for the intermediate-level producer who wants the Broadway sound, because it is expensive to achieve. Regional theatres are also feeling that pressure as “enhancement money” flows from New York producers to the regional market. Producers are again using regional theatres to test new productions. This trend has made regional theatre audio production grow significantly over the past five years. It has also created the need for more competent and experienced sound personnel.

TOM M: I hate miking actors. If it is a must, I try to use PCC-160s as foot microphones and replace what is missing acoustically in the theatre. I never want the microphone levels in a play to sound electronic or reinforced. I believe in separate bussing. I play music through one system, voice reinforcement through another, sound effects from a third. I never cross streams.

I love reading in trade magazines where a sound designer in an interview talks about how they made the show sound like the CD. No show has ever sounded like a studio recording.

PHIL L: I’ve only done one show that required reinforcement and that was a play that had a live jazz band and a singer on stage in front of a stand-up mic. I truly abhor the current dependency on reinforcement and have walked out of many shows because it’s done so badly. It’s beyond my understanding why stage actors who, just a generation ago, knew how to project their voices without straining no longer seem to have that ability. As for musicals, it’s apparent that bands and orchestras no longer have any sense of dynamic range and there are very few musicals where I’m able to hear the lyrics over the music or, indeed, the dialogue because I’m hearing more mic reverberation.

JIM VB: My preferred aesthetic is a subtle, natural reinforcement which is quite uncommon these days. I think traditional musicals sound better when the reinforcement is subtle, the voices are welltrained, and the orchestra is talented and well-conducted. That being said, we know the truth: few people will allow a sound designer to do their job without interference. Instead of realistic productions, we are often told to make the show louder. “Louder is funnier!” I’ve been told by one writer/producer. Many modern musicals, however, often do not sound better when subtly reinforced, in my opinion. I have found that these scores need a lot of vocal and instrument reinforcement to sound like an intimate recording, not a live acoustic performance. Shows like Rent, Tommy, Cats, Phantom, Jekyll & Hyde, Scarlet Pimpernel, Footloose, Smokey Joe’s Cafe, and much of Sondheim’s work all require a stronger level of reinforcement. I think that shows are becoming more and more like the movies and TV, which is good for audiences and often bad for sound designers. The technical reality of a Broadway show has a lot to do with how it is perceived. Shows that are louder have more sound problems inherently—large numbers of wireless microphones, huge mixes, active monitor mixes, louder monitor mixes, younger (sometimes ill-trained and easily damaged) voices, and composers/musical directors who want a rock-level orchestra!

On the other hand, the louder shows are very exciting, bring younger audiences to the theatre, and sell well commercially. So if we are to evolve with theatre, we had better be capable of what the show requires.

ELIZABETH S: I hate miking except when it is an effect in itself. I believe that the voice particularly is capable of creating magic of its own in open space. I depend on the kindness of sound designers who only amplify the blend that is already there. I despise and abhor the amplification in musicals. I think it’s all one overdone, double fort é mistake.

How did you develop your skills as a sound designer or composer? Please cite the most important experience of your development or one defining moment.

VICTORIA D: Like most designers of my generation, I am self-taught. I started as a ballet dancer, expressing my body to music and sound, and did that for thirteen years during the early stage in my life. My mother was a classical pianist who would wake us up to Chopin on Sunday mornings. This early formative exposure to music made me very intuitive to musical expression on stage. I earned a BFA in Musical Theatre and then began a career as an actor. I later learned the technical side of the job from being in a band and having to set up and tear down our equipment every night. I took a job as a sound engineer in a high-profile theatre without any prior knowledge of the gear and soon fell in love with the technical process of theatre. I excelled in the job and began my design career not long after. My skills as a composer come originally from writing songs for my band, but they soon grew as I began creating many more styles of music, due to the incredible variety required by specific productions.

The moment that springs to mind was my work on The Bluest Eye for Steppenwolf Theatre. That show felt to me like a marriage of design and composition. The compositions were based in Negro spirituals played sparsely with guitar and piano only. They were simple in nature, but were played extremely expressively. We approached the play in seasons, and my compositions were to reflect winter, spring, summer, and fall. What was fun about this was the matching up of what was happening to these characters in the play, and how these seasons felt to them. So when most would think summer would be light and fun, it was actually oppressive and stormy in our show. Because this production had three different runs in three different venues, I was able to tweak the timing and the feel of the music to almost perfection for each venue. In fact, many people didn’t even realize that almost the entire show was underscored because the music and sound were so perfectly matched to the production. This experience of marrying design and composition was not only the most rewarding production for me, but also the most informative on how I now approach my work. It’s this type of specificity that I strive for in every design, and its grace and subtlety is the crystallization of the elegance that I look for.

JILL DB: I have been very lucky in my career in that I have been able to develop my skills by using them. I began as an engineer and assisted a few amazing designers who taught me many of the skills I needed. For much of my career I have done smaller productions, which allow for more experimentation, more trial and error. These shows generally have smaller budgets, so I am forced to come up with creative ways of making a fully realized design. This has been hugely beneficial in that it has taught me how to think differently and be able to come up with many options, both system-wise and cue-wise. I would also get the chance to work with many different directors and many different types of people, all with vastly different aesthetics. Learning from other designers, directors, and even playwrights is always advantageous.

I think one of the most important experiences in my career was meeting one of my favorite directors, Jeremy Dobrish. He is a director and playwright as well as the artistic director of Adobe Theatre Company. He directed one of the first shows I designed. It was a wacky comedy, and none of the sound was anything close to realistic. Jeremy not only pushed me towards the creation of sound like “if a tiger was a snake—that sound,” he would also make me justify my choices. These two lessons have been invaluable throughout my career. To be able to think in an interesting way, not just pull sounds off of a sound effect CD, and to make sure I can justify each choice has made me a better designer.

PHIL L: I developed my skills as a sound designer by becoming a very good sound engineer through a background of radio, music recording, and voice production work and marrying that with a lifelong love of theatre. The defining moment was when someone (and I truly can’t remember who it was first) asked me to create sound for their production.

MICHELLE D: As a very young girl, I wanted to be an actress. By high school, I was part of an experimental theatre company in Pittsburgh. Everyone in the company knew I played the piano quite well, since I continually took advantage of playing the Steinway grand in the theatre whenever we had a break. We were working on a production of Buchner’s play, Woyseck, and I was cast in a very small role as a prostitute and the director, Dennis Aubrey, approached me one day and said there were these “songs” in the play, and since he knew I played the piano, and had such a small role, would I be interested in composing music for the piece? I was shocked by the invitation, yet immediately challenged. “Sure, why not?” I replied, not knowing this was going to be a turning point in my life. A friend at the time told me some composer named Berg (pronouncing it like “burg” as in Pittsburgh) had written an opera based on this play and I should “check it out.” I went to the music library and asked the librarian, “May I please have a recording of Woyseck by Burg?” He tilted his head a bit, and in a most affected manner replied, “You must mean Wozzeck by Berg!” “Sure,” I meekly answered. I sat at one of those listening stations, took out the first LP of several, put on my headphones and gently put the needle on the record. It never crossed my mind it would be in a foreign language. As soon as the piece began I heard the Captain sing “Langsam, Wozzeck. Langsam.” But, because I was so familiar with the play, I understood everything being sung, and not just that. The music. The music! It was like no music I had ever heard before. It was incredible. It was perfect. And it was at that moment I knew I had to become a composer! I left the library with an orchestration book, and proceeded to not only write music for Woyseck, but also the whole score for orchestra, which my high school orchestra played and recorded for our performances. My entire life had been changed!

