Save Early, Save Often

If you’ve been reading my blogs for a while, you’ve probably noticed that a lot of them don’t directly relate to sound. That’s because sound is actually such a small part of what we do on a day to day basis. Being an incredible mixer is all well and good, but if you crumble under pressure or can’t show up on time, you won’t work for long. If you’re an A2 or monitor engineer and you can’t communicate with people, you won’t even know what people need so you can effectively do your job.

Today I’m going to wander well off the sound waves into what I consider one of the most all encompassing topics for dealing with life: Money.

Now, I’ve been writing blogs for five years at this point. I can’t tell you how many drafts of this very topic I’ve written and hated. Money is such a taboo topic that we probably know more about our best friend’s sex life than we do about their bank account, so it hasn’t been easy trying to find the best way to talk about it. However, I’ve never been known for my subtlety, so we’re just going to dive in head first.

Money is important. We can go through all the overused sayings that money can’t buy happiness and that it isn’t everything, but the fact remains that money is a major factor in our lives. Having a savings account with a few months of expenses tucked away can make all the difference when emergencies or life changes come your way.

We all have different relationships with money. Part of it is nurture: the environment we grew up in and how we saw our parents handle money, but just as important is nature: who we are and what we value in our lives. My parents taught my sister and me similar things about money, but we have different priorities and habits that have developed because we’re different people with different life experiences in different careers.

This blog won’t have all the answers for every situation, but what I really want it to do is put financial literacy on your radar and maybe show what it can do for you, given time. That way you can start to figure out how you personally relate to money and what your priorities are.

Because time is your greatest asset. Even if you start small it can make a huge difference.

So, money is important, we get that. Where do we start?

First, start to pay attention to your money. Do you know roughly how much you make in a year? Do you know how much you spend? That’s the basis of all personal finance. You don’t have to go full forensic accountant on your life, but check your bank and credit card statements and start to see what your big picture is.

Personally, I don’t have a strict budget of “I can spend $X on groceries, $Y on clothing, and $Z on social activities,” but I do track my expenses, so I know roughly what I spend in a month or over a year. I use Quicken (any similar personal finance software will do a similar thing) which imports my transaction, lets me put them into categories, and I can generate a report if I want to check on things. You can also just use a spreadsheet: it can be a basic accounting tool, or you can go nuts with formulas and formatting if you really want to go in-depth and customize.

Once you’ve taken a look at that, you’ve found your baseline and rough expectations. Do you have extra money some months that you might be able to start saving? Does your income vary wildly each month so you need to put some into savings for your slow season? (Welcome to being a freelancer. By nature of our schedules, we have to be more financially aware than our 9 to 5 counterparts.)

Did you learn that you’ve been spending more than you make and your credit cards have made up the difference? Or that you’re making just enough and working paycheck to paycheck, but if anything out of the ordinary happens you’re operating on a razor thin margin?

If you’ve hit this point and you’re looking at things thinking, “oh shit!” take a moment and breathe. It’s okay. That feeling just means you have a goal to work towards.

Now that you know where you are, it’s time to look at where you want to be. Ideally you want to have minimal debt and be making more than you spend so you’re able to save. This process looks different for everyone, and Paula Pant, who runs the site Afford Anything, covers it more completely than I can in her post about “Growing the Gap.”

TLDR: you can try to grow your income (asking for a raise, monetizing a side hustle, investing, etc) while keeping your spending the same, or decreasing your spending while you income stays consistent. Doing either of those create a “gap” between what you make and what you spend, so you’re able to put that into paying off debt, savings, or eventually investing.

Once you can start saving, your money will start to work for you. Which is a concept that’s difficult to really understand until you’ve seen it in action. You may have heard the term “compounding interest” bandied about like some magic phrase, but what does that actually look like?

It means a savings account will pay you interest, and that interest will keep adding up.

It means a business can make a profit, which you can put back into it to make it bigger and more productive.

It means a stock might pay you a dividend which can be reinvested, adding more shares to your portfolio.

Let’s look at an example savings account. A high-yield one might pay 4% interest per year:

At 25 years old, you put in $100 a month. At 55 years old, you would have put in $37,000 ($1,200 per year for 30 years), but the account balance would actually be $74,000. It’s double what you put in it, but where did the other $37,000 come from?

The interest.

So the first year you put in $1,200. The interest on that was $48.

Total of $1,248.

The next year you add $1,200, now the balance is $2,448, and interest on that is $97.

Total: $2,545.

Next year is another $1,200, the balance is $3,745, and interest on that is $149.

Total: $3,895.

Screenshot

And so it continues with the interest getting just a little bit bigger year after year.

At 35 you’ve put in $13,000 and the account would be $16,000.

At 45 you’ve put in $25,000 and the account would be almost $40,000.

Time is the magic ingredient in a lot of financial success. If you give it some training (invest it, put it in savings, start a business, etc), soon it’ll start working all on its own.

One of the favorite financial tools to illustrate the benefit of compounding interest is called the “Jack and Jill” comparison. It looks at Jill, someone who started saving/investing at the beginning of her career, and Jack, who decided to wait a few years.

Let’s look at this in a couple different scenarios:

First: Jill starts investing $1,200 per year when she’s 25, stops when she’s 40, and just lets the account grow on its own from there.

Jack starts investing $1,200 per year at 40, until he’s 55.

Screenshot

Both contributed the same amount: $19,200. But when they’re both 55 Jill’s account is almost $50,000, while Jack’s is only $27,000. Those extra 15 years of interest make a $23,000 difference for Jill.

In another situation, Jill starts investing $1,200 per year when she’s 25 and keeps going until she’s 55.

Jack starts investing at 40, but he puts in $2,400 per year so he can catch up.

Jack actually ends up contributing at little bit more than Jill: his $38,400 to her $37,200.

Her account is still ends up being $20,000 more than his: hers is $74,000 to his $54,000.

The moral of the story? Start early. Time is your friend, not only in compounding interest, but the sooner you start paying attention to your money, the more you learn and the better you get at managing it.

There’s a proverb that says “The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.” Since most of the readers of this blog are fairly early in your careers, my hope is that in 20 years you can look back at this “tree” and be happy you planted it when you did.

Hypothetical scenarios are all well and good, but how do you start digging?

If you’re just starting out and all this feels completely overwhelming, take a look at Dave Ramsey’s Baby Steps. He’s built an empire around financial literacy, but I recommend you treat it as a good place to get your bearings, but not the gospel truth. Steps 1-3 are a good place to start and once those make sense, look around at other philosophies (like the ones below). I don’t agree with everything he recommends (doing away with credit cards and investing in mutual funds being the main points of contention), but his method can be a helpful resource to get yourself started.

For anyone who feels financially stable but doesn’t know the first thing about investing, take a look at JL Collin’s blog. He does a good job of talking about the stock market in accessible terms and is a proponent of simple, set-it-and-forget-it investing. (He also has a book that I highly recommend.) Paula Pant, who I mentioned early, is at Afford Anything, and offers another take on managing your money as well as talking about investing in property and other business instead of stocks.

If you want to do a really deep dive, Google the “FIRE movement” or “Financial Independence” and jump down that rabbit hole. (If you get easily overwhelmed, maybe save this for later. There’s a whole world of information out there, so it can be easy to feel like you just started drinking out of a firehose, but that also means there are plenty of resources to help you.)

I’m not a financial expert, but here’s my own two cents:

First, figure out where you stand. What do you have? What do you owe? Just knowing that can put you miles ahead of the crowd.

Second, open a savings account somewhere familiar (If you don’t have a checking account yet, open that first.) A “high-yield” savings account should give you 3-4% interest, so look for that. You might use the bank where you have your checking account or even the same company as your credit card. Starting somewhere you already know will make it easier to take that step, and if you want to switch banks later, you absolutely can.

Next, open an IRA. These are retirement accounts that you put your own money into and get tax benefits when you fund them. My general rule of thumb is: if you make less than $150,000 in a year, open a ROTH IRA. If you make more, open a Traditional IRA. If you’d like to learn more about those, there’s a good explanation here at DowJanes.com.

After that, use some of the links I’ve included to start looking at ways to increase your net worth. Whether that’s paying off debt, putting money into your savings account, or opening a brokerage account for investments, you’re working towards that goal.

