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Day 4: Sometimes Sounds Collapse

March 18, 2009 by Edie Sedgwick

The stage was black. The show was over. The band was loading the van. But that didn’t prevent me and sound man at Southgate House in Newport, Kentucky outside Cincinnati – a historic venue known for its high-quality P.A. – from exploring one another’s bodies beneath his oh-so wide 24-channel mixing board.

“I want you to freak me like a parametric EQ,” I whispered into the ear of my lover, running my tongue down his long, grey sideburns and fingering the long tendrils of his lengthy beard.

My beau sucked ran his tongue over my lips. “Oh, baby,” he said, “I’m really going to crush your vocals with this Fairchild compressor.”

“I knew you wanted me when you drenched my vocals in delay during soundcheck,” I said. I sat on my Supersoundman’s lap and turned lazy circles with my lower body. “I knew you would take me as I watched your ample chest strain at the frayed front of your vintage ‘Metallica – Metal Up Your Ass’ T-shirt, your greying ponytail tossed unconcernedly to the side.”

“Oh baby, that analog delay that I smothered your vocals with was warm, long, and responsive,” the sonic master panted, excitedly fingering his Cincinnati Reds baseball cap as he ran down the specs of his PCM 42 outboard delay unit. “I cranked the high-frequency filter and set the feedback for optimum response. Your vocals went in dry, but once they emerged from my enormous system, they were sloppy and wet.”

“Oooh baby, I want you to give it to me just like you give it to the users of www.gearslutz.com,” I groaned. The very thought of the pro-audio message board made my heart beat faster. “You dirty gearslut, I know you are a regular contributor to the vintage microphone threads. Oh, baby, I can’t wait – tell me your username!”

“It’s CINCY51,” the my machoman replied. “CINCY because that’s where I’m from – 51 because that’s how old I am.”

“Darling,” I cried, “I’ll never utter the letters W-K-R-P without thinking of you again! Now get out your pop filter and let’s do this!”

“Oh, honey,” my stud replied, “you know I don’t like pop filters.”

“No pop filter?” I pushed the sound man away. “You don’t use pop filters?”

“Well, baby…” My lover looked at the ground. “They constrict my aesthetics.”

“But what about intrusive sibilants and popped P’s?” I demanded. This was the end of the affair. I stood up, pulled up my dress, and quickly moved to the door. “‘They constrict my aesthetics’ – it’s the oldest excuse in the book! No man’s aesthetic is so big to proclude safe sonics!”

Previously on…

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