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Chapter 182 – Dove Audio
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 16:52:28 +0000 UTC
Dove Audio had started out in Michael and Deborah’s garage, but by now they had an office and a dedicated recording studio in New York City.
Henry drove the rented car, bringing Audrey Hepburn to the studio. Deborah Raffin and the company’s sound engineer were already waiting.
The two women greeted each other warmly with cheek kisses, while Henry, ever the assistant, handed out coffee. He made sure to give the sound engineer his order:
“Greg, low-fat, low-caffeine, right?”
“Oh, thanks, Henry. Without this in the morning, I’d have no energy all day.”
Next, Henry pulled out a paper bag. Opening it, he asked, “Sandwiches, hot dogs, chocolate donuts—what’ll it be?”
“Hot dog…”
But when Greg reached for it, he snatched the whole bag instead. “On second thought, forget the hot dog. I’ll take everything else.”
Henry stared down at the lonely hot dog left in his hand, stunned for a moment before saying:
“Don’t you think the few calories you saved with that coffee just got blown out of the water with this sandwich and donut? You’re putting yourself in debt to the calorie gods.”
“Not my fault you always buy the good stuff. Hood’s donuts from the corner? Man, they’re motherf*ing redemption. Same with Annie’s sandwiches.”
The two women shot them sharp looks.
“Gentlemen—ladies present. Watch your language.”
Henry instantly folded. “Sorry, boss.”
Greg just hunched his shoulders and stuck out his tongue playfully.
While the two men stuffed their mouths, the two women discussed the day’s recording.
Audrey ultimately chose four children’s stories: Sleeping Beauty, Tom Thumb, Beauty and the Beast, and Princess Laidronette. She would record her readings of these “stories within the story.”
Deborah Raffin, serving as producer, stayed in the studio. But in terms of acting craft and experience, she couldn’t presume to “direct” an Oscar-winning actress.
Instead, their collaboration was more conversational: Deborah offered impressions from the perspective of a listener, and she and Audrey would discuss alternate ways to deliver certain lines.
Meanwhile, Henry and Greg, mouths busy with food, had their ears half-covered by headphones, listening to a raw tape of rock music while chatting shop.
“You see,” Greg explained, “the low-frequency range is best for bass and drums. You clean out everything else there.
“Each instrument has its strengths—highlight them and strip away what’s unnecessary. That’s how you keep each frequency band sounding clean.
“Compressors and EQ are powerful tools—you can use them to make sound rounder, fuller, punchier, or even to mask a singer’s sloppy enunciation.
“But don’t overdo it. Over-compression makes tracks choppy and inconsistent. You have to think about the whole mix and the character of the voice.
“As for effects? Save those for the end, when you’re shaping the artist’s identity. At the recording stage, instead of fiddling endlessly with the mixer, think about the studio setup itself.
“Not every sound works with close miking. Even in a controlled space, those tracks come out dry and lifeless. Using natural room reverb gives sound space and tension.
“And don’t forget stereo placement—what’s left, what’s right, what’s center. It all feels different. Singers almost always sit in the center, not just because they’re the star, but because that’s where the vocal’s space belongs.”
Henry glanced at Greg’s messy notebook and shook his head. “Man, sure, I’ve seen books mention this stuff, but without hearing it, I’d never make sense of those words.”
Greg grinned. “Exactly. You can read all you want, but without good ears, you’ll never catch the details. Otherwise, you’re just going on gut feeling—‘this sounds good, that sounds bad.’
“Read too much without listening, and you either fail to grasp what the masters meant, or worse, you end up worshipping snake-oil hacks. I’ve seen so-called industry ‘pros’ who recycle the same formulas over and over. If the singer’s weak, their work is garbage.”
Henry’s eyes gleamed—he smelled gossip. “So, who’d you study under? Got any insider dirt?”
Greg chuckled. “Study under? Nah, I’m self-taught. Used to be a sonar tech on submarines. Picked up these skills messing around with whale sounds to pass the time. You ever heard whale calls? Here, I’ll play you some.”
Without waiting for Henry’s answer, Greg rummaged through his tape box and swapped out the rock track for one of whale recordings.
Henry put on both sides of his headphones, listening intently to the world’s largest creatures.
The ocean’s acoustics were unlike anything on land—layered echoes, waves folding over themselves. The whales’ high-frequency calls carried a mesmerizing quality.
Lifting one earphone, Henry asked, “You recorded this on a sub?”
“Of course not,” Greg laughed. “Anything recorded on a submarine—war footing or not—is classified. You’d be dead if you tried smuggling it out.
“These whale sounds came from a research vessel. And even then, what you’re hearing now isn’t complete. With a little mixing board tweak… there, hear that?”
As Greg fiddled with a control knob, Henry noticed, “Getting dropouts again?”
“Yeah, anything below -6 dB just dies out.”
Henry grabbed a flashlight, opening the panel of the mixing console to reveal a tangled mess of wires.
Greg crouched beside him with a sigh. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be like Alexander and the Gordian Knot—just grab scissors and cut it all. This motherf***er’s older than me, I swear.”
