Our steady-gigging Nashville correspondent faces a ruptured eardrum and considers his recovery.
About three and a half years ago, Graham Nancarrow and I met on a club date in Nashville. We quickly fell in music-love, wrote a bunch of songs, and recorded an album together in 6 days with a few friends laying down bass and drums.
Graham had a headlining gig at Belly Up Tavern in San Diego in early September, and asked me to join him on pedal steel. Monetarily, the gig did not make sense, but love is love, so I cleared my schedule, rounded up a babysitter, and bought a ticket for the wife in an attempt to shoehorn a needed couples vacay into a gig in a beautiful location with beachside accommodations.
The day of the show, I joined Graham surfing. I had never surfed before, and I still haven’t. I just got beat around by waves that pushed plenty of the Pacific into my ears.
“Sometimes, I fear I push my plugs too deep—maybe that did it? The ocean waves didn’t help. The pharmacy ear-cleaning thing definitely did not help. Rock ’n’ roll is a contact sport. You take some hits.”
When we went to soundcheck, my hearing was at about 60 percent, so I walked to a pharmacy to find a miracle remedy. I spent $40 on a kit that douched out my ears and took my hearing down to about 20 percent. My hearing was so bad at soundcheck that I couldn’t tell if my backline amp was blown or I was just hearing it wrong. (It was blown.) I was nauseous and had vertigo and a raging headache. The last time I felt this bad was 30 years ago when I had the misfortune of getting in an altercation with a guy who tested out some karate moves on me. (I don’t recommend it.) He hit me on both ears simultaneously with two open palms and I dropped immediately. Soundcheck felt similar.
Afterwards, my new bandmate Tommy dropped me at an urgent care where the doctor told me I had a ruptured eardrum and a double infection. The diagnosis terrified me; I felt tears welling up as I pondered my new semi-deafness. The doctor quickly put me at ease, assuring me that most ruptured eardrums heal completely. He scripted me some ear drops and pills, and told me to avoid loud sounds and stay out of the ocean. He said I could play the gig that night with earplugs but to take off two to six weeks, get a follow-up appointment, and my ear should be fine.
To define our terms: A ruptured eardrum is a tear in the thin membrane that separates the outer ear from the inner ear. The eardrum can rupture when pressure increases, like from a very loud noise near the ear, or a rapid change in ear pressure, such as when flying, scuba diving, or driving in the mountains. A ruptured eardrum can result in hearing loss and make the middle ear vulnerable to infections. Small holes can heal in three to six weeks, but bigger ones can take many months to heal. Sometimes surgery is needed to repair the eardrum.
I’m not really sure how I ruptured my eardrum. I’m around loud music too often, and as little as 70 dB (the volume of a washing machine) over a prolonged period of time may damage your hearing. Loud noise above 120 dB (a siren) can cause immediate harm to your ears.
I wear earplugs often. That helps protect your ears while simultaneously forcing wax deep into your ears, which eventually will need to be removed, but you put yourself in danger of puncturing your eardrum while attempting to do so. Despite normally using earplugs at loud gigs, I do take the occasional unprotected hit when a rehearsal, session, or gig goes from a safe volume to a punishing roar. Sometimes, I fear I push my plugs too deep—maybe that did it? The ocean waves didn’t help. The pharmacy ear-cleaning thing definitely did not help. Rock ’n’ roll is a contact sport. You take some hits.
As I write this, it’s 15 days later, and I’m doing everything that ear-health experts suggest:
Keep your ears dry. (I’ve been so paranoid, I went for a week without showering. My apologies to my family.)
Avoid cleaning your ears.
Don’t blow your nose hard.
I’ve been evaluating my regular live gigs, determining which are too loud and seeking safer environments.
My right ear still feels a bit plugged, and I still have headaches and some vertigo. That said, I’m confident I’ll recover, perhaps with some more battle scars, but functioning fine. What is happening to us, is happening for us. Sometimes, God, the Universe, your higher self, tells you to pump the brakes, reassess, find a balance and take some time to let ourselves heal. Sometimes we listen.
