Sounds of the office

Well, this is a little embarrassing, but I have to admit I don’t really have a very good grip on what my son-in-law, Mike, does for a living.
With our other son-in-law, Josh, it’s pretty straightforward. Josh is a church organist, working a number of gigs simultaneously, and also works for a pipe organ restoration firm. Not an everyday occupation, but it’s understandable.
Mike’s another story.
Mike, who was in Jay County last week with our daughter Emily and our grandson Julian for the Thanksgiving holiday, is a sound designer. He’s also a composer, which I do understand.
And much of his work is done for video games.
Before I go any further, I have to point out that the video game industry is rife with corporate espionage.
Those of us born before Pacman may find it hard to believe, but there are corporate spies whose specialty is finding out what the next big thing is going to be for those consumers exercising their thumbs on a game controller in the family room when they should be outside getting some fresh air. (Fresh air might be the next big thing. Who knows?)
As a result, we don’t press Mike for details about his work. He composed the music for an independent video game on the side this year and produced a CD, which I’m listening to this week, but that wasn’t the sort of big money project that attracts spies.
His current work is another story. And I should stop there. All I can say is, I know nothing.
Not even name, rank, and serial number.
But last week, when Mike was in town, he asked if he could stop by the newspaper.
This wasn’t for his latest mystery project, he said. Just to collect some ambient sounds that might come in handy, either as inspiration for a composition or as who knows what. (Did I explain already that I don’t truly know what he does for a living?)
Sure, I said. Stop by. We have plenty of noisy old machines.
And he did just that.
On Friday, he came by with a fancy digital recorder about the size of a 1957 transistor radio, but with far more buttons and gizmos.
We started with a machine that has baffled 3rd graders taking a tour of the newspaper: An electric typewriter.
The elementary kids had no idea what the heck this computer without a monitor was. For Mike, it was just a source of neat sounds.
I typed, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy bog.” And he recorded the sounds of the keys.
(I know it should read, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” But my finger slipped. The typo will be impossible to detect in the recording.)
Then it was on to the job shop, our commercial printing department. Carl dutifully fired up a number of machines: A huge paper cutter, a couple of old letterpresses used for specialty jobs, and a very noisy folder.
Then I took Mike and his recorder on a ride on the freight elevator, sliding the fire door back and forth a few extra times to get the sound right, raising the old wooden gates extra times for the same reason.
We ended up in the newspaper’s pressroom, where Mike and his machine recorded more sounds than I could catalog here.
For us, they’re sounds we hear so frequently we don’t really hear them anymore.
For Mike, they’re pieces of potential inspiration.
Later that afternoon, Carl asked what the project is about. “Is the game called, ‘The Haunted Printshop’?”
I gave him the only answer I could: That’s a secret.[[In-content Ad]]