APAC: what to expect of you’re expecting

APAC is rapidly approaching. If you’re attending this year, or wish you were, or happily aren’t, or—like the narrators who’ve solicited me because they’re uncertain if this conference’s promise is sufficient compensation for their travel, room and board—you are still undecided, it might be useful to interrogate your APAC-expectations in order to parse the probable from the possible, the wishful from the downright magical.

Arguably, however a narrator judges APAC’s fundamental worth, the determination to attend, or not, is also likely to be arbitrated by uniquely personal concerns. Ultimately, what’s efficacious for one narrator may be misguided for another. That said, I can certainly investigate my reasons to attend, and hope that what I deduce—albeit anecdotally and less than rigorously—has at least some application for others.

Reflexively, I begin with self-interest. And maybe that’s where I should end. Or maybe not.

And as I delve into that somewhat tiring cliché, perhaps self-interest is worth examining in order to arrive at a more precise and coherent definition, at least for me. After all, self-interest is the first reason that came to mind.

Self-interest: a kind of definition

I’ll define my self—who I am—as an unknowable source of mystery to me that houses, among other enigmas, an opaque agglomeration of subconscious and conscious desires. I’ll suggest that at least some of those desires could be regarded as interests (maybe needs). Thinking reductively about next week’s conference, I believe that my interests are twofold: professional and social.

Professional

My professional interests are served by networking with publishers who may employ me, and engaging narrators I may eventually have the opportunity to direct or teach. Clearly, money is a significant component of, or even a euphemism for, professional self-interest. Therefore, attending a gathering of people who may be predisposed to solicit my professional services is one meaningful measure of APAC’s appeal.

Aside from money, interacting with peers, colleagues and industry professionals at APAC fulfills a professional yearning to be recognized and appreciated by those very people. I’ll be speaking on a panel this year, and that privilege (despite my pique at being compelled to fork over a discounted registration fee for that privilege—seriously?!) permits me to share my experience and expertise with attendees. Professional recognition is rewarding; it engenders in me a feeling of appreciation, self-esteem and self-worth. I am truly flattered that the people I work with deem my thoughts about audiobook performance worthy of public dissemination.

Social

Since my well-being is not wholly dependent on or dictated by what I earn from producing/directing and teaching, the benefit I accrue from schmoozing publishers who might employ me, or actors who might solicit me to teach, isn’t enough to ensure I’ll attend. But connecting to narrators (many of whom I have an un-abiding affinity for) and industry professionals (many of whom I deeply respect and have known for what feels like a century) is more than enough to keep me from missing this annual conference.

The more I contemplate social, the more I associate my existential eggs with engaging narrators: They are the heart, the soul, the reason audiobooks exist. I feel a shared sense of purpose with narrators, especially those I’ve directed and coached. I am aware of their aspirations as performers; I enjoy being privy to their hopes and desires that emerge subtly, bubbly, deferentially, often with aplomb, and sometimes with the nuance of a police siren. I am sensitive to a performer’s solicitous discourse, whose surface language shrouds oscillating vulnerability, but evinces passion and humanity. I percolate in front of that humanity. I revel in the often brief, but coalescing encounters that communicate respect, commonality and, yes, self-interest: a quick hug, a too-hyperbolic resume review, forced admiration proffering, jocular barbs meant to bond and reflect appreciation. It’s all good: I get it, and I enjoy the exchanges.

The more I evaluate these duel self-interests, the higher the priority I assign to social, which sounds kind of like a squishy pejorative: ephemeral and vacuous. Too close to socializing for comfort. But socializing works for me, especially the particular kind of socializing I’d call Johnny Hellering: high-octane, verbal twerking on helium. Of course, I am rewarded by more prosaic palaver with familiar narrators and those newly introduced: It’s never enough of a good thing. The sum of these interactions—even while I feel like a hurtling pinball bouncing from one networking attendee to another—more than compensates for the discount I’m compelled to pay this year.

Oh, sure, there’s a bunch of things that annoy me about APAC. I have complaints—maybe not galore, but I have ‘em. Serious misgivings. But obviously, they aren’t keeping me at home, are they.

