BLUE "Dragonfly" Microphones. Awesome Sound from a Hip Condenser.
The Stereo Times, December 2000
When microphone maestro Martins Salunsparens delivered a virtually matched pair of hisnew DRAGONFLY microphones to Casa BluePort, a moment's glance inside theirimpressive cartons told the story. The unusual 40-volt powered BLUE [Baltic LatvianUniversal Electronics] Dragonfly microphone is not only one of the most eye-catchingmicrophones a recording engineer can throw in front of a band (and their oglingonlookers). It has a sound all its own ... which, in this case, is fantastic. I will avoidverbal descriptions of the microphone's classic, eccentric appearance. A photo or two isall it takes to show you a Radio Shack pipe bomb. The Dragonfly floats like ahummingbird and stings like a howitzer.
Because I am bored by equipment reviews that tease you into reading their whole span inorder to get to a desired sonic bottom line, I'll let you cross the review's finish line righ there.
The Dragonfly is an awesome microphone. It is not a panacea for all recording problems.Aside from the glorious DPA 4003 and its mystical kins, what microphone can solveevery difficult task a recording person faces? But the littlest, least expensive of themicrophones in the BLUE line-up carries a long sonic reach ... and it packs a musicalpunch that is up to any well-chosen placement that a recording cat with good ears andastute experience can toss at it.
Let me start right there: "reach." Not enough is written or discussed about this mostmysterious aspect of microphone pick up work. In a nutshell, some mics seem to extendthemselves way out into space and "dial in" an off-axis or otherwise seemingly distantinstrument. The unrivaled DPA 4003 [formerly B & K 4003] microphone, in its full omniglory (with its valuable nose cone adapter in place), is a perfect instance of "microphonereach." Any recordist who has concerns about the on-axis placement of a giveninstrument — or musician ... this is especially a concern during live recordings — willfind a brilliant "hedge" in his favor by using such a microphone. Recording engineersneed all the hedges and back door benefits they can muster. There is no place better tostart accumulating such recording-savers than with your choice of microphones. My first on location use of the Dragonfly mics was a stern test of their mettle. I wasbrought up to the paradisiacal near ocean outback of San Juan Capistrano for a high-octane joyride with Alex Acuna's Latin Jazz All Stars. These eight musicians are not laidback lounge loafers. You will never experience more musical fire and acoustic force full-in-the-chops than Acuna's hilarious pandemonium throws at you. Let me list the heart of this line up: Luis Eric (from Cuba), trumpet; Arturo Velasco,trombone; Pedro Eustache, sax and flute; Joe Rotundi, keyboards; Tiki Passilas, timbalesand percussion; and, of course, perhaps the finest Latin percussionist of them all, AlexAcuna (a rhythmic dynamo, a lyrical fire engine). The outdoor event took place in front of a beautiful fountain, inside a majestic courtyardwith good acoustics, with a sold out crowd under the full Harvest moon. If you care aboutromance and the insistent erotic surge of Latin music, this was a night for the ages. The band was spread across the entire span of a ninety foot wide stage. Despite suchwidth, percussion instruments congested the stage front. My microphone placement forrecording had to compete with the spatial congestion of instrument set up and with house microphones — often a first priority for promoters, since their concert or music seriesdepends upon keeping their subscription fan base happy with sound and uncluttered sightlines. An on location recording cat has to roll with a number of punches. Sometimes youcan be rolled right out of the sweet spots you need.
I was fortunate on this occasion. The promoter is a very intelligent, well-educated mansympathetic to each part of his venue's complex equation. The house soundman is hip andsavvy. He was extremely helpful. I need to take these folks with me wherever I go. My first challenge was to get the high SPL (sound pressure level) impact of Alex'sexplosive drumkit and his low moaning "cajon" (that wonderful box, with a rear port, onwhich its player sits in order to bang and rub and bong its hollow cavity from the frontand top). My next target was to capture Tiki Pasillas's immense timbales power withoutlosing its quick attack and wide dynamic range. Ditto the conga's rhythmic authority.Alex Acuna's band builds its music from the volcanic ground of such rhythmic eruptions.
I chose the BLUE Dragonflies to record timbales and congas. I'd not yet used thesehippest-looking of all mics, but I had high hopes that they would not only cooperate theirfirst time out ... but that they would excel.
The band's three horn front line was under the recording witness of several Audio-Technica large diaphragm microphones. Over the years I have had extraordinarily goodexperiences with those pieces and I knew they would be challenged to the max by threehigh-powered musicians.
I was right. The evening was musically memorable in several ways. Not only was itstunning visually; not only was the throng eager and enthusiastic; but Alex Acuna'smadcap masters of Latin energy and beauty enchanted themselves into a perfect groove.From the opening song, all the way through a one-hour first set that lasted an hour andthree-quarters, the eight musicians played at and off one another. When that spirit ofplayful abandon and lighthearted interaction takes place, you are in for a wild musicalride. We were. Luis Eric was a brilliant maniac on trumpet. Arturo Velasco tossed offmore ideas than any ‘bone player since (maybe) Frank Rosolino. And provacateurextraordinaire Pedro Eustache goaded, growled, bleated, wailed, crooned and inspired hison stage colleagues. While such divine intoxication unfolded out front, back behind theensemble (dead in the center of the action), percussion master Alex Acuna churned thewhole boiling rumble into a perfect lather.