ELIZABETH S: I traveled many places studying ethnic music. I acquainted myself with many cultures. Then I began making troupes of kids and other “outsiders” (new Americans, mideasterners, etc.) and myself to learn the music of the raw human intention. In my thirties, I taught myself notation and Western orchestration. I also kept abreast of the rock and roll and jazz scenes. I think a defining moment for me was when I heard a Muezzin sing the call to prayer from a tiny minaret in a small village in Algeria.

TOM M: Before I ever worked on a play, I was a good recording engineer and music producer. My goal was to produce albums and I have, to date, produced a lot of CDs and radio shows. My undergraduate degree, however, was in English and dramatic literature. I specifically loved Shakespeare. I never thought at the time that I wanted to work in the theatre, but be more of a Shakespeare scholar. In 1982, Missouri Rep was going to do a production of Macbeth and I spent a year trying to get on that show. At the last minute, they agreed, but I had to accept a two-show contract and do another play first. I was green for the theatre but was great with production and sound. The first show was a horrible experience, and if it had not been a two-show deal, I would have never worked on another play again. Macbeth, however, was a fantastic experience. Music. Sound. Shakespeare. It all happened for me and I still love it.

RICHARD P: I developed as a composer through formal training and composing as a “sound designer,” often by default, because the sound operator was often an inexperienced ASM or an incompetent union hack. In some cases as a composer, I found myself designing the sound system.

TODD B: In my early years at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in the 1970s, there wasn’t a budget for composers. Yet directors needed music, so I would use music that they wanted from LPs. I would then compose additional incidental music in that style. I’ve always loved getting into other composer’s minds and seeing what made them tick. Composing in many different styles honed my analysis and compositional skills. In fact, when I wasn’t working I would get up each day and write a short piece in a specific style with a specific mood, like a serene piece in the style of Ravel or a chase sequence in the style of Steve Reich. It was great practice!

MICHAEL H: I came from the recording studio. Those skills (other than playback systems) are a big part of me. One of the best recording skills is the ability of a great recording engineer to work with people at a human level, making them feel at ease, and inspiring confidence. Nobody likes working with egos and we all know there is no shortage of overbearing personalities in theatre. The second thing from the studio is the ability to listen. Critical listening is a skill that best comes from the studio. Critical listening is at the heart of my teaching. You have to be able to discern and comprehend what you are hearing, both technically and at a musical level. I hate “meter-readers” ! Pegging the meters isn’t a bad thing as long as the result still sounds good and no equipment is being damaged.

DAVID L: I began my theatrical training as an actor. In school, when I wasn’t performing in a production, I was usually working on the sound for it. This is the late 70s we’re talking about. It wasn’t called sound design just yet, at least not in Columbus, Ohio.

After moving to New York in the early 80s, I spent a year or two pursuing work as an actor. I noted that technicians on a production were getting paid, while the actors seldom were. This is off-off-Broadway and showcase theatre I’m referring to. Well, the prospect of earning some kind of income outweighed my need to be seen on stage, so I decided to stop acting and make sound design my specialty.

Sound design became a convenient way for me to combine several of my interests: love of the theatre, fascination with recording equipment, and electronic music. I’d just gotten my first couple of synthesizers in 1983, and I began incorporating them into my designs. At first I used them for special effects—explosions, wind, space ships taking off—pretty conventional stuff. As I started to get involved with more experimental forms of theatre, my work with the synthesizer became more tonal.

In 1985, thanks to an introduction by Deena Kaye, I began working with The Manhattan Ensemble and their director Raymond Marciniak, the person I credit as having the largest influence on my work. For the next four years, I worked with Raymond and the Ensemble on a variety of performances. The greatest thing about working with Raymond was the freedom he gave me. Mistakes were honorable.

BRIAN H: The show where it all came together for me was Ping Chong’s Elephant Memories, in 1991. It was the show where I felt my apprenticeship was complete. It was wall-to-wall sound and included songs from The Residents and James Brown, with my own complementary music, presented (hopefully) in a seamless form. I used tape, a sampler, keyboards, CDs, and even did live voiceovers. It was great fun and I realized that I knew what I was doing, which was quite satisfying.

DAVID B: My background was primarily as a musician, starting piano at the age of eleven. I played by “ear” as much as possible and really pissed off my piano instructor, but my ear was what I was most comfortable with. In fact, it opened a new world for me. Then theatre nabbed me in junior high and senior high school, with a passion that was unparalleled at that time. I wasn’t only doing sound, I was doing everything I could. Concurrently, I played in several rock bands, which I also loved, but theatre really hit me hard. At the time, I knew there were no “real” opportunities in theatre, so I went on to explore my other interests which were biology, electronics, and photography, leaving dreams of theatre behind. As a teacher in two universities, I really shouldn’t say this, but undergraduate school really bored me. So I took the cue and fell into an opportunity to build and design a new sound reinforcement company called Mantra Sound. OK, it was my hippie days. In any case, my partner Steve Washburn (an electrical engineer) and I built a funky and very nice sounding reinforcement system which we geared toward acoustic musicians. That meant quality (HiFi) first, volume second. So for many years I honed my ears mixing a couple of one-night stands and mini-tours for acoustic acts like Oregon; Gary Burton; Keith Jarrett; Peter, Paul and Mary; David Bromberg; the Hartford, Springfield, and New Haven Symphony Orchestras; and many other bands too numerous to mention. I was doing too much of what we all seemed to be doing in the 70s, so I decided to quit the reinforcement business and “settle down.”

In 1980, I got a call from the Hartford Stage Company and I remember thinking, “Wow! A call from a real theatre!” They asked me to help with the reinforcement for a new musical titled Is There Life After High School? In brief, I solved their problems effectively, had a great time, and felt good about the work. I finally had gotten my opportunity to work (even if briefly) in a professional regional theatre.

Then another call came. Mark Lamos asked me to provide sound for another piece at Hartford Stage. This time it was a straight play called The Portage to San Cristobal of A.H. So I said, “What kind of help do you need?” He told me that of the twenty-two scenes in the play, twenty of them were set by sound. Did he say, set by sound? I remarked to myself that I had never done anything quite like that before, but that it would be a great challenge. So off I went to explore scene sound and incidental music for the production. Well, a challenge it was! I was thoroughly exhausted by the time we finally finished the project, but at the same time, I realized that I had never felt better. After the show on opening night, Mark came to me, hugged me, and thanked me for the contribution to the production. I was exhilarated. He said, “You know, Budries, you’re a sound designer.” I had never heard the two words put together before. “A sound designer,” I repeated to myself.

So from these fragmented beginnings came a nineteen-year exploration that now, in many ways, defines who I am. I have not looked back and I continue to explore the possibilities of designed sound. I’m always learning.

How did you start as a sound designer or composer? Do you have some advice for breaking into the business?

MICHELLE D: When you are getting started, say yes to everything! There is no project too small, and any experience will be of value. Money should not concern you in the beginning. Get a job doing something else, anything else, so you can start building your resum é and creating a demo tape for future propositions. I wrote music for nine plays before I ever made a cent. Trust me, the transition into earning better and better fees will happen. Also, see all of the work of people you most admire. Be assertive and try to meet these people. I first saw a production by Gerald Thomas in 1987 at La Mama in New York and I was awestruck by his work. The music for this play was composed by Phillip Glass, and I learned from reading the program notes that Gerald and Phillip were regular collaborators. Unintimidated, I wrote Gerald a letter introducing myself as a great admirer of his work, adding quite wryly, “If Phillip Glass is not available for your next project, then please call me!” Well … he did! It took six years, but in 1993, we had our first collaboration and have worked on four additional projects since then.

