IN TRUDER IN MY ARMS: STRESSED-OUT MOTHERS (Part 1)
WHEN I LAST DELVED
Into the culture of pregnancy and motherhood some 20 years ago, Americans were engaged in a widespread critique of the medical establishment. Women were rejecting a passive role in childbirth and affirming the value of women's instincts and collective wisdom. They challenged routine procedures such as the episiotomy, the use of pain-killing drugs, and the use of forceps, which sometimes resulted in damage to the newborn.
This was the era of the natural childbirth movement. Some babies were born at home, and some under water with strains of Bach in the background. The father became an important partner in the birth process, joining the mom for training in Lamaze, for lessons in breastfeeding (La Leche League), and then in the delivery room. The best way is FBA with Amazon.
Peggy Vincent was one of the childbirth revolutionaries. Trained as a nurse in the 1960s, she decided to become a midwife after watching a women in labor resist painkillers and bed confinement until both were pressed on her by hospital staff.
CLAD IN HER BIRKENSTOCKS
And traveling around Berkeley, California, in her VW bug, Vincent shared the humor and tears of childbirth with lesbians, unmarried teens, Hare Krishnas, prostitutes and Christian Scientists. She tells the sometimes graphic stories of those births in Baby Catcher, defending along the way the expertise and intuition that midwives bring to pregnancy and childbirth.
After the ferment of the '70s, one might assume that women would no longer defer to technology or doctors, but would trust their own choices and instincts. From now on, medical "advances" would be evaluated by enlightened moms, dads and doctors, who together would decide on the mother and child's best interests. Right?
Wrong. It appears not all is well in America's obstetric clinics, nor with the women who frequent them. A bevy of books on pregnancy, delivery and motherhood chronicle the current generation's dismay, frustration and loneliness. Consider the titles: The Hidden Feelings of Motherhood: Coping with Stress, Depression and Burnout; The Mask of Motherhood: How Becoming a Mother Changes Everything and Why We Pretend it Doesn't; and Life After Birth: What Even Your Friends Won't Tell You About Motherhood.
THE JOURNEY TO MOTHERHOOD
The consistent theme among these authors is that they were unprepared for the challenges of pregnancy and motherhood. They did not expect the pain of labor, the frustration and humiliation of fertility procedures, the trauma of Cesarean surgery, the loss of their independence--or all of the above. These women seem to have great advantages when compared to women of previous generations or Third World countries or U.S. inner cities--access to the best medical help, committed husbands or partners, advanced educations, good health and economic comforts. Yet they are unhappy, shell-shocked and angry.
Naomi Wolf interviewed moms about their birth experiences and quotes them throughout her book, Misconceptions: Truth, Lies and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood.
"We should have been told [how bad it would be]."
"No one prepared me ... for the pain, for a forced march of exhaustion ... for the fact that nothing happened the way I had hoped in the hospital ..."
"I wish someone could have let me know I would lose my self in the process of becoming a mother ..."
THE CONCLUSION
Why is motherhood such a nasty surprise? Where does the deception come from--and who is to blame? Almost everyone, according to Wolf. A popular guest on radio and TV talk shows, she is known for her flamboyant critiques of American society, such as The Beauty Myth, an attack on the standards of beauty imposed on women.
In Misconceptions, Wolf assails the myth of the "effortlessly ever-giving mother." She warns that the myth keeps women "from negotiating what they need from their partners and society in order to mother well." When they can't get this help, mothers "sacrifice themselves in the process." Wolf shoots darts at those who've contributed to the myth: a book on pregnancy and childbirth, men who don't share in the responsibility and sacrifices, and "culture" in general.
Into the culture of pregnancy and motherhood some 20 years ago, Americans were engaged in a widespread critique of the medical establishment. Women were rejecting a passive role in childbirth and affirming the value of women's instincts and collective wisdom. They challenged routine procedures such as the episiotomy, the use of pain-killing drugs, and the use of forceps, which sometimes resulted in damage to the newborn.
This was the era of the natural childbirth movement. Some babies were born at home, and some under water with strains of Bach in the background. The father became an important partner in the birth process, joining the mom for training in Lamaze, for lessons in breastfeeding (La Leche League), and then in the delivery room. The best way is FBA with Amazon.
Peggy Vincent was one of the childbirth revolutionaries. Trained as a nurse in the 1960s, she decided to become a midwife after watching a women in labor resist painkillers and bed confinement until both were pressed on her by hospital staff.
CLAD IN HER BIRKENSTOCKS
And traveling around Berkeley, California, in her VW bug, Vincent shared the humor and tears of childbirth with lesbians, unmarried teens, Hare Krishnas, prostitutes and Christian Scientists. She tells the sometimes graphic stories of those births in Baby Catcher, defending along the way the expertise and intuition that midwives bring to pregnancy and childbirth.
After the ferment of the '70s, one might assume that women would no longer defer to technology or doctors, but would trust their own choices and instincts. From now on, medical "advances" would be evaluated by enlightened moms, dads and doctors, who together would decide on the mother and child's best interests. Right?
Wrong. It appears not all is well in America's obstetric clinics, nor with the women who frequent them. A bevy of books on pregnancy, delivery and motherhood chronicle the current generation's dismay, frustration and loneliness. Consider the titles: The Hidden Feelings of Motherhood: Coping with Stress, Depression and Burnout; The Mask of Motherhood: How Becoming a Mother Changes Everything and Why We Pretend it Doesn't; and Life After Birth: What Even Your Friends Won't Tell You About Motherhood.
THE JOURNEY TO MOTHERHOOD
The consistent theme among these authors is that they were unprepared for the challenges of pregnancy and motherhood. They did not expect the pain of labor, the frustration and humiliation of fertility procedures, the trauma of Cesarean surgery, the loss of their independence--or all of the above. These women seem to have great advantages when compared to women of previous generations or Third World countries or U.S. inner cities--access to the best medical help, committed husbands or partners, advanced educations, good health and economic comforts. Yet they are unhappy, shell-shocked and angry.
Naomi Wolf interviewed moms about their birth experiences and quotes them throughout her book, Misconceptions: Truth, Lies and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood.
"We should have been told [how bad it would be]."
"No one prepared me ... for the pain, for a forced march of exhaustion ... for the fact that nothing happened the way I had hoped in the hospital ..."
"I wish someone could have let me know I would lose my self in the process of becoming a mother ..."