As you’re setting financial goals, take a moment to think about what’s important to you. Imagine what your life looks like if you’ve got $100 in savings, or $1,000, or even $10,000.

Does that mean you won’t have to panic when your show closes with two weeks notice (or less) because you know you have enough to pay your bills for a few months while you look for another job?

It might look like taking on a passion project that you want to develop and love working on, even if it doesn’t pay much right now, and might grow into something later.

It could be realizing you’re in a toxic work environment and knowing you don’t have to stay in an unhealthy cycle while you look for another job.

It’s having a retirement account that’s accumulating quietly off to the side as political pundits debate if Social Security will still exist in 40 years.

Personally, having savings means I have freedom and my priorities are about making time for my family and my friends.

When I moved to the city, I made the decision to pay for an apartment that was bigger than I’d need just for myself, because it meant I had room for people to stay with me when they came to visit.

I could afford a vacation to meet my parents in London as they make the most of their retirement.

I can take time off to go visit old tour buddies in DC, Vegas, and Chicago or help my friend with her Christmas show in Pittsburgh.

The goal is to get to play as hard as I work. Sure, last year I didn’t have any vacation time from January to June because we were getting Outsiders up and running and then immediately went into Tony voting season. I didn’t mind it because I knew the expectations of the schedule and I like my job. (And that’s why I have the apartment. When I can’t get away, my friends are welcome to come to me.)

But that meant when we had subs trained, I made a point to follow through with plans and take time off to see people.

Recently, having that savings cushion (the FIRE community calls it “F-You Money,” which I do quite enjoy) meant that I made the decision to leave Outsiders this summer without a lot of extra worry. For some people, a hit show that’s going to run for at least a few years brings security and they’ll stick around for a while.

Honestly, I’m ready for the next challenge, and I planned ahead and talked to Cody (my designer) and made a plan. Part of that is getting the Outsiders tour set up. I’ve missed touring, so even just getting to go through tech and then handing it off to the crew will be a fun way to dip my toes back into that life.

Past that, there isn’t much of a plan. I’ll switch to being the sub on Outsiders and return as a sub for SIX (ah, that freelancing life!), and I’m looking forward to the change. I know I have the resources set aside so a couple months of light work isn’t a death sentence or anxiety inducing.

None of this would have been possible if I hadn’t started saving and investing while I was on the road.

And that’s what money gives you: freedom. It may not buy happiness, but it certainly does buy options. Everyone’s goals will look different, but do you and your future self a favor: get started on saving because there’s no better time than now.

Approaching Involvement

At this moment, many of us find ourselves living in states of uncertainty about the future of our industry, insecurity regarding our personal rights and safety, and concern about the conditions we live, recreate, travel, and work in. As these stressors have impacted us in familiar and unfamiliar ways, we may also find ourselves lonely, needing help, seeking protection, hoping to distract ourselves, or in dire need of support. We may feel burnt out, overwhelmed, or hopeless. We may find ourselves instinctively seeking out mutual aid, community, or affinity groups. We may also find ourselves wanting to give — to make an impact, defend those being attacked, encourage others, or be of service. We may feel pulled in multiple directions while struggling to satisfy our personal self-care needs.

If you feel any of these things right now, you’re not alone.

All of these impulses lead us to questions about changing our level of availability within, commitment to, and engagement with the world around us. Let’s not shy away from that. Instead, let’s think about how to approach community involvement better than we have in the past; if it’s more important now than ever, we should treat it that way. This blog is about a spectrum of community-centric skills we can use to effectively give and receive in the spaces we have available to us — whether those spaces manifest as local gatherings or wide-reaching online discourse.

We need to start somewhere, so let’s start with relationships. Nothing that I write below will work particularly well if you’re not ready to open yourself up to new people. Forging new relationships is difficult, but when the world changes, we need to change too. The other side of that openness to new relationships is adapting our personal roles based on what others bring to the table. Get comfortable with both of those ideas, especially if your instinct right now is to hunker down. I invite you to do the opposite — stretch out, take up more real estate, and connect. It’s scary, but you’ll feel better once you make the active decision to let yourself into the light rather than hiding from it.

So: how do we create a situation for ourselves in which we feel like we belong in a space and can thrive there, even when it feels like our world is falling apart?

The first step is taking a down-to-earth look at what your skills, talents, personality strengths, and proximity to resources are like. Taking stock will reveal a wealth of information about how you can naturally contribute to the types of causes or spaces that you resonate with. I encourage you to get away from the computer for a bit, grab a pen and paper, and brainstorm about the type of projects that you:

would be excited to see others create
recognize would help you improve certain skills
have always wanted to be a part of, but never took the leap for
feel are needed, but no one seems to be addressing
could use as practice to benefit long-term goals
find to be mentally stimulating
believe in the most.

No matter where you come from, you have a role that is useful to the causes you care about. Maybe you’re not particularly skilled in XYZ, but you can do ABC passionately and effectively — and perhaps you’ll want to find a space where you can be mentored on XYZ. Your unique set of practiced and not-so-practiced skills is useful. Take ownership over that.

Now, here’s the thing: we can’t personally champion every single cause we care about. So when you do this, narrow it down to one, two, or three things. Maybe it’s trans rights. Maybe it’s creating educational material for underprivileged groups and fighting for climate justice. Maybe it’s addressing sexual harassment in the touring industry. Whatever the combination of things that you want to fight for, don’t hesitate to accept that the seed is there.

It might take a couple of days; sleep on it. Narrowing down what you value right now may take more than one sitting and maybe a talk or two with a trusted friend. But once you feel good about what you possess the energy to work on right now, great — we’ve got a seed to work with.

Second, let’s talk about different types of communities.

No group, cause, or non-profit can satisfy all of the things we as human beings need in our village to thrive. We need an array of different types of people, places, and resources in the same way a child needs variety in diet, caretakers, and social skills to grow up well-rounded and strong. We may need more of one thing than another based on our personality, too.

Let’s explore for a second what types of audio communities exist, no matter where we are in our careers:

spaces that make us feel understood in our struggles and facilitate mutual advocation
spaces that provide us with people similar in career path to ourselves, in which we exchange our work culture, knowledge, and perspectives
spaces that provide us with access to inter-generational wisdom by way of age diversity
spaces that feel like a reach for us in terms of technical knowledge that we learn from being an observer or learner in
spaces where we are in positions of teaching, training, and/or mentorship
spaces that support us emotionally while understanding the context of our industry and its uniqueness.

While these might take different levels of importance depending on where we’re at, I believe that these categories — or any additional ones that came to mind as you went down the list — provide the balance of nourishment necessary for the seeds we individually bring to the garden.

But what if you can’t find fertile soil to begin with? What if you search and can’t find the space to germinate? Where do you turn to?

There are many lists of resources that exist to help you find those spaces, and I have accumulated some of those below for your exploration. But I think there’s a different issue here, and it starts with the general approach to searching. If you are struggling to find a place where you feel like you belong, sit with it in honesty and think about these things:

how have I shown up for communities I’ve considered myself to be a part of in the past? did I show up authentically? did I set myself up to both give and receive?
did my dissatisfaction or discomfort with past social groups or scenarios lead me here? what made me uncomfortable in the past, and am I simply trying to protect myself from that discomfort again?
does the space I’m looking for maybe…not exist yet? am I actually the one who needs to create the first garden patch here?
who do I admire or look up to, and can I consult with them?
have I already heard of preexisting resources that I scrolled past or ignored, but could potentially revisit?

Looking for a space that’s right for you may take you down unexpected paths. Sometimes, those paths can be triggering, reintroduce you to people you found challenging to be around, or remind you of ways you’ve acted in the past that you weren’t proud of. All of this is a part of growing and getting to a place where we can show up.

Third, once we do find a space we feel good about showing up to, how do we navigate it from sunrise to sunset and through the night, too?

A common issue I see is that members of communities — myself included — don’t always take the time to understand the identities, perspectives, and context of the leaders of the organization. What is the structure? What are the limitations of the folks in charge, including time and money? What are fair expectations for their investment, and what are not? How are they nourished to optimize the sustainability of their efforts while nourishing everyone else? For example, if you find yourself getting critical that there aren’t enough events or training happening, or perhaps that the events don’t cover topics you think are important, then introduce solutions and assess what you need to make them happen. What you are looking to have in a community is likely something that is shared by others, so if you create something that you see a need for, others will probably recognize their own need for it, too.