When I returned to my studio, I knew we had three hours of vital and memorable music.The second set's one hour extended to an uproarious hour and a half. What I did not knowwas how the Dragonflies had executed their debut assignment. I'd had no doubt about them. One long conversation with their designer, MartinsSalunsparens, is enough to convince anyone in advance that this soulful man knows whatmusic is — knows how to craft microphones that are "musical" and, in his own modestbut tenacious way, is a recording engineer's. I was correct about all that. From the first high hat strike and conga thump at the outset ofthe opening number of the first set, I knew we were in a great sonic place. On playback,one hears sonic warts that are obscured by the high sound levels that swirl through livevenues. When, on playback, I heard the authority of Tiki's timbales — a clattering, manicsound of brilliant frenzy — I knew that the Dragonfly had done its job in spades. Whenthe deep voiced boom of the conga and the high-pitched thwacks of its neighboringbongo all called out proudly and perfectly, I felt justified in pledging such important work to the newcomers in my microphone arsenal.
Seldom will one specific microphone define the sound of a recording since mostrecordings are a blend of many microphones. A crucial exception is a vocal recording inwhich the vocal "star" is placed front and center and given presence boost in order toshape an intimate, centrally-defined mood.
In such applications, the choice of vocal mic, and all of its ancillary equipment (tube micpreamp, compression, reverb, et. al.), becomes extremely important. I have yet to use theDragonfly as a vocal microphone, but its uncanny ability to dial in the zip and sizzle ofthe percussion instruments it faced was more than impressive. This is, of course,precisely where the issue of "microphone reach" that I alluded to earlier takes place inearnest. Let me enumerate.
Reach, such as I have in mind, has everything to do with a mic's ability to capture thefragile (potentially brittle) sonic range from 1K 50 or so up through 5K. In fact, the wayin which a particular microphone that owns significant "reach" shapes that region — or issensitive to some portion of it — defines the degree and the kind of "reach" that it has. Ihave not measured the Dragonfly but it is my sense that its "reach" is centered at about2K 25 or so. It carries a fairly gentle (slowly building) peak, but the sonic "presence" thatI hear from this mic is intriguing because it inscribes a somewhat dark instrumentalproximity even as the center of its reach is well above a piano's middle C. This may turnout to be the case with vocals, too.
The interesting thing about such sonic shaping is that, while a mic like this will tend tohave a fairly broad reach away from its immediate "territory," and while it will (also)have a tendency toward useful off-axis signal shaping, it will create random opportunities(and difficulties) for its user. Such a reach sometimes invites useful (and unwanted) sonic"bleed." Because much of my recording work cannot avoid bleed, because I now dependon bleed as part of the sonic signature I strive for, the tendency of the Dragonfly to inviteor attract bleed seems fortuitous.
This issue has another side as well. "Reach" brings with it sometimes unpredictableproximity effects. If you place a mic with awesome reach quite close to an instrument (ora vocalist) you may find troublesome sonic shadows or a boomy, boxy reinforcement at aspecific spectral point. While I have not yet had an opportunity to scope out the variantsof such proximity effects, and other related anomalies, I am certain that the Dragonfly isone hell of an interesting microphone. Its inherent sonic signature is, if not precisely"complex," nonetheless eccentric in just those ways that give a mic character.
The Dragonfly is certainly that: a permanent sonic friend with skads of character. Thismic allows its user to experiment, adjust, maneuver and manipulate its placement inevery imaginable way in search of just those off-axis and slight tilts or angles of approachthat impart a sonic edge ... that lend a recording its most musical results. If you believe that I respect this mic, you are right. If you think that I love eccentricmicrophones that carry their own, perhaps mysterious, signature ... right again. Let mereaffirm this microphone's character. The Dragonfly is one of those special tools that onlocation recording engineers never have enough of tucked within their leather bags andplastic storage bins. I cannot enumerate the number of times that I would have beenassisted with recording dilemmas if I had had this magnificent and flexible microphonewith me.
While few microphones can be designated "classics" — and I have alluded already to one of those: the DPA 4003 — the Dragonfly mic belongs to another, no less crucial, rubric:Microphones that Sing. Give me six songful microphones, like the pair I have to work with here, and I believe Ican record any orchestra in the world just the way I want to hear it, if you give meenough time to hang and thrust them into the appropriate (sometimes counter-intuitive)positions ... as long as the six songful instruments I have to work with are the two I've gotalready and another four Dragonfly monster slayers.
Jim Merod's A PRO'S POINT OF VIEW is a regular feature of Stereo Times. Jim'srecording gear can be found alongside other articles that he has posted here, includinghis recent review of the Tascam 24-bit DAT recorder.