Stepping deeper into APAC, and what’s-in-it-for-me, I’m more certain now than when I began this post that when I greet the first of the many narrators that have rewarded me with their work and kindness and friendship over the past couple of decades (Sorry, Aunt Mary—always the exception), the primary reason I attend APAC will clearly reveal itself.

***

I recently finished working with the talented narrator (and former workshop participant) Sandy Rustin, and will continue in June with Elizabeth Ashley, who is narrating John Lahr’s meaty and fascinating biography of Tennessee Williams. And coming up, a book with veteran narrator and former workshop member, Caitlin Davies.

Future Narrator’s Workshops: 

LA-Sept. 13/14;

NYC-Sept 27/28; 

Houston-Oct. 25/26. 

Master Class Workshop in NYC –tba, but thinking Saturday, Nov. 1.

For information contact: Michele Cobb: michele@audiofilemagazine.com

“Understated” Matters to Dramatic Storytelling, And How!

I try to refrain from discussing specific books or narrators. But a review I already had prior interest in caught my additional attention because it provides (albeit anecdotally) an opportunity to focus on a larger proposition that, if confidently welcomed by narrators, will enhance their performance.

For the purpose of clarity and context, it’s important to note that this post's thesis refers specifically to dramatic fiction (as opposed to humor, or satire, or some permutation of non-realistic fiction). Also, it’s important to emphasize in advance that dozens of very talented narrators win awards, many without a director or engineer, and deservedly so.

I recently directed The Kept, featuring the actress and storyteller, Kate Udall, for Harper Audio. Ms. Udall received a flattering review from Audiofile Magazine, along with an Earphones Award ©. But beyond flattering sentiments, there’s a particular characterization by the reviewer that captures the heart of at least one of dramatic storytelling’s aesthetic demands, and illuminates a fundamental difference between reading a narrative and storytelling it.

First the review, then the characterization in question, and then I’ll suggest that this particular reference to Ms. Udall’s performance is indicative of the storyteller’s overall obligation to vocally match performance with the text's dramatic demand.

THE KEPT

James Scott

Narrator Kate Udall makes James Scott's disturbing debut novel choice listening. In northern New York in the late nineteenth century, Elspeth Howell and her 12-year-old son, Caleb, set out to find the men who brutally murdered their family. While the two are motivated by revenge, this textured story offers much more. Udall's performance slowly peels away carefully concealed secrets whose revelations leave no one unscathed. Udall captures the characters' moral wretchedness in an unforgiving world, the rage and pent-up emotions of mother and son, and the human capacity for cruelty. Not for the squeamish due to some explicit raw descriptions, Scott's controlled prose and Udall's understated narration make this an experience that will stay with you long after you remove your ear buds. S.J.H. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2014, Portland, Maine [Published: FEBRUARY 2014]

The salient quote: “Scott's controlled prose and Udall's understated narration make this an experience that will stay with you long after you remove your ear buds?”

Understood through a performance lens, what am I deducing? First, “Scott's controlled prose…”

If you believe Audiofile's reviewer, and various print reviews, The Kept is a high-stakes drama. “Scott’s controlled prose” tells me that how the author has constructed his narrative's syntax is commensurate with the relentless tension and graphic descriptions of killing and physical abuse that occur throughout the novel. I assume that “controlled prose” compliments the author's successful effort to keep readers on the edge of their seat.

Second, “…Udall's understated narration make this an experience that will stay with you long after you remove your ear buds?”

As it applies to the storyteller’s craft, let’s define “understated” as, a performance tool whose aesthetic purpose is to match the stakes (tension embedded in the subtext) while maintaining listeners’ willing suspension of disbelief.

I think “understated” is alluding to, the actor’s performance response to the demand of the narrative’s “controlled prose.” In other words, round peg (“controlled prose”) fitting precisely into round hole (“understated” narration). The reviewer is saying that Ms. Udall’s “understated” performance connects listeners to the subtext in a way that matches the text’s dramatic expectation. Voila. Great audiobook review.

