Actually, they don’t all feel the same . . .”

Some years ago, I got involved as a sort of beta-tester for a synthesizer manufacturer. I would get prototype models and would invite local musicians into my studio to try them out and make comments about them, and I too would try them out, use them on sessions, etc. etc. The manufacturer would try all sorts of things out on us, and sometimes wouldn’t mention all the little things they’d done. One time we got a prototype that really sounded a lot better. None of us could say exactly how it sounded better (in fact, people listening to our efforts didn’t hear a difference compared to a production unit set up right next to the prototype), but those of us who played the prototype knew. It just sounded better. Lots better.

In this particular case, it turned out that the only change was in the tensioning springs in the keyboard. There were no electronic changes, and the only thing the keyboard did (this was before MIDI or aftertouch or velocity sensing) was indicate note on, note off and control voltage for pitch and timbre. So, in fact, there was no physical change in the sound quality. There was, however, a physical change in the character of the key action, a physical change that we musicians liked. As a result, we preferred the sound of the prototype instrument. We didn’t say, “Oh, the sound is the same, but the keyboard action is definitely better,” but rather “This new synth really sounds awesome, much better than the old one!”

Thinking back on my experience with acoustic instruments, I see a basis for this. When the action is working better, the instrument feels better and so I casually and reasonably assume it sounds better. Performers playing my piano would say it sounded better right after I had the action adjusted. I’ve begun to suspect that artists who prefer a particular instrument or brand may do so because of differences in action, in feel, etc. as much or more than because of differences in sound quality.

In the case of acoustical instruments, of course, it’s hard to separate the control system from the sound. It is fair to argue that good mechanical action and feel leads to better execution of the other elements that go into making a good sound and a good performance, and that therefore the improved action of the instrument results in physically better sound production. The argument is a little tougher to make in a synthesizer, where the keyboard is essentially an on-off switch, and it is a lot tougher to make with consoles, where the action of the faders, knobs and switches has little or no real-time impact on the production of sound. Yet, when reviews of Console Z suggest that the pots have a cheesy feel, all of us agree that a cheesy-feeling console just won’t cut it, unless of course somebody gives it to us for free.

In the case of Console B at Berklee, once we got it into service and I got a chance to pile up some hours on it, I noticed that the controls all felt great and that the EQ and dynamics controls “did a lot,” which is to say that fairly small tweaks yielded fairly big (i.e. quite audible) changes in sound. I speculate that these characteristics may in fact be a significant factor in the console’s success. It is easy to use and get results with quickly.

“Man, I really like the layout. Everything’s just where I want it.”

So, quite reasonably, we can say that the quality of the control action, as well as the ease of use of the layout of a console, are really significant elements in the choice of a console. Although they don’t directly affect the sonics of the console, they sure do affect the quality of performance of the mixer, which in turn does have an impact on the final sound of the production.

The term used to describe this is “ergonomics.” It speaks to the question of how easy it is for humans to use a device or system, to extract useful work from it. The system with better ergonomics will yield more productivity, all other things being equal. Equally important, for our discussion here, such a system will be more fun to use, and we will prefer using it, regardless of whether it physically yields a better product or not. Actually, I suspect that when we are faced with a choice between a console that is really easy and fun to use but sounds crummy and a console that is really hard and unpleasant to use but sounds great, we may rationalize ourselves into believing that the crummy-sounding console actually sounds good just because it is easier to produce recordings with. In any case, I believe that, within limits, ergonomics are probably more important than sonics when we choose an elaborate operations system like a console.

“I don’t give a hoot about specs! I’ve used Console W for a bunch of hits and I know it works”

Another criteria for console-buying has to do with our obsessive natures. To be in this business, you have to be crazy. To be successful in this business you have to be lucky as well as crazy. Being crazy, when we actually get lucky and manage to record a hit, we tend to ascribe mystical values to the equipment we recorded it with. We become, like the ball-player on a hitting streak who wears the same undershirt day after day after day, superstitious to the point of obnoxiousness about the components involved in our success.

It is very hard to be successful. In the face of unending competition and pressure, we tend to cling, obsessively, to what we believe in our heart works. As we get older (and hopefully more successful), we tend to ascribe our success to the tools we used. We develop our prejudices and preconceptions and we cling to them beyond any rational evidence that we are right. It is too terrifying to contemplate the notion that maybe all we were was lucky, just statistical aberrations in a random universe, as in, “God, you mean ‘Lilla and the Gorilla’ was just dumb luck? You mean it wasn’t the EQ on the Console W that I used to record the producer’s cousin making those funny sounds that caused the record to take off?”

