This thread has brought back loads of memories. I used to do the Mic's from age 12-14 until the new
light that meant you had to be baptised, then again from about 18 until very shortly before my abrupt
dissapearance into exhile (another story)
Actually I quite liked the 'privilage', it was better than sitting staring into space. We has two isles in our
hall with a central block. If someone in the centre of the central block raised their hand. I used to have
races with the other handler to get there first.
The worst moments was when someone raised their hand, got asked to comment and you could not find
them. Our WT conductor was a total bastard and would just repeat that persons name, several times, as
if that would help, with me desparately scanning the ranks.
The downside was that you did have to stay awake, and wear a jecket and tie in the heat of the summer.
I did do the sound system for a while, which was good as I got a little box to sit in, which provided many
day dreaming opportunitites, the downside being that on a Thursday there may be a slight deviation to
the norm, as a speaker may invite unexpected comments and I would need to switch the roving mic's on,
which required some brain power set aside for monitoring the program. Eventually I mastered the art of
subliminal listening.
Nowadays I do some work as a sound engineer working with live bands. Dress code for sound
engineers in the music industry is totally the reverse, a sort of anti-sound servant. We played a wedding
once, and while the band wore tux's, it was perfectly acceptable for the sound engineer to turn up in the
greasiest jeans and ripped heavy metal tee shirt.
My warped imagination wonders what would happen if a tear in the space time continuum confused the
'Live Gig Engineer' with the 'Sound Servant / Mic Handler'..........
===
The engineer's rusting white van swings into the KH car park and reverses so that the back of the van faces the emergency exit to the left of the hall. The engine stutters to a halt. The drivers door opens and the air is drenched with the sound of Mottley Crue on volume 11. Den, the time continuum substituted sound servant jumps out of the cab. He is wearing a stained, black tee shirt with the words 'Fuck You' emblazoned across the front, and a one fingered salute on the back, black jeans, ageing trainers, he smells of nicotine and stale beer.
The service overseer walks over from his red saloon car, wearing a light blue polyester suit.
"I'm sorry brother, you cannot park there", he lovingly points out.
"Well bro (thinking the oversear was attempting to be cool), how do I get all the gear into venue, man". He responds.
"Well, make sure you move the van after you finished", concedes the service overseer, he considers showing the scripture about the faulty parapet, yet feels he has made his point.
Den starts unloading piles of black carpeted cabinets onto the side of the car park and carrying them into the hall. Soon there is an 8 foot stack of speakers on each side of the platform, cables are being ran down the side of the hall which plug into a pile of flight boxes stacked precariously to form an unstable tower. The back two rows of chairs has been moved to accomodate an industrial sized mixing desk.
Den lights a fag as he climbs onto the platform, fits a couple of mic's then shouts, 'One... Two... " a few times through the PA, wound up to almost feedback point.
The visiting speaker comes over, he is around 50, greying hair, slightly rotund, wearing a light grey polyester suit and light blue tie.
"Are you the sound servant?" brother Faithfull asks.
"'fraid so..." answers Den.
"I shall be using song number 28 for the Public Talk," explains the speaker.
"Oh yea, the backing track for the first number," translates Den, "do you need a click track or just go straight into it."
"Erm, no just play it as normal," explains the speaker.
"You gonna do a soundcheck?" asks Den.
"Erm, no we'll just play the song and I'll deliver the talk," replies the speaker.
"fair n'uff," responds Den.
All in all the Public Talk goes quite well. A little bit of feedback during the first song, as Den had rigged up overhead mic's in front of the audience to put them into the mix. One elderly sister had to sit in the back room for a while as her hearing aid was still ringing. Den settles down to the talk. He puts his feet up on a box of cables, reaches into his gig bag, brings out a can of Beer, there is a slight hissing sound as he pulls the ring, a stream of beer cascades down the side, Den carefully lets the excess beer run onto the kingdom hall carpet so as to avoid his jeans. Den gets out a bag of tobacco and a battered tin, makes a few minor adjustments to the level on the main mic and starts constructing a large joint.
The dance remix of the second song did not go down as badly as it might, the loud humming sound that built into a dense feedback as Den plugged his Strat into a large and stained amp set off the babies at the back of the hall and so the song became a war of decibels so that many of the elderly brothers and most of the body of elders did not notice the rap lyrics that Den decided would enhance the arrangement.
The watchtower study would probably have gone smoothly had it not been for the two microphone handlers. Den had given them a briefing before the start, referred to them as roadies and informed them that their prime duty was to eye up, chat up and get as many chicks phone numbers as possible. It had been suggested that if during the gig, one of the handlers wanted take a babe into the back of the van it was no problem as long as he put the keys back when they had finished. Seeing a good opportunity when he saw one, the older of the two privilaged microphone handlers who had been leading a double life for some time snuck out with the brunette sister he had been jumping.
Den furtively opened up the radio mic he had rigged up for such occaisions so he could get the action down onto minidisk, a prank he often played on new roadies. Unfortunatly a confusion over submixes later in the set (when the reader got up to read the next paragraph) caused a minor disruption until Den, Who was taking a leak at the time, could be tracked down and the problem resolved.
After the meeting the Secretary comes over to have a word with Den.
"I noticed a couple of small problems with the sound this morning," he broaches the subject.
"yea, man, we should have done a sound check before kick off, the feedback was a bit of a problem, always is with gaff's this size, it all bounces back off the wall" responds Den."
"Now I also notice you have not put in your report for this month," observes the Secretary.
"Yea, sorry man, been up to my eyes..." excuses Den sheepishly
"So can you honestly say you have not meantioned the good news at all this month?" suggests the secretary hopefully.
"Er, no man," replies Den.
"You have not mentioned God at all?" enquires the secretary hopefully, concerned at the forthcoming CO visit.
"Er, well there was last week," responds Den
"Yes, go on...." encourages the Secretary.
"I remember talking to Bazz from Hangover Gizzard, I said, God look at the tits on her,"
"I'll put you down for 15 minutes then," replies the Secretary happily.