Supported by Keeley, Scan the code or visit robertkeeley.com/lastcall for a special offer!
PG's Nikos Arvanitis talks to the funk-guitar master about his musical influences, go-to gear choices, the pros of teaching, working in the studio versus the stage, and future plans for Jamiroquai.
As a youngster in the 1970s, Rob Harris was unusually fixated with music, spending hours watching bands on TV programmes. At the age of 7 and after much badgering from Rob, his father finally retrieved the guitar (an old Hofner) out of the loft space for him, and so began Rob’s lifelong musical journey.
After growing up in the Middle East from age 4 to 12, Rob and his family returned in to the UK in 1983 and he soon began studying with a great local guitar teacher named Colin Medlock. This was to continue for several years and was to shape a strong musical foundation in Rob’s guitar playing.
At the age of 14, Rob began gigging with local bands in the Cambridgeshire area and soon developed an interest in a variety of musical styles, listening to an eclectic range of artists and tirelessly researching and studying those who had played guitar on said records. This furthered the ongoing development of his musical skills, studying song craft, creating parts and hooks and writing lyrics. It was only natural to then take the step to working with producers and artists as a session guitarist.
The early 90’s was when Rob really began to flourish, recording and touring with The Pasadenas, Gary Numan, Mark Owen, Alphaville eventually joining the band Jamiroquai as a member in 1999 which continues to this day. Rob has played and co- written on the albums Funk Odyssey, Dynamite, Rock Dust Light Star and has most recently played on the band’s 2017 release Automaton and embarking on a global tour with the band in the April of the same year.
His credits also include: Beverly Knight, Kylie Minogue, Anastasia, Lighthouse Family, Don Airey (Deep Purple), Katy Perry, JP Cooper, Era, Gabriella Aplin, Will Young, Julian Perretta, Duke Dumont, Paloma Faith, Robbie Williams, Lego Batman (Soundtrack), Louisa Johnson and The Ministry of Sound’s Stripped Album, Kanye West, to name but a few.
Rob currently lives in Cambridgeshire where he records and teaches in between tour dates at his well-equipped studio. He also spends much of his time giving masterclasses and hosting educational workshops to music students and guitar enthusiasts, across the globe.
Bryan in a presidential pose before some of the boards at Blackbird Studio.
Take it from English cyclist Sir Dave Brailsford: With an all-encompassing approach to improving the marginal aspects of your methods, you can get quite the payoff on the quality of your endeavors. And that goes for recording, too.
Technology is a strange bedfellow in the arts. We’re either dazzled or disenchanted, love it or hate it, and the drive behind it all is a relentless need to gain a slight competitive edge on our own creativity—at least that’s how I think of it. Last month I wrote about the benefits of using a modeling microphone on a single source. This month, I want to expand that to a larger format.
Recently, I did a live recording and mixing masterclass with Universal Audio, Guitar Center Pro, and the Blackbird Academy back in Dallas, Texas (my hometown). The format: Record a live performance of a band including acoustic, electric, bass, and drums, plus vocals with additional synth tracks, and then immediately pivot to mixing in the box—all in front of a live audience. In addition, I also wanted to do something very different. I wanted to use modeling mics to record the drum kit and simultaneously use them without modeling for the live performance. My hope was that later during mixing, I would compare and contrast to see if I could get more of a “studio” sound.
There are many modeling microphone choices on the market today, mostly made by Slate, Antelope, and Universal Audio, ranging in list price from $129 to $1,500. For this masterclass, I used UA’s Standard Microphones with Hemisphere Modeling (starting at $129).
Live vs. Studio
Now for those of you that read my Dojo offerings regularly, you know I always emphasize mic placement as well as using as little EQ and dynamics processing as possible. In short, always start by taking as much time as you can to adjust the mic to get the best sound possible before reaching for the EQ knobs on any sound source. If you have more than one mic to choose from, switch mics and listen. Are you getting closer to the sound(s) you want?