What caused me to unpack this particular review was the reference, “understated.” It reminds me that so many emerging and even experienced narrators seem reflexively suspect of understated, or less. When in fact, it’s more that often removes listeners’ interest because more disconnects listeners from the story’s dramatic import.

Axiomatically, if narrators want to diminish listeners’ involvement in a dramatic narrative, they might speak at a kind of normal volume. If they really want to deaden listeners' involvement, they should speak louder and Aunt Mary-modulate. To be sure, emphasis, effusiveness and yelling occur in drama, and more voice is sometimes required. But these heightened moments are generally rare. Few narratives—unless they take place in an asylum with no meds—are about crazy people who constantly shout.

If “understated” is a preferred dramatic performance tool, how then is it actualized?

In three words: Less, less, less! Less voice. Less vocal emphasis. Less tick-tock, rhythmically similar pace (This is achieved by the storyteller’s attention to the point of view of the character being talked about, staying inside the head when the character’s thoughts speak, and discovering events as if they’re unfolding before the character’s eyes right now, because to the listener, they are.).

And why might this understated narration “stay with you,” as it did the reviewer? Perhaps because the storyteller focused on connecting the roiling emotions beneath the narrative’s words, rather than concerning herself with how those words should be enunciated.

If I had a ruble (not worth so much these days, to be sure) each time I suggested to an actor, Less voice, less emphasis, just get inside the head of the character, work your way through the events confronting that character, and heard, Really, Paul? Seriously? No one will hear me. No, I can’t speak that softly, and there’s just so many plum words for me to emphasize, I wouldn’t be rich, but I’d have a boat load of rubles.

Just The Facts: A Storyteller’s Guide to Narrating Nonfiction

Before continuing: If youʼve just emerged from hibernating in a cave the past century, or recently touched down on Earth from outer space, youʼre likely unaware of the iconic television series, Dragnet. In order to address this serious pop culture deprivation, please visit YouTube and listen a moment to Jack Webb, and perhaps one of twentieth century televisionʼs most enduring musical signatures.

And now...

Just The Facts: A Storytellerʼs Guide to Narrating Nonfiction 

MUSIC: Dragnet Theme

FADE IN: A NONFICTION BOOK COVER—a memoir, how to, biography, autobiography. You name it.

Featuring:

The Announcer: Announcer 

The Director: Joe 

The Asst. Director: Bill 

The Nonfiction Narrator: McGuffin 

The Engineer: Tony

ANNOUNCER 

Ladies and gentleman, the story youʼre about to read is true! It is, after all, nonfiction. The names have been changed to protect the modulators.

INT. RECORDING STUDIO CONTROL ROOM. TONY is sitting at the console in front of the Iso booth.

DIRECTOR JOEʼS VOICE-OVER

This is the studio. New York, New York. I work here. Iʼm an audiobook director. Narrators record books here. Sometimes I hold auditions. Like this one, for my upcoming job. Itʼs nonfiction. Here comes the next narrator.

A NARRATOR strolls into the control room, smiling, iPad in hand. He enters the booth. He sits.

DIRECTOR JOEʼS VOICE-OVER

Name’s McGuffin. He’s like a lot of hot-shot, nonfiction narrators Bill and I run in to. They come in: eager, prepped. They think, I got this gig. Itʼs in the bag.

Tony nods and we can read MCGUFFINʼS lips: Chapter One. We silently observe him auditioning.

DIRECTOR JOEʼS VOICE-OVER

And why not! They figure, whatʼs there to narrating nonfiction. Read the book in advance. Look up a few pronunciations. The rest? A snap. Piece of cake! McGuffin here is one of those narrators! Or was...

CLOSE ON MCGUFFINʼS FACE. He abruptly stops reading. He looks up from the mike. Heʼs scared. Plenty scared. Sweat rains from his face as if each pore was a hydrant.

INT. CONTROL ROOM. McGuffin is seated in a black, swivel chair. JOE, and his partner, BILL, are both standing in front of McGuffin, so really, he never has to swivel. Tony is calm and collected; heʼs seen it all before.

