Reeling Backwards

The Voice. The Voice. Everyone tells me I have a good voice. I like the sound of my voice when I hear myself speak, although I’m less impressed when I hear it on tape. Still, the couple of times I have made voicereels – firstly with the unimpressive London Academy, then with Cut Glass – it has seemed that while my range may be limited, something lurks in my chest and larynx that can be used in some commercial and dramatic settings.

So I Googled voicereels and came up with a surprisingly short list of studios in London that create them, usually compiling six or so samples in different settings complete with atmospheric music. After some deliberation I chose Round Island, persuaded partly by price (£325 for two reels, commercial and drama), partly by location (on my side of the city and easily accessible) and partly by the apparent professionalism of Guy Michaels, the producer.

Yes, Guy had hundreds of scripts; no, it sounded to me, he wouldn’t let me use them. Producers and agents were tired of being given the same texts again and again, he said, put together by studios that just wanted to hustle their clients in and out. If I wanted to stand out from the crowd, I should choose my own scripts to match my talents and voice.

Naturally lazy, I at first resisted. But I respected the underlying principle and after going through dozens of plays and books and radio and television ads I came up with more than twenty extracts from which I expected to use about ten. And on 13 December I took the 141 bus to its final stop and walked the short distance to the home of Round Island, arriving a few minutes before the appointed hour of 10am.

I had Streetviewed the address and seen a suburban house, but knew it was possible to set up a professional small studio and recording booth in a spare bedroom, although not the size of the one pictured . . . I was not prepared for a microphone in the corner of a kitchen/living-room with what I had assumed was two squares of felt, but which, I have been informed, were two pieces of 'auralex pro foam panels positioned for optimum ambience and deadening along with SE electronics reflexion filter pro' behind it to act as baffles, and a mere keyboard and computer where I had expected a full sound deck. As I sat down for coffee and began chatting with Guy the fridge hummed a few feet away and traffic rumbled in the distance. Surely these would affect the quality of any recording?

But I have almost no experience in sound recording and the website and my previous contacts with Guy had reassured me, so I silenced my doubts and we started work. First I read through the pieces I had brought to let Guy select the ones that would work best. I would have liked more time to choose and experiment, but Guy wanted to start recording.

The time passed quickly. Guy pushed me to try different variations in each of the texts I was working with, which ranged from selling coffee seductively to going mad in Ionesco’s Rhinoceros. To my surprise, shortly after 1pm he announced we had finished, but we had put together the requisite number of extracts and my presence was no longer needed. Like a child allowed early out of class, tired (I was in the middle of mild flu which, fortunately, had not affected my voice) and with a desk at home full of other tasks that I was eager to get on with, I took my leave.

At the weekend, the recordings arrived in my inbox, both the individual extracts and the two compilations. Busy with parties and the filming of The Players, I did not open it. Monday brought an audition, a rehearsal and Christmas shopping. Tuesday was the Other Half’s day off and we spent it together shopping and lazing. It was only on Wednesday that I heard the recordings. And almost wept.

The voice that I heard was slow, unintelligent and mind-numbingly boring, the Scots accent inauthentic in one extract, laughable in another. The music used is minimal and to my mind routine (Guy had said that he did not use pre-recorded sounds but created his own).

Compared with the voicereels I had made earlier, I expected a leap forward. What came across to me was a leap backward. There was no way I could respect myself and still use them.

Aware that I am a harsh critic and I might be making a mistake, I sent out the recordings to friends and colleagues. Two said the quality was excellent, one said he couldn’t stop laughing; most said they were “all right”. But “all right” isn’t good enough. If it isn’t generally perceived to be excellent, it isn’t worth using.

I don’t blame Guy for this fiasco – although I think his claim to professionalism is on shaky ground. I blame myself. I should have researched the options better. I should have refused to record in what seemed to me such an amateurish setting. I should have insisted on hearing the tapes I had made, instead of accepting Guy’s opinion as he listened on his headphones. I should have stayed and rerecorded and rerecorded until I got to the level that I was happy with. And if I did not reach that level, I would have said to myself that I did not have what it takes to be a voiceover artist. Then I would have walked away, having lost money but gained experience. In short, I should have trusted myself, not a stranger in his living-room.

Now I have to start all over again. I have to find a truly professional studio and I go there with a professional attitude. I need to listen to myself as I record. I need to agree the music / sound effects with the producer. In short, I need to go forward, not back. Only then can I decide if I can be a voiceover artist. And if the answer is no, I can’t, at least I will know that my money has been well spent.