THE CONCLUSION
Why is motherhood such a nasty surprise? Where does the deception come from--and who is to blame? Almost everyone, according to Wolf. A popular guest on radio and TV talk shows, she is known for her flamboyant critiques of American society, such as The Beauty Myth, an attack on the standards of beauty imposed on women.
In Misconceptions, Wolf assails the myth of the "effortlessly ever-giving mother." She warns that the myth keeps women "from negotiating what they need from their partners and society in order to mother well." When they can't get this help, mothers "sacrifice themselves in the process." Wolf shoots darts at those who've contributed to the myth: a book on pregnancy and childbirth, men who don't share in the responsibility and sacrifices, and "culture" in general.
IN TRUDER IN MY ARMS: STRESSED-OUT MOTHERS (Part 2)
EPIDURALS AND EPISIOTOMIES ARE STANDARD FARE AGAIN
Wolf performs one service in this otherwise blustery and egocentric book: she alerts us to dangerous trends in the obstetrical business. In the well-heeled urban clinics like the one that Wolf and her husband chose, she is surprised to find none of the innovations of the '70s. There are no midwives assisting, no birthing chairs and no soft lights. Fetal monitors--the belts that were criticized for restricting the movement of the laboring mother--are back not for the baby's safety, but because they protect doctors from lawsuits. It would seem that while medical facilities are offering state-of-the-art technology and efficiency, they are again doing so at the expense of the mother and child's well-being.
Another alarming fact is the large number of Cesarean births. The overall rate in the U.S. is one in four, but in some private hospitals it is close to one in two. Wolf contends that doctors and hospitals make more money on Cesareans, and that they are geared for high-tech deliveries, not for providing hands-on assistance in natural childbirth.
While she places responsibility for this crisis on the professionals and institutions, Wolf admits that some women are choosing Cesarean delivery. They see it--a major misconception--as more convenient than natural labor, or less painful, or less messy. Other physicians are struggling to alert women to the seriousness of the surgery.
THE THINGS WOLF DON'T WANT
Unfortunately, Wolf also shares her own experience in this book, and her self-absorption weakens her critique. Though Wolf bewails the retreat from natural childbirth, for example, she also admits that she and her husband didn't explore natural childbirth for themselves because they weren't up to its "extreme requirements of courage and faith." It's unpersuasive to hear Wolf bemoan the extinction of a movement that she can't support personally.
Wolf's tale of becoming a mom is full of herself (her husband is seldom mentioned) and the disappointments of pregnancy. She suffers severe morning sickness. She is embarrassed in exercise class by her awkwardness and extra weight. She finds Lamaze classes silly and degrading. Her colleagues are condescending. Wolf sees herself cast down from her fulfilling and stimulating life as author and media personality to the low echelon of mommiehood.
After a traumatic and unexpected Cesarean, Wolf, husband and healthy daughter move to the suburbs, where she is dismayed by her sudden isolation. Because she doesn't drive, she meets only other "displaced" moms in the subdivision, most of them also devastated by the loss of their professional lives and weary from the adjustment to parenthood. Many are in postpartum depression. And their husbands, with the privilege of leaving each day to pursue their professions without interruption, are becoming outsiders.
WOLF RELIES ON ONE ADVICE BOOK
Then blames it for faulty information. Aren't there any books that offer straight information about Cesarians, about adjusting to a baby, about the challenges a baby places or/marriage? (I found a list on line at Mothering magazine, the heir to the natural childbirth movement.) Were there no family members to share experiences and guide Wolf through hers? Did she really not expect any dramatic changes in her life?
The chief value of Misconceptions is not as an indictment of the medical establishment, the workplace or the culture, as Wolf supposes, but as an inadvertent but arresting report on the fragile state of the families being formed by young professionals. While they have been able to achieve much in a professional world, which supplies a social life as well as career, they seem not to have developed the capacities for family life.
They seem never to have learned about sewing, gardening, cooking or puttering--the "soft" activities that can make home a comfortable and welcome place instead of a prison of isolation. They may have prepared the occasional gourmet meal for 12, and can find the best price for a Club Med vacation, but they have never prepared three meals a day, or abandoned the gym for walks through the neighborhood. Without a habit of being at home, the mayhem of a toddler lunchtime or the tedium of a rainy day makes a day at work look like rescue--while home is only a punishment.
Wolf performs one service in this otherwise blustery and egocentric book: she alerts us to dangerous trends in the obstetrical business. In the well-heeled urban clinics like the one that Wolf and her husband chose, she is surprised to find none of the innovations of the '70s. There are no midwives assisting, no birthing chairs and no soft lights. Fetal monitors--the belts that were criticized for restricting the movement of the laboring mother--are back not for the baby's safety, but because they protect doctors from lawsuits. It would seem that while medical facilities are offering state-of-the-art technology and efficiency, they are again doing so at the expense of the mother and child's well-being.
Another alarming fact is the large number of Cesarean births. The overall rate in the U.S. is one in four, but in some private hospitals it is close to one in two. Wolf contends that doctors and hospitals make more money on Cesareans, and that they are geared for high-tech deliveries, not for providing hands-on assistance in natural childbirth.
While she places responsibility for this crisis on the professionals and institutions, Wolf admits that some women are choosing Cesarean delivery. They see it--a major misconception--as more convenient than natural labor, or less painful, or less messy. Other physicians are struggling to alert women to the seriousness of the surgery.
THE THINGS WOLF DON'T WANT
Unfortunately, Wolf also shares her own experience in this book, and her self-absorption weakens her critique. Though Wolf bewails the retreat from natural childbirth, for example, she also admits that she and her husband didn't explore natural childbirth for themselves because they weren't up to its "extreme requirements of courage and faith." It's unpersuasive to hear Wolf bemoan the extinction of a movement that she can't support personally.
Wolf's tale of becoming a mom is full of herself (her husband is seldom mentioned) and the disappointments of pregnancy. She suffers severe morning sickness. She is embarrassed in exercise class by her awkwardness and extra weight. She finds Lamaze classes silly and degrading. Her colleagues are condescending. Wolf sees herself cast down from her fulfilling and stimulating life as author and media personality to the low echelon of mommiehood.
After a traumatic and unexpected Cesarean, Wolf, husband and healthy daughter move to the suburbs, where she is dismayed by her sudden isolation. Because she doesn't drive, she meets only other "displaced" moms in the subdivision, most of them also devastated by the loss of their professional lives and weary from the adjustment to parenthood. Many are in postpartum depression. And their husbands, with the privilege of leaving each day to pursue their professions without interruption, are becoming outsiders.