(Oh, and no more stage directions. You get where this is headed). 

JOE

Read McGuffin his rights, Bill.

BILL 

Youʼre a narrator, so you donʼt have the right to remain silent. Anything you inorganically say can and will be used against you. You donʼt have the right to an attorney. It wonʼt help. But you do have the right to an acting teacher. 

And based on your audition, maybe you better get one.

MCGUFFIN

Hey, whatʼs this all about? 

JOE

Weʼll ask the questions. 

BILL

Careful, Joe. I think heʼs carrying.

MCGUFFIN

Hey, I ainʼt armed.

JOE 

Doesnʼt mean youʼre not dangerous.

BILL 

Did you carry that melodious voice of yours in the booth with you?

MCGUFFIN 

Yeah, but the voice is my secret weapon.

BILL

Told yaʼ he was carryin.ʼ

JOE 

The way you modulated your voice, son.

MCGUFFIN

Yeah?

JOE

Shoulda kept it a secret.

MCGUFFIN

Whatʼs that supposed to—

BILL

Before you walk in that booth, deposit the voice outside the door.

JOE

Thatʼs the law at this studio.

MCGUFFIN

But Iʼm a voice actor!

JOE

Easy. You can keep your voice.

BILL 

We just donʼt want you to hurt listeners with it.

JOE 

So, McGuffin, youʼre a narrator.

MCGUFFIN

Voiced thirty books.

BILL

Voiced?

JOE

You mean acted, performed, right?

MCGUFFIN 

Performed! Acted! Whatever!

BILL

Heʼs incorrigible, Joe.

JOE 

Tell me what that means, later. McGuffin, we assume youʼve narrated nonfiction books before.

MCGUFFIN 

My specialty.

BILL

How so?

MCGUFFIN

My voice has the perfect combo fellas—bass and charm. Bellissimo, eh!

JOE 

Watch the salty language, son!

BILL

Letʼs get started. Did you just read the nonfiction bookʼs first two sentences?

MCGUFFIN 

Iʼd have read three, but you guys interrupted me!

BILL

Heʼs recalcitrant, Joe.

JOE 

No salty language, Bill. Remember, weʼre role models.

MCGUFFIN 

Whyʼd you stop me?

JOE

Iʼm a director. I stop narrators.

MCGUFFIN

Maybe you shouldnʼt.

JOE

Youʼre not the first actor to tell me that. Now, back to your specialty.

BILL 

Son, what do you mean, specialty?

MCGUFFIN 

Like I was tryinʼ to say, Iʼm authoritative, resonant, pleasing, smooooth!

JOE 

Techniques your Aunt Mary taught you, huh.

MCGUFFIN 

You know my Aunt Mary. Hey, sheʼs innocent—

BILL

If he only knew, Joe.

JOE 

Ever occur to you that nonfiction narration is about acting?

MCGUFFIN 

Yeah.

BILL

And?

MCGUFFIN

I let it go. Itʼs nonfiction. Whatʼs to act?

JOE

You donʼt mean that.

BILL 

I think he does, Joe. Maybe you do need a lawyer, son.

JOE 

Okay, McGuffin, we got another narrator cominʼ to audition in ten minutes.

MCGUFFIN

So let me finish.

JOE

Not until you get straight about the facts.

MCGUFFIN

Huh?

BILL

Nonfiction. The facts. How to narrate ʻem.

JOE

Relax.

BILL

Weʼre on your side.

JOE

Now, pretend youʼre a listener.

BILL 

You wanna hear ten hours of vocal sing-song?

MCGUFFIN 

Never thought of it that way.

BILL 

Or you wanna hear a storyteller?

MCGUFFIN 

I thought storytelling was fiction.

BILL

It is. Nonfiction, too.

JOE 

With a few differences. Big ones.

MCGUFFIN 

I donʼt know what youʼre tellinʼ me.

JOE

You will.

MCGUFFIN 

I listen to you guys, do I get to finish my audition?

