The Syncwriter project was one of the most sophisticated endeavours to be met by the Workshop. Its success was largely down to Jonathan Gibbs who joined the department as a composer in 1983. Jon was one of those people who could apply his mind to almost any kind of problem and come up with a viable solution. Without doubt, his classical training at Cambridge had fine-tuned his faculties! To understand the requirement for Syncwriter, the reader needs to appreciate the technicalities of creating music and sound for television, much of which is described in the next three sections.
In the early days, source material came on 16 mm film at the television speed of 25 frames per second (as opposed to 24 frames per second used in the cinema). A copy of the film was usually provided, known as a ârushâ or ârushesâ, having been developed rapidly and without too much concern for quality. There usually wasnât an original sound track, although one could be recorded on a magnetic track at the edge of the film, positioned where the optical sound track appears on cinema film. In Room 13 (latterly Studio F) the ârushâ would be watched on the Prevost 4-plate film viewing machine.
The Prevost had audio heads as well as a standard film-viewing shutter mechanism. Being a 4-plate machine, it could accommodate two lengths of film, one on the upper plates and one on the lower, or one film on the upper plates and a âsepmagâ film on the lower plates. Sepmag film looked similar to standard film, but was magnetically-coated in the same way as standard recording tape. The viewing machine could therefore be used for editing together two films or for playing a film with sepmag sound. The latter would be synchronised to the film itself via the sprockets in the media.
The machineâs frame counter was set to zero at the start of the film. Ideally, there would be a visual countdown on the film before the content but this wasnât always provided. As the film ran, the composer noted down the number on the frame counter at each scene change or cue. The later Steenbeck 6-plate machine incorporated a Roger Sharland Multi-Duty Counter that also gave timings in hours, minutes, seconds and frames, as well as in frames and other various measures.
Having created a cue list, the composer returned to the studio. Fitting the music to the cues was a tricky business, sometimes involving a mixture of instinct, luck, speed-changing and editing, as well as much work with a stopwatch. Indeed, Malcolm Clarke continued to use his stopwatch long after other composers had moved onto more modern methods. There were however some useful tricks available. For example, with a tape running at 7½ inches per second (in/s or IPS), one frame was equal to 0.3 inches of tape. Dick Mills had a special âruleâ, calibrated in 0.3 inch divisions, bolted to the front of one tape machine: with this he could edit his material down to an exact number of frames.
On completion of the artistic work, the composer could send a quarter-inch tape to the customer âon specâ or the material could be dubbed onto sepmag tape. The first option was perfectly acceptable for recordings under a couple of minutes in length. However, for longer material there was a risk of speed drift, particularly with tape machines of the time. Unfortunately, these employed synchronous motors that were locked to the rather imprecise frequency of the mains supply provided by the National Grid.
In the early years, dubbing to sepmag wasnât easy: the composer trudged up to the Film Unit, copied the material across and returned to Room 13 to see if it fitted the picture. If a viewing machine were available, the ârushâ was loaded onto the upper plates with the sepmag tape on the bottom plates. When the film played the sound would, hopefully, be in perfect synchronisation with the picture. If it wasnât, the composer could use a 16 mm editing device, incorporating an adhesive tape feeder, to modify the sepmag tape. And it wasnât unknown for the original film to be edited to fit the sound!
If a film machine wasnât available, or there were other problems, the composer could use the Acmade Picture Synchroniser, also in Room 13. This was similar to a small viewing machine, but only had a tiny screen in which to see the picture. It allowed the composer to shift the timing of the sepmag tape in relation to the picture film and then edit the sepmag tape accordingly.
By 1983, the Workshop acquired a Sondor Libra MO3 sepmag recorder, fitted into a trolley for use in any studio. This machine could use the centre and edge tracks (the edge track being on the opposite side to the sprockets) as well as a narrow âpilotâ track, located on the edge of the film beyond the sprockets. In addition, the Workshop obtained a Steenbeck 4-plate machine to replace the old Prevost.
When video recording became commonplace in BBC Television, the Workshop was supplied with Shibaden half-inch helical scan video recorders, although these were only used for playback. Despite being useful, this technology was a bit of a retrograde step. Unlike film, there werenât any âsprocketsâ to lock the sound and picture together and the machines didnât have good speed stability.
To give some kind of reference, video tapes were often provided with timecode âburntâ into the actual television picture. This displayed the time of recording in hours, minutes, seconds and frames, usually in the form HH:MM:SS:FF. The odds were stacked against the composer since all tapes had to have the burnt-in timecode (they often didnât), the timecode had to avoid blocking the view of âcuesâ and all the cues used by the composer had to be visible on the monochrome screen (they often werenât).
