To the President and Board of Directors of Sears, Roebuck and Co.:
Update, October 15, 2018: Sears has declared bankruptcy.
To the President and Board of Directors of Sears, Roebuck and Co.:
Update, October 15, 2018: Sears has declared bankruptcy.
Sound Advice, an audio and video retail fixture in South Florida, is dead — again.
The Boca Raton store of the current incarnation closed in early 2017; Pinecrest was shuttered around the middle of October 2017; the last remaining store in Fort Lauderdale closed in the summer of 2018. Their website is 404, their phone number is disconnected. I’m not shedding any tears.
One year ago today, on August 28, 2017, I purchased a PrimaLuna Prologue integrated amplifier, on sale, at their Pinecrest store on South Dixie Highway. The salesman told me that it would take anywhere from two to three weeks to receive it from the manufacturer. Hurricane Irma made landfall on September 10, 2017 and that brought with it almost a week without power and the usual post-hurricane cleanup. The week after Irma I called them to find out the status of my order and they informed me they had not heard from the manufacturer as to when the amplifier was going to be shipped but were going to make urgent calls to find out. On September 26, around the four-week mark, and obviously to soothe my distress (if not to shut me up), they gave me a loaner amp.
Over the next two weeks I asked them every couple of days where my amp was. Finally, on October 9, six weeks to the day I had purchased the amp, and having had quite enough, I called them and told them in no uncertain terms, that I was calling the manufacturer’s distributor, Upscale