BILL

Depends.

MCGUFFIN

On?

JOE

You.

MCGUFFIN

Huh?

BILL

Your secret weapon.

JOE

The sing-song.

BILL  

Itʼs a story killer.

JOE

Give it up.

MCGUFFIN 

But itʼs what I do?

JOE

Did.

BILL

Think of the dazed listener, son. The sing-song. Have you no mercy?

MCGUFFIN

Alright, alright!

JOE

Letʼs start at Chapter One.

MCGUFFIN

Howʼs that?

JOE

When you narrate nonfiction, whoʼs saying chapter one?

MCGUFFIN

Me. McGuffin.

BILL

Gonna be a long ten minutes, Joe.

JOE 

No. The author. Thatʼs who is telling the nonfiction story. Thatʼs who listeners think theyʼre hearing. So, thatʼs who you are.

MCGUFFIN 

But Iʼm a voice...Iʼm an actor.

BILL

Then act like the author.

MCGUFFIN 

So, I gotta act like a real person. Hey, somethinʼs fishy here.

JOE  

Weʼre givinʼ it to ya straight.

BILL 

You gotta sound like an author, who is no actor.

MCGUFFIN

Just how do I pull that off?

JOE 

Authors aren't in possession of your snazzy cadence.

BILL

Or the smooth tone.

JOE 

They donʼt turn words into wavy music. You dig?

BILL 

Listeners wanna hear a real person. No characters, either. No character voices.

MCGUFFIN 

But I gotta make the book sound interesting.

BILL 

Not your job.

JOE

You gotta make the listeners interested in you!

MCGUFFIN

Me?

BILL 

And this amazing story you are dying to tell them.

MCGUFFIN 

So, I canʼt make the words interesting.

JOE

Unless youʼre a magician.

BILL 

The bookʼs the book. Canʼt juice the words. Not possible, son.

MCGUFFIN 

Thatʼs it? I canʼt do characters. Canʼt use my voice to make the book sound interesting. Have to act like the author who canʼt act! Thatʼs boring, fellas.

BILL 

Only boring when your amazing voice interferes with your enthusiasm to tell this amazing story.

MCGUFFIN 

So, youʼre sayinʼ my m.o. should be, listen to this amazing story?

BILL

Job one.

MCGUFFIN 

How do I interest listeners in hearing about five-hundred ways to get a job promotion when I canʼt emphasize nothinʼ? Stumped ya, huh?

BILL

Threw us a slow softball.

JOE 

Letʼs get this emphasis idea straight, once and for all.

MCGUFFIN

Itʼs about time!!!

JOE 

Youʼre the author telling this story, right.

MCGUFFIN

Enthusiastically.

JOE 

Exactly how enthusiastic are you?

MCGUFFIN 

Over the moon. This book is my baby.

BILL 

What do you want listeners to understand about your baby?

MCGUFFIN 

Everything.

JOE 

Just the way you do, right.

BILL

Think a listenerʼs understanding requires a lot of emphasis?

JOE 

Think the ideas, concepts, language they gotta understand in order to be as enthusiastic as you, as smart as you, is gonna take a lot of emphasis?

MCGUFFIN 

Yeah, ʻcause Iʼm the expert, but theyʼre just gettinʼ started.

JOE 

Youʼre the expert, McGuffin, the teacher, the majordomo, and all you wanna do is educate, inform, and convince us listeners to be as excited and informed about this topic as you are.

MCGUFFIN 

Then I can emphasize.

JOE

Now youʼre cookinʼ!

BILL

So long as the emphasis helps your listener understand this subject.

MCGUFFIN

And dig it as much as me.

BILL

Emphasize till the cows come home.

JOE

But remember, McGuffin.

MCGUFFIN

Caveat, huh.

JOE

This is a family show, son.

BILL

Look, Joe and I here. Our beat is modulation patrol. Twenty-four-seven.

JOE 

Sing-song that comes from your swanky voice is a crime.

MCGUFFIN

Yeah, on what grounds?

  BILL

Vocal jive.

