The Worst Mixing Console I Ever Owned

I’ve owned quite a few mixing consoles over the past 40 years. Some were excellent, some were merely adequate, and a few had quirks that required patience. And then there was the Otari Status 18R.

Without question, it was the worst mixing console I’ve ever owned. Not even close.

It Certainly Looked the Part

To give Otari credit, the Status 18R was a great-looking console. It looked a little like a miniature SSL, with an imposing meter bridge and a professional-looking control surface. It was automated, came with its own computer, and seemed to offer a remarkable amount of functionality for the money.

I bought mine used. At the time, it seemed like a terrific deal. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, just about everything.

Trouble From the Beginning

The console had problems almost from the moment I received it. The automation never worked properly. The meter bridge behaved erratically. And the more time I spent with the desk, the more I appreciated just how unnecessarily complicated it was.

Even the connector arrangement seemed designed to make life difficult. Otari used D-sub connectors, but put inputs and outputs on the same connectors rather than grouping them separately. Ordinary D-sub audio snakes weren’t suitable; you had to make custom cables for the console.

Now, in fairness, the Status may have been designed before the D-sub wiring conventions we take for granted today became widespread. Perhaps Otari was simply early to the party. Either way, it was a nuisance.

And Then Things Got Worse

The automation problems were only the beginning. The meter bridge continued to misbehave. Then the monitoring system started cutting out. Individual channels began dropping out as well. Every time I thought I’d made progress, something else would go wrong.

At some point, a sensible person would have cut their losses. Unfortunately, I decided to fix it.

My Adventures in Console Repair

I got in touch with Soren Wittrup at CS Electronics, who was supposed to be the guy to talk to about these consoles. And initially, he was. He gave me good advice, recommended capacitors and tools, and helped me understand what I was getting into.

For a while, things went reasonably well. I replaced components, worked through various problems, and began to believe I might eventually have a functioning Status 18R.

Then I decided to recap the computer board. This turned out to be a spectacularly bad idea.

What I hadn’t appreciated was that it was a multilayer circuit board, with plated-through vias connecting its layers. During the capacitor replacement process, I damaged some of those connections. Just like that, I’d managed to turn an unreliable computer board into a nonfunctional one.

That was entirely my mistake. I was working beyond my experience with that particular PCB construction, and the board paid the price.

The Replacement Board That Fixed Nothing

Finding a replacement computer board for an obscure, aging automated console wasn’t easy, but after considerable searching, I found one. I installed it, hoping this would finally get the console back on its feet.

It didn’t.

After all the troubleshooting, parts, time, and effort, the Status still didn’t work properly. By then, I’d invested tens upon tens of hours in a console that had never worked correctly in the first place. Even if I could eventually get it functioning, how much confidence could I have in its reliability?

None.

My Wife Finally Put Her Foot Down

My wife had watched the whole saga unfold: the hours disappearing, the parts accumulating, the repairs leading to more repairs, and the supposedly wonderful bargain turning into an endless exercise in frustration.

Eventually, she announced: “You are never buying another used console again.”

Under the circumstances, a perfectly reasonable position.

I eventually put the Status on Reverb and brought the miserable experience to an end. For the record, I did subsequently buy two more used consoles. But they were much newer models, in essentially perfect condition, and neither turned into anything resembling the Otari disaster. That’s another story.

So Was the Status 18R Really That Bad?

I can only speak from my own experience, and perhaps other owners had better luck. But my Status 18R was a disaster from beginning to end.

The concept was appealing: a relatively compact, automated professional console with the visual appeal of a much more expensive large-format desk. Unfortunately, the execution, at least as I experienced it, was dreadful. It was unnecessarily complicated to operate, difficult to service, awkwardly connected, and plagued by failures across multiple systems.

I acknowledge my contribution to the disaster. Damaging the computer board was my fault, not Otari’s. But that happened well into a repair effort necessitated by a console that was already profoundly unreliable.

There’s a difference between a console that needs occasional maintenance and one that becomes a maintenance project with a mixing desk attached. The Status was firmly in the latter category.

The Verdict

Great idea. Great appearance. Terrible ownership experience.

Of all the consoles I’ve owned over four decades, the Otari Status 18R occupies a category entirely its own.

Would I recommend buying one today? Absolutely not.

More console ownership stories: Read about my first console, the Fender 4208, and why I ultimately kept the API 2448 over the SSL ORIGIN.

Well, perhaps to somebody I really didn’t like. But even then, I’d probably feel guilty.