WOLF RELIES ON ONE ADVICE BOOK
Then blames it for faulty information. Aren't there any books that offer straight information about Cesarians, about adjusting to a baby, about the challenges a baby places or/marriage? (I found a list on line at Mothering magazine, the heir to the natural childbirth movement.) Were there no family members to share experiences and guide Wolf through hers? Did she really not expect any dramatic changes in her life?
The chief value of Misconceptions is not as an indictment of the medical establishment, the workplace or the culture, as Wolf supposes, but as an inadvertent but arresting report on the fragile state of the families being formed by young professionals. While they have been able to achieve much in a professional world, which supplies a social life as well as career, they seem not to have developed the capacities for family life.
They seem never to have learned about sewing, gardening, cooking or puttering--the "soft" activities that can make home a comfortable and welcome place instead of a prison of isolation. They may have prepared the occasional gourmet meal for 12, and can find the best price for a Club Med vacation, but they have never prepared three meals a day, or abandoned the gym for walks through the neighborhood. Without a habit of being at home, the mayhem of a toddler lunchtime or the tedium of a rainy day makes a day at work look like rescue--while home is only a punishment.
IN TRUDER IN MY ARMS: STRESSED-OUT MOTHERS (Part 3)
ALLISON PEARSON GIVES
The stressed-out modern family a farcical spin in How Does She Do It? The heroine of the novel, Kate Reddy, is a savvy 35-year-old hedge-fund manager who is also trying to manage the "complications" of a husband and two small children. Kate can outsell her peers at work, but at home she hides in the bathroom to avoid facing her one-year-old's tears when she leaves on another business trip.
Pearson, wife of New Yorker film critic Anthony Lane, seems to have conceived How Does She Do It? with a movie in mind, and sure enough, Miramax films has bought the rights to the script. Kate is the A-track twin of Bridget Jones: more organized, more sophisticated and more nearly crazy. As the book opens, Kate is in the kitchen in the middle of the night, intentionally "distressing" store-bought mincemeat pies with a rolling pin. Her weary husband--from a safe distance--asks why. To make them look homemade for the bake sale at her daughter's school, she retorts. It's a fine moment, and there are lots of these in the book.
Kate should be played by an actress who can do justice to a leather jacket, pencil skirt and gel-and-go haircut. But behind the scenes, Kate wears not sexy lingerie but a "Gap XXXL T-shirt with a dachshund motif." She mutters that her generation of women has gone from "sex but no work" to "work and no sex." Her relationship with her husband consists of him watching as she races in or out of the house, and tolerating, at least for the moment, her barbed criticism of his domestic efforts. Kate is witty, competent and conscientious, but she's also a Barbie doll run amuck, a fantasy of a woman who is "doing it all" and losing it all.
LIKE WOLF, SANDRA STEINGRABER OVERVIEW
I savored Kate's humorous one-liners, because behind them were sharp insights into parenting, marriage and women's professional lives. Kate knows what she's missing, and thinks wistfully and wisely about the beauty of her marriage and her family. At the center of her domestic-professional crisis is the same dark reality revealed in Wolf's book: many families are living in a frantic spin that nourishes no one and threatens to unravel the thin fabric of family.
LIKE WOLF, Sandra Steingraber is an "older mom" who was well-established in her profession before she had her first child at age 39. Unlike Wolf, Steingraber welcomes the news of her pregnancy wholeheartedly. As an ecologist with a degree in biological research, she is fascinated to watch the adventure of human birth incarnated in her own body.
For Steingraber the natural world is a metaphor, and for the reader, the metaphors build an engaging story of human life. The spreading branches in a maple grove, for example, remind the author of the branches of cells that are sending nutrients and hormones to the human embryo.
SHE EXPLAINS ABOUT THIS
She tells each trimester in the life of the embryo by mixing its scientific "biography" with personal memoir, including the downsides of her experience. Steingraber reports on her straggles with morning sickness, on waiting for results of amniocentesis, and on mind-numbing postpartum fatigue:
Faith is the consumer, and I am the consumed. We sit down to breastfeed, and the world disappears, just out of reach. The newspaper sits unread, inches away, but I cannot quite reach it. As soon as the [milk] let-down hits, my mouth turns to ashes. The glass of water, too, is just out of reach. I call for Jeff, but he is down in the basement doing laundry. I now have tendonitis in my wrists from holding the baby to my breast.... There are supposed to be solutions for these kinds of problems, but the books ... are ... on the shelf. Just out of reach. The tea kettle starts its insane whistling, and there is nothing I can do about it. The phone rings ... I haven't taken a shower ...
The complaints are tempered by her biologist's curiosity, and the mix of memoir and scientific observation works. Her personal observations are sharp and literate; they keep a biological discourse from drifting into textbook monotony. Moms will identify, for example, with her well-remembered description of childbirthing pain.
Perhaps most significant about her book is that whereas other writers focus on what happened to them in their transition to motherhood, Steingraber focuses on what's happening to the baby, not only biologically but environmentally. She considers critical issues of polluted water and air, and their effect on a fetus. She looks up the chemical content of drinking water and checks on the effects of lead paint (her husband is a house painter and artist). She examines the hazards of living with agricultural pesticides. None of what she learns is good news. Our society is stealthily poisoning its own offspring.
GO TO THE END WITH MINAMATA
Steingraber cites the disasters of thalidomide in the U.S. and methyl mercury in Japan (Minamata), and presses for a zero tolerance of all environmental contaminants. "If our goal is to protect human embryos, we cannot afford to wait until we understand everything about how a chemical might inflict its damage." But that is exactly what we are doing with PAHs (carcinogens), which undermine fetal growth; with PCBs, which may trigger early labor; and with POPS (persistent organic pollutants), which pollute mother's breast milk.
We are inclined to listen to Steingraber because she also makes us laugh at the hard times in pregnancy, childbirth and parenting. We listen because she's endlessly curious about life around her, and because she holds sacred the bonds between herself, her husband and their child. Above all, we listen because she can articulate the depth of her joy for the gift of Faith's life, even at 2 A.M.:
Faith stares, mesmerized, at the nighttime sky.
"Moon sleeping?" she asks.
Yes, I say quickly.
"Frogs sleeping?" she asks.
Let's say yes.
"Rain sleeping?"
Yes, I suppose it is.
And then she lays her head on my shoulder and falls fast asleep.