VICTORIA D: I started sound designing because I had friends who asked me if I could compose music for a play. I thought that it would be fun to marry my theatrical background to what I loved the most: music. From that point on, I’ve never stopped working, but the point of my life where I truly accepted this as a career was when I assisted a sound designer in a regional theatre. I finally understood what my goals should be. He had so much passion for the art of his work, the organization of his life needed to accomplish that work, and the ability to gracefully express himself collaboratively, that I felt as though I finally understood what it meant to be a sound designer and to have a career doing what I loved. So my best piece of advice is to find the busiest sound designer and ask if you can work as their assistant. That’s the best way to see if that’s how you want your path to go.

PHIL L: As I stated in the previous question, I evolved into it. My advice for breaking into the business is run the other way as fast as you can. As audio equipment gets cheaper and easier to use, sound design will go the way of music engineering. Music studios have been closing in droves the last ten years because musicians can do it all in their basements. In theatre, more and more, directors will feel they can successfully create the sound they want themselves if they’re working on a small scale and have a clear vision of their piece. Since that’s where designers cut their teeth in theatre it will be more difficult to get the experience needed to advance and the “art form” of sound design, at least, will evolve into nothing more than reinforcement and playing with synthesizers. The reinforcement is much more an artisan’s work done by skilled technicians and leave the synthesizers to the composers.

JILL DB: I broke into the business in a very roundabout way. I was studying dramaturgy in college when I went to visit a friend of mine who was stage-managing an off-Broadway play. She went to call fifteen minutes and told me to talk to the sound designer who was standing in the lobby with us. He asked me a few questions and told me that the best way to break into theatre is to do everything you can and meet as many people as possible. This designer, Jim Van Bergen, hired me to assist him on a play during my winter break. I got along well with the theatre company that was producing the show, and they hired me over the summer to do box office and house managing. Over the next year I left school and did everything in theatre from wardrobe to assistant directing. I realized that I like sound the best and got a gig running shows around town. I met David Van Tieghem, who used me as his board op on a few shows. At this point, I was board op-ing at night, and a casting director during the day. I was looking to do sound full-time and asked David if he needed an assistant. He said he wasn’t sure if he had enough work to warrant an assistant and I told him that he did need an assistant because I wanted to quit my job and work for him. He hired me for thirty hours to clean his studio; however, the show we were working on propelled him to the forefront of design and he ended up needing me more than he thought he would. I would assist David, who is now my mentor, and run shows to make money. Eventually I got a national tour, quit my board op gig, and went out on the road. I was able to save enough to live for eight months after I got off the tour, so I decided to try designing full-time, and if I didn’t make it, I wouldn’t starve or get evicted. Being able to devote myself to design and getting my name out there was essential to my career. I would still assist David and take sub gigs around town for extra income, but my focus was on my own designs. I was able to climb the ladder from “a friend’s show” to Broadway.

The most important thing I have learned so far is persistence and staying power. If a young designer can figure out a way to stick it out through the lean times, eventually the show will come along that will showcase their skills and set them on the right path. Also, be pleasant. People like to work with other people who are nice and have a good attitude as well as a few options for each sound cue.

MICHAEL H: I was sound designing in high school before I ever knew there was such a title. I was the young geek who always set up sound systems, recorded crickets and thunderstorms, and played in the pit orchestras. Back then, it never occurred to me that it could become a legitimate profession. In college, I was primarily in the music school and spent half of my time in their recording studios but was hired to tour with a university musical theatre review. Four years later I was still with that group and also ended up designing for mainstage musicals and dinner theatre, too. The drama department was always hiring me to fix and rewire the sound systems in their theatres, cut sound effects, and run shows. It was the design faculty that explained to me what a sound designer was, and I’ve been hooked ever since! I was an avid jazz pianist in high school and always dabbled in composition. I nailed my accompaniment skills playing in pits and did a lot of composing for theatre in undergraduate school. I have always found directors to be eagerly open to having original music. The MIDI revolution happened during my college years and made the possibility of original scores much more accessible and practical. This all came together when I was asked to put the musical Working on tape for a mainstage show as music director, performer, and sound designer. I have created ten canned scores since then.

As for breaking into the business, I say that you should always let your passion and art come first and the paycheck will eventually follow. I have learned the hard way never to burn bridges. If you get stuck in a no-win design situation you should always see it through and then never work there again. Having a mentor and returning the favor by being a mentor to someone else really makes the world go round. I have been exceptionally fortunate to have had wonderful mentors—all of whom are still good friends to this day. Their guidance and advice have had profound influence on what I have accomplished in my career so far.

When my students graduate, the last thing I tell them is that they haven’t really “made it” until they hire me for a gig!

BRIAN H: I started on the road to sound designer as a volunteer for Ping Chong in 1963. I owned a car and offered to go anywhere to fetch anything. That was more valuable at the time than any real skill I may have possessed. It then turned out that the guy who ran sound couldn’t do it for the next show, A Race, so I was asked to. On opening night I was given an envelope with a check for $125.00, making me an instant professional.

As a result of that gig, Phil Lee, the sound designer, showed up, liked what I was doing, and offered me a job. I was asked to do the sound for Ping’s next show, which was my first. I’ve been working with sound ever since.

TOM M: I began as a designer working with a crew. I have never operated a show, which is unusual. For my students, I see the hardest thing for them is to make the transition from operator/engineer to designer. People need to work hard, think hard, and be positive. Unfortunately, a lot of people only deliver two of the above three.

JIM VB: I began as a musician and actor, and was asked to compose for a show. Along the way, the cursory door buzzer, phone ring, birds, and crickets got added. I found that I really enjoyed doing sound, and that in contrast to what the professors at my undergraduate school had taught, in my opinion, sound design was a very real and satisfying design element which is integral to the theatrical experience.

As for breaking in, I think any student should get a college degree, then apprentice or intern with a designer they would like to emulate and learn as much as they can in a sixto twelve-month period—then try to branch out. It is not an easy life, but it has certain rewards. I also find that being a sound engineer helps tremendously in a designer’s awareness and performance, so that is something to do early on.

RICHARD P: Very little advice—“just do it”—it’s the experience, not the money, that counts.

ELIZABETH S: I began writing music in college for theatrical productions. I had bands of my own. I stayed loyal to relationships and took risks teaming up with arrangers. I don’t encourage students to break in to the business. I tell them there’s only time to make what possesses you and what you must hear, and work with people who inspire you. Make lifelong artistic friendships and don’t be ashamed of a day job.

What was your favorite or most satisfying design or composition? Please tell us a favorite “war story.”

JILL DB: It is hard to think of my favorite design, but all of the shows in my top five are shows where the director was really excited about using sound, and integrated it into rehearsal early. They were the most difficult and time consuming, but the most rewarding as well.

I have many war stories, but I think this is one of the only ones I can tell without getting in hot water with someone I may work with again. I was designing a show out of town as part of a festival. It was a show about high school students, and it took place in many locales. The director and I chose lots of current music, which the characters would have listened to, and he choreographed elaborated scene shifts to go along with the music, so the audience would have something interesting to watch while things like desks were being struck and benches brought on. We had our invited dress, and although the playwright had been in most of the rehearsals, she came away from the dress in hysterics. She was appalled that there was so much music in the show, and thought it detracted from her script. The director lost the battle and we had to get rid of a lot of the transition music. This was sad, but the kicker was that the scene shifts still needed to happen, so instead of compromising, the director and playwright were at such odds with each other, the shifts ended up happening in a clunky silence.