Or, let yourself take the follower position — which is no less important than the leader(s)! — and support a project that you believe in without being at the forefront of the discussion.

Especially if you’re in the early part of your career like myself, you may find yourself wanting to be a part of projects that would involve you doing unpaid volunteer work that makes the world better. There’s a difference between that and what we typically think about as unpaid labor. I invite you to consider breaking out of an understanding of your effort based on capitalism and instead think about opening doors, preventing gatekeeping, and being in service. Think of the intangible things that we can exchange that have nothing to do with money. If something is nourishing your soul and keeping you afloat, what does it matter if you aren’t making money off of it? I invite you to approach any volunteer work you find yourself doing as a combination of love and effort that gives back to you in a different form of currency. If you can’t see it in a positive way, instead of as unpaid labor, you shouldn’t be volunteering your time or energy. Once you start to grow jaded about it, make room for someone else to take over.

Listen to how the operation functions, identify where the shortcomings are with an open mind that you might be the exact person to solve those problems, and gather your resources.

From there, maybe we can build a bigger garden slowly and carefully around one that already exists. Or maybe we need to plant our seeds next to someone else’s that are complementary to ours. Maybe we need to plant a few seeds that aren’t quite meant to make it before we get a good solid one sprouted.

Now that you’ve done some planning, asked some questions, and are working and making moves — no matter how small they are — let’s think about the fourth step.

Let’s say you’ve got a few organizations you’re a part of that you care about and are gradually finding your voice in. This is gonna sound harsh: you need to keep showing up. If you don’t show up, you’re not a participant — you’re just a member. You can’t benefit or contribute without showing up. Being associated with an organization and not participating means you’re not engaged. Showing up means you are acknowledging that joining that weekly Zoom call or being present at that yearly event is important to you and that you care. Sometimes you can’t, and that’s okay.

But sometimes, there are other factors besides work, family needs, meetings, or appointments that you’ll find preventing you from doing so. Let’s talk about it.

One thing I have struggled with in the past is showing up when I don’t feel 100%. Sometimes, you will only have the energy to show up 50%. Or even 25%. But hear me loud and clear: that’s when the magic happens. When you only have so much to give, when you need to delegate to accomplish something, or when you are clearly in need of support, that is when you feel the power of community. That is when you experience others’ gifts and learn to receive. That is when you experience how it feels to be on the other side of all the energy you put forward in your work. Through the various trials that individuals in a community are going through, we discover that we are all both leaders and followers in our own ways; it’s just that sometimes we find ourselves talking, and other times we need to be listening. When we go through extensive periods where we can’t seem to show up how we want to, we learn about what other people might need when they are struggling.

This is all a discovery process, and showing up regardless of how much your self-doubt or imposter syndrome insists you stay home is an important pattern to establish for your involvement now and in the future.

Showing up also includes reading, appreciating, listening to, or amplifying other people’s work. It means engaging not just by being present but knowing your interest and enthusiasm for what others around you are working on has a positive impact on them.

So…invest in others as you keep showing up!

Let’s review:

acknowledge that something is needed and that you have skills that are important to that happening — which is exciting! (you have a seed)
search for spaces that resonate, which may mean processing some discomfort or past experiences first (which is necessary for a healthy, safe spot of even ground to start)
make moves thoughtfully and graciously to make a sustainable presence for yourself in this new space (strategize your seed sowing)
keep showing up (monitoring for pests, watering, and adding nutrients) as time goes on even if you need to ask for help to do so

This isn’t the end of our little sprout’s story, of course, and there could another point that says: know when the season has ended.

Sometimes, our relationships with certain communities do need to end or be reduced in scope. That doesn’t necessarily mean that something dramatic or upsetting happened, but simply that it’s time to move on. Everything has a cycle, just like at our gigs: we all start somewhere and work our way up. As we move on, it is inevitable to leave certain things behind. While those situations can be saddening, that shift makes space for others to progress and form new relationships, too.

Keep on progressing as you explore what spaces are healthy for you and which ones aren’t, and trust your instinct about whether you need to pause first, process first, or get straight to work.

Rest assured that there are people all around you who feel the way you do and that we will most effectively survive this (waves into the air) together by making our voices heard and acknowledging our changing needs.

Below are some places to explore on your journey. Because of my background, many of these fall under the categories of live sound and/or theatre sound.

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Communities, Organizations & Associations:

AES — https://aes2.org/

Association of Sound Designers in Production (UK) — https://www.associationofsounddesigners.com/

Audio Nerd Book Club — https://audionerdbookclub.org/

Black Theatre Network — https://www.blacktheatrenetwork.org/

OISTAT (Organization of International Scenographers, Theatre Architects, and Technicians) — https://oistat.org/

Themed Entertainment Association — https://www.teaconnect.org/

The Parity Database (NYC) — https://theparitydatabase.org/

TSDCA (Theatrical Sound Designers and Composers Association) — https://tsdca.org/

USITT (United States Institute of Theatre Technology) — https://www.usitt.org/

Wingspace NYC — https://wingspace.com/

Women’s Audio Mission — https://womensaudiomission.org/

Some Events and Networking Opportunities to Explore:

InfoComm — https://www.infocommshow.org/

Live Design International (LDI) Show — https://www.ldishow.com/

Prague Quadrennial (PQ) — https://pq.cz/

Sound Kitchen — http://www.sound-kitchen.net/

Organizations that can support you if you’re struggling right now:

Behind the Scenes Help — https://wp.behindthescenescharity.org/

Nami — https://www.nami.org/

Open Path Therapy — https://openpathcollective.org/

Therapy for Black Girls — https://therapyforblackgirls.com/

Trans Life Line — https://translifeline.org/

Trevor Project — https://www.thetrevorproject.org/

Production on Deck’s List of Databases — https://www.productionondeck.com/databases

^ This page is a treasure trove of resources with something for everyone, primarily consisting of contact directories for theatre artists.

Designing and Mixing My First Shows

Since becoming a theatre sound student last September, I’ve had the opportunity to work on two productions in two different spaces. The first was our Christmas pantomime, Rapunzel, and the second was one of the all-time great musicals, A Chorus Line.

First, Rapunzel. I was warned that I’d be thrown in the deep end on this one, and that was certainly true. It was one of the biggest shows of the year, running for two weeks in our 250-seat theatre. We had two shows a day for most of that time: schools performances in the morning and general public in the evening. As sound designer my work started in October, attending production meetings with the director, lighting designer and DSM and going to as many rehearsals as possible. In keeping with pantomime tradition, there were a lot of comical and bombastic sound effects required. One of the most fun to create was a bubbling, hissing cauldron in the witch’s lair. It involved blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of water, capturing the sound made by water coming into contact with a stovetop, mixing the two together and adding a lot of reverb! I was quite proud of how it turned out.

I’ll be honest: tech week was incredibly stressful, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I had to program a lot of pretty complex sequences in QLab which, considering I’d never done it before, was definitely one of my proudest achievements. There were various technical challenges to overcome and a few tensions along the way, which is to be expected during any tech run. I think it’s fair to say every department struggled with the first dress rehearsal. However, everything suddenly seemed to click into place afterwards and by the time we opened, everyone had found their flow.

As well as designing, I was also required to mix the show: something I know would not have been the case in a professional environment, but in this case we didn’t have the luxury of a larger sound department. My desk was a Yamaha QL5 and we had a cast of 19 actors and six dancers, with 14 radio mics at our disposal (swaps and breakages were involved). The moment of terror described by many theatre sound engineers just prior to their first ever show is now 100% relatable to me! Dress had gone well, soundcheck had gone well, but part of me was still thinking, “Is it too late to run away?” That nervous energy remained before each subsequent show, but I soon found I was able to channel it into pure focus as soon as the curtain went up. And when we got to bows, applause and cheers, that feeling of exhilaration would hit and I’d think: That’s why I wanted to do this!