I have never felt more surprised, more humbled, more blessed, more sad, more happy, more in love. Wide awake, I lean against the door and slide slowly down into a sitting position, watching the night's carnival, waiting, amazed, for the sun to rise.
The stressed-out modern family a farcical spin in How Does She Do It? The heroine of the novel, Kate Reddy, is a savvy 35-year-old hedge-fund manager who is also trying to manage the "complications" of a husband and two small children. Kate can outsell her peers at work, but at home she hides in the bathroom to avoid facing her one-year-old's tears when she leaves on another business trip.
Pearson, wife of New Yorker film critic Anthony Lane, seems to have conceived How Does She Do It? with a movie in mind, and sure enough, Miramax films has bought the rights to the script. Kate is the A-track twin of Bridget Jones: more organized, more sophisticated and more nearly crazy. As the book opens, Kate is in the kitchen in the middle of the night, intentionally "distressing" store-bought mincemeat pies with a rolling pin. Her weary husband--from a safe distance--asks why. To make them look homemade for the bake sale at her daughter's school, she retorts. It's a fine moment, and there are lots of these in the book.
Kate should be played by an actress who can do justice to a leather jacket, pencil skirt and gel-and-go haircut. But behind the scenes, Kate wears not sexy lingerie but a "Gap XXXL T-shirt with a dachshund motif." She mutters that her generation of women has gone from "sex but no work" to "work and no sex." Her relationship with her husband consists of him watching as she races in or out of the house, and tolerating, at least for the moment, her barbed criticism of his domestic efforts. Kate is witty, competent and conscientious, but she's also a Barbie doll run amuck, a fantasy of a woman who is "doing it all" and losing it all.
LIKE WOLF, SANDRA STEINGRABER OVERVIEW
I savored Kate's humorous one-liners, because behind them were sharp insights into parenting, marriage and women's professional lives. Kate knows what she's missing, and thinks wistfully and wisely about the beauty of her marriage and her family. At the center of her domestic-professional crisis is the same dark reality revealed in Wolf's book: many families are living in a frantic spin that nourishes no one and threatens to unravel the thin fabric of family.
LIKE WOLF, Sandra Steingraber is an "older mom" who was well-established in her profession before she had her first child at age 39. Unlike Wolf, Steingraber welcomes the news of her pregnancy wholeheartedly. As an ecologist with a degree in biological research, she is fascinated to watch the adventure of human birth incarnated in her own body.
For Steingraber the natural world is a metaphor, and for the reader, the metaphors build an engaging story of human life. The spreading branches in a maple grove, for example, remind the author of the branches of cells that are sending nutrients and hormones to the human embryo.
SHE EXPLAINS ABOUT THIS
She tells each trimester in the life of the embryo by mixing its scientific "biography" with personal memoir, including the downsides of her experience. Steingraber reports on her straggles with morning sickness, on waiting for results of amniocentesis, and on mind-numbing postpartum fatigue:
Faith is the consumer, and I am the consumed. We sit down to breastfeed, and the world disappears, just out of reach. The newspaper sits unread, inches away, but I cannot quite reach it. As soon as the [milk] let-down hits, my mouth turns to ashes. The glass of water, too, is just out of reach. I call for Jeff, but he is down in the basement doing laundry. I now have tendonitis in my wrists from holding the baby to my breast.... There are supposed to be solutions for these kinds of problems, but the books ... are ... on the shelf. Just out of reach. The tea kettle starts its insane whistling, and there is nothing I can do about it. The phone rings ... I haven't taken a shower ...
The complaints are tempered by her biologist's curiosity, and the mix of memoir and scientific observation works. Her personal observations are sharp and literate; they keep a biological discourse from drifting into textbook monotony. Moms will identify, for example, with her well-remembered description of childbirthing pain.
Perhaps most significant about her book is that whereas other writers focus on what happened to them in their transition to motherhood, Steingraber focuses on what's happening to the baby, not only biologically but environmentally. She considers critical issues of polluted water and air, and their effect on a fetus. She looks up the chemical content of drinking water and checks on the effects of lead paint (her husband is a house painter and artist). She examines the hazards of living with agricultural pesticides. None of what she learns is good news. Our society is stealthily poisoning its own offspring.
GO TO THE END WITH MINAMATA
Steingraber cites the disasters of thalidomide in the U.S. and methyl mercury in Japan (Minamata), and presses for a zero tolerance of all environmental contaminants. "If our goal is to protect human embryos, we cannot afford to wait until we understand everything about how a chemical might inflict its damage." But that is exactly what we are doing with PAHs (carcinogens), which undermine fetal growth; with PCBs, which may trigger early labor; and with POPS (persistent organic pollutants), which pollute mother's breast milk.
We are inclined to listen to Steingraber because she also makes us laugh at the hard times in pregnancy, childbirth and parenting. We listen because she's endlessly curious about life around her, and because she holds sacred the bonds between herself, her husband and their child. Above all, we listen because she can articulate the depth of her joy for the gift of Faith's life, even at 2 A.M.:
Faith stares, mesmerized, at the nighttime sky.
"Moon sleeping?" she asks.
Yes, I say quickly.
"Frogs sleeping?" she asks.
Let's say yes.
"Rain sleeping?"
Yes, I suppose it is.
And then she lays her head on my shoulder and falls fast asleep.
I have never felt more surprised, more humbled, more blessed, more sad, more happy, more in love. Wide awake, I lean against the door and slide slowly down into a sitting position, watching the night's carnival, waiting, amazed, for the sun to rise.
LETTERS (Part 1)
TAKE A LOOK AT "SWEET AND LOW"
Maureen Droney's article "Sweet and Low" (June 2004) was thorough and informative, but I'd like to add a couple of thoughts.
There could have been more discussion about phase issues. A small phase discrepancy can make a big difference to the bass sound. Some amplifiers and DI boxes may actually flip the phase of the signal, so when lining up tracks in a DAW it's important to watch for phase that is actually inverted, not just slightly misaligned. Most DAWs have a phase-inversion function that can correct this.
With multiple tracks in a DAW environment, one must also consider latency-induced phase shift from plug-in processors. To avoid phase problems, I usually track bass parts by using a miked amp and a DI box, busing both tracks to the same aux send, and using the same plug-ins on both tracks.
There could also have been some discussion of frequency "sweet spots" when mixing bass against a kick drum. For example, I usually try to "voice" the low end of the bass in the 80 to 128 Hz area while trying to voice the bass drum lower, say, in the 30 to 60 Hz region. That allows me to keep the bottom range of each instrument somewhat distinct in the mix.