PHIL L: Again, my favorite designs were for work I did with Ping Chong and Marleen Pennison. Probably my favorite of Ping’s was for a piece called Nuit Blanche where there was a sound environment throughout the whole piece that was imperative to the creation of the mood. I enjoyed all of the half-dozen or so designs I worked on for Marleen but the one I remember most clearly was a seven-minute car race I created to which Marleen and one of her dancers performed. Marleen had already created the dance using beats and told me at what points in time certain events had to happen to match the dance. I was able to incorporate various sounds such as the revving of engines, the start of the race, various crashes, and tire squeals to match the timings. It was very exciting mixing that piece, and when I saw it performed I had the same feeling I had with many of Marleen’s and Ping’s works, that I was an integral part of it and was actually performing along with them.

DAVID L: One of my most satisfying designs was a production of Samuel Beckett’s and Jasper John’s Foirades/Fizzles performed at La MaMa E.T.C. In this production we incorporated body mikes for the three actors, recorded voiceovers, musical composition, and sound design. The body mikes were used not for the purposes of enhancing vocal but to create an invisible wall—a barrier between the performer and audience. The production was highly stylized and presentational. We didn’t want the audience “falling in love” with our performers or feeling that they could personally relate to any of the characters. The body mikes kept everyone at arm’s length.

One benefit to miking the actors was that once amplified, we could treat the voices in interesting ways. We could place each voice in its own sonic environment. We could place one voice in a deep reverb, add echo to another, and experiment with equalization. The transition from live voices to the recorded voices became seamless. Having everything at line level allowed us to create a really beautiful and rich sonic environment.

My war story: I was working out of town at a regional theatre (somewhat respected, but which shall remain nameless). We had rehearsed the play in New York the previous month and I had been hired to compose music for the production. The play was really dreadful. Lots of long meandering monologues, ridiculously stupid dialogues, etc. My job was to supply a diversion to the text, to give the audience something else to listen to while trying to create a supportive environment for the fiercely talented actors trapped in this nightmare of a production. All my work had been written and approved before we left New York. At the final tech/dress rehearsal, the night before opening, the author shows up. He hadn’t been part of the rehearsal process at all. Next morning, I walk into the theatre, eight hours before opening, and I’m informed that all my work, over an hour’s worth of music, was being cut from the show. The author hated my work. Couldn’t stand the electronics. The only sound cue heard in a three-hour production was one doorbell. I still received my full fee and the play’s review accidentally got printed in the local paper’s obituary column.

VICTORIA D: In a war story, it’s all about the battles. What battles are you choosing to ensure that your artistic vision is accomplished? I only like to choose one or two battles per production in order to never appear demanding and not collaborative. One of my favorite war stories is one that resulted in one of the most satisfying moments in my design career. I was designing Fiddler on the Roof, and fighting many battles, trying to impart my aesthetic of enhancement instead of amplification for the production. Luckily, I had a director who was willing to allow me to create the vision I wanted. The conductor and I had a discussion of putting a microphone on the actual fiddler in the show, which I needed to do to make the fiddler pop out over a thirty-two piece orchestra, while he was at the furthest upstage position and also twenty feet up in the air. The conductor was resistant to this idea because he wanted the integrity of the instrument to remain intact. I assured him that this was my goal as well, and eventually just yelled “at least let me try it so you can hear.” Thank God I got it right the first time we tried it, and I won the battle. But the biggest moment I did without fighting at all. At this point in the process, I had fought enough and decided to take matters into my own hands without telling anyone. (I don’t necessarily agree to this way of working; however, sometimes you have to do what you have to do.) We got to the point in the show where it was time for the Shabbat dinner. We had already determined, after a long discussion with the conductor, that this was one of those places where the orchestra was to be at their quietest. The cast began to sing their prayer, and I took out every single microphone that was on, both for the cast and musicians. The result was the most beautiful moment I remember hearing on stage. A mass of singers heard, as their natural voices would carry in the space, made the moment incredibly reverent and, without the use of any amplification at all, it sounded like perfection.

BRIAN H: I don’t have a single favorite experience, although I’ve enjoyed some shows more than others because the discoveries were more interesting. For example, in two shows with Jeannie Hutchins, we collaborated on songs. She wrote lyrics both to music I had previously written and for music I had yet to write. It was a real thrill to see these things take shape.

Sound design became more fun as I learned how to be more economical. Creating a soundtrack that someone else had to run, eliminating my shorthand of methodology, was one of the biggest lessons I learned. It represented a “giving up” of my work to that of the whole that I hadn’t yet experienced.

RICHARD P: I don’t know that they were my favorite or most satisfying, but certainly the two biggest shows soundwise were Indians and Frankenstein, both on Broadway. A brilliant young FX guy, Bran Ferren, designed the largest (till then) sound system ever on Broadway for Frankenstein—sixty-four speakers including subwoofers (earthquake speakers) with three sound men running eight decks for music and FX. For the other show, Indians, I experimented with “surround sound,” traveling music and FX around the theatre from speaker to speaker. One obviously benighted member of the audience, not in tune with the wave of the future (at least as I saw it), walked over to the speaker nearest him and pulled the wires off. Another incident: the climax of the production was Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, the action of which was all carefully choreographed to lots of rousing music and crowd noise on tape. With the full cast of thirty about to come on stage, the tape broke! “The rest is silence,” as Hamlet once said—although the actors did their best singing and yelling a capella.

ELIZABETH S: I have no favorites. I live very much in the present and fall in love with each piece as I work on it. I remember when Serban and I were doing Good Woman of Szechuan at La Mama. He decided two weeks into rehearsal that he wanted everything sung. So I sat on the third floor of La Mama writing different songs to teach to the actors as I wrote them. Then they’d dash downstairs and Andrei would stage the stuff. It was a mad creative assembly line.

JIM VB: Two one-woman shows I have designed, called Keeping the Word and The Handshake, feature continuous two-track sound designs that are seamless and I’m quite proud of them. The soundtracks include all music, effects, background environments, and scoring for the shows. The entire show travels quite lightly, with few costume pieces and a tiny unit set and a compact MiniDisc player. The performer can fly from locale to locale and perform just about anywhere with a minimum of setup time. The plays are wonderful, meaningful pieces. The huge amount of work that they require in preparation and production is very evident upon close inspection, yet serves the show subtly and smoothly. These are among the projects of which I am most proud, as single, sixty-five-minute cues!

MICHAEL H: I did a production in a thirty-three-seat venue for a theatre company which specializes in avant-garde and new works. The production was The Shrew—Charles Marowitz’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. The production values were set around the design team’s interpretation of the Theatre of Cruelty genre, which gave us the ability to break our expectations and social mores surrounding the theatre “experience.” My design was, at times, literally painful! I gave the director a cassette with one hundred different sounds ranging from grating industrial to ocean sounds. She picked about thirty of them that she felt had relevance to the production. I composed the show’s music and sound score using only these sounds. The net result was a show so powerful and a design so collaborative and integrated that my design was mentioned (positively!) in four reviews.

My war stories all revolve around other production areas that make NOISE! Moving lights, color scrollers, lighting ballasts, rolling scenery, air casters, etc. etc. etc. These are all battles that I usually lose.

MICHELLE D: One of my favorite experiences in the theatre was composing music for The Oresteia Trilogy by Aeschylus, directed by Jorge Guerra, Dean of Drama at New World School for the Arts. I was able to hire a children’s choir, which was prerecorded along with a battery of synthesizers, as well as six live musicians for the show. For several of the shows I acted as a seventh musician, adding percussion and woodwind elements. For most performances, only one of the three plays was done, but on Sundays the entire trilogy was performed. This made for about six hours of theatre and music. Concentrating for that long and being so intensely involved was certainly a peak experience for me.

