Crazy Union Studio Story
I've mentioned doing remote recordings more than once. They're always good for nutty stories. This is the story of what I like to call the Stagehand Bitch Slap.
There are a lot of balls to juggle when doing a live recording. Besides not wanting to be the guy who screws up the recording of a unique performance, there are a ton of logistical issues to deal with. Up to this point, I had been doing a lot of live work at Lincoln Center and I had a great relationship with the stagehands. Stagehands are union and their union is right up there with the Teamsters as being tough. There are rules, sometimes really crazy, but if you don't follow the rules, heavy $hit will ensue. At Lincoln Center, I always showed them a deep respect for what they did and they always treated me fairly.
So, on this night I'm waiting for the remote truck outside of Carnegie Hall. I am tasked with recording a famous Japanese composer/Jazz Pianist with a big band and traditional Japanese drummers/players. I am very nervous about this one because, well, it's Carnegie Hall. Second, it's a big set-up. Lastly, it's a big piece. I can do it, but I'm a wreck.
Before hitting record, I have to deal with Teamsters on the street and IATSE on the stage. The Teamsters were easy; as long as I didn't touch a case or piece of equipment there would be no issues. Once everything was on the stage, I had to coordinate the set-up of EVERYTHING with the IATSE crew, which included hanging many microphones from the ceiling. Things were going well and we were all getting along. The mic's, music stands, risers, instruments were mostly in place and they call a break. I have a sound check in 15 minutes. I ask if I can walk out on stage, which they grant me. Again, I'm nervous; so I'm looking at everything and I see one very valuable microphone about 3 inches off the floor. Instinctively, I readjust the mic stand so the mic won't get punted by a musician. I go down to the truck to relax for a moment and start listening to the mics and I hear absolutely nothing. I run up to the stage and it's absolutely empty. I mean there is nothing on the stage, bare, like when I first walked in. Well, I was just beside myself; I'm looking out into the hall and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk, I couldn't move and I had 20 some-odd musicians in like 5 minutes. One of the stagehands walks up to me and says "let's take a little walk". At this very moment, I realized I violated the cardinal rule; If you're not in the union, you DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING! He says "do you understand what happened here?"; of course, I'm apologizing while fighting back the urge to pee myself. I try to explain that I have a little leeway at Lincoln Center, which doesn't fly at all. So, I look him in the eyes, and I deliver my deepest heartfelt apology. He tells me to go back to the truck and everything will be fine.
I walk back to the truck, tail between my legs, thinking about how I'm going to word my resignation letter and by the time I get in the truck, everything is reset. I'm totally baffled; this was Houdini-$hit. Whatever, the musicians showed up and the soundcheck and show went off without a hitch.
Just typing this gave me agita.