The Video Home System (VHS) format of video cassette recorder (VCR) did, at last, bring some relief to the departmentâs composers. The Workshop received its first VHS machines from Radio Rentals. Unfortunately, one of their earliest offerings had an odd feature: you could record onto a second linear audio track but not over the original sound track. But the later Ferguson 3V23, although only a domestic machine, performed superbly, despite being subjected to extremely heavy use.
Having acquired reliable VCRs, the Workshop considered more constructive ways of using timecode. Fortunately, the BBCâs Design Department came up with a timecode reader that accepted SMPTE (longitudinal) timecode and presented it on a large display with seven-segment LED characters.
Initially, the Workshop used one of the stereo VHS audio tracks for SMPTE timecode. Unfortunately, such analogue (linear) tracks werenât entirely reliable and other options were considered in later years. However, if the VCR was played continuously you could copy timecode to a spare track on a multitrack machine, usually track 8 on an 8-track or track 16 on a 16-track.
So the composer now had a form of âsprocketâ that locked the multitrack to the time of the source material. The timing of any new sound or music laid onto the tape was assured, even if the machine wasnât running at exactly the correct speed. Sadly, there was no such âsprocketâ to ensure the timing of the final work when mixed down onto quarter-inch tape. As it happens, most machines now utilised a tuned circuit as a speed reference, ensuring âframe accuracyâ over several minutes of playback.
All the Workshopâs studios were eventually equipped with BBC timecode readers, allowing the timecode from a VCR or multitrack to be easily observed by the composer. As usual, Murphyâs Law intervened: VHS tapes often arrived without SMPTE timecode, or with it on the wrong channel, with or without a âburnt-inâ display. The key problem remained: the VHS recordings required by the Workshop were non-standard and therefore werenât always supplied.
By the end of 1983, Ray Riley had completed two examples of a new device known as the Timecode Memory Unit (TMU). This accepted timecode data from a standard BBC timecode reader and used it to produce other signals, including an audio output as a metronome âclickâ, produced at regular intervals and based around a count of SMPTE frames. It also could produce a âbleepâ audio output or start a tape machine at a time specified by several âpush wheelsâ, each of which could be incremented or decremented for a given digit in the timecode.
To make this possible, a standard BBC timecode reader was fitted with a multiway cable and a 35-way âDâ connector. This was wired to the binary-coded decimal (BCD) signals that drove the readerâs display whilst the plug engaged with the TMU. The âDâ connector was also wired to the input of the timecode reader and to the click, bleep and tape start signals. Later, studios were equipped with two 35-way connectors, one for the timecode reader and another for the TMU (and eventually Syncwriter) with the audio and tape start connections extended into the main studio wiring.
To put the record straight, the author must point out that his photograph on page 53 of the book The Radiophonic Workshop: The First 25 Years involves a degree of artistic licence. The printed circuit board layout and components on display are for the TMU, all worked on by Ray Riley!
Although the TMU was useful, it didnât solve the problem of relating a cue list to the time displayed on the timecode reader. The answer came with the BBC Model B Microcomputer, later replaced by the B Plus and Master 128 models. The BBC Micro was unique in many ways: firstly, it had a 1 MHz Bus connection for direct access to the processorâs data and address line. Secondly, it could be fitted with a customised EPROM that would override the machineâs startup software, replacing the appearance of the machine with something entirely new. Finally, in the realms of software, it allowed the use of *FX routines for special operations and also permitted âillicitâ but fast operations via machine code
Jonâs plan was this: the composer would use the BBC Micro to create a cue list that would appear on the screen as a âtimelineâ that could be viewed at various magnifications. When used with external hardware, a âcursorâ would move along the timeline in step with timecode, switching into new âpagesâ if a closeup view was in use. Hence a cue could be anticipated before actually getting to it.
The prototype hardware was assembled using a 3U rack fitted out with 64 and 96-way DIN connectors and a matching series of off-the-shelf Cube cards. The 1 MHz Bus connection was vital, since this gave the programmer direct control of the external hardware. However, the length of associated wiring was best kept to 500 mm or less. Appropriate hardware was included for receiving the BCD data from a BBC timecode reader, also circuitry for producing the standard click, bleep and tape start signals. In addition, the hardware was configured to produce a range of audio âclockâ frequencies for driving an analogue sequencer and was fitted with MIDI In, Thru and Out circuits.