This production also brought about an interesting war story. The musicians were onstage and very much a part of the set and action for the entire piece. However, six hours of theatre and music cannot be memorized by the instrumentalist. Therefore, music stands with ample lighting were imperative. The lighting designer kept complaining that the stand lights were getting in the way of his design and especially prohibiting fades to black when the music had to keep playing. We experimented a bit with different gels on the stand lights, but whatever he liked had my musicians complaining that they couldn’t see their music and were getting headaches from squinting and straining their eyes for so many hours. We had reached an impasse. The director stepped in and, eventually, with some reblocking and incredible patience from my band, we arrived at a solution we thought everyone could live with. On opening night, the lights go down and the music is supposed to start, but the musicians realize the lighting designer has, without our knowledge, changed the gel on the stand lights to a much darker shade. None of the musicians can see their music! In the panic of the moment they tear the gels off their stand lights, hence making the musician area very well lit, to say the least. This of course impeded all lighting design, and there was nothing to be done until intermission. The gels we had agreed on were substituted, and the second play proceeded as planned. It seemed as if backstage was where the real Greek melodramas were happening.

TODD B: My most recent favorite is the score for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s production of Measure for Measure, which was edited down to seven actors, each playing multiple roles. The production was done in our smallest theatre with a seating capacity of about 140. What was so satisfying was that I was present at almost all of the rehearsals from the first reading on. This allowed me to sit next to the director and have a continual dialogue about the character of music. Each day after the rehearsal I would create cues based on that day’s work and also create cues in anticipation of the next day’s rehearsals. Every day actors became used to cues, and I would have a chance to try new or modified versions just like the actors would be trying new readings and blocking of their text.

In this particular case, I was creating both music and sound design. The sound effects were derived from “musical sounds” and the musical palette was abstract enough to embrace both music and effects. I chose to work with a modified tone row for the melodic and harmonic content. The textures, or orchestrations, were developed from prepared piano, extended soprano vocals, and waterphones. I collaborated with a soprano who was able to see some rehearsals, then would come into the studio and improvise vocal effects and musical phrases, record musical themes I had composed, and overdub herself to create dense and sensual vocal textures.

My war story: Even though Measure for Measure was the most satisfying, complex, and rich project of this season, it was not free from major bumps and challenges. Between first and second dress rehearsals, the director and choreographer decided to cut the opening dance cue by two-thirds! This is a cue that they had been working with for four weeks and musically the cue introduced the character of music and sound. Usually I have no qualms about altering a cue, but this one had been used for so long and all of the other cues in the play referred to it and resonated with it. The original structure was ABAB. The new structure that worked for the choreographer (at least in the number of beats) was BAB and he also wanted some new hits. But if I just used the BAB structure with some new hits, then its musical structure would have no meaning or impact. So … to make a long story short—in one eight-hour session I rewrote the opening cue and recorded new vocals. It should be mentioned that instrumentally, this cue was the most complex of the lot and used sixteen tracks of musical material, which to rerecord took hours and hours!

At second dress rehearsal we played the cue and it worked perfectly. Though recreating this cue was one of those “all-night pressure cooker” situations and a difficult change to make, ultimately the new, shorter cue allowed us to get to the initial dialogue sooner, which is always my first impulse—start telling the story as soon as possible.

DAVID B: A Place with the Pigs (1983) was the first show I designed for Athol Fugard and it was an intense combination of wonderful and scary. It was essentially about what fear can cause you to do. Athol subtitled this piece “a personal parable.” It is a rather dark but very interesting piece. In this play, aside from creating general realistic pig atmospheres, I created three pig nightmares to represent the passage of forty years, ten years at a clip. My original goal was to make the pigs laugh demonically at the main character, Pavel, as he slept. This was in reaction to the fact that Pavel treated the pigs very poorly. It was an attempt to have the pigs get back at Pavel for his abuse by giving him bad pig dreams or nightmares. It turned out that I couldn’t make the pigs laugh. The sources I had gathered over six hours of “living with pigs” couldn’t be manipulated well enough to make believable laughter. But I could make them “talk” and “sing.” So I selected 110 pieces of pig vocabulary (from my remote sessions) and turned them into three silly and somewhat grotesque nightmares titled Volga Boat Pigs, The Piglet Dementia Waltz, and Military Pigs. The result was successful. After that show opened, I got many letters from pig fans and farmers around the country who saw the humor in the grotesque little transitions and requested copies of the nightmares.

Peer Gynt was a tremendous challenge in both scale and content. This Hartford Stage production, directed by Mark Lamos, was six hours in length and was meant to be seen in two parts. It was one of the most exhausting and rewarding experiences I have had in the theatre. One of my favorite sections of the play was the aural realization of “The BOYG,” a representation of Peer’s inner self. In this scene, Peer comes face to face with his inner self in a rich and scary multilayered experience. Peer was played by Richard Thomas. He and I worked in the studio for many hours recording sources, primarily produced by Richard making sounds with his mouth. I took these elements and others to make eight stereo layers of FX that represented the BOYG. They were played back in eight stereo pairs of loudspeakers, all focused from different locations within the house. It created an exciting ride for the actor and audience. An intense, visceral, and moving experience.

How and with whom do you negotiate your contract? What items do you insist on including? Do you maintain the rights to your work?

PHIL L: I never negotiated a contract. I was very happy if the producers had something they could give me at the end of the process.

MICHELLE D: I always negotiate my contract with the producer. NEVER discuss it with the director! Directors will promise you things most producers would have a heart attack over hearing. Always make sure you’ve spoken to the producer before you start composing and always make sure you have a signed contract before any of your music is used. I have recently started insisting on both a creative fee and a production fee as separate issues to be discussed and negotiated. All too often the producer will say, “I have $5,000 for music.” Well, that’s great, but is that for me, for my musicians, or for all my other additional costs? Producers don’t say to set designers, “I have X amount of money.” The set designer is given a fee, and the construction of the set involves another fee. It’s about time composers are dealt with in the same way. Insist on separate discussions regarding these two issues or you’ll end up using live musicians rather than prerecorded sound, only to make zero money yourself.

I have always kept the rights to all of my music for the theatre. The fees for theatre music are not substantial enough to warrant giving one single note away.

RICHARD P: Generally, you negotiate contracts with producers or general managers. I always try to retain copyright to the score, get copies of all the tapes (if they retain the masters), make sure my billing and any assistants’ billing is correct, and work out a deal on free seats to performances. Any show may have an unforeseen future, so either have a clause in there about renegotiations for any other use of the score, or get a good lawyer to go over the whole contract—probably the best idea and worth the 10%. Money-wise, go for a fee plus royalty arrangement.

JILL DB: I use an agent, Seth Glewen at Gersh, to negotiate my contract. There is so much in the contract that I wouldn’t even think of fighting for, or have time to fight for. He does a great job, and is also very supportive of my career. He will tell me when he thinks I’m overextending myself, or if there is a director I should work with, and he comes to see my shows and gives me his honest opinion.

BRIAN H: I negotiate my own contracts, which are usually quite simple, and I insist upon getting paid. I also maintain the rights to all of my work by the mere fact that possession is nine-tenths of copyright. At the end of the run, I take all of the tapes, including rehearsal tapes, and head home.

VICTORIA D: I do my own negotiations and contracting. The budgeting of sound is varied and usually does not take into account how expensive it truly is to do this line of work. I feel as though I can try to insist on certain things, but it’s not always possible and you walk a fine line with being too insistent and getting what is respectfully due to you. I would hope to have a budget that matches the needs of the production. If there is travel and housing involved, the goal is to have that reimbursed. If there are musicians and studio time, it would be nice if there is money that is completely separate from my fee. There is a teaching process for theatres, so that they understand the supplying of compositions to a production is separate from the design of the show, but this is still very blurry in some theatres. I do retain all rights to my work, and if it is to be used in subsequent productions, there is always reimbursement for its usage.