Finally, a recording trick I use for creating a tough-sounding bass is to track a DI signal while miking the bass through a guitar combo amp that's set up to distort a bit. The amp track by itself sounds weird, but when it's mixed 15 to 20 dB lower than the DI track, it adds a nice presence that the DI tends to lack.
MAUREEN DRONEY'S ARTICLE
I hope this information is useful. Thanks again for a great article on an important subject. Jon Gordon Jon Gordon Music Production
Although I enjoyed Maureen Droney's article in the June 2004 issue on recording the electric bass, two words should be included in any such article: fretted and fretless. As a long-time studio bassist and personal-studio owner, I believe that failure to distinguish between those two types of electric basses is only slightly less egregious than a failure to distinguish between recording a Fender Strat and a Martin acoustic.
I've had the misfortune of playing fretless bass on sessions in which the engineer's sole concept of proper bass equalization was to use the classic "smiley face" curve. This may work fine for getting Motorhead's "Lemmy sound" or even the "Victor Wooten sound," but it is hardly appropriate for capturing the low- to midrange warmth that characterizes the sounds of fretless players such as Jaco Pastorius, Alain Caron, and Kai Eckhardt. Ideally, most of that sound comes from the instrument anyway, rather than the mixing board or preamp.
I believe that this article should have at least acknowledged the existence of fretless bass guitars. Alternatively, it could have been titled "Recording the Fretted Bass," or something along those lines. Bob Blount via email.
CONFERENCE ROOM
While I thought that Kevin Smith's "Desktop Musician" article "Conquering the DAW" (June 2004) was very helpful, I felt it overlooked the most helpful resource that I encountered in my own experience with DAWs.
The Digidesign Digi 001 was my first DAW. Although the Digidesign folks were very knowledgeable, the single most useful (and free) resource was the Digidesign User Conference ("DUC"). Not only did the DUC get me up and running on my Dell Pentium III/700 MHz PC, it also helped me build my current DAW on a $600 budget. My DAW is rock solid and can rival many DSP based systems.
The DUC is a core group of "regulars" who provide reliable support that is above and beyond that of any tech-support team I have ever experienced. It gives you a chance to help others with what you have learned and to make new friends around the globe. In fact, many musical partnerships are established within the DUC.
I imagine that there are similar user conferences out there for other DAWs that are just as helpful. I encourage newcomers to use this most valuable resource. Jerome Altschul via email.
Maureen Droney's article "Sweet and Low" (June 2004) was thorough and informative, but I'd like to add a couple of thoughts.
There could have been more discussion about phase issues. A small phase discrepancy can make a big difference to the bass sound. Some amplifiers and DI boxes may actually flip the phase of the signal, so when lining up tracks in a DAW it's important to watch for phase that is actually inverted, not just slightly misaligned. Most DAWs have a phase-inversion function that can correct this.
With multiple tracks in a DAW environment, one must also consider latency-induced phase shift from plug-in processors. To avoid phase problems, I usually track bass parts by using a miked amp and a DI box, busing both tracks to the same aux send, and using the same plug-ins on both tracks.
There could also have been some discussion of frequency "sweet spots" when mixing bass against a kick drum. For example, I usually try to "voice" the low end of the bass in the 80 to 128 Hz area while trying to voice the bass drum lower, say, in the 30 to 60 Hz region. That allows me to keep the bottom range of each instrument somewhat distinct in the mix.
Finally, a recording trick I use for creating a tough-sounding bass is to track a DI signal while miking the bass through a guitar combo amp that's set up to distort a bit. The amp track by itself sounds weird, but when it's mixed 15 to 20 dB lower than the DI track, it adds a nice presence that the DI tends to lack.
MAUREEN DRONEY'S ARTICLE
I hope this information is useful. Thanks again for a great article on an important subject. Jon Gordon Jon Gordon Music Production
Although I enjoyed Maureen Droney's article in the June 2004 issue on recording the electric bass, two words should be included in any such article: fretted and fretless. As a long-time studio bassist and personal-studio owner, I believe that failure to distinguish between those two types of electric basses is only slightly less egregious than a failure to distinguish between recording a Fender Strat and a Martin acoustic.
I've had the misfortune of playing fretless bass on sessions in which the engineer's sole concept of proper bass equalization was to use the classic "smiley face" curve. This may work fine for getting Motorhead's "Lemmy sound" or even the "Victor Wooten sound," but it is hardly appropriate for capturing the low- to midrange warmth that characterizes the sounds of fretless players such as Jaco Pastorius, Alain Caron, and Kai Eckhardt. Ideally, most of that sound comes from the instrument anyway, rather than the mixing board or preamp.
I believe that this article should have at least acknowledged the existence of fretless bass guitars. Alternatively, it could have been titled "Recording the Fretted Bass," or something along those lines. Bob Blount via email.
CONFERENCE ROOM
While I thought that Kevin Smith's "Desktop Musician" article "Conquering the DAW" (June 2004) was very helpful, I felt it overlooked the most helpful resource that I encountered in my own experience with DAWs.
The Digidesign Digi 001 was my first DAW. Although the Digidesign folks were very knowledgeable, the single most useful (and free) resource was the Digidesign User Conference ("DUC"). Not only did the DUC get me up and running on my Dell Pentium III/700 MHz PC, it also helped me build my current DAW on a $600 budget. My DAW is rock solid and can rival many DSP based systems.
The DUC is a core group of "regulars" who provide reliable support that is above and beyond that of any tech-support team I have ever experienced. It gives you a chance to help others with what you have learned and to make new friends around the globe. In fact, many musical partnerships are established within the DUC.
I imagine that there are similar user conferences out there for other DAWs that are just as helpful. I encourage newcomers to use this most valuable resource. Jerome Altschul via email.
LETTERS (Part 2)
ALONE AGAIN, NATURALLY
Thank you, Larry the O! I write children's musicals. I write alone, and I always have. I've never even considered collaborating. It was so encouraging to see you put those thoughts in print ("Final Mix: In Defense of the Lone Arranger," June 2004). I've heard more than once (from people who have neither seen nor heard my work) that my shows would be better with someone else's input.
I have long felt that having another hand in the mix wouldn't necessarily make the show better, just different. And different isn't necessarily better. Through my shows, I'm telling a story the way that I want to tell it, the way I want the audience to hear it. As you suggest, some people work best in collaboration, while others don't. The trick is to discover which type of artist you are.
