Field Recording: Microphones to Tibet

NOTHING VENTURED…

With MiniDisc and MP3 recorders failing the sound quality and future-proof tests, the only sensible option was my Nagra V 24/96 portable hard disk recorder. It wasn’t virtually weightless like a MiniDisc Walkman or MP3 recorder, but it was still light enough to be carried around all day. With a 40GB removable USB2 hard drive, 10 hours of battery life, a 20 second pre-record buffer, and fully professional connections and specifications throughout, I was happy to forego the weightlessness. My initial concerns over taking such a valuable tool into unfamiliar territory ultimately gave in to the old adage ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’…

The choice of microphones was the subject of much thought. I had my favourites for recording in the concert halls and churches around Sydney, but this was different. I would be recording sounds against the sonic backdrop of their environment, such as a musician on a noisy street, rather than the reverberation of a concert hall or church. I needed a stereo technique that offered some control in mastering so I could alter the perspective of the recording, and I needed microphones that sounded extremely natural and were capable of being used outdoors. I didn’t want the isolation that a shotgun microphone offers, but I did want the ability to focus on a central image.

I eventually settled on an MS pair using Schoeps’ CCM4Lg cardioid and CCM8Lg bidirectional microphones, shockmounted in a Rycote windscreen with pistol-grip handle. I chose the Schoeps for their particularly natural sound, primarily due to their excellent off-axis polar response – an important characteristic of microphone design that many manufacturers seem to have forgotten, or, in the case of some of the newer brands, possibly never understood in the first place…

The main reason for choosing the MS technique was not for its mono compatibility, but because a sound in the centre of the stereo soundstage is directly on-axis to the M microphone’s capsule, rather than 45 degrees or more off-axis to two separate capsules (as it is with any other coincident stereo technique). This alleviated any further concerns about the microphone’s off-axis response, and avoided the need for a matched pair of microphones and the consequent fussing over precise gain settings. Furthermore, by adjusting the MS ratio I’d be able to control the perspective of the sound I was recording relative to the sonic backdrop of its environment.

So the rig for this project consisted of a Nagra V 24/96 hard disk recorder, a Schoeps MS microphone system with pistol grip and Rycote windscreen, Beyer DT250 headphones (the low impedance 80Ω version for greater SPL from battery operated equipment), a Manfrotto 001 collapsible lightweight microphone stand, and 20m of Mogami 2930 stereo microphone cable. This all packed snugly into a Targus CV1001 sports backpack, initially designed for carrying a laptop computer and accessories and measuring just 45cm x 35cm x 30cm. After a couple of minutes with a scalpel, everything fitted nicely.

KATHMANDU AND THE GANDHARBAS

Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, was the first stop of my journey. I arrived in mid-October, unknowingly in time for the Dusain Festival where thousands of animals are sacrificed throughout the country, their throats cut and their blood poured out for good luck. In certain areas of the city, such as Durbar Square where mass sacrifices take place to appease the bloodthirsty Hindu Goddess Durga, the gutters literally ran with blood. Unfortunately, I didn’t record the sounds of this ritual…

Animal sacrifices notwithstanding, I made many recordings in and around Kathmandu including rickshaw rides, monks reciting mantras, and the evening sounds of the city from the roof of my hotel. But what really caught my attention were the musicians walking the streets playing fiddle-like instruments known as ‘sarangi’. These musicians belonged to the Gandharba caste, one of the untouchable castes in Nepal. Formerly known as Gaines, Gandharbas were traditionally Nepal’s musical messengers, travelling from village to village spreading news through song and dance – rather like the troubadours of medieval Europe.