TOM M: I generally work out contracts with the general manager of the theatre and base them on the USA designer model.

I always maintain my rights. They are not for sale. Unless the theatre has you on as a full-time employee, with health insurance and a pension plan, and they have you sign a document stating that you are doing a work-for-hire as a designer, they do not own it. My contracts usually give them a deal for the design on a remount (lots of Christmas Carols show up here) but they have no rights to the design and cannot sell it to another producer. With music, we arrange it so that the composer owns the composition copyright and the sound designer owns the sound recording copyright.

MICHAEL H: For me, contractual negotiations have always been with either the producer/executive director or the production manager. I insist on the following:

JIM VB: The rights are absolutely imperative in most cases, but the ones where they are not include former design elements (i.e., previous designer has cues still in show) and reinforcement designs that have little original sound cues (in my case, the Big Apple Circus is a good example of one of the few clients who “buy and own” my designs outright). Regarding negotiations, I have a lawyer who will negotiate any contract I want, according to my terms, but does not require me to use him for every job. I can forego his expenses, especially on small, favored-nation contracts. Some of the items I insist on in my contract are billing, hold-harmless clauses (equipment), ownership rights, right of first refusal, and royalties for extensions in noncommercial shows.

ELIZABETH S: The contracts for most of my shows at the Public Theatre were signed months after opening. I really need to get paid, so I’m precise about when that happens. Other than that, the idea is not to be bought out brain and soul.

When teaching sound design or composition, what do you cover in your curriculum? What exercises or practical experience do you give your students?

MICHELLE D: I tell my students that the first question a composer needs to answer is, “What is the purpose of the music for every cue I am composing?” And then, “Is it to foreshadow? Is it to set the period? Is it to invoke memory? Is it to help define or develop a character? Is it to help make the audience laugh? Cry? Is it to cover up that noisy scene change?”

Not only are these questions crucial for a better understanding of the play and what kind of music should accompany each scene or scene change, but also, once you have a clear idea of the function of the music, then you can begin to tackle the next problem—“How do I incorporate all these disparate cues into a score with shape and meaning beyond some isolated music cues?” Ah ha! Now it gets challenging. On a practical note, it is very important for the theatre composer to be well-versed in many musical styles, periods, and genres. Say a play is set in the 1930s. That really gives the composer nothing. Where is it set? In New York, Iowa, Mississippi, Germany, Russia, China, Brazil? Can you imagine how different all these scores would be? Also, are the characters rich or poor? City or country folk? Sane or insane? Every little detail is crucial for determining the appropriate sound world for the play.

VICTORIA D: There are two sides to teaching sound design, the artistic and the technical. You cannot afford to have one without the other. I have exercises that I use to teach the artistic manipulation of an audience. These include terms like natural/abstract, themes, repetition, build and decline, punctuation, time of day, and tension. The exercises soon show that all of these terms can exist in every cue. The only way to learn them is to do them out of context and then in context. After those ideas are explored, there is then the learning of speeding up or slowing down the flow of a show, the convention of design, how to remind your audience of a moment that happened before, and the overall cohesiveness of the design.

Tuning the ear to hear the sounds that occur in everyday life is essential. Not only do you need that knowledge for realistic settings, you also need to know how to abstract those sounds in an unnatural piece.

The technical learning process encompasses how to work with computer programs to edit and sequence sound files, the set up of your system, creating a speaker plot, choosing the special effects tools you will be using, how you will reinforce specific moments in the play, and, of course, mastering the actual tech process. Plus, one must learn how you discuss your art with others involved in the rehearsal process with you, as well as how you represent yourself in the theatrical community, either to acquire more work or maintain relationships with your peers.

MICHAEL H: I split courses into technology, design, and business. Sound technology must be taught hands-on—you learn by doing. I run classes in digital audio systems and critical listening as part of the technology sequence. In sound design classes, I run exercises in synesthetics (relating sound and color), a story-without-words, radio dramas (with all practical effects), and complete “dry” sound designs. I place much more emphasis on in-class critique and the students’ ability to explain their concept rather than on the actual material itself. I stress that designers never speak in sound lingo to the director. I openly discuss design fees, contracts, union issues, how to operate a business, and setting up proper tax structure to survive as an independent designer. I highly favor seminar classes as opposed to traditional lecture classes.

ELIZABETH S: I always have my students write and perform original compositions—whether they want to be composers or not. I encourage them to set poetry and unexpected prose to music. I dare them to do their own staging and choreography, their own arrangements. I want music to be a literary and whole-body experience. I also work a great deal on vocal sounds with my students so their imaginations go past the habitual ideas of recorded media-influenced sound.

TOM M: Since I teach in the same art complex where I design for Missouri Rep, students can study my designs (past and present) and then work in the same production studios and performance space. Our MFA program is based on modeling the experience of teaching hospitals.

JIM VB: My class includes system design, conceptual design, basic studio techniques, and “modern scenarios and sound politics” as major elements. We do not deal with composition at all, and I find that students need to understand how a system works before they know how to edit complex multitrack cues. Students must be able to pass written examinations as well as practical (completing a system flow drawing, and determining the pattern of a microphone, for instance), and projects which include detailed script analysis, full design and cue paperwork, and sound cue selection.

PHIL L: I don’t teach sound design and don’t believe it can be taught. I don’t feel you can teach talent. You either have a feel for it and want to do it or you don’t.

BRIAN H: I concentrate primarily on getting people to be aware of the way sound alters one’s perception of the action. I’ll have students read a scene with a variety of backgrounds to show how each affects the action.

I feel the experimental nature of sound, even just to discover various tempi and moods, is often left undone in rehearsal, yet it can really make or break a scene. I find it important that designers, directors, and performers all have the need, but perhaps not the knowledge, to do this kind of investigating, and I should leave them with the knowledge.

DAVID B: I assume that this question relates to conceptual sound design and composition, rather than reinforcement design.

Because there is so much material to cover in a three-year graduate program (including practical design opportunities), the selection of appropriate student candidates is extremely important. Students who possess a balance of compositional skills, basic physical sciences, music/sound technology, and an understanding of theatre are difficult to find. Of course, these are all areas we expand on over the course of the program; however, we can’t start from scratch with every student. There simply isn’t enough time. There has to be an assumption that some relevant experience has been attained prior to entering the program.

Students are expected to have a musical sensibility. From that base, we teach the students how to use their aural imagination to develop ideas in response to a particular text. This can be a lengthy and difficult process. Engaging one’s aural imagination is often complicated by a young student’s tendency to think about their ideas (or conceive their designs) backwards, starting with a sound delivery system. This process may seem practical, but it often limits the possibilities before you get started. The design of a physical delivery system should be in response to the artistic goals of the production. It is important to encourage or engage the creative process without physical limits. Once an appropriate set of creative responses has been articulated, the goal becomes “realization” or the creation of rough drafts for presentation to the director. In this part of the process, we now attempt to define how a sound might be presented to the audience in a three-dimensional theatre space. We ask questions such as: Is the sound “source specific” (identifiable to a single location only, e.g., a phone ring)? Is the sound representing an external influence? Is the sound representing an internal conflict? Is the sound a transition? Is the sound a framing cue? Is the sound an underscore? Does the sound define a physical space or time? Does the sound describe an imaginary space and time? Answering these questions helps to define an aural palette for the production as well as a manner of distributing that sound to an audience in an appropriate manner. The production budget and other practical considerations can now influence the design. At this point, you may have to get very creative in order to execute your ideas faithfully. It should be understood that the development of these ideas isn’t done in a vacuum. Regular collaboration with the design team and director is essential for success.

