thread: Studio Managers
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Old 14th July 2006
Here for the gear
USOMG's Avatar

I manage a busy 4 room shop in NYC metro.

I do EVERYTHING you could possibly imagine related to the studios operations.

Except sleep.

Or have a life of any sort.

I have arms like cranes and hands like visegrips.

I smoke a minimum of 2 packs of cigarettes a day and drink about 15-20 cups of black coffee. No matter. I will live forever.

I will fix anything ever made by any manufacturer. Often without proper tools, parts or schematics.

Any mic, any console, any amp, any tape machine or piece of outboard gear known to God or man. Any computer. I will do this at 3-am.

I will break up band fist-fights, call cabs, call ambulances, call mothers, sisters, brothers, doctors, priests and rabbis.

Call in favors.

But I will not call the cops.

I will repel boarders and vagrants.

I will clean up puke and piss and other bodily discharges, or force somebody else to do it and still manage to keep them from quitting.

I will score beer, booze, girls and weed for the clients. I will take them to strip clubs and watch them get blind drunk and make complete fools of themselves. I will happily encourage them and yet still make sure they still make session call.

I will intonate guitars and basses and tune drumkits.

I will clean toilets and make coffee if no interns show up.

I will hire people. I will fire them.

Cut grass.

Take out mountains of trash.

Build rooms.

Rip rooms out.

Move gigantic consoles, studio racks and tape machines between floors and sometimes move them back again.

Feed and walk the studio mutts.

Tar the roof.

Paint and carpet and refurbish every kind of building fixture. Wood, marble, glass, rubber or metal.

I will go to the bank.

I will go to the post office.

I will call FedEx or UPS.

I will call bankers, brokers, welders, pavers, lawyers, accountants, locksmiths.

The town, the county, the state, the Feds.

I will call the IRS.

I will call the Pope if I find out he owes us money and tell him he will not get his masters until he coughs it up.

I will make dinner on the BBQ for the staff.

Drive clients to, and pick them up from, every conceivable point of access and egress in the NYC area.

I will go to shows to see bands for the owner.

I will run any and every imaginable type of interference for the owner.

I will work 7 days a week, 14-18 hours a day commonly... for many months in a row, year after year for the owner.

I will work sick.

I will work dead tired.

I will work when no sane man would work more for fear of mental or physical collapse.

I'm pretty sure I would take a bullet for the owner if I had to.

But he will know I didn't enjoy it by the tiny wry smile I wear afterwards.

I am the greatest studio manager that has ever lived.

Or ever will live.

And once again... I will live forever.


And I don't have the slightest clue that my old pal and boss(cough... cough...) Slipperman has logged onto my computer to type this under my screename.

When I find out he will owe me a bottle of single malt and a night at Johnnys Go-Go in Union City.