When Everything Goes Wrong

I’m writing this from a place of complete exhaustion and disappointment. Saturday, December 14th, 10am—the day I was supposed to capture something magical in a disused Point Richmond train tunnel. The day that was supposed to validate everything Panama Sound stands for: capturing authentic performances in natural spaces with professional gear and careful preparation.

Instead, it became a masterclass in Murphy’s Law.

What I Forgot

XLR cables.

I forgot the goddamn XLR cables.

I packed everything the night before. The Fostex FR-2LE field recorder. The backup H4n. The KSM44s in their shockproof aluminum cases with those expensive German windscreens. The backup FEL EM272 mics with Primo capsules from Japan. The fifty-pound Latch Lake stand. The Xtra-Boom arms. The freshly charged Eneloop Pro batteries. I was wearing the Panama Sound hoodie, ready to rep the studio.

Everything was perfect.

Except I left the XLR cables—the literal connection between the microphones and the recorder—sitting on my desk.

What Actually Happened

My BTS crew showed up an hour and a half late. I should’ve booked the session for noon, it was rough on me too. The tunnel was colder and windier …and muddier than I remembered. Everyone was shivering. It was the Venturi-effect, no wind outside the tunnel, but somehow there was a pressure differential caused by the tunnel and ambient temperature outside.

With no XLR cables, I had to fall back on the H4n with its built-in mics and a windscreen—a perfectly capable backup recorder, but not the professional, pristine capture I’d envisioned.

My arm got tired from holding the recorder aloft for take after take, but I held it anyway. The reverb wasn’t as long as I remembered—memory is a liar when you’re emotionally invested. And then, mid-session, a train started slowly approaching and we had to grab everything and run out of the tunnel.

It was chaos. Total mess.

The Shape Note Singers

Let me back up and explain why this hurt so much.

I met the Shape Note singers at the Pub in Albany a few weeks ago as a quartet, though I learned they’re more of a super-group with rotating members. I was enjoying a pilsner when their voices bounced off the storefronts and echoed into my ears during golden hour. I followed the sound to a driveway between small-business offices as the sun was setting.

They were singing from an 1850s hymnal—old-style Appalachian hymns, the kind with force and character. When I asked them about reverence, they told me they were irreverent. I loved that. This old town needs people gathering to sing anything, and these folks had pipes.

I offered to record them track-by-track at Panama Sound, but they refused—they needed to sing together. That’s when I remembered the train tunnel in Point Richmond, with its massive natural reverb. The local train yard occasionally backs up cars there when they run out of room, but it’s rare. It was perfect.

Or it should have been.

The Preparation

I did everything right on paper:

• Primary recorder: Fostex FR-2LE field memory recorder
• Backup recorder: Zoom H4n
• Primary mics: Pair of KSM44s (omnidirectional, clean capture)
• Backup mics: Pair of FEL EM272s with Primo capsules
• Power: Eight Panasonic Eneloop Pro AA NiMH batteries, freshly charged
• Backup power: Eight Non-pro Eneloop batteries of the same kind.
• Support: Fifty-pound Latch Lake 1100 stand (extends to 10 feet) with Xtra-Boom arms
• Misc: Pliers, gaff tape, flashlights
• BTS crew: I was going to have a photographer, videographer and roadie, but that just about all fell through.
• Logistics: No money exchanged, just drinks and sandwiches for the crew

Just one of my BTS crew showed up… the photographer, she took some photos and left. I don’t blame her, it was quite cold. Fortunately, the Shape Note Singers helped me lug gear through the mud.

And I forgot the XLR cables.

What This Means

I’m sitting here a few days later, too depressed to even finish writing this post properly. The recording exists. It’s something. The H4n is a capable recorder, and I did my best to position it correctly despite my arm screaming at me to lower it.

But this wasn’t the pristine, professional field recording I envisioned. This wasn’t the demonstration of Panama Sound’s capabilities in challenging locations. This was a stressed-out engineer with backup gear and shivering singers and a train bearing down on us.

The Lessons (Because There Have to Be Lessons)

This is where Kaizen forces me to face reality:

1. Checklist Everything: I thought packing the night before was enough. It’s not. I need a physical checklist that I check twice—once when packing, once before leaving.
2. Cable Management is Non-Negotiable: XLR cables should live in the same case as the field recorder. Period. They should be attached if possible.
3. Scout Locations Twice: My memory of the reverb length was wrong. I should have gone back to the tunnel closer to the recording date to verify the acoustics and check for train schedules.
4. Buffer Time for Crew: If someone says they’ll be there at 10am, assume 11:30am and plan accordingly. Or just schedule it at a more amenable time.
5. Backup Plans Need Backups: The H4n was my backup plan. But I should have had a third option—I guess I could’ve gaff-taped the pair FEL EM272s to the Latch Lake stand, but I was too flustered and frustrated for that to even occur to me.

Wabi-Sabi vs. Actual Failure

Here’s where I’m struggling: Wabi-sabi celebrates imperfection and transience, but there’s a difference between organic imperfection that adds humanity and technical failure that compromises the work.

A breath sound in a vocal take? Wabi-sabi.
A timing push when the drummer gets excited? Wabi-sabi.
Forgetting the fundamental cable that connects your professional mics to your professional recorder? That’s just failure.

I can dress it up as “embracing the moment” or “working with what you have,” but the truth is I failed to execute on the level I hold myself to. The singers deserved better. The project deserved better.

What Now?

I have the recordings from the H4n. They’re not bad—the H4n is a solid field recorder, and the tunnel still provided natural reverb. But they’re not what I promised myself or the singers.

Options:

1. Use what I have: Mix the H4n recordings as best I can, embrace the lo-fi character, and release something that documents the moment even if it’s not technically pristine.
2. Return to the tunnel: Ask the singers if they’d be willing to do it again, this time with proper preparation, proper crew coordination, and—most importantly—XLR cables.
3. Offer studio recording: Come back to my original offer to record them track-by-track at Panama Sound, where I have complete control over the environment and gear.

I’m leaning toward option 2, but I need to sit with this disappointment a little longer before I reach out. I don’t want to ask them to relive a cold, chaotic morning in a Venturi-tube just because I screwed up.

The Bigger Picture

This failure stings because Panama Sound is built on the promise of professionalism, preparation, and capturing authentic moments. I dropped the ball on preparation, which compromised the professionalism, which put the authentic moment at risk.

But Kaizen—continuous improvement—demands that I learn from this, document it, and never make the same mistake again. So here it is, documented in full, embarrassing detail.

Checklist for Future Field Recordings:

□ Primary recorder
□ Backup recorder
□ Primary microphones
□ Backup microphones
□ XLR cables (×2 for stereo recording)
□ Windscreens
□ Mic stands and boom arms
□ Batteries (primary + backup)
□ Headphones for monitoring
□ Pliers, gaff tape, and flashlights
□ Scout location within 48 hours of recording
□ Confirm crew arrival time with 90-minute buffer
□ Check train schedule
□ Bring extra jackets for crew
□ Bring drinks and food for crew

If I do this again—and I will—I’ll be ready.

To the Shape Note singers: I’m sorry. You deserved the full professional treatment, and I came up short. If you’re willing to give me another shot, I’ll do it right.

To myself: You’re allowed to fail. You’re not allowed to repeat the same failure twice. That’s the difference between Wabi-sabi and incompetence.

Now I need to sit in this disappointment for a bit, then get back to work.

Vibe Is King. Even when the king forgets his damn cables.