After making sure the band was totally happy with their monitor mix and things sounded good in the house, the show began. To ensure that the tracks would be as clean as possible, I recorded the performances into my DAW with no modeling, EQ, or dynamics on the drums (or for the rest of the band). I did use some EQ and a little bit of dynamic control for the live show to keep the vocals out in front of the band.
The drum layout was as follows:
• Overheads: two SP-1s (spaced pair)
• Two rack toms and floor tom: three SD-7
• Kick drum: one SD-5
• Snare: one SD-3
Marginal Gains
Once I got the drum kit balanced in volume, I proceeded to bring in a pair of Neumann KH 310 monitors so the masterclass participants could hear what tracks sounded like in a more “studio” mix environment. I cycled through the various modeled mic profiles to hear the differences until we all reached a consensus as to which model worked best for each specific drum in the kit. (My picks: Neumann KM 54 for overheads, cream-colored Sennheiser MD 421 for toms, AKG D12 for kick, and SM57 for snare.) I could then toggle on and off all the profiles at once and hear a completely modeled-mic drum kit as opposed to the “natural” one. The results definitely raised some eyebrows and proved the efficacy of the “aggregation of marginal gains.” This term was coined by Sir Dave Brailsford, who catapulted British Cycling to legendary achievements and wins by choosing not to focus on big gains in a single area, but rather highly detail-oriented marginal gains in many areas (“The 1-Percent Factor”). Thus, by using seven modeled mics on the kit, the composite result was noticeably more flattering than without, and a more polished “studio” sound was achieved.
“Always start by taking as much time as you can to adjust the mic to get the best sound possible before reaching for the EQ knobs on any sound source.”
You may be asking, “Did the mics sound good in the house without any modeling?” Yes! I found them to be equally on par with the standard “live mic” stalwarts we all know. Now, this isn’t a review of the microphones as much as what I mentioned at the beginning—that technology can offer us unique possibilities if we start thinking outside conventional norms and use products outside their primary design. Look around your studio right now, or think about the gear and instruments you have. Can you challenge your creativity and try something new? Can you embrace the 1-Percent factor?
As for me, my next recorded live gig will very likely be with modeling mics!
Until next time, namaste.
In this promotional photo of the Waikiki Trio, the standing guitarist is playing a Martin 0-42, and the seated guitarist is playing a Martin 0-18K.
Pacific Island pluckers had a hand in developing the beloved dreadnought acoustics, and changed the course of American guitar music.
In 1906, a devastating earthquake and three days of raging fires leveled 80 percent of San Francisco. Nine years later, to honor the opening of the Panama Canal and signal that San Francisco was back, the city held the Panama-Pacific International Exposition.
More than 18 million people visited. One of the most popular attractions was the Hawaiian Pavilion. Live music and hula dancing, integral parts of Hawaiian culture, were in the show, where they could be experienced on a large scale on the mainland for one of the first times.
That was the beginning of the Hawaiian music craze that had a good run in the U.S. until the Great Depression. Hawaiian musicians had already embraced the ukulele and steel-string guitar, originating the slide-based lap style (versus the typical, so-called Spanish-style playing orientation). Both instruments saw unprecedented demand on Hawaii and the mainland. The story of the ukulele is well-told, but in doing research for this article, I came across a funny comment that caught my eye: “It could be said that in the mid-1920s, Martin was a ukulele company that also made guitars!”
In early 1916, we made a large-body custom guitar for Hawaiian musician Major Kealakai. He ordered it through our largest distributor, Ditson. It was kind of a 0000-size, 12-fret, steel-string guitar with an extra-deep body. The Major and his band were touring the U.S. mainland, and he felt he needed a bigger, louder guitar.