Also, when things are not going well, we tend to ascribe our failure to things that are different than they were when we were succeeding, as in the lament, “Jeez, you just can’t make a good recording on these modern consoles. Back when I made ‘Lilla and the Gorilla,’ which as you recall sold four million records, I used one of the discrete Console Ws. It sounded great! You couldn’t make a bad recording on it if you tried. I can’t understand why they stopped building it.”

This, troops, is obsession. I believe I’ve got to have an old, discrete W in order to make a successful record. There’s nothing else I trust! And, in fact, there’s some basis in truth for my obsession. As I said, you’ve got to be crazy to do this. And those crazy obsessions may in fact give you just enough whacked out confidence and willingness to take the Big Chance, once again, in the face of the statistical certainty that your success has about the same probability as the existence of a snowball on a particularly hot and sulfurous day in hell.

The rub comes when my obsession gets used as your basis for selecting a console -- when you say to yourself, “Well, Dave says that discrete Ws are the way to go. And what is good enough for Dave is good enough for me. The chorus on “Lilla” is still sheer genius!” The fact that my obsession works for me doesn’t mean that you should necessarily buy into it.

“I only consider Bs, because they are the only consoles worth considering. If you had a B in here I would seriously consider you!”

A similar thing happens with your clients. Whoever they are, they don’t select studios, engineers and producers based on who is cheapest, or who sounds best. They do it on the basis of what they believe, in their own obsessive ways, will most likely make their project successful. And they’ve gotta be crazy too, to be doing this. They aren’t rational. They grasp at straws like the rest of us.

So what do they know? That Bs are happening! If you haven’t got a B, you aren’t happening. You better buy a B to bring in all those hip clients.

This can become a major argument in deciding which console to buy.

“Console A costs a fortune! What a great console!”

Another criteria is cost. If it costs more, it must be better, right? There is a perception that quality is proportional to cost. We all hang on to the price tag as some sort of seal of audio quality, as in “Man, that guy sure poured bucks into his room! He’s got a 128-input Hyper C and that’s just the beginning. He’s got at least a million in hardware and another million in woodwork. What a happening place! Sounds fabulous!!!”

“Lessee, now. Console A is really cool, but B sounds great, or is it C? I gotta decide!”

So, when you finally get around to thinking about it, the process is pretty loony. First, we try to decide what console to buy without listening to any of them. If the faders feel good and the console looks cool, we know it sounds great. If we have doubts, we listen to what all the old guys, i.e. people who have hits, say about the consoles they used during their three minutes of fame. If we’re still confused (who wouldn’t be?) we then ask our customers what console they’d like for us to have, which is a little like a tenant asking a landlord how much rent he’d like to get. If all these answers don’t finish us off, we pick the console that costs the most for a given amount of performance, reasoning that due to its excessive cost it must be the best.

“Look. We don’t do this for everybody, but in your case I’m sure we can do a really good deal.”

There’s one final wrinkle in all of this console-buying business. That half-million-dollar (or whatever) bucket of knobs can often be had for considerably less half a million, and this skews the purchasing decision considerably. If you can get your hands on the really pricey new Console A for the cost of only 5 or 6 Console Rs instead of 16, you may have a significant edge. As a result, it may make excellent business sense to appear to have dropped a bundle, when in fact you’ve only dropped .35 bundle or so. This kind of fiscal flexibility and deal-making is inherent to all big equipment buys, except for the hardware whose first sales argument is low cost.

What does this have to do with the readers of Recording? It should be apparent that the console is not simply a production tool. It is also a status symbol, an advertisement, a good luck charm, and a loss leader. In fact, no matter how weird, irrational and fiscally irresponsible it may seem, these other attributes of consoles are both real and quite important, and they may very well spell the difference between success and failure in your particular enterprise. You should consider them seriously, and decide how important they are for you. If it turns out that they don’t particularly matter, well, then you can start shopping on discounted price point versus performance, and also start looking at lots of other fiscal short-cuts to increase your bang for the buck.

But the primary issue has to do with your real goals. Only you can decide how important these various issues are. Just don’t assume that (a) you are perfectly rational about this, or that (b) rational criteria are all that matter. You are trying to make music, which is a tough thing to do, and the toughest place to do it is in a studio. The same is true for your clients. So it doesn’t hurt to surround yourself with tools that make you feel good about the enterprise and at the same time advertise a level of serious professionalism in your work. Just don’t kid yourself that it sounds better (even if you do kind of murmur to the client that “Actually, yes, Console W does make a difference, a biiiig difference.”), because that will make you even crazier, and you will quickly come to a point where craziness stops being a virtue. It helps to have a clue about why you are really making the decisions you do.

Happy patch cords!