I eventually found myself enjoying a private concert of music, song and dance in the offices of the Gandharba Culture & Art Organization. After negotiating a price, I arranged two recordings. The first was a concert in the Balaju Water Garden in Kathmandu; it was outdoors music, so I figured it should be recorded outdoors. The Balaju Water Garden is located on the side of a hill, with a partially-enclosed stage at the top that we had reserved for the performance. The musicians, myself, and a handful of backpacking friends arrived at the chosen time, paid the appropriate fees, and trotted up the hill to our stage, only to find an Indian family using it for a wedding. They had also paid for it, and, of course, the guard at the gate was nowhere to be found when I went for a refund. Scoundrel! Moving back down the hill, I found a cut-out that formed a natural amphitheatre and made the recording there, set against the milieu of motorbikes and crows that characterize an autumn afternoon in Kathmandu.

The second Gandharba recording took place in the basement of the Manang Hotel, one of the quietest places I could find in Kathmandu. This was a makeshift direct-to-stereo studio session with tablecloths hung from the ceiling and cushions over the floor to control the acoustics. Thanks to the enthusiasm of the Manang’s kitchen staff the recording turned out quite well, although the low ceiling made it unavoidably ‘roomier’ than I would’ve liked.

HEART OF THE JUNGLE

Royal Chitwan National Park lies in the Terai region, in the southern part of Nepal. ‘Chitwan’ means ‘jungle heart’ in Nepali, and it is classic jungle territory with winding rivers, marshy swamps, tall grasslands and hardwood forests. Tigers, leopards, rhinos, crocodiles, monkeys, deer, pythons and cobras all roam free here. There are many lodges, but only a few are located inside the park itself. This location was important because I wanted to record the dusk and dawn sounds of the jungle, and therefore needed to be immersed in it. After a bit of research I chose Temple Tiger Jungle Lodge because it was situated on the edge of a forested area that formed a junction with swamp and grassland – the three different environments I wanted to record in. It was remote enough from civilization to require an electricity generator, but they only ran it for a couple of hours every morning and evening. With careful planning I was able to keep the Nagra V’s batteries charged while also making useful recordings without the sound of a generator running in the background.

After enduring five hours of Hindi music blaring through torn drivers in a local Tata bus and one hour in a whining jeep stuck in third gear, I took a tranquil 20 minute river crossing in a dugout canoe followed by a thrilling scramble through tall grasslands while standing in the back of a 4WD utility. Moments after entering the hardwood forest I found myself at Temple Tiger Jungle Lodge and immediately started recording – elephants pushing their way through tall grass and deep water (known as ‘elephant rafting’), swamps at dusk and dawn, rhinos having territorial disputes, dew drops falling from leaf to leaf in the early morning mist, fish leaping out of the water to catch low-flying insects, and copious birds going about their daily lives.

Many of these sounds, such as the beautifully forlorn ‘quacks’ (for lack of a better description) of Ruddy Shellducks 100m down the river, were both low level and distant. Turning up the gain resulted in a lot more noise, while trying to get closer caused them to fly further away. After chasing them up and down the length of the river three or four times, I considered sneaking up through the 2m high grass along the river bank, which would allow me to get less than 10m away. I abandoned that idea on the advice of my bemused guide, which amounted to a single non-negotiable headshake. I was thinking ‘Dr Livingston’; I presume he was thinking ‘tiger’. I now understand why nature sound recordists use high gain directional microphones…

RECORDING IN TIBET

The highlight of this recording journey was my visit to Tibet, a rare destination that’s far more scenically breathtaking than a travel brochure or book could ever imply. Colder, too. Apart from being a photographer’s paradise, the harsh landscape and the complexity of Tibetan culture make it a rich source of sounds for the field recordist.

