Friday, September 28, 2012
The wonderful thing about working in sound is the chance to renew all of the past challenges I've had, and approach them differently each time. While I know that holds true for many mediums, it's easy to get into a way of making and cling to it. But with sound, you always have that "x" variable. What is the person going to say? How will they react? Will the wind be on my side today? What if she doesn't speak, or what if he won't shut up? What will it take for them to be totally honest? I faced new challenges this week like I do each time I record, but this time it was personal. When my friend's father passed away this summer, I was the first one she told. I packed her things, I picked out the dress she'd wear to his funeral, I drove her to the airport. Though I'd like to think she only loves me more for these things, I can't help but think that she gets a faint tinge of pain remembering that dreadful moment each time she sees me. I didn't ask her to relive that day, but rather to tell a memory of spending time with her father. A funny thing happened though--she told it to me as if she were reading a children's book, showing me each illustrated page with a smile on her face, and a singsong voice. Had I not known my old roommate very well, I wouldn't have known she was putting up a barrier for all the pain she was feeling. Sometimes, the people you think will be so simple to record turn out to be the most difficult. Here is my new challenge, a discovery that has taken me aback before pushing me forward: Make it feel okay, when everything is telling her it's not.