The Shouter – Part 1
The bus, the way home, the ignominy. Two less than happy campers, Dermot and Declan stared glumly into their box of equipment. Their new invention, “The Shouter”, looked like a coke can on it’s side, wrapped in copper wire, sitting inside a poster tube. Maybe they should have painted it to make it look more… well, fancy. That said, haey knew why no one was impressed… they weren’t allowed turn The Shouter up! They couldn’t hear it!
A mind melding, brain scratching session ensued, how to let people hear the shouter. Like, really hear it. Declan, who knows about sound, knows a local band that plays in the local pub every local Friday. Dermot, who didn’t, thinks this is a great idea.
Friday. Pub with about three locals trying to ignore the ‘young lads’ messing around with the ancient PA system. Declan wiring up two prototype ‘Shouters’. Dermot allowed play with the mixing deck trying to see how much power they could feed in. The band tuning on stage, excited. They play this gig for fun, mostly, and free pints. Everyone in this town plays music. Or listens to it.
Declan, who knows about sound, decides to hold the “Shouters” in reserve, and lets the regular sound system work away for a while. Pub fills up, rock music kicks in. Everyone TALKING VERY LOUDLY to hear each-other. Dermot; signals to bassist who signals to drummer. Singer nods and takes a break. Dermot flicks the ‘on’ switch. The lights flicker a bit. Who cares? But, there is a definite hum in the air. Declan, who knows about sound, adds a filter, adjusts some sliders, and the hum gets softer.
Dermot is excited. He has been telling anyone who would listen, and many who didn’t, about The Shouter. Bored them half to death, but the word was out (the three locals who saw the setup, decided at this point, to “maybe head out for a shmoke”, “yep, mbby down the ways a bit”).
The crowd moved up to the stage. The song was ‘Killing in the name of’, it starts with a chwoooongggggg. It would be incorrect to say the place went silent, it was late Friday in a pub, halfway up a mountain in Wicklow. But there was a ceartain palpable potential in the air. The atmosphere was electric. Dermot was a good “hype man”.
The guitarist and bassist both chwoooongggggged.
– White pain then silence. Screams but no sound. Beer, Spirits and glass blizzarding. The pub, a deranged snowglobe shook hard by a giant. People crying, blood in their noses falling and twirling as Beer and Spirits and glass flurried over them.
A beautiful ringing starting to come out of the silence as ears decided it was time to start working again.
Declan, who knew about sound, turned to Dermot, both of them with the biggest grins possible plastered across their faces. It had worked! They had Heard!
Continued here: The Shouter (3). (I’m new at making this stuff public, so comments etc are welcome!)