I attempt to explore students’ aural imagination through exercises which are designed to make the students “think” in sound and music. Students are given a word or simple phrase, such as “New York” or “hot,” which they must respond to with music or sound (text to aural conversion). In the introductory classes, these responses may be composed or found. In the advanced classes they must all be composed. We also view “art objects” (visual to aural) and explore similar responses from each student. In another exercise, I play a musical example and ask the students to draw something that they “see” in the music (aural to visual). I will also play a variety of music excerpts and discuss potential meanings implicit in the sound or music. Text excerpts for many plays are also explored and roughly designed. In the later classes, more advanced creative tasks are assigned and production problems are posed and solved. Advanced problems are solved, including a sound cue listing, hookup, ground plan, and section with delivery system components articulated.

You must give the students practical opportunities to design or compose music for productions. This is the most important vehicle in the learning process. Students are assigned three full production designs during each of their three years in the Yale School of Drama program. Additionally, students may elect to design other smaller productions for director workshops or the Yale Cabaret. This represents as many as six designs a year (while in school). These productions offer necessary opportunities for exploration and development of personal skills. Verbal skills must also be developed in order to ensure regular and appropriate communication between design team members and directors. Additionally, the professional alliances you make at this time can become the foundation for development of a successful career in the theatre world.

Of course once you develop your ideas for a production, you must find practical ways to realize them (in a production studio or with live musicians) and ways of presenting those ideas to the audience (through the sound delivery system). I feel it is most effective to learn how to use these production tools through a combination of introductory lectures and practical assignments. Play excerpts are used to create a context for the practicals. Using these exercises, we provide learning experiences in: on location source gathering; stereo and multitrack music recording; SFX recording; microphone technology and techniques, including RF systems; loudspeaker technology and techniques, including focused arrays and distributed systems; amplifier technology and techniques; mixing desk operations, including routing, EQ, matrices, balancing, automation, inserting devices, mixing in layers; playback devices, including CD, MiniDisc, samplers, DAWs; signal processing devices, including outboard EQs, compressor/limiters, delay-based effects processors, artificial reverberation, MIDI, and more.

I encourage students to take elective music classes in composition, history, or performance (as appropriate to the individual). Electronics and acoustical architecture are also important classes providing necessary background information for practical work in the theatre. These electives provide exposure and balance to the program.

And I wish this had been available when I was going to school.

JILL DB: I have taught master classes and been a guest lecturer. Many of my classes have been for stage management students, and some have been for general theatre classes, which include actors and design students. In the stage management classes I will often go over what is expected of a stage manager to benefit sound designers. I will explain the importance of the rehearsal reports, how they are our lifeline to the daily ins and outs of the production, script changes, new cues, the general vibe of the show. I will also walk them through an SFX or QLab program, so they know how the designer is working, and how to think when calling cues. With this knowledge, they will know what they can ask for: cues built together, timings for fades, and anything else that will make calling the show easier and smoother. I will also share pet peeves of mine and many of my colleagues, and what we look for in a good stage manager.

What do you perceive as the most significant changes in theatre sound technology in the past ten years? Has the advent of digital sound changed the way you work? What’s been overrated? Are there advantages to how things “used to be” ?

DAVID B: Fortunately, we have seen many significant technological advances that have provided enormous benefits to the execution of professional sound designs. They include highly accurate loudspeakers with a variety of dispersion patterns, powerful amplifiers, better wireless microphone technology, sophisticated mixing systems, automation, smart analysis tools, etc. If I had to narrow down to the most significant technological advances for my style of design, it would be the digital audio workstation (audio computers, in general) tied for first place with digital sampling. These devices have provided me with the most important set of creative tools to realize what is in my mind’s ear. The intention of my work hasn’t changed significantly; however, the ease of creation, development, control, documentation, and archiving is truly incredible. I can’t imagine how I worked prior to the development of these tools. Actually I can imagine and I’m very glad to be the beneficiary of these advances. With these devices, I have finally been able to adapt immediately to developments in a production, almost in real time. That means I can be a better collaborator and constructively influence the course of a production. As a creative person, this is very important to me. The future holds even more promise as control automation gets even faster and operators become accustomed to that style of working.

RICHARD P: I think the advent of samplers, computers, DAT, and MiniDiscs has helped a lot technically. Nevertheless, the bottom line is the musical raw materials we work with, and no amount of stateof-the-art sound equipment can write a good score.

MICHAEL H: At first, I would say the most significant change is automation, but automation has been out there (i.e., Richmond) for years now. I think two areas of growth have affected me most. First is a significant increase in speaker technology—speakers have tighter coverage, higher efficiency, smaller size, and greater accuracy than just ten years ago. Second is the digital revolution.

There is a new generation of sound designers out there who really have no grasp of the art they are creating. To them, sound design is about the toys. I am just as comfortable working in a ninety-nine-seat equity waiver house with two cassettes or a LORT-B house with everything. For dramas, it really is the thought behind and the content of the show tapes that count. I can honestly say that I really miss reel-to-reels and the ritualistic nature of editing, cleaning, and aligning the deck!

BRIAN H: The changes of the past decade have enabled audio playback to be achieved as easily as the lighting. I think the one technological advancement for playback in theatre that affects me the most is the MiniDisc player. Cheap, accessible, with great sound (and no telltale kerchunk to give away the cues).

VICTORIA D: The most significant change is the ease in which one can manipulate sound during the technical process. The ability to be as fast, if not faster than the rest of the design team has fundamentally changed how I work and how I approach design technically. Before, if I had a storm cue that was being played back on reel to reel, the changing of where a crack of thunder happens in the storm would be a long and involved process that I would not be able to produce in context until the following day. I would be up all night hoping to get it right for the next day. Now I keep my effect cues separate in my computer programming of a show, and, as a result the changing of a placement of a thunderclap is quick and easy. It makes it possible for my design to remain fluid and change in real time with the production, instead of holding things back, and to specifically punctuate the action on stage with my sound.

What sometimes seems overrated to me is the dependence on a huge amount of microphones and outboard gear to create a sound that could be captured much more simply and effectively. Sometimes, there is beauty and simplicity in just having one microphone in a room to record a band live the way they would sound to one set of ears. This is a technique that I still incorporate into my recording and it’s a series of questions that I always consider when creating sound systems. Do I really need all this gear? Is there an easier, more elegant way? It’s always worth asking.

PHIL L: The most significant changes are amplification, most specifically overamplification, and it’s terrible. Since I’m still working in the field of sound, I can say that digital recording has changed the way I work phenomenally. It makes the work much easier than it was with analog and the possibilities much greater. It takes much less skill and is much less satisfying. As an engineer, although I would never go back to analog, I miss the tactile experience of handling audio tape, the satisfaction derived out of making a perfect edit using a razor blade and the thrill of doing punch-ins knowing that if your finger hit the record button a moment too early what was recorded previously was erased and the only fix was to re-record. As a studio owner, I love the fact that where it used to take me six months to train a new editor, today everyone who comes to me is computer-savvy and able to use Pro-Tools to a certain extent. It takes, at most, four weeks to get an editor up to speed.

TOM M: For sure, the most significant change is the digital audio workstation. CDs and MiniDiscs are nice, too. I got started in the age of the tape recorder, using many decks, and working in multitrack. Digital audio workstations are so much faster and allow much more creativity. When I did Three Tall Women, it was only improvised piano for the scene changes. I recorded piano straight to fifteen IPS analog tape, backed up on DAT, and used the master analog recording as the show tape. Sounded nice, but I don’t think it sounded better than if I had put it into ProTools and played back from MiniDisc. I used analog just for the fun of it, keeping things exciting!

