Deeds Rough Sounding Music

Deeds: Rough-sounding music? It's the room, not the band

By Michael Deeds - mdeeds@idahostatesman.com

Published: 06/05/09

After buying a drink for a musician acquaintance recently, he asked me how his band sounded on that particular night.

Maybe I was a bit harsh. Or maybe it was the jigger of tequila I'd handed him. Whatever the case, his face suddenly became pained.Sorry, man.

Friends tell the truth.He was performing in a room that used to be a bank. Without cracking the vault, discovering a lost bag of money and spending

every dime on an acoustical overhaul, that space probably will always sound like a bank: "Hel-lo! O! O! O! O!"

Checks are not the only thing that bounces in a bank.Here's another truth for many nightclub operators in the Treasure Valley. (Grab that lime and salt,

guys. Hold your nose. This is going to go down like rotgut.) The acoustics in your bar are painful. The walls spray sound like Super Balls. The P.A. is

overwhelmed. And, tell me, why is your "sound engineer" in the alley smoking while the band plays? If you're going to present music for public

consumption - often charging for it - it's best to choose a favorable space and take sound seriously. Otherwise, prepare to spend big money upgrading.

Boise developer David Hale is offering a music series in the old American Linen Building. (Story, page 12.) Wisely, Hale held off launching "Live at the

Linen" until he had time to treat the room acoustically."Boise is just such a fickle little town," Hale says. "You start holding shows, and if the sound isn't

that great, you're going to be branded in a way that isn't good for future business.

"Damn straight. The Bank of America Centre (now Qwest Arena) found that out years ago.So is the Linen Building an acoustically transcendent room?

Heck no, Hale says. "The building still doesn't sound like I want it to," Hale says, "but it's way better than it was before." He plans continual adjustments,

not only for his own ears, but for the sake of musicians.

Too often, when patrons think a band stinks, it isn't even the band's fault."We can't really hear ourselves on stage very well," my musician friend admitted

that night.

Nice. So the band can't hear itself. And the speakers sound like they're being piped into a septic tank. Perfect.You may not realize it at the time, but

listening to music in a rough-sounding room is fatiguing. Subconsciously, it makes you want to escape that place.We shouldn't expect Morrison Center-like

acoustics in bars. Small-room staples like Tom Grainey's and Pengilly's are average at best, and that's OK. The Knitting Factory, on the other hand,

should strive for consistent excellence. Occasionally, a bar - say, the old Whisky Jacques in Ketchum - is sort of endearing in its commitment to a lousy

P.A. But most music-venue operators should realize that investing in sound - wall treatments, quality equipment, talented audio personnel - is just as

important as investing in decor, bar staff or advertising.Granted, some bargoers don't care how the band sounds. They're socializing. They're boozing.

They're eyeing someone across the room at last call.But name me one live-music venue that has survived long-term, without changes in ownership or

theme, in a space that sounds like mush.What? Sorry, I can't make out what you're saying.