It's strange that nobody ever suggests to an artist who paints portraits that he let someone else have a hand in his portrait. Kevin M. Reese KMR Scripts.
EARS GONE BYE
Bravo to EM for its recent article on what you can do to save your hearing, "Ears to You!" (May 2004). As a 55-year-old musician-producer who has recently suffered from tinnitus, I can only echo the good advice of Dr. Charles J. Limb and personally urge other musicians to give serious consideration to this urgent matter. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that you are invincible and it won't happen to you.
Tinnitus can take many forms, but for me it's like being in a room with a tea kettle that whistles for 24 hours a day. There are occasional brief interludes of blessed silence, but they are few and far between.
While I am not a crusader for preventing hearing loss, I encounter frustration in trying to caution young musicians about the dangers of high-volume music. I can totally relate, having been there and done that. For years, I stood in front of a cranked tube amp. Everything changed radically, however, in just one night. After going to a concert featuring a very loud Pink Floyd tribute band, my hearing was never the same, and I began hearing the constant high-pitched sound that has become a part of my daily existence.
Now that I am living with tinnitus, I have learned my lesson the hard way. Many thanks to EM for this important article. Michael Diamond San Rafael, California
The article "Ears to You" (May 2004) was great. About a year ago, I purchased some fairly expensive ear buds. I now have serious cerumen compaction (wax buildup) in my ears and have to get them professionally cleaned out. I can't lay my head down on one side for 30 seconds without experiencing reduced hearing in that ear when I get up, and I have to do the "wiggle my finger" routine just to open up a small canal for hearing.
APRIL LOVE
Given the popularity of these things, I would imagine I'm not alone in this. I love the ear buds, but they're causing me big problems. Rick Manwiller via email
Rick - I discussed your concern with Rachel Cruz, a research audiologist who works with the House Ear Institute, a great organization that promotes hearing health. According to Cruz, there's nothing inherent in the technology of ear buds in particular that would cause your problem. However, there are some people - and it sounds like you're one of them - who are more prone to wax buildup than others. Closing up their ear canals with custom-fit earplugs, custom-fit in-ear monitors, or even noncustom-fit ear buds (as in your case) will definitely cause the impaction (blockage) that is so problematic for you, and it may contribute to the buildup of wax. Cruz recommends that people with this tendency get their ears cleaned once or twice a year by either an audiologist or a physician (different states have different laws governing who's authorized to do cerumen removal). "If you know that you're prone to it, make a routine appointment, like the dentist," advises Cruz. Regular cleanings, she says, can greatly reduce such problems. - Mike Levine
I just wanted to compliment EM on its April 2004 issue. The three nicely composed features - "A New Approach to Personal-Studio Acoustics," "Mixing Strategies of the Pros," and "Tracking the Elusive Vocal" - are great. Keep up the good work, and I'll keep on purchasing the product. Alex via email.
Thank you, Larry the O! I write children's musicals. I write alone, and I always have. I've never even considered collaborating. It was so encouraging to see you put those thoughts in print ("Final Mix: In Defense of the Lone Arranger," June 2004). I've heard more than once (from people who have neither seen nor heard my work) that my shows would be better with someone else's input.
I have long felt that having another hand in the mix wouldn't necessarily make the show better, just different. And different isn't necessarily better. Through my shows, I'm telling a story the way that I want to tell it, the way I want the audience to hear it. As you suggest, some people work best in collaboration, while others don't. The trick is to discover which type of artist you are.
It's strange that nobody ever suggests to an artist who paints portraits that he let someone else have a hand in his portrait. Kevin M. Reese KMR Scripts.
EARS GONE BYE
Bravo to EM for its recent article on what you can do to save your hearing, "Ears to You!" (May 2004). As a 55-year-old musician-producer who has recently suffered from tinnitus, I can only echo the good advice of Dr. Charles J. Limb and personally urge other musicians to give serious consideration to this urgent matter. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that you are invincible and it won't happen to you.
Tinnitus can take many forms, but for me it's like being in a room with a tea kettle that whistles for 24 hours a day. There are occasional brief interludes of blessed silence, but they are few and far between.
While I am not a crusader for preventing hearing loss, I encounter frustration in trying to caution young musicians about the dangers of high-volume music. I can totally relate, having been there and done that. For years, I stood in front of a cranked tube amp. Everything changed radically, however, in just one night. After going to a concert featuring a very loud Pink Floyd tribute band, my hearing was never the same, and I began hearing the constant high-pitched sound that has become a part of my daily existence.
Now that I am living with tinnitus, I have learned my lesson the hard way. Many thanks to EM for this important article. Michael Diamond San Rafael, California
The article "Ears to You" (May 2004) was great. About a year ago, I purchased some fairly expensive ear buds. I now have serious cerumen compaction (wax buildup) in my ears and have to get them professionally cleaned out. I can't lay my head down on one side for 30 seconds without experiencing reduced hearing in that ear when I get up, and I have to do the "wiggle my finger" routine just to open up a small canal for hearing.
APRIL LOVE
Given the popularity of these things, I would imagine I'm not alone in this. I love the ear buds, but they're causing me big problems. Rick Manwiller via email
Rick - I discussed your concern with Rachel Cruz, a research audiologist who works with the House Ear Institute, a great organization that promotes hearing health. According to Cruz, there's nothing inherent in the technology of ear buds in particular that would cause your problem. However, there are some people - and it sounds like you're one of them - who are more prone to wax buildup than others. Closing up their ear canals with custom-fit earplugs, custom-fit in-ear monitors, or even noncustom-fit ear buds (as in your case) will definitely cause the impaction (blockage) that is so problematic for you, and it may contribute to the buildup of wax. Cruz recommends that people with this tendency get their ears cleaned once or twice a year by either an audiologist or a physician (different states have different laws governing who's authorized to do cerumen removal). "If you know that you're prone to it, make a routine appointment, like the dentist," advises Cruz. Regular cleanings, she says, can greatly reduce such problems. - Mike Levine
I just wanted to compliment EM on its April 2004 issue. The three nicely composed features - "A New Approach to Personal-Studio Acoustics," "Mixing Strategies of the Pros," and "Tracking the Elusive Vocal" - are great. Keep up the good work, and I'll keep on purchasing the product. Alex via email.
STAY AT BELIZE CITY TO DRINK TEA
VISIT RESORTS OF SAN PEDRO
I used Belize City as a jumping-off place for other parts of the country, by-passing only the best-known but also crowded resorts of San Pedro and Caye Caulker.