The feedback I got from my tutors, the director, cast and my fellow crew, as well as the response from audiences, gave me confidence and assured me that all of the hard moments had been worth it. I certainly understand now why people say pantomime is one of the toughest things you can work on, but when it goes well, it’s so rewarding.

After Christmas it was straight into rehearsals for A Chorus Line. This show took place in our smaller studio theatre and was more straightforward in that there were no sound effects required, just tracks (and in this case QLab was operated by our DSM). I used an Allen & Heath analogue desk this time, so it was really good to get experience of a different setup. We had a cast of 15 and needed 14 radio mics and one handheld for the director character. Inevitably there were some breakages, which made mic swaps a bit of a challenge as the majority of the characters were on stage most of the time, with no interval. It was a bit easier later on in the show, as we had solos from Diana, Cassie and Paul which provided more opportunity for swaps.

My biggest takeaways from these two experiences have been:

No matter how stressful all the preparation might be, there is no better feeling than when a show comes together and knowing that you were part of making it happen
Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork! It may not be one of the most interesting parts of the job, but it’s so important to get it right so that the sound, and the show, runs as smoothly as possible. And when you need your Sound No.2 to take over mixing duties, they have to be able to understand your notes and everything you’ve written in your script.
For reasons I’ll elaborate on in my next post, there were times when I doubted that I could really do this. But on Rapunzel, I proved to myself that I could, and I was able to take that confidence and experience onto A Chorus Line. In turn, I’ll take that plus more onto the next show I do.

New Beginnings – Changing Audio Disciplines

Audio is a beautiful medium. There are so many things you can do within it, so many different paths your career can take. Sometimes, even if your passion for audio is as strong as it always has been, you can become disillusioned with your chosen discipline. This is what happened to me over the last couple of years.

If you’ve read any of my previous blogs for SoundGirls, you’ll have noticed that my discipline has been radio and podcast production. To recap, I spent several years working in broadcasting after obtaining my Master’s degree in Radio Production, and after going freelance during the pandemic, I started producing and editing podcasts. I also made a couple of radio documentaries which were both shortlisted in their respective categories at the New York Festivals Radio Awards (in 2021 and 2024).

“Sounds glamorous!” I can’t tell you how often people have said that to me on learning what it is I do (or have done). Everything I’ve made and every project I’ve worked on has been the result of hard work and dedication. But there’s a whole other side that most people haven’t seen, like the financial struggles and uncertainty that come with freelancing, the constant competing for jobs and fighting for acceptable rates of pay, and the long list of rejected funding applications and project proposals. Nobody ever said this industry would be easy, and plenty of people manage to stick it out despite wondering: “Why did I ever want to do this?” But others can’t, and I was one of them.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved a lot of it. I’ve always seen myself as a storyteller and I don’t for a moment regret any of the ideas I had that came to fruition. But the time came when I started to think there had to be more out there for me to do. For example, I really missed that live sound environment. Even though it still took place in a studio, one of my favourite things to do had always been to get my hands on the faders of a mixing console. That’s where I originally saw my career in radio going, but it didn’t quite end up that way (though not for lack of trying).

At some point I started to think more about branching out into theatre and live events. It’s ironic that this happened during a time when the entire industry was shut down due to a global pandemic, with little idea of when (or if) things would be the same again. But I made a promise to myself to explore the idea further when the picture was clearer.

Sure enough, Guildhall School of Music & Drama in London advertised an intensive three-day short course in theatre sound engineering in summer 2023, intended as an introduction to the different roles within a theatre sound department and a chance to learn some of the basics. I went, and loved it. I learned about mic fitting and a little bit of Dante networking and got to practise using a Yamaha console. I was also so excited by the drama school environment and decided to look into it some more.

That’s when I realised how expensive most drama schools can be, especially if you’ve already gained higher education qualifications as I had. It was also tough to find courses that focused completely on sound (rather than technical theatre generally) and wouldn’t mean investing another three years of my life in education. I put the idea on the back-burner for a while. In January 2024, I was lucky to get the chance to shadow the sound department on The Rocky Horror Show when it came to Dublin on tour. I had an amazing few days, and afterwards I asked several members of the team for advice on getting a foot in the door. They all recommended trying to find depping work. I contacted every theatre and venue I could think of, with no luck at all. Unfortunately the industry in Ireland is incredibly small so I knew I’d have to find a way to move back to the UK if I wanted to stand a real chance.

That’s when I stumbled upon a brand new, year-long professional diploma starting in September at the Bristol Institute of Performing Arts. While not a sound course per se, it was one of three pathways available along with lighting design and stage management. All you had to do was select your preferred pathway during the application process. It was also much more affordable than the other educational options I’d come across, and could give me the hands-on experience I needed in one year rather than three. I applied, interviewed and was accepted.

And now here I am, living in the beautiful historic city of Bath in south-west England, commuting the short distance to Bristol by train and immersing myself in an area of sound that is new to me, yet allows me to draw on the fundamentals I’m already well acquainted with (signal flow, for example, or — when it comes to sound design — working with DAWs). I’ve already designed and mixed one show and am about to start on another; all of which I’ll be blogging about my experiences of as the year goes on.

Some people have questioned why I felt the need to undertake a course like this when I “already know everything about sound”. First things first, nobody knows everything about sound. There are just too many different disciplines within it and no one can master all of them (even one is enough for most). And it’s not just about sound; I’m learning about how theatre works as a whole, how different departments work together, how technicians and performers communicate with each other and what it takes to bring a show to life. Beyond that, I’m making contacts I would not have had the chance to otherwise. I’m also learning more about myself in the process; discovering strengths I didn’t know I had and encountering new challenges.

Would I call it a career change? Yes and no. I’m still a SoundGirl either way, but crossing over into another discipline will hopefully expand the opportunities that are available to me.

Fielding Feedback

Sound is a department that a lot of people don’t understand, but everyone has an opinion about it. Learning how to navigate notes, complaints, and feedback (the people kind, not the speaker kind!) is a skill that’s imperative for your sanity in this career. So how do you deal with them?

Let’s start with the creative team. Obviously, whatever notes or feedback you get from your design team you should take and implement. It’s their job to fine tune the mix and tech is an excellent time to pick their brain so you can learn why they’ve made certain decisions, and then you yourself can make more informed choices when they’re no longer in the room.

Getting notes isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes it feels like it’s an inherently negative experience because people are telling you all the things you did wrong during the show, but it’s better if you can frame it as improving so you can level up your skills or your show.

Unfortunately, that’s not to say you won’t run in to people who are insensitive or even deliberately harsh when giving notes. I had an A1 who would give me notes one day then, on another day, give me additional feedback that seemed to contradict what he had said before. Another time, when I was learning the mix, the notes I got from the A1 was that “it was bad” and I “needed to do better.” Which felt like it was intended to knock me down a peg and make me feel insecure.

If notes don’t make sense, ask them to clarify. If what they’re saying feels cruel, that’s harder to unpack. In my example, I wish I’d had the wherewithal to ask my A1 to be more specific so I had actionable items to work on instead of a sense of general, unhelpful disapproval. Sometimes it’s simple as starting a conversation about how their tone is coming across, but that’s not always the case. If you don’t think you can have a productive dialogue with the person noting you, but do feel comfortable talking to someone else on the team, go to them and ask for advice.

If you’re an A1 noting your A2, it’s good to remember that in many cases, mixing is not necessarily something they consider their primary job. Some career A2s enjoy mixing, but others do it because it’s an expectation of the job and still get nervous at the console.

The most important thing is to be specific with your notes. Don’t just say it was bad, talk about what happened and the best way to fix it. (Again, harsh language like that is asking for confidence issues and potentially creating bad blood in your department.)

Acknowledge mistakes, but don’t harp on them if the mixer already knows. Missed pick ups are a fairly obvious thing, so I usually say something like “you missed that line, but you already know that.” That way they know I was paying attention, but we’re not spending extra time when the solution is to not miss it in the future.

If there are repeat problems, ask for feedback. What seems to be tripping them up? Helping someone’s mix improve is a two-way street.

All that being said, if you think your creatives can be harsh critics, I’d like to introduce you to your audience.

