Thank you sir you are far too kind! I am tickled to know it resonated in some way for you. I hope that every reader takes something from it...
Your point about listening to the space is one I learned very early on, but got a very stark reminder of a few years ago. I was working same-gear-same-venue as always, but with an entirely new group. Although they had played in the room before, I hadn't heard them there or anywhere else, and in fact had no idea that this trio of substitutes would be the band for the weekend. Well, life is full of surprises, and when I text the (absent) guy in charge he says 'Oh yeah, I suppose I should have told you about this.' Yes, I suppose you should have.
So I look at these folks loading in, and I'm not seeing any instrument cases that in any way resemble electric guitars, keys, bass, or kit. They instead bring violin, steel guitar, various other curious stringed things, some sort of organ-in-a-box contraption, and strange small percussion instruments. And electronicals to help them loop whatever they want.
This is an interesting twist, and since I am clearly going to make a mess of whatever's coming from stage if I start guessing, I ask what they want and do exactly that. I end up dragging out mics that I didn't know existed, and hope I get the right end up or down or in or out or however it's supposed to go. I don't have a Monitors guy (another surprise!) so sound check sees me not paying much attention to the FOH side. I've got the mains way back so I can safely ignore that whole deal. (!) They're not jerks to work with and I'm pretty quick with in-ear mixes, so that drops the stress level a bit.
I walk over to where I'm supposed to be, bring up the mains enough that I can hear what I am doing, and I know we are in a world of trouble from the first note. My head snaps up and I stare at stage to make sure they haven't traded in the stringed things for a trumpet and a sax, because they are playing in Bb. God only knows why. The violin player layers loops like phyllo dough, and our troubles deepen. I have enormous chunks taken out at the troublesome frequencies, and it sounds hideous, and I still can't tell what's feedback and what's just the violin, and I have four church services of this to look forward to.
They finish the first song and I ask who needs what. Everybody is thrilled with what's in their ears and they have no clue of the caliber of disaster in the house. I say 'Just a minute, guys,' and walk slowly to stage. When I arrive, I say this:
'Is your whole set in Bb?' Nods all around. 'I know you have played here before, and you are free to think I'm an idiot if you like, and I know I'm asking you to do something that I have no business asking you to do, but could you do something else, anything else? The resonant frequency of this room is Bb below middle C, and I've never heard a room with a nastier resonance when it gets going. You are all over it and you won't like anything I will do to even come close to solving it.'
Horrified looks. 'The other times we've played here we've done the set in D but were told it's too high for congregational singing. We figured down a third would be about right.' They confer. 'We'll try something else if that's ok. What do you want?' 'Anything but Bb. Anything. Well, obviously Eb wouldn't be great. And if you want to go back to D, that's fine too. I'll take the heat if you get told it's too high.'
They decide on B. They miss a note here and there during rehearsal, but at least I can breathe again - and put 230Hz back.
Moral of too-long story? Don't make the room do what the room cannot do. There are some things you just can't fight. Well, you can fight. But you won't win.