Armed with many brochures and excellent maps by the hopeful staff at the Tourist Bureau, I set out for a few hours of leisurely walking. Besides the tawdry houses and overgrown cemeteries, only St. John's Cathedral was of much interest.
Built of ships' ballast brick and completed in 1816, the church's main claim to fame was the crowning of the so-called King of the Miskites that year. The people on the streets were open and friendly, the lilting rhythms of their Creole speech puzzling but charming. The only air of uneasiness centred around knots of unsmiling young men sporting Rastafarian dread-locks, and the advice to take taxis after dark seemed wise.
I joined a group of Americans the next day for a trip with Smith and Sons Tours as far north as the Mexican border to inspect various Mayan ruins. It was not worth the price of $50 U.S., as most sites were only partially excavated due to lack of funds and extreme degradation of the soft limestone used in construction.
THE WAY TO BELIZE CITY
Altun Ha, just 50 kilometres north of Belize City, was the best preserved and most thoroughly restored. Dating from 250-900 AD when nearly 10,000 people lived there, the large square formed by immense structures at each of the four cardinal points of the compass along with tombs and intricate carvings made this the most interesting stop.
Cuello, near Orange Walk Town, was only a small ceremonial centre dating from 2500 BC to 500 AD on the grounds of the Caribbean Rum Distillery. Of more interest was the eight-kilometre-long line of old Austin and Bedford lorries waiting to unload sugar cane at the country's only refinery. Sweet and sour conch in town was delicious.
The modern town of Corozal near the Mexican border had been built over the ancient Mayan centre of Santa Rita. Originally excavated by British archeologists in 1900, many paintings and artifacts had been spirited away to the British Museum and others destroyed when walls were used as foundations for the modern town.
A customs officer on temporary duty in Corozal rode with us to Belize City, inviting the driver and me into his confortable home to meet his extended family. A microcosm of the country's racial mix, everyone from grandmother to the smallest toddler were clustered around the TV set where the miracle of satellite technology was bringing them the Super Bowl. An incongruous clash of cultures.
GET RELAX
A quick check-out on the four-wheel drive idiosyncrasies of a Land Rover ($50 U.S. a day, plus gas) at Smith and Sons the following morning and I was weaving down the Western Highway, trying to master the dangerously loose steering. Belmopan, the capital, was only 80 kilometres away, but J.B.'s Bar at the half-way point presented a few minutes' respite from the vehicle's deafening din.
Belmopan was a joke. Founded in 1961 after Belize City had been almost obliterated by Hurricane Hattie, the town's bus terminal overshadowed the derelict, square-boxed National Assembly and tatty homes of the 3,000 inhabitants.
A further 35 kilometres of steadily deteriorating highway winding by exotically named hamlets such as Camelot and Best WhistlingTea Kettles for you brought me to the almost completely run-down farming centre of San Ignacio Santa Elena. After eight more kilometres dodging boulders and apparently bottomless pot-holes I turned onto the glorified goat track leading to Chaa Creek Cottages. Although it was steep and rough, I required four-wheel drive only on two precipitous pitches.
Belize City (home for 56,000 of the nation's 142,000 people) is a crazy-quilt of colonial architecture and ramshackle wooden buildings on stilts either weathered grey or covered with a "Joseph's coat" of garish colors and patched with packing-case siding or pieces of flattened tin. The bizarre picture is completed by a lace-work of fetid canals half full of black or green slime. All towns are the same, lacking only the paved streets and foul canals of the city.
I used Belize City as a jumping-off place for other parts of the country, by-passing only the best-known but also crowded resorts of San Pedro and Caye Caulker.
Armed with many brochures and excellent maps by the hopeful staff at the Tourist Bureau, I set out for a few hours of leisurely walking. Besides the tawdry houses and overgrown cemeteries, only St. John's Cathedral was of much interest.
Built of ships' ballast brick and completed in 1816, the church's main claim to fame was the crowning of the so-called King of the Miskites that year. The people on the streets were open and friendly, the lilting rhythms of their Creole speech puzzling but charming. The only air of uneasiness centred around knots of unsmiling young men sporting Rastafarian dread-locks, and the advice to take taxis after dark seemed wise.
I joined a group of Americans the next day for a trip with Smith and Sons Tours as far north as the Mexican border to inspect various Mayan ruins. It was not worth the price of $50 U.S., as most sites were only partially excavated due to lack of funds and extreme degradation of the soft limestone used in construction.
THE WAY TO BELIZE CITY
Altun Ha, just 50 kilometres north of Belize City, was the best preserved and most thoroughly restored. Dating from 250-900 AD when nearly 10,000 people lived there, the large square formed by immense structures at each of the four cardinal points of the compass along with tombs and intricate carvings made this the most interesting stop.
Cuello, near Orange Walk Town, was only a small ceremonial centre dating from 2500 BC to 500 AD on the grounds of the Caribbean Rum Distillery. Of more interest was the eight-kilometre-long line of old Austin and Bedford lorries waiting to unload sugar cane at the country's only refinery. Sweet and sour conch in town was delicious.
The modern town of Corozal near the Mexican border had been built over the ancient Mayan centre of Santa Rita. Originally excavated by British archeologists in 1900, many paintings and artifacts had been spirited away to the British Museum and others destroyed when walls were used as foundations for the modern town.
A customs officer on temporary duty in Corozal rode with us to Belize City, inviting the driver and me into his confortable home to meet his extended family. A microcosm of the country's racial mix, everyone from grandmother to the smallest toddler were clustered around the TV set where the miracle of satellite technology was bringing them the Super Bowl. An incongruous clash of cultures.
GET RELAX
A quick check-out on the four-wheel drive idiosyncrasies of a Land Rover ($50 U.S. a day, plus gas) at Smith and Sons the following morning and I was weaving down the Western Highway, trying to master the dangerously loose steering. Belmopan, the capital, was only 80 kilometres away, but J.B.'s Bar at the half-way point presented a few minutes' respite from the vehicle's deafening din.
Belmopan was a joke. Founded in 1961 after Belize City had been almost obliterated by Hurricane Hattie, the town's bus terminal overshadowed the derelict, square-boxed National Assembly and tatty homes of the 3,000 inhabitants.