There’s a Cracked article by Jason Pargin that I love. I’ve had it saved as my browser homepage for probably the last five or so years (probably more). The premise of the article is a “New Year New Me” feel, but with a side of smack-you-upside-the-head realism. It asks what you can DO. Not if you’re a nice person or have a lack of faults, but what skills do you have?

It’s well worth the read.

It makes a point that when you make something, people will feel the need to comment on, criticize, and critique it. When you put something creative into the world you are inviting that world to tell you how you’ve done it wrong. Cue the audience. Those who’ve never attempted to do it (and have no idea what goes into it) are sure they could do it better and all those Karens will happily tell you that your work is simply not up to snuff. After more than a decade at the console, I’ve met plenty of them.

When I was on Saigon, I had one man stand by FOH and tell me that the show sounded bad and just kept repeating that until I had exhausted my usual polite responses, hit the end of my patience, and finally told him he was being rude. To which he responded “I’m not rude, I’m telling you it’s bad” and huffed off.

In another venue we had a 45 minutes show hold for automation which resulted in four pages of audience complaints which ranged from “I can’t believe they still had intermission after we already had to wait for 45 minutes” to “we held for so long and the sound wasn’t fixed when they restarted.”

On Les Mis, I had someone tell me that he’s seen the show 25 times and he knew how it was supposed to sound.

I’ve forgotten the venue but there was an online review that I kept a screenshot of because I couldn’t help but laugh at the perfect example of what we struggle with every day:

Credit is usually given to the actors. Criticism is usually given to the crew. The sounds they heard that were indeed too clear and strong to come from a mere mortal since it was in reality coming from a sound system that created both the “out of body experience” and the times they had trouble with the lyrics.

Pro Tip: don’t go fishing for reviews. People like to criticize and complain much more than they like to compliment (again, reference the Cracked article’s point).

In one theatre I was warned by the house head that the venue gave out free drink tickets to mollify people who complained, so shows always got a lot of complaints because patrons knew they’d get the tickets.

On Outsiders I had a man come up to tell me that the show sounded atrocious.

We’d also had a couple complaints over a few shows that the speaker in front of them (a side fill) wasn’t working. I double checked and it was, but they were reacting to the fact that it was delayed in such a way that you placed the sound as coming from the stage instead of sourcing to that particular speaker.

Sometimes you’ll have a person come up and complain and someone else right behind them will overhear and tell you they could hear everything perfectly fine.

Some are trying to be helpful and alert you of a potential problem. Some want to talk to your manager. Some just want to be right. Others might have hearing issues that they don’t even know about. I’ve worked in theatres with seating capacities from 1,000 to 4,000 and it’s nearly impossible to make every single one of those people happy.

Most of the time, dealing with complaints in the moment is fairly easy. I’ll usually ask them where they’re sitting and tell them that we’ll look into the problem.

The belligerent ones and the Karens are the outliers. If anyone won’t take a simple answer, send them to House Management and say those employees can better deal with their feedback.

My general rule for complaints is:

One person puts me on alert: there might be something wrong, but it’s doesn’t require immediate action.

Two complaints will put me on guard: I might need to do something, so let’s make some cursory looks at potential reasons for a problem.

Three or more means that something likely is wrong and I need to actively look into making a change.

The logistics of dealing with complaints is usually simple, the bigger issue is that it’s very easy for them to get under your skin. Now that someone has told you something’s wrong, you start to second guess what you’re doing and how it sounds.

Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to develop a thick skin so you can mix through negative feedback, but it’s almost an essential for mixers.

When in doubt, circle back to your team. If you’re in the same city as your designer, ask them to come back and note (or if they’ve already gotten feedback from other people who’ve been by to note the show). If you’re on tour, ask someone who’s been out to listen recently (PSM, resident director, conductor) if things still sound consistent, or ask if they can come out to listen at some point. Get out in the house yourself while the A2 is mixing (if there’s time in the backstage track). You can learn a lot about how everything comes together when you’re able to get out from FOH and walk around the balconies and the sides and hear how the mix translates to the other areas of the theatre.

At the end of the day, you were hired because they trusted you to do your job. Notes are meant to help you do the best job you can, and audience members will keep you humble. Treat everyone with respect (unless they fail to respect you in turn), and keep trying to learn.

Go Bother People

Over the past few years I’ve had the opportunity to do a handful of interviews (thanks to SoundGirls) and some talkbacks (thanks to Outsiders). After a while I noticed that eventually someone always asks a version of “what’s one piece of advice you would give?” My response to that usually ended up being: Go bother people. Go find someone who’s doing something you want to do (or something even remotely connected) and ask them how they got there. Ask them what they learned and what they would share with someone just starting out.

Personally, I love when people come up to the console during intermission or after a show to ask questions and share that they might be interested in pursuing theatre as a career. I have a stack of business cards at FOH just waiting for someone to walk up and start a conversation.

However, I also know that walking up to a strange to start a conversation is not an easy thing to do. I was the quiet kid in college who was more likely to sit back and absorb what was happening than put myself out there and ask questions. I was always worried about sounding dumb or appearing pushy or annoying. But now that I’m on the other side of those interactions, I wish I’d spoken up and reached out more. The truth is that almost everyone is happy to talk and answer questions. We’re all potential mentors just waiting to have an audience for our stories.

So, when you find someone doing what you want to do, go talk to them. If it’s at a show, find a moment before the show starts or at intermission to say hi, let them know that you’re interested in what they’re doing, and ask if you can come back at intermission or after the show to chat. Bonus points if you can find their job in the playbill and know their name! If I know someone’s going to come back to say hi, I’ll actually stick around at intermission, otherwise I book it backstage as quickly as I can to avoid everyone charging to the bathrooms or standing in the bar line.

Then, when you get to talk to them, think of a specific question or two to ask. I couldn’t care less if it’s “how long have you been doing this?” or “how do you like working on this show?” Even what seems like a simple question can spark a larger conversation. (Pro tip: if you’re a little shy and your parents are with you, bring them along as a buffer. They are great at asking questions, especially when they’re talking to someone about their kids’ potential future career.)

What it comes down to is that I want to talk to you and share what I do, but I want it to be things that you’re actually interested in. Just like you, most of us aren’t great at talking to people we’ve never met, so if you can give us even a nudge in the right direction it can help immensely.

Before you leave, ask if you can email them or reach out to them on social media. Some people just don’t think about it in the moment, but will be happy to say yes if you bring it up. I know of several people who keep business cards at FOH for that very reason.

If you forget, see if you can look them up somehow. I’ve had people message me on my LinkedIn profile or email SoundGirls asking them to forward an email so I can get in touch with them.

Once you have their contact info the most important step is to actually follow up and send the email. It wasn’t a first date, you don’t have to wait the proverbial three days so you don’t seem desperate. You want to show that you’re interested. I would guess the number of people who’ve followed up with me is a slim 10% or less.

Just like the initial questions, this doesn’t have to be eloquent or complicated. A simple “Thanks for giving me your card, would you mind if I reach out in the future with any questions?” is a perfectly fine intro. I think far too many people get too into their heads about needing to make a grand gesture when all you need is the electronic version of reaching out for a handshake.

Don’t get discouraged if the response isn’t immediate. There are plenty of times I’ve read an email, marked it to respond later, then got distracted with any number of things. Or it accidentally got filtered into Spam.

Since I still vividly remember what it’s like being the kid that didn’t want to cause a fuss I’ll make a point to tell people to give me a nudge if they don’t hear from me in a week. It’s not rude or pushy to do that follow up, often times we just get sidetracked and forget that we haven’t actually responded.

In general, I would say three is the magic number for trying to establish contact initially. If you reach out that many times over the course of a couple weeks and don’t hear anything back, likely they don’t have the time to respond. If you’ve already been talking, you have some more leeway since there’s an established relationship.

Once you have reached out and they’ve responded, continue to ask specific questions, even if it feels simplistic or like you’re just making up something to reach out to them. Like I said before, specific questions are easier to answer and once you start a conversation, the responses you get will bring up other questions and make it easy to continue chatting.

This is something that applies not only to meeting new people, but for reaching out to the ones you know. When you’re starting out in your career don’t be afraid to reach out and ask people for advice or see if you can shadow on projects they’re working on or let them know you’d like to work with them if there’s ever an opportunity.

