When Your Passion Becomes Your Work
I was just 12 years old when the thunderbolt struck. Standing behind the FOH guy, watching him mix my favourite band, I suddenly knew what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t know at that point what monitors were – that refinement would come later – but I was going to be a sound engineer, and that was all there was to it. I had no clue how to make this auspicious event actually come about, but the spark was lit – a sound engineer I would be, and no one and nothing was going to stop me. Stand back, world, here I come!
It helped that I was (ok, am) extremely stubborn when I know what I want.
It helped that I was (and still am) passionate about music, and was hugely inspired by the behind-the-scenes video footage of my beloved rockumentaries. (I still think speeded-up time-lapse photography of arena and stadium load-ins is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.)
It helped that I was being educated by teachers who told us that we could be whatever we wanted, as long as we played to our strengths and were prepared to put in the hard yards – although admittedly they were somewhat perplexed by my epiphany. (A lawyer, an astronaut, a pilot they could understand. A sound engineer, not so much. The moral of that story is be careful what you tell a stubborn young girl because she’ll very likely take it literally!)
It’s now almost 30 years since that thunderbolt struck, and for all my adult life I’ve been a professional sound engineer. I love my job, and whilst there are most certainly a few bands that I would still give my right arm to mix, I’m incredibly fortunate to have reached the upper echelons of the industry. I did what I set out to do. I made my passion, my work.
And therein lies a thorny little issue that never even occurred to 12-year-old me. When your passion becomes your work, you can never again experience it with the wonder and innocence of the outsider. It’s a lot like moving in with your dreamy partner; you still think they’re gorgeous, and your love deepens with time, but you become aware of all their little foibles and less-than-glamorous habits, and it inevitably changes the relationship. Very often for something wonderful, and often it makes you even prouder of them when you know what their private struggles are, but it’s a paradigm shift from which there is no return.
Consequently, it’s decades since I’ve been able to go a gig without privately critiquing the sound. It’s even worse if it’s a festival, where I can compare different bands and weigh up whether it’s the tone of the PA, the mix, or what’s going into the desk, that I’m picking apart! I’m not as hyper-critical as some engineers I know – I can usually just about get over it if the sound’s simply a bit average – but I’ve witnessed at least three very big rock bands who I was excited to see, sounding absolutely shocking. I’m afraid I spoilt it for myself so much that I had to leave! Seriously, this stuff can leave me feeling disgruntled for days – I really do hate it when bands who ought to sound awesome, don’t. Of course, everyone has off-days, but when it’s persistently bad… anyway, I won’t get into that particular rant right here. (You see what I mean?!) That said, it’s an unrivaled joy when a band I’ve been waiting years to see sounds stunning – Def Leppard has sounded fabulous on a number of occasions, and Don Henley at Hyde Park made my 2016 – hats off to the noise boys and girls on those gigs!
Over the years I’ve made two other passions – yoga and writing – into my work as well (I never learn!), and it’s the same with them. I’m enormously fussy about which yoga teachers I enjoy going to these days, and even when they’re great I’ll often be taking mental notes of excellent ideas which I might echo in my own teaching. Likewise, some writing styles can drive me to distraction, no matter how interesting the content. The next time I fall in love with something, I really must try to remain an enthusiastic amateur…
But for all that turning my passion into my work has made me Ms Fussy-Pants, I wouldn’t change it. Sure, my great expectations have made the probability of disappointment higher, and it takes something truly outstanding to lose me in the music these days. But that’s because I’ve trained myself to listen intently; to analyse; to discern what makes a sound more pleasing. In doing that, I’ve got under the skin of my passion, and become intimate with something that still has the power to excite and inspire me, albeit with a little more awareness of the magic. Because of that intimacy, I get to spend my life doing something that I love; something that very rarely feels like actual work.
Just like a good marriage, even though the exciting becomes the familiar and you know what goes on behind the scenes, the pay-off is that you share your life with someone you love deeply, someone you understand – and who still has the power to occasionally take your breath away. If that happens less frequently than in the early days of romance, it’s because your life has been so enriched by your love that your bar for ‘breathtaking’ is set very high.
So I’m glad that 12-year-old me was ambitious and stubborn, and that 20-something me worked so damn hard to get to where I now find myself. Now, my passion is my work, and my work is my passion – and truly, when you do what you love, you never work another day in your life. And that, ultimately, is all I ever wanted.