The Tibetan people have a child-like fascination with sound recording technology, giving rise to a phenomenon I called the Tibetan Mass Magnet – whenever I pointed the microphone at anyone or anything, I’d soon be surrounded by a mass of curious Tibetans. The number was generally proportional to the population density of the area, but even in the middle of absolutely nowhere, such as a stretch of frozen desert along the Friendship Highway, nomads popped out from under rocks when the microphone appeared. Passing the headphones around was always a crowd pleaser and a great way to break down language barriers. Considering the state of those nomads, I’m surprised I didn’t get lice. I still scratch my head in wonder every time I think about it…

TIBETAN IDOL

It’s a little known fact that Tibetans love to sing and dance. One special recording took place in the town of Lhatse, en route to Lhasa (the capital of Tibet). I was staying in a roadside guesthouse, and the woman running the kitchen sung as she cooked food and washed dishes. It was a charming sound, and I wanted to record it in all its unstaged beauty – pots, pans and everything. So I waited for nightfall, crept up beside the kitchen door, held out the microphone and attempted to capture her singing. It is normal practice in regional Tibet to throw dirty water out the nearest door or window. In my attempts to avoid it I slipped on the ice caused by previously discarded water, skated into the side of our 4WD and landed on my butt in the freshly-made mud. When she stepped out to apologise, I dusted myself off and made a hasty retreat to the street. Here I met some teenage girls who were curious about what I was doing with headphones, a microphone, and a frozen muddy backside. When one of them took a listen she instantly transformed into a pop star, clutching the headphones to her ears and hogging the microphone while singing and dancing. Her friends sometimes harmonized in the background, but they mostly giggled and popped bubblegum. One of them left and returned with the singing woman from the kitchen, and to my delight she joined in.

CROWD CONTROL

During my travels around Lhasa I often passed a busy street corner where half a dozen monks performed a mantra involving chanting, ringing bells and handclapping. Apart from being very catchy, I liked the way it contrasted an ancient Tibetan tradition against the sounds of a modern Chinese city. So I showed up with my recording rig and, after gesturing my intention and placing a reasonable offering in their bowl, proceeded to set up. They were sitting cross-legged, side by side, in a small arc following the curve of the street corner. After considering the width of the ensemble and the impression I wanted to create of them competing against the traffic noise, I positioned myself a couple of meters away on the other side of the footpath.

As I was setting up the monks stopped, mid-chant. I thought I may have offended them, but as soon as I was ready to record they started the entire mantra from the beginning – all 50 minutes of it! I only wanted five minutes worth, but felt obliged to record all of it because they had started again specifically for me. Had I known I was going to be sitting motionless for 50 minutes, I would’ve brought the microphone stand. My left arm, which was holding the microphones, was aching by the end of it.

When Tibetans aren’t performing, they love to help. As the recording above proceeded, numerous pedestrians passed through the space between the monks and the microphones. Most would stop to look, and I’d politely gesture for them to move away from the microphones’ axis. A handful of kids who were begging on the same corner noticed this, and before long I had my own Tibetan crowd control, directing people away from the microphones and helping to keep them quiet. When the mantra was finished I thanked the monks, paid my new-found assistants for their help and stumbled back to my room; a gaping hole in my wallet, my legs stiff and sore, and my left arm hanging limp by my side. I was as happy as a yak in a lush green pasture.

ON RETURNING…

I captured a lot of interesting sounds during my recording journey through the Himalayas, but the project was cut short due to an infection that made me deaf in my right ear for three weeks (a scary prospect for an audio guy). Having listened back to the recordings since then, I have nothing but praise for the equipment – which is more than I can say about my ears! The Schoeps microphones and Nagra V preamps always produced a convincingly natural sound with superb stereo imaging, very impressive over loudspeakers and spookily three-dimensional when heard through closed-cup headphones. Apart from some predictable problems with the condenser microphones due to the heavy morning mist in Royal Chitwan National Park, the rig performed flawlessly for the entire three months of the journey, whether it was bumping around in buses, jumping up and down in the back of jeeps, rattling along in rickshaws, or ‘floating’ on frozen lakes.

There are many things I have not discussed here, such as the ethics of paying the performers, the question of who owns the rights to the recordings, and the political, religious and cultural limitations imposed in different places – all of which presented challenges to overcome. Nonetheless, it was definitely worth the effort. I’m returning in November to continue the project, this time hopefully visiting Bhutan, Ladakh and Mongolia. I think I’ll be taking the same rig with me…