Once the prototypes had been proven, the author finalised the design and put the job of creating a final printed circuit board (PCB) to an outside company. The completed card was installed in a 1U case, complete with two power supplies, one giving +5 volts for the logic, the other +/-15 volts for the analogue circuitry. The rear of the unit had a 35-way âDâ connector for the timecode reader, a series of jacks for the audio signals and three DIN sockets for MIDI, all mounted directly onto the PCB.
The Syncwriter package was completed by taking the 1U case, with a second identical case containing two 5Âź inch floppy disk drives mounted side-by-side, and putting them into a 2U rack. This was then slung beneath a shelf on a Unicol stand containing the BBC Micro and monitor screen.
Both floppy disk drives were required for Syncwriter operation: one for the composerâs own data and the other for the workings of Syncwriterâs software. When Jonâs program was complete it was transferred to an EPROM that went into the ânumber oneâ ROM slot in the BBC Micro. The machineâs normal startup ROM was then moved to another location. This meant that the computer started up as a dedicated Syncwriter machine, although it could be switched to standard operation if required.
To create the EPROMs, the engineering workshopâs BBC Micro was connected to an EPROM programmer via its serial port. This was also used for âbacking upâ or updating EPROMs from other items of equipment. An ultra-violet EPROM eraser was used to clear the contents from EPROMs.
At the last moment, Syncwriter was made to read timecode independently, dispensing with the need for a separate BBC timecode reader. Ray Riley checked out a timecode reader âchipâ and the outside PCB company then designed a special âdaughter cardâ. This plugged into integrated circuit (IC) sockets on the motherboard and the original ICs were inserted into the new card. Wiring was then added to the 35-way âDâ connector to receive the incoming timecode signal.
Syncwriter was a great success and an indispensable aid: Jonathan continued to update and refine the software, even after heâd left the Workshop. By 1986 four extra Syncwriter units were built, making total of seven. At the same time, the two old prototypes were scrapped and the software updated to work on the B Plus computer. In November of 1987, Jon persuaded Syncwriter to produce MIDI Timecode (MTC) and two months later it could produce MTC and MIDI Clocks at the same time.
By 1990, Macintosh software had overtaken Syncwriter and the units went to Redundant Plant. Immediately this happened, one of Rogerâs clients noticed the lack of a timecode-triggered tape start! Long after everyone had forgotten Syncwriter, the author received a phone call from an engineer in the BBC Regions who had rescued a scrapped unit: the authorâs attempted removal of the writing on the front panel had failed. To keep them happy, Jonathan generously sent them the latest software and the author provide them with circuit diagrams. No more was heard: perhaps theyâre still working on it!
The Electronic Baton was a separate project to Syncwriter, although also related to timing. It was designed to help a ârealâ musician perform at a required tempo. Traditionally, a musician was fed a âclick trackâ via headphones, either played from a multitrack recorder or created by a drum machine. Understandably, many musicians didnât like the headphones or found the clicks intrusive. Therefore the Electronic Baton was created in an attempt to emulate the actions of a conductorâs baton.
The Baton consisted of three parts: a sending unit, a receiving unit and a display box that could be attached to a microphone stand. The sending unit was conveniently connected to the area containing the receiving unit, along with the musician, via normal audio tielines. The sender had four buttons, arranged in the shape of the operatorâs hand. These buttons were Hall-effect devices, similar to those used in high-quality computer keyboards. Within the unit were four â555â oscillator cards: whenever the operator pressed a key, a tone of an appropriate frequency appeared at the senderâs output.
The receiving unit contained a tone decoder âchipâ that only recognised the distinct frequencies produced by the sender. The decoder produced four separate output signals, wired to the display box via a 7-way XLR connector. The display box contained four light-emitting diode (LED) arrays, arranged in a pattern similar to a number â4â, following the movement of a traditional baton.
Operating the buttons on the Baton was a bit tricky on the fingers. To get around the problem, Peter Howell used the Fairlight CMI to generate a sequence of suitable tones for playing directly into the decoder. In fact, any source of correct frequency tones could be have been used.
This wasnât the Workshopâs first use of tone signals for control purposes. Years earlier, Dave Webb created such a system to control a remote Studer A80 tape machine. It consisted of a sender box with buttons and a decoder unit that plugged into the machineâs remote control socket. Unfortunately, since the audio signals only went one way, no indicator lamps could be provided on the control box.
ŠRay White 2001.