MICHELLE D: While sampling and music synthesis have opened up whole new frontiers for composers, there is definitely less human contact involved in the making of music. Composers have always needed isolation when writing music, but now, since they are also playing all the parts, the idea of coming together with others to make music has taken a back seat. Budget considerations haven’t helped this either.

JILL DB: The most significant changes over the last ten years have been in playback systems and laptops. When I began my career, reel-to-reel was very rare but still in use, although most theatres were using cassettes, CDs, and MiniDiscs. This made for very long days in tech. I would sit in tech all day, with all of the options I could bring, and try them out in tech. If a cue needed to be longer, or something entirely different, I would take a note and work on it at home on my desktop after tech. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep during those days. Once laptops became the norm, I was able to take care of many notes during tech, but I still relied on an operator who (hopefully) had some skill. Depending on the person, the fade times would always be different, and I was limited to four or five MiniDisc players. This would force me to come up with some creative editing for more difficult shows. When SFX and, later, QLab came on the scene, many theatres were dubious, but once the system was in place, it became possible to do anything. Sound could fly around the room, as much sound as I wanted could come from as many sources as I wanted, and a lot of editing could be done with the click of a button. It made the possibilities endless, and I was able to bring in any sound I thought I might need and load it up on the computer and edit it on the spot. Needless to say I got more sleep. Digital technology has given sound design the ability to be more creative and limitless.

I don’t think that there is much reminisces for the way things used to be as far as playback is concerned. I do find the need to reinforce actors in smaller and smaller spaces disconcerting. I think that actors have become more accustomed to film acting and can sometimes forget that projecting ten rows to the back of the house is not that big of a challenge.

JIM VB: The digital audio workstation has made major changes in the way we create sound effects, and has made a huge impact. Digital has trickled down to make things much more affordable for mass markets, but the big shows have gotten extremely complex and are unbelievably expensive. Yet, a producer does not want to spend the same money for a sound designer’s fees and the weekly rental that is spent for scenery, costumes, or lighting.

Something I find quite overrated is the importance we place on technology as a society. I can make a system of cheap gear run with old analog tape cues sound just as good as the latest gear with alldigital signal path. Tools should be unimportant. Technology should be of less concern than it is. Choosing to do theatre sound means you have a method, a reason, and a desire to do something different. The tools are simply that—tools. The tools matter so little. It’s what we do with them and how we look at doing things that will make an impact. The theatre embraces noble ideas, and I feel we need to teach that to our students.

DAVID L: There was a time in New York during the early 90s when it seemed every theatre’s reel-to-reels weren’t working properly or were outright broken and all anyone had for playback equipment was cassette decks. Not my favorite period to look back on.

I’m very happy that the MiniDisc player came along to fill the role of reliable playback medium. I can do about 90% of my editing in the theatre with those decks. They’re fast, dependable, inexpensive, and they honestly sound superb. As a rule, I absolutely detest the idea of audio data compression, but I have to admit that for theatre work, the advantages of the medium far outweigh any philosophical objections I may have regarding how audio gets recorded.

I cut my teeth on reel-to-reel and I’m very proud of my tape editing abilities. At heart, I’m an analog kind of guy. The advent of digital audio has certainly made many things much easier. Nondestructive editing is really quite wonderful. But I do strongly caution against the idea that digital is necessarily better. Analog tape is a mature medium. The decks work great (if serviced regularly) and walking into anyone’s studio ten years ago, you could pretty much find your way around. Mixing consoles were of a uniform, conceptual design as were the tape decks. Today, all digital audio software does fundamentally the same thing, but the user interfaces are less than intuitive. The problem with digital audio is that it’s no longer in its infancy stage. It’s more of a precocious teenager who demands to be given much more responsibility than it’s capable of reliably handling. The computer is a very hostile environment for audio. Things get lost, moved, or corrupted. There are few things in my professional life more annoying than my computer asking me “Where is audio file 23?” I don’t know. You had it last, wha’djya do with it? And just as you’ve figured out version 6 of your software, here comes version 6.2 that promises to fix the bugs in the previous version while it inadvertently creates new ones. Document as much as possible and make two backups of absolutely everything, is my advice.

We’re making our machines go faster and faster and creating software that taxes more of a CPU than the IRS would dream possible. Life’s not easy on technology’s bleeding edge. But my biggest complaint by far is not having a reliable long-term storage medium. I recently pulled some ten-year-old quarter-inch masters off the shelf to have a listen. The tapes sounded absolutely wonderful. In perfect condition. I have DAT tapes less than three years old that sound horrible. There are drop-outs, tracking problems. They’re unplayable. Fortunately, the cost of burning a CD-R is now a feasible and affordable mastering alternative. That is until we standardize higher sampling frequencies of 96 kHz at 24 bits and I have to remaster all my old 44.1 kHz 16-bit recordings for the sake of potentially better sounding fade-outs.

Would I go back to the old way of recording? What?! And miss out on all this fun?

What one piece of equipment do you depend on the most?

MICHAEL H: I hate to say it, but it is the computer. My cue sheets, source material, mixes, effects, research, and drafting all involve a computer now. The computer is now the mixing console, effects processor, multitrack, and CD-R burner.

MICHELLE D: I depend mostly on my computer and sequencer. However, I usually begin my compositional process at a desk, work my way to the piano, and then end up at the computer.

TOM M: Today, it is the ProTools (digital audio workstation). That is what I work with for building cues. I am very flexible about what I have to work with in the theatre for playback. I think that high-end, expensive playback equipment tends to be overrated.

VICTORIA D: My MacBook Pro connected to the Internet, and my external hard drives, which are loaded with sound effects and samples.

PHIL L: ProTools and a computer.

BRIAN H: Besides the MiniDisc player, the sampler and digital workstation have made things like looping a designer’s dream rather than a nightmare.

DAVID L: My ears. Other than that, not much. When I’m hired for a job, one of the first things I ask for is an inventory list of the theatre’s sound equipment. If all a theatre owns is a cassette deck, an amp, and a speaker or two, then that’s what I’ll design for. Obviously, if tightly timed events are required (such as gun shots), or things have to happen with any real precision, then there’s going to be a problem. If the needs of the production can’t be realized with the equipment available, then it’s my job to make recommendations as to what needs to be rented, borrowed, repaired, or whatever. Then there are those times when I think, “Wouldn’t it be great if we could do this or that? If only we had a …” and I’ll look at what I’ve been given for a budget, talk about it with the director, and see what can be done about it.

Besides considerations about the equipment, probably the most valuable thing I could ask for would be a competent and enthusiastic sound operator. They’re the ones who will be living with the production on a nightly basis after the show has opened. It’s important that they feel the show is their own and that they’re given some sort of a personal stake in the production.

TODD B: My imagination. In terms of electronic hardware, the most flexible and useful piece of gear I have is my hard disk recorder/editor. It has allowed me to artfully redesign cues in minutes while keeping the integrity of the music and sculpting it to fit the rhythm of the scene.

JIM VB: That gray matter between my ears. Nothing is as valuable as knowing how to handle a situation or people. Second to that, I like a sense of humor. Third, a sense of perspective. Gearwise, the technical thing I really depend on the most is a set of reference sounds (not music, though I use that, as well), but tones of gain, frequency, and phasing information. Because when setting up a system, the gain structure has to be perfect, or it’s not worth doing. And once I have a flawless system with an ideal gain structure, my job gets a lot easier.

JILL DB: I depend on my laptop, and by extension of this, my editing software and hard drives. I think that it might be a tie between that and a digital playback system.

RICHARD P: The pencil.

ELIZABETH S: The human spirit.