A further 35 kilometres of steadily deteriorating highway winding by exotically named hamlets such as Camelot and Best WhistlingTea Kettles for you brought me to the almost completely run-down farming centre of San Ignacio Santa Elena. After eight more kilometres dodging boulders and apparently bottomless pot-holes I turned onto the glorified goat track leading to Chaa Creek Cottages. Although it was steep and rough, I required four-wheel drive only on two precipitous pitches.
Belize City (home for 56,000 of the nation's 142,000 people) is a crazy-quilt of colonial architecture and ramshackle wooden buildings on stilts either weathered grey or covered with a "Joseph's coat" of garish colors and patched with packing-case siding or pieces of flattened tin. The bizarre picture is completed by a lace-work of fetid canals half full of black or green slime. All towns are the same, lacking only the paved streets and foul canals of the city.
HE STILL AIMS TO BE THE BIGGEST
HE WANT TO BE THE BIGGEST
For someone whose corporate success rests in no small measure on keeping the unions out of his company, Frank Stronach displays a surprising generosity when discussing the role of organized labor.
"I'm the last guy to say there shouldn't be unions," says the chairman, chief executive and controlling shareholder of Magna International Inc., the auto parts industry pace-setter, as he sprawls in a chair at corporate headquarters in Markham, Ont.
Conversely, for someone who claims he does not "want to be glorified" and who prides himself on being a champion of profit-sharing and other forms of corporate munificence, he displays a surprising meanness of spirit when assessing several former partners and investors whom others peg as having played vital roles in Magna's extraordinary growth.
When he can be pressured to talk about them at all, he tends to dismiss them in turn as little more than errand boys who did his bidding and "paper entrepreneurs" who contributed little and created less.
In short, Mr. Stronach is a study in paradox.
HIS BELIEF
He believes in the small-is- beautiful philosophy, yet is still intent on creating "one of the largest corporations in North America." He is a demon for keeping corporate costs - above all, wages - in check, but his penchant for thoroughbred horses and life in the fast lane recently forced him to sell $7.5-million worth of Magna shares to cover personal bank debts.
He is "Captain Capitalism," the self-appointed, philosopher- king of free enterprise, a man whose voice is increasingly being sought on the rubber-chicken circuit and in the boardrooms of Crown corporations. Yet he is a rambling and inconsistent speaker who finds it hard to stick to the point.
He is a proselytizer for corporate frankness and disclosure, yet he coyly refuses to divulge his own age.
Nevertheless, his colleagues, past and present, and certainly his shareholders, swallow these paradoxes with ease. And it is a measure of both the admiration and the awe in which they hold him that few are willing to lend their names to any discussion of even the mildest controversies that have occasionally punctuated his much publicized rags- to- riches career.
Even the bare bones of his life story read like pure Horatio Alger.
THE LICENSE
When Mr. Stronach, who is in fact a well preserved 52, landed in Montreal from his native Austria in 1954, he had $200 in his pocket, his papers as a tool- and-die maker and although only 22 at the time, several years' experience as a plant manager under his belt.
By 1959, he had parlayed some savings into his own tool- and-die shop and talked his way into his first automotive deal - a contract worth $20,000 to $30,000 to supply sun-visor brackets to General Motors Co. of Canada Ltd., Oshawa, Ont.
Since he and former vice- chairman Burton Pabst acquired control of Magna from its founder Jack Warrington about 10 years later, it has become a corporate empire that employs more than 5,000 people at more than 60 plants in Canada and the United States.
The license picture painted by discounters has Michael Jackson and Cabbage Patch as new characters likely to join the fashions that are already staples.
Licensed portfolios garner 35% to 40% margins as compared to 30% to 35% for plain ones, a Heck's merchandiser noted, in explaining why discounters, in general, are continuing to explore the use of new characters despite mixed sales results.
For someone whose corporate success rests in no small measure on keeping the unions out of his company, Frank Stronach displays a surprising generosity when discussing the role of organized labor.
"I'm the last guy to say there shouldn't be unions," says the chairman, chief executive and controlling shareholder of Magna International Inc., the auto parts industry pace-setter, as he sprawls in a chair at corporate headquarters in Markham, Ont.
Conversely, for someone who claims he does not "want to be glorified" and who prides himself on being a champion of profit-sharing and other forms of corporate munificence, he displays a surprising meanness of spirit when assessing several former partners and investors whom others peg as having played vital roles in Magna's extraordinary growth.
When he can be pressured to talk about them at all, he tends to dismiss them in turn as little more than errand boys who did his bidding and "paper entrepreneurs" who contributed little and created less.
In short, Mr. Stronach is a study in paradox.
HIS BELIEF
He believes in the small-is- beautiful philosophy, yet is still intent on creating "one of the largest corporations in North America." He is a demon for keeping corporate costs - above all, wages - in check, but his penchant for thoroughbred horses and life in the fast lane recently forced him to sell $7.5-million worth of Magna shares to cover personal bank debts.
He is "Captain Capitalism," the self-appointed, philosopher- king of free enterprise, a man whose voice is increasingly being sought on the rubber-chicken circuit and in the boardrooms of Crown corporations. Yet he is a rambling and inconsistent speaker who finds it hard to stick to the point.
He is a proselytizer for corporate frankness and disclosure, yet he coyly refuses to divulge his own age.
Nevertheless, his colleagues, past and present, and certainly his shareholders, swallow these paradoxes with ease. And it is a measure of both the admiration and the awe in which they hold him that few are willing to lend their names to any discussion of even the mildest controversies that have occasionally punctuated his much publicized rags- to- riches career.
Even the bare bones of his life story read like pure Horatio Alger.
THE LICENSE
When Mr. Stronach, who is in fact a well preserved 52, landed in Montreal from his native Austria in 1954, he had $200 in his pocket, his papers as a tool- and-die maker and although only 22 at the time, several years' experience as a plant manager under his belt.
By 1959, he had parlayed some savings into his own tool- and-die shop and talked his way into his first automotive deal - a contract worth $20,000 to $30,000 to supply sun-visor brackets to General Motors Co. of Canada Ltd., Oshawa, Ont.
Since he and former vice- chairman Burton Pabst acquired control of Magna from its founder Jack Warrington about 10 years later, it has become a corporate empire that employs more than 5,000 people at more than 60 plants in Canada and the United States.
The license picture painted by discounters has Michael Jackson and Cabbage Patch as new characters likely to join the fashions that are already staples.
Licensed portfolios garner 35% to 40% margins as compared to 30% to 35% for plain ones, a Heck's merchandiser noted, in explaining why discounters, in general, are continuing to explore the use of new characters despite mixed sales results.