Imagine standing among some of the kindest and most talented aspiring singers of your hometown – who helped with the equipment, and knew by heart how to hold you after the concert – as the voice of a cello emerges from behind you on the left and enters into conversation with a viola voice so salving that my late mother’s long service of care and sacrifice could finally be filed under unsuccessful practice.

The concert recording has been on my hard drive for over two years now. I tried to finish the spatial mix countless times, and, admittedly, that was a challenge. I had to overcome both technical and personal issues.

Deutsche Bahn made me two hours late, and we had less than thirty minutes left to set up eight microphones on three different systems. I wasn’t able to set levels with the choir prior to the concert. Consequently, when I corrected the Zylia ZM-1 midway through, crackling almost ruined the signal. I apologise for that.

On a personal level, every time I listened to this beautiful performance, I vividly remembered that special evening, and I found myself emotionally affected. I lacked the inner distance required to work professionally as an audio engineer. One needs to listen carefully for just a few parameters. They are more technical than we might think: easy to name, hard to identify. Balance. Tonality. Spatiality.

Only when I turned the room hard on the yaw axis all the way to the left, did the headlocked binaural downmix hold together; only then did the piece stop asking myself to be repaired. It started giving testimony: the cello left behind me, where my late father had always preferred the last row of the cello section, the viola at the centre where my mother’s practice had found its proper filing cabinet. The choir became what they were all that evening: not just singers, but attentive listeners.

Did I find a balance between the instruments and voices that would support the conductor’s interpretation? Above all, did I treat the composer’s intent with due respect?