Quite honestly, these are things you should do no matter where you are in your career. You can’t expect other people to read your mind, so learning to advocate for yourself and ask for opportunities early in your career will help you down the road. If you get nervous about reaching out to someone, just remember that we’re all people.

Imagine someone a few years younger than yourself coming to ask for help. Would you be happy to lend a hand and give them advice? The answer is usually yes, and the same applies in the other direction when you’re the ones asking for help.

So this is your sign to take a moment today and think of someone you’ve wanted to learn from. Then go reach out and ask them for help. Chances are you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Living the Dream

This April I opened my first Broadway show: The Outsiders. It was a whirlwind, an adventure, and it was incredible: working on Broadway, on a show of my very own! This was something I’d dreamed of doing since I was a twelve-year-old middle schooler who stumbled headfirst into theatre and decided it was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

The highs were breathtaking: parties to celebrate our milestones, press events for morning and late-night shows, getting 12 Tony nominations when we had no idea what to expect with this jam-packed season, a Tony watch party where we celebrated as we won for Best Lighting, Best Sound (!!!), Best Direction, and practically cheered ourselves hoarse when they announced that The Outsiders won Best Musical.

Even better, my parents were there to support me for some of those moments. Having them there on Opening Night made me appreciate my own milestone in a way I would have missed without them there. They were my reminder that this was something special, that not everyone gets to do this kind of thing. Not only working on Broadway but achieving a childhood dream.

Some so many people knew that little girl with dreams of Broadway and when they found out I was mixing Outsiders, the grown-up me received a steady stream of congratulations and “Aren’t you just thrilled?!” as I was going into shop prep, then load in, followed by tech, and previews.

Most of the time my reactions were less than excited. Those old friends were thinking of the glamour of a dream come true as I stared down the reality of months of long days, endless stress, and fatigue of every kind. There were countless mornings when I groaned as my alarm went off before there was even a hint of light on the horizon. Load in days where I looked around the room with a sigh as I realized that I was once again the only woman on the crew, or that there were so few of us that you could count it on one hand.

One of our tech/preview days I had food poisoning and decided to suffer in silence instead of telling anyone, giving myself the excuse that no one else knew how to mix the show. So I spent any downtime during that morning work call and afternoon rehearsal with my head on the console or heading to the mercifully empty women’s bathroom in the downstairs lobby, hoping I could get to a state where I wouldn’t feel the need to mix with a trash can next to me. (Thankfully, I was functional for the show.) That was smack in the middle of six weeks working six 14-16 hour works days (80+ hour work weeks for those of you doing the math at home) before we made it to Opening.

It wasn’t easy or glamorous. But was it worth it?

Absolutely.

Maybe not the food poisoning. That I definitely should have called in sick for.

But the rest of it? 100% worth it.

There’s this thought in our culture that the highest goal we should aspire to is one where we don’t actually do anything, we’re always having a good time, and nothing is difficult. The adage that “if you do what you love you’ll never work a day in your life.”

The irony is that the exact opposite is true. But this thought lingers, so when things get hard, it causes so many people to doubt themselves until they give up. It’s not easy to slog through long days at work and come home in sweat-stained shirts with dirt ingrained in the creases of your palms.

It is easy to let doubt creep in when we’re confronted with things we don’t know or people who’ve been doing this so much longer that they make it look effortless.

When we’re starting to learn, we fall into the trap of thinking that obviously we aren’t doing something we actually love, because if we really loved it it wouldn’t feel like work, it wouldn’t feel difficult. We wouldn’t be banging our heads in frustration as we tried to solve problems because if this was actually our passion it would be effortless.

The reality is when you enjoy your job when you’re passionate about your work, and you love what you do, you’ll work harder than you ever have in your life. You’ll throw a project in the trash because you’ve tried absolutely everything, then come back and pull it out because you’ve thought of one more way you might be able to make it work. You’ll go the extra mile to organize your workflow, clean up the cable runs, double double-check everything because you’re proud of what you’re working on.

There’s an energy around a show when people are excited to be there. Where everyone wants to be a little more ambitious because they know that the whole can be so much better than the sum of its parts.

I was incredibly lucky that The Outsiders was one of those projects. From the first day, you could tell that everyone was ready to make some magic with this show. That drive and dedication to say “I have an idea” or try a hundred different solutions to scenes that “weren’t quite right” until we found the one that fit (or realized we’d had the best one along) made our show something special. It’s likely one of the reasons we won Best Musical, even with amazing contenders where so many people thought that Hell’s Kitchen had it locked, Illinoise would break the mold, Suffs would have its rallying cry or Water for Elephants would wow with its incredible acrobatics. Our passion shone through every corner of the production and people have responded to that in amazing ways, which is really what you hope for. The nominations and the awards are incredible recognition, but nothing makes the long hours and the stresses of tech worth it like hearing an entire audience gasp or seeing people leap to their feet night after night, knowing we got it right.

The jobs like that where you can point to something tangible and say “This is amazing, this is why I’m here” make it easy to justify why we chose this career, but what happens when you’re not there because you love the show? Not all pieces are “art.” Sometimes you just have to pay the bills.

When that’s the case, look to the intangibles that will help you in the future. Does this job give you more experience, better connections, or open up other opportunities? If the answer is no, it may be time to look for something else. If it’s yes, remind yourself of that when you feel exhausted and frustrated. You can’t see it now, you can’t hold onto it, but this temporary moment becomes an essential building block for a stronger foundation down the road.

Dirty Dancing was one of those shows for me. I was there to learn how to be an A1 because I wanted the Les Mis tour going out the next year. Dirty Dancing is entertainment: you’re going to have a good time, but it’s not going to change your life. I worked with wonderful people who are lifelong friends, but I had no illusions that I was going to be artistically fulfilled on that tour.

What that show did do for me was pack a massive amount of learning into a very short time. I’d had the option to stay on Phantom, potentially move up when the A1 left, and then learn as we moved the show every 2 weeks. Instead, I encountered a lot of raised eyebrows as I took a smaller tour that moved multiple times a week. It was the harder, more labor-intensive option, but it was the right one. In one year I moved Dirty Dancing more times than I would have in three or four years on Phantom and got better that much faster at being an A1. Anytime I felt confused or ready to call it quits, I reminded myself that this was working towards a goal, this was a stepping stone and a temporary situation as I learned and improved.

When you don’t have a concrete goal in front of you (or forget that you do), you have a tendency to fall into the trap of self-doubt and wonder what all the hard work is actually for.

I’ve run into some new stagehands who’ve looked at me, already dejected when they’ve barely even started, and said “I don’t think I can do this.” To those people, I tell them to give it time and we’ll talk again in a few weeks. To give themselves the space to learn how to do the job and how to ask questions. So far I’ve yet to have anyone come back to me and still feel like they’re floundering.

This has also come up in troubleshooting. Now, I’ve reached a point where I can troubleshoot most problems over the phone without having to look at the gear. When I remotely pinpoint the problem I usually get a frustrated sigh of, “How do you know that?!” I try to remind them that I have over ten years of experience. Ten. Years. Over a decade of yelling and grumbling at gear while I searched through menus or looked up user manuals. I’ve learned the most likely fails and the best questions to ask to narrow down the possibilities, but that took time. A lot of it.

Those who aren’t plagued with self-doubt tend to veer in the opposite direction and just want to skip to the “easy” part. They want to go on tour, but not one-nighters. They want to be a designer, not an assistant. They want to work on Broadway, not the smaller Off and Off-Off Broadway shows. These are the people who forget that cheat codes are best left in video games. The jobs that get your foot in the door will prepare you one hundred times better for that future dream job than getting dropped in the middle of that amazing gig with little experience and no network to act as a safety net.

Shows don’t get easier, they just get bigger. Bigger budgets, higher stakes, less margin for error. Yes, on The Outsiders I don’t have to move from theatre to theatre, so the physical labor is less, but the shows where there hasn’t been a producer, director, choreographer, composer, or other creative in the house are few and far between. There is a microscope constantly on this show and it never lets up.