Shortly after that, Ditson commissioned a new larger, pear-shaped steel-string guitar from us to capitalize on the growing interest in Hawaiian music. It was called the dreadnought. It had just 12 frets, a slotted headstock, and a sizable, resonant body. Initially, the dreadnought didn’t sell very well. We did find success, however, making many of our smaller-bodied guitars with steel strings set up for “Hawaiian-style” playing. These were often made with a koa-wood back and sides, and occasionally tops as well. Additionally, if players wanted to use our other guitars lap-style with a slide, Martin manufactured a nut extender to raise the strings far enough above the frets so they wouldn’t interfere.
“It could be said that in the mid-1920s, Martin was a ukulele company that also made guitars!”
While steel strings were available in the late 1800s, the quality was inconsistent. Thanks to the popularity of the banjo and the mandolin, steel-string quality improved. The steel string provided the extra volume many players were looking for.
During the Great Depression, Ditson suffered financial difficulties and was sold. We kept the dreadnought in the line and put the Martin name on it, but sales still remained low. In 1929, we made a one-off, 14-fret steel-string version of our 000-size guitar for a well-known vaudeville banjo player, Perry Bechtel. We squared off the shoulders to accommodate the 14-fret neck. He loved it—and we thought we were onto something.
Gibson also saw opportunity in larger-bodied guitars with steel strings and 14-fret necks. They introduced three new models in 1932: the HG-20, HG-22, and HG-24. The first two were slightly smaller than our dreadnought, and the third was slightly bigger. They realized the value of a 14-fret neck for modern playing styles with steel strings. But instead of squaring off the shoulders, they moved the bridge down and attached the neck to the slope-shouldered bodies.
Not only did those models have a traditional round soundhole, but they also had four f-holes and a sound baffle to try to compete with the newfangled resophonic guitars that were quite loud. But the Gibsons were not well received by consumers, and were eventually discontinued.
In 1934, we redesigned our dreadnought with square shoulders to accommodate a 14-fret neck. That same year, Gibson reintroduced the HG-24 body size with a single round soundhole—no more f-holes or sound baffle—and called it the Jumbo. The Martin Dreadnought and the Gibson J Series guitars are still wildly popular.
I do wonder if they would even exist today if Hawaiian music hadn’t entered the American-pop music sphere in the 1920s?
The tiniest TS on Earth has loads of practical upside and sounds that keep pace with esteemed overdrive company.
Solid Tube Screamer tones in a microscopic machine. Light and easy to affix to anything.
Small enough to lose easily! Vulnerable in the presence of heavy steppers?
$99
Olinthus Cicada
olinthus.com
The Olinthus Cicada’s Tube Screamer-on-a-postage-stamp concept is a captivating one. But contemplating the engineering impetus behind it begs questions: How much area does the pedal and mandatory/included TRRS breakout cable actually conserve? Where do you situate it in relation to other pedals so you can actually tap the bypass—which is the pedal enclosure itself! Would my neighbor’s cat eat it? As it turns out, there’s many good reasons for the Cicada to be.
For starters, small size and light weight on this order are a big deal. Flying with gear is stupid expensive. So, for players that don’t relish the antiseptic aspects of modeling, this micro-analog middle path could be a sensible one. Altogether, pedal and cable are about the size of a set of keys. You can stuff it all in a pocket, put clean laundry in your gig bag, and tour for a while, as long as the rain doesn’t soak your shoes.
All this assumes you roll with very small and very few additional effects. But if you can survive on overdrive alone, you can stick a little adhesive to the back—tape, Velcro, bubblegum, etc.—and affix the Cicada to almost anything. It sounds really good, too! A classic TS application—Fender combo and Stratocaster—yields soulful blues smoke. The same Fender amp and an SG means dynamite, raunchy, and rich Mick Taylorisms. It even does the Iommi stomp pretty well at high gain! I’m still not sure if the Cicada is a solution for a less-than-pressing engineering problem. Nevertheless, it opens up real practical possibilities and sounds more than legit in the process.