What do you do if the expensive piece of gear you've just bought doesn't do what it's supposed to? Here, producer and studio owner Mel Simpson bemoans the fate of the reluctant guinea pig...
There has been a sneaking trend amongst studio equipment manufacturers over the last few years towards more software‑based gear, which can mean the manufacturer doesn't have to get it right first, second or even fifteenth time, while end users sit chewing their nails, waiting for the next update.
I'm always suspicious of the phrase 'open ended architecture', because it often means that the manufacturer hasn't finished developing the product yet. You are usually safe with products from companies such as Roland, Korg and Yamaha, who put a lot of effort into getting details right, but some manufacturers are in far too much of a hurry to launch new products at major exhibitions, and often have ready only the front panel and a nice glossy brochure telling you what the machine is supposed to do, so that you have something to take away and drool over.
Of course, I recognise that due to the speed technology changes, manufacturers have to work on expectations, and try and keep ahead of the game. Even the Inland Revenue acknowledges that we work in a fast‑moving, hi‑tech business — I've discovered that it is possible to register a new piece of studio equipment as something called a short‑term asset, and write it off in the first year, instead of the normal 25% depreciation. Technology is being replaced very quickly, and in this environment, it's no wonder manufacturers try to fool the competition by building fancy front panels before they have worked out what to put behind them.
The really big problem is that in the rush to get a new product on the street, it is not always tested properly. Manufacturers don't seem to follow up what happens when halfway through something, the message 'fatal system error, try and save your work' flashes up on the screen, and the only button that appears to work is the Off switch. It is at this point that we, the end users, become part of the development and testing process.
My particular hobby horses at the moment are the Emu Esi32 and the Akai DD1500. I bought an Emulator II about 10 years ago (well, I was young and impressionable), and although I grew to love it, there were annoying sides to its character that drove me nuts. For example, you had to load a whole disk just to get one sound, losing the entire memory contents in the process (although there were ways round this if you had the odd afternoon to spare).
So, here I am, 10 years on, sitting in front of the latest piece of Emu technology, and marvelling at tricks like its audio morphing and resonant filters — but surprise surprise, like the Emu II, I still can't load individual sounds from disk without losing everything. Come on Emu, surely 10 years is long enough to get your heads round that one? I phoned Emu, who told me I could get over the problem if I had the SCSI option, which, of course, costs another couple of hundred quid, plus the price of a new hard drive. To be fair to Emu, the latest software update allows separate sounds to be loaded, although they still can't be saved individually.
As for the Akai DD1500 — well, I bought that last October because I wanted to take the plunge into hard disk recording. I checked out what was on the market, and eventually chose the Akai system because I wanted to be able to record and edit easily, mess around with samples, and be able to cut and paste audio. I didn't like the idea of another computer keyboard in the control room, and chose a machine with its own dedicated control panel that I could use quickly and easily.
The machine came with a lot of promises. Akai admitted that there were features missing (such as the lack of MIDI implementation and backup facilities), but claimed that these would be added within a few months. In fact, many of these facilities have yet to arrive. They keep telling me how happy their post‑production customers are, and what the BBC have achieved with it, but I'm not in the business of recording footsteps on gravel or synchronising doors slamming — sync'ing to music is far more demanding and precise, and this is what I want the machine to do.
I know manufacturers are under pressure, but I still feel that when you buy something from them that promises so much, they should either ensure that it works, or own up and tell you it doesn't before you part with your money.
OK, equipment should meet the needs of the customer, and sometimes the best way to do this is to see it operating in working conditions, but this can be done by people who know they are being used as crash test dummies, not people like me who are trying to make a living from using it.
My advice is this: if gear doesn't come up to scratch, complain, and get your money back. There's a law stopping goods being sold that don't do what they're claimed to do, and if more people made a nuisance of themselves in music stores, we might all get a better deal. It might slow down the pace of technical development a bit, but frankly, I'd rather have a machine that worked when I got it back to the studio...
As a keyboard player, Mel Simpson toured with bands until the early '80s, when he came off the road to start Flame Studios in North London, initially for his own productions of film and TV music.
Mel has produced countless acts over the years, but his most recent successes include writing and producing the Us3 album, Hand On The Torch, as well as a number of major feature films, including Spielberg's The Flintstones.
He has recently finished producing the new Ragga Twins' album for EMI, and is currently working on a jazz project due for release early next year.