Even now, some people hear that I moved to the city last year and think it’s a Cinderella story that I already have my own Broadway show. I remind them of the time I spent on tour. Ten years that gave me the skills to stay calm under pressure, to develop systems that make me efficient, and a habit of responsibility so my designers and creatives know that I will take good care of my show. I wouldn’t be able to handle this show if I hadn’t had all the practice over the years on smaller ones.

The jobs that seem overly difficult or thankless are usually the ones that do the best job of preparing you for your future. The days that you question if you can do this are the days you start figuring it out. It’s not always easy or fun, but it’s necessary. Dream jobs require a lot of work not only to get to them, but to be in them, and that’s what makes them worth the journey. Let’s be honest, most of us who end up in this industry would be terribly bored without a good challenge anyway.

Returning to Work: Reopening Broadway Post-COVID

Broadway was dark for 18 months starting March 12, 2020. I was head sound on a musical when we shut down. When all the COVID closures were ramping up, I knew Broadway would close soon, but I didn’t know it would be that soon—nor did I think it would be for so long. Nobody did. And I did what pretty much everyone in our business did during the pandemic: Actively sought ways to not lose my freaking mind while wondering if I would have to answer the question of who I am without a gig. I stripped wallpaper and re-alphabetized my bookshelves and my spice cabinet. I shredded 20-year-old paperwork and vacuumed my attic. You know, the usual.

What, you didn’t vacuum your attic?

When the George Floyd killing happened, shows started having company Zoom meetings where we could talk about what was going on. People talked about concerns ranging from race relations to mental health to COVID protocols.

We talked a lot about treating our fellow humans as humans and understanding that we can’t make assumptions about anyone’s situation or how they’re doing. We discussed how it’s part of our job to consider the way we make our coworkers feel: Are we being considerate, or are we assuming that what everyone needs is just a dose of our personalities? Everyone assured everyone else that when we returned to work, it was going to be different.

And it was different…just not in all the ways I thought they meant.

Reopening protocols

The first day back in the theater to reopen my show in the fall of 2021 started with a debriefing by the house COVID officer. This was after we’d shown proof of vaccination, demonstrated proper N-95 masking, and got our names checked off against the pre-approved list at the stage door. The debrief was the usual stuff: Masks are required and there were extras if we needed them, wash your hands a lot, social distance wherever possible.

We began the very surreal process of seeing what state our show was in after 18 months dormant. My biggest surprise was the lack of rodent activity around the console. Turns out, without audiences dropping their candy and snacks between the seats, mice seek more fertile pastures. Who knew?

Taking personal responsibility

Moment of honesty here: I drink a lot of water. I’m kind of a jerk about it, constantly asking people how their water intake is because hydration is legit one of the best things you can do for your health. When I’d drained my 32-oz bottle this first morning, I went to go fill it up like normal. But the water coolers were pulled out and disconnected. The unexpected long period of disuse made them mildew and new ones hadn’t arrived yet. No big deal.

At the coffee break I went out and bought a couple of giant bottles because I advocate personal responsibility (I’m impatient, and it’s faster).

When we broke for lunch, I dumped my tools and stopped in the women’s restroom. I started washing my hands and then realized there was no soap. Like, zero. And no paper towels.

For a little context, I’m often the only woman on a crew. Most load-ins I do, there’s no toilet paper in the ladies’ room. The housekeeping staff doesn’t start working until the actors move into the theater. Guy stagehands end up stealing the paper out of the ladies’ room because they run out (housekeeping isn’t there to replace their TP, either) and hey, there aren’t very many women, anyway. While it pisses me off, I would absolutely do the same thing were the tables turned and I’m used to carrying my own Starbucks napkins into the john because, again, it’s a faster solution.

But I’ve never used a theater bathroom without any soap in it.

What a COVID safety officer does and doesn’t do

I left the restroom, hands dripping, fully cognizant of the fact that I’d just used my wet, unwashed hands to open the door in a major breach of COVID (and decent humanity) protocols, and wandered around looking for hand sanitizer closer than FOH. Then I remembered the COVID officer. We had someone on site helping us with whatever we needed that was COVID-related.

I found him and said, through my properly fitted N-95 mask, “Hey, the ladies’ room doesn’t have any soap or paper towels. I figured I’m supposed to tell you.”

And he replied, “Yeah, the housekeeping staff doesn’t come in until the actors are in the building.”

I waited for the part where he said he’d take care of it, being the COVID officer and all, but that didn’t happen.

Acknowledging reality

I have 25 years of experience in the business at this point. I’m no stranger to gender discrimination or crew being treated as less than. But not providing soap during a pandemic after having a freaking meeting before we’re allowed to work about how we need to wash our hands? I was blown away.

And I was surprised by how bent I got.

What this said to me was that the crew didn’t matter, and especially not me. Hard to not take personally the lack of soap in the ladies’ room as the only worker on-site impacted by it. And yes, I’m aware that I’m allowed to use whichever bathroom I choose. Rest assured that as the only woman on the crew, I was doing exactly that.

I was angry with myself for being bothered in the first place and not just happening to have hand soap on me. I was angry for believing the industry meant the crew when it spoke of treating people more equally. And then I was angry at the COVID officer because it seemed to me that if this was his job, he should’ve had some hand soap in his kit.

Advocating for change starts with personal responsibility

Straight up: I’ve been less than graceful about Soapgate. The feelings that come up now when I tell the story prove to me that I haven’t yet let go of the resentment. I’ve mulled and percolated. I knew at the time this was more about soap and water, and I wanted to sift through what it was.

In the meantime, until the actors came into the building, I carried hand sanitizer into the restroom along with my Starbucks napkins and brought three liters of water with me every morning. You might think I would have simply placed a bottle of hand soap in the restroom, but after having not worked for 18 months, that level of forward planning and organization was beyond me.

Besides, had I done that and someone swiped it, I probably would’ve become entirely unhinged.

If we’re going to make changes in this industry—changes toward prioritizing well-being, changes toward gender and racial equality, and changes toward the crew being treated as the true partners that they are in every production—we’ve got to start with personal responsibility. Without that, we’re embracing victimhood, not advocacy.

What personal responsibility means

I start by evaluating what about the situation is within my control. I take the action that I can. And then I usually have a conversation with someone. That brings more information and helps inform my next actions.

Sometimes taking personal responsibility is leaving an unsafe job site, as we saw last year with the Blue Ridge Rock Festival. Sometimes it’s making those decisions on behalf of the crew you supervise. It may be having a difficult conversation with someone above you to get clarity about responsibilities and expectations. It’s always taking a moment for yourself to first acknowledge what you need inside your own head. And sometimes it’s stocking up on hand sanitizer, napkins, and water while you allow yourself to process—and possibly imagine petty, vindictive, and highly entertaining revenge scenarios in your head.

How are you taking personal responsibility for your well-being?

Julie M. Sloan has served as A1 on Broadway’s Tina: The Tina Turner Musical, SpongeBob Squarepants, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, On Your Feet, Jesus Christ Superstar (2012 revival), Guys and Dolls (2009 revival), and Jersey Boys from its inception at La Jolla Playhouse in 2004, as well as the tours of Hairspray (First National) and Jesus Christ Superstar. She was A2 on Broadway’s Ain’t Too Proud and the tours of Aida (First National) and Annie Get Your Gun (2000 Revival First National).
She holds a degree in Audio Technology from the Indiana University School of Music and has mixed everything from a tree planting ceremony with the Dalai Llama to monitors for GWAR.

She left full-time industry commitments to pursue writing and health coaching in November 2021. Currently a sub mixer on Broadway for both SIX and Hamilton, she is in the editing stages of her first book, Lights, Camera, Breakdown: Raising the Curtain on Workplace Well-Being.

Readings and Workshops and Labs, oh my!

In a previous blog which you can read here, I detailed some of the key differences between mixing an existing work (or revival) and mixing a new musical. New musicals, as many of us know, are their own special beast, always evolving and keeping you on your toes as you process changes in real-time. But getting to the premiere production is already a long way down the road, and before that, a show will go through various iterations and phases. Often those phases won’t have a full production design with sets, costumes, etc. Perhaps they won’t be more than some actors with binders and one musician at a keyboard. There will, however, almost certainly be a sound designer and a mixer. In this blog, we will be diving into the specific challenges of mixing presentations of shows that are in development: what they are, why we do them, and how to set yourself up for success as the mixer.

