[Ed. Note- While the author, Chris Lose, is known for his self-deprecating sense of humor and his articles are meant to be light-hearted, we acknowledge that a sentence in this article as originally published caused offense. That is why we have made the appropriate edit to this piece. We thank our engaged readers for bringing this to our attention and acknowledge the issue you have raised. Though we know that Chris meant no offense, and was trying to poke fun at himself, we will all be more sensitive to such concerns in the future. – The Editorial Team of PLSN]
I have a secret. When I was born, I was missing something. I didn’t know that I was any different because I had never had “it” in the first place. Kids around me would never notice unless I pointed it out. I just thought it was because I was born that way. Even as an adult, it’s tough to discuss. When I was in high school, I was drawn to theater because no one would ask me about it there. Theater was a chance for me to ditch my other classes to start exploring the crawl spaces and hiding in the lighting booth where no one could find me. It didn’t matter much that I was missing something. I enjoyed being in the theater, and I fit in there. But I had never considered theater a career opportunity. It wasn’t until I saw the Beastie Boys perform at the Oakland Coliseum that I noticed that there were people who worked with the band. They had jobs flashing lights to music. That’s what I wanted to do. When the delusion wore off, I decided that I couldn’t be in the rock ‘n’ roll industry because I was afraid of my handicap. Until now, I was afraid to reveal in print what I was born without. And it is this: a sense of timing. Yes, I’ve got no rhythm.
Much like Steve Martin in The Jerk, I could hardly tap along to a song. I was convinced that people who ran lights for musicians had Cream drummer Ginger Baker’s levels of timing pulsing through their veins. It had to be in their DNA. I didn’t know anything about rhythm, structure, or form. How could I make lights flash in time so well that someone would pay me for it? After some time in the lighting shop, I thought that I could go on the road as a technician. I could hobble along without having to display my inability. After all, “Timing is everything.” You either have it or you don’t. So, I thought. I was so wrong.
Timing is Work
Being a crew chief suited me well. I enjoyed the lifestyle, the people, and the money made with a life on the road. When I had had kids, I took a job as the lighting designer at the Hard Rock Hotel’s The Joint in Las Vegas. A house lighting position was like the pinnacle of lighting for me. I could do everything that a touring designer did, without having to fill out my bus stock list or sit behind the console and hit buttons in time. I would have the opportunity to light the occasional opening act, corporate DJ, or beer-pong tournament, but no one was paying attention to my “disability.” The extent of crucial timing was house lights on, house lights off. I could do that well enough. Eventually, recognizing my technical skills, people would ask if I wanted to get back to touring, and if I was ready for the next level. I didn’t want to admit to anyone that I was born without rhythm. Would they laugh at me?
Only after years of friendship did I finally divulge my shame. Hoss was not only a stagehand, but a singer, guitar player, and lighting designer for the Reverend Horton Heat. We became close friends quickly. After several years of him going on and off the road, his touring band finally came through our house venue one night in July. It was a homecoming affair. We had the pleasure of switching roles. He was now the guest LD, and it was my job to take orders from him. After a successful show, he asked me, “When are you going back out on the road?” Despite my vulnerability, I was comfortable enough to tell him my secret. “I would go out again, but I don’t have timing like you do. I was born without it.” Hoss let out a booming belly laugh. “You aren’t born with timing; you work on it.” His words changed my career.
Timing is Focus
Shortly after I heard those words, I took the next offer to go back on the road. I couldn’t allow my missing sense to hold me back. I needed to get behind that chair and find my timing. My first summer tour was thanks to Steve Richards. I told him about my fears, and he decided to work with me. Coach me if you will. This Australian took me under his koala paw, and we banged out 15 songs. Whenever my timing was lacking, he would tap along on the console for me to catch up. When the timing structure was even more complicated, we would just stripe it to timecode and let the computer do the work for me. It was the crutch that I needed to get on my feet. I have even seen A-level designers and programmers who could not nail the timing, so they brought the drummer out to hit the cues and record them. That’s not cheating—that’s improvising.
Timing is Feeling
After a successful summer of shows, I got the call to continue my training. Paul “Arlo” Guthrie heard that I wasn’t destroying songs and offered me an opportunity to tour with Fleetwood Mac. Some of their songs follow all the rules of form and structure. Others shatter them. I found myself counting on my fingers at the FOH to hit some cues properly. Guthrie politely laughed and said something along these lines: “Don’t let anyone seeing you do that, mate. You’ll just lose it. It’s not about counting, it’s about feeling.” I was in the middle of blowing some cues so I can’t recall the exact wording. My focus was on my fingers and not the show. He was right.
Timing is Visual
Guthrie pointed out to me that I didn’t have to rely solely on my own timing. I could take visual cues from the guitarist as well. This could allow me to relax and focus on spot calls and listen to the song. I used this trick several times in my career. I started to notice obvious tells when I looked up from the console. For example, the second phrase of the “Hotel California” guitar solo started exactly one beat after Eagles guitarist Steuart Smith head-nodded to guitarist Chris Holt. Once I noticed this visual cue, I could enjoy the song and still call his spotlight right on time.
Timing is Most Important
Nick Whitehouse recently shared this advice: “The LD and the lighting cues need to be an extension of the band—another musician, if you like. The lights need to accent and enhance the music, not distract from it. It’s not always what you do, but when you do it. That’s all timing!” This is gospel. When we continue to develop, craft, and hone our sense of timing, we can turn even a simple 12 PAR can rig into a rhythmically lit professional rock show.
Reach Chris Lose at close@plsn.com.