JOE 

Emphasis that comes from a passion for listeners to be as enthusiastic about this story as the author is keeps the narrator on the straight and narrow, son.

MCGUFFIN

Youʼre repeatinʼ yourself.

JOE 

Iʼm a director. Occupational hazard.

MCGUFFIN 

Yeah, yeah. Do I get to finish my audition?

JOE

We're all yours.

MCGUFFIN 

First, I gotta confess somethinʼ.

BILL

Figured you would.

MCGUFFIN 

When Iʼm narrating nonfiction, I never really picture my listeners, who Iʼm speakinʼ to. Iʼm just sorta yakkinʼ at the page. So, how do I imagine my listeners, like you guys right now, huh?

JOE 

Wide-eyed. Weʼre your students. Eager to learn from you.

BILL

To absorb your brilliance.

JOE

To be wowed.

BILL

And remember, weʼre taking notes.

JOE 

So, donʼt rush it.

MCGUFFIN

Meaning?

JOE 

Weʼre here to think about what you have to say, so you say it like you want us to think about it. 

BILL

Not forget about it.

MCGUFFIN

And that will slow me down?

BILL  

Unless you believe we can take notes like Superman.

JOE 

And if youʼre talkinʼ a mile a minute, or makinʼ us woozy with the vocal sing-song... 

BILL

Weʼre sleepinʼ, not thinkinʼ.

JOE

One last thing. You love havinʼ us listen, donʼt ya?

MCGUFFIN 

Sure do.

JOE  

When you speak, remember, we wanna feel that love from you.

BILL 

We listeners canʼt always concentrate. So you gotta love us, tickle us with your enthusiasm.

JOE 

Make us putty in your hands. Now, get in there and audition.

BILL

We forgot the oath, Joe.

MCGUFFIN

Huh?

JOE

Canʼt audition for nonfiction without takinʼ the oath, son.

BILL

Raise your right hand.

MCGUFFIN

Iʼm a southpaw.

BILL 

Heʼs got moxie like his Aunt Mary. Okay, raise the left and put the other one on this how-to book.

JOE 

When you record nonfiction, do you solemnly swear: to tell the story, the whole story and nothinʼ but the story, as if youʼre the author?

MCGUFFIN

I do.

JOE 

To speak as if to a small group, like a classroom?

MCGUFFIN

I do.

JOE 

To remember that every word in this book is gold?

MCGUFFIN

Worth a kingʼs ransom.

JOE 

That your enthusiasm for the facts—and not your swell voice—will cause you to emphasize words?

MCGUFFIN 

What voice? I left it outside the booth.

JOE 

To never forget your nonfiction m.o.?

MCGUFFIN 

Devotion to the listenerʼs enthusiasm for this amazing story.

BILL

I like his moxie, Joe.

 JOE 

Okay, itʼs storytime.

BILL

Give us the facts we wanna hear.

JOE

The way we wanna hear ʻem!

Music: Dragnet Theme

In silence, we peek through the booth and observe McGuffin narrating. We also see JOE and BILL. Theyʼre nodding, impressed. Tony is calm and collected; heʼs seen it all before.

DIRECTOR JOEʼS VOICE-OVER

There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of audiobook narrators—in this city, in LA, and in home studios from Pittsburgh to Peking—who know that recording nonfiction is a tough job that demands concentration, stamina and true grit. Sometimes, these narrators all sound like plain vanilla. But sometimes, when they get nonfiction right, get what the listener wants from ʻem, get how to give listeners what they want, and deserve, these narrators distinguish themselves; theyʼre proud of themselves. Damn proud. Iʼm damn proud, too!

the end

---

Iʼm eagerly looking forward to working with Seattle narrators in March and during a soon to be posted April 12/13 narratorʼs workshop in New York (for information, contact Michele Cobb: michele@audiofilemagazine.com). And September in LA (tba). Additionally, looking forward to participating on the Cracking The VoiceOver Code panel, Feb. 27th at the Museum of the Moving Image in New York, and on an APAC roundtable with some truly sublime storytellers.