A still from a staged reading of the musical “Theory of Relativity” produced as part of Goodspeed Musicals’ annual Festival of New Musicals.

What are the different ways to present a work in progress?

The three most common terms for a public presentation of a show in development are readings, workshops, and labs. First, some quick definitions are in order.

Reading: A presentation of a musical where the show is read and sung aloud for an audience by a group of actors. As its name would suggest, reading is almost always done with scripts in hand, i.e. the actors are not “off book.” Sometimes readings are more of the “concert” variety, with actors at music stands delivering their lines; sometimes they include more staging and choreography (hence the term “staged reading”). Since most readings are not considered to be fully staged, someone will often be tasked with reading some of the stage directions aloud to give the audience a sense of what’s going on in the play. The actors will not usually be in wireless mics and the sound support will consist of some handheld mics set up near music stands, or at other strategic locations around the stage. Other times the actors will be in wireless mics for ease of mixing and moving around. The orchestration will typically be minimal (e.g., a keyboard and possibly a rhythm section).

Workshop/Lab: A workshop is a fully-staged presentation of a show where the actors have memorized their lines and are performing the show “full out,” complete with choreography. Technically, as of 2019, a workshop of a show is a “lab,” but we’ll get to that in a moment. There might be a few minimal props, or a large-scale approximation of the set, much like you might see in a rehearsal room for a full production of a show. There aren’t usually costumes and there is not a lighting design other than “lights up, lights down.” The actors will be in wireless mics, and the expectation is that the presentation will be mixed line-by-line, like a standard musical. There is almost always a band, and likely a larger audio support package including either foldback wedges or a personal monitor mixing system like Avioms.

Fun fact: The history of the workshop dates to the 1970s, when a director/choreographer named Michael Bennett gathered a bunch of Broadway dancers in a room for a few weeks to try out writing songs and scenes based on some cassette tape interviews he had done with them about their lives working as what we in the biz call “ensemblists.” The result was the musical “A Chorus Line” which went on to run for over 6000 performances on Broadway.

Today, the words “lab” and “workshop” are often used interchangeably to describe a developmental process where a show is “put on its feet” and “presented” to either the public or an invite-only audience.

Side note about the word “lab”: Remember a few paragraphs ago when I said that all workshops are technically labs? “Lab” is now the technical word used to describe all developmental presentations or work sessions governed by the Actors Equity Association, the labor union representing theatre performers and stage managers in the US. The new lab contract has multiple tiers that delineate how much staging or props can be used, how many weeks of work can be done, and how much the actors and stage managers are paid per week. Additionally, as was the case in the former workshop contract, actors and stage managers who participate in a lab of a show that goes on to turn a profit on Broadway are now entitled to a small cut of the box office gross (https://broadwaynews.com/2019/02/08/actors-equity-reaches-agreement-on-lab-contract-ends-strike/). This is to account for the fact that even though they may not have been the directors, writers, or choreographers themselves (and might not even be working on the show if/when it gets to Broadway), the work and contributions they made back in those labs are an integral creative component of the eventual full production and should be recognized and compensated. The lab is meant to be overall more flexible as to how the producers and directors are allowed to use the time that they have their actors on payroll.

Why do shows do these developmental steps?

Two big reasons: to experiment and make changes to a piece before investing lots of time and money into a full production, and to “pitch” your show to potential producers and investors who might be willing to get behind a full production of the work if they think it has potential. It’s basically a place to work out your show’s kinks before putting on a “backers audition.” The team is here to “sell” folks on their idea for this musical. As the mixer, you are there to help them make their case by delivering the dialogue and music as clearly as you can so that they can decide if the songs are catchy, the jokes are funny, the story is meaningful, etc. This means that your goal behind the faders will be a little different than just “making it sound good.”

So without further ado, let’s get into some tips and tricks for how to do this!

DON’T. GET. FANCY.

This is probably the single biggest and most overarching piece of advice I can give when mixing developmental work. This process is going to feel like mixing a new musical on OVERDRIVE. The changes will be flying at you even more quickly, and you want to be able to adapt and react quickly and efficiently.

So, what are some ways you can do that?

DON’T GET FANCY with your programming.

Write as few snapshots/scenes as you possibly can. Do the least amount of programming you and your designer can get away with. Unless there is a compelling reason to do more (e.g., it’s what your designer wants), your programming really shouldn’t be anything more than some VCA changes, a little bit of band mixing/fader wiggling, and maybe a little bit of reverb safing/unsafing.

My personal favorite way to program a workshop is using what I call the “All-Skate” scene. Basically, I analyze the script, figure out which characters have the most dialogue, and design one console scene with VCA assignments that will work for most of the show. For a standard musical, every principal will be assigned to their own VCA, with the ensemble in two groups. That way if the writers suddenly throw in a new scene/song, you’ll be ready to mix along with minimal adjustments. Here’s what that looked like in a workshop I mixed last fall:

This is my programming scheme for Norma Rae with everyone assigned to their “home faders.”

Once you’ve got your all-skate scene written, build every subsequent scene out of that template and only change what you need. On a standard musical you might eliminate characters who don’t speak from your VCAs; don’t bother with that here. The likelihood of things changing and people getting added is so high that you might as well be prepared. So, to return to our example from above, here is what my programming for the whole show of Norma Rae wound up looking like.

You will notice from the color coding that I have changed as few VCAs as I need to in each scene to make the programming work. So, even if REUBEN isn’t in a scene/song, I didn’t bother clearing him out unless I needed VCA 4 for something else

DON’T GET FANCY with your book.

I am a stickler for a clean book, but there’s not going to be time. Use all your shorthand. Be ready to erase, rewrite, rip out pages, glue in new lines, etc. For the last reading, I mixed I simply crossed out all the stage directions by hand with a thick pen and did most of the write-ins with white-out and pencil.

On a reading in particular, you’ll most likely not be changing your VCA assignments as much, since you’re just mixing on wired mics that are in fixed positions, and the people speaking at them are the thing that is changing. Make yourself good notes so that you are always on top of who is singing where. If a whole page is just 2 or 3 people having a conversation, I’ll simply write a huge “2+3+4” in the top right corner of the page and then park the mics up. That way I’m not having to follow the dialogue as precisely and I’m not risking missed pickups attempting to be fancy and do a proper “line-by-line” when I don’t really have to.

If you read music notation, working off the piano-vocal score is going to be very useful here. I found myself constantly scribbling on the PV for the 2 workshops I mixed last year, because even with a great script PA, sometimes the score is just more accurate, and gives you a better idea of what’s going on in a song. I mixed only a few songs on the score for the actual presentations, but even so, I was constantly referencing my PV notes.

I know some folks are moving towards digital scripts, but until you are a true workshop expert, I would highly recommend sticking to a good old-fashioned paper script. It will allow you to make changes more easily and get your thoughts down more quickly. You’ll also be able to process subtle and small changes in the room that might not make it into the PDF of new pages that will eventually be emailed out. This is especially true if your show isn’t going to “freeze,” meaning even once you’re into presentations the creative team might continue to make changes.

USE YOUR ALLIES AND GET INFORMATION

Much like on any new musical, the script PA and the music assistant are going to be your new best friends. They are the folks who will be the most aware of what’s changing, who sings when, and what email threads you need to be on. Make sure you are not left out of the conversations that are relevant to you, especially if folks on the team aren’t as experienced or used to working with a mixer. Sometimes they don’t realize how much work you’re doing, and why you need all this information. But hopefully, once they do, they’ll be on your side and will do everything they can to help you out.

BRING YOUR ARSENAL

The workshop mindset requires you to work quickly. There is so little time. You’re basically doing an entire rehearsal, tech, preview, and run of a new musical in two weeks. Be ready with your A-game and all your tricks, hacks, and cheat sheets. Be ready to program quickly, either by keeping things simple, using the “all-skate” method, or some combination of the two. In a reading, consider not using scenes at all if you don’t need them. And above all else, breathe, smile, and have fun. You’ve got this!

If you have any further questions about mixing developmental works, feel free to send them my way and I’ll try to answer them in a future post. I’m always eager to hear from my readers about what topics they would like to learn more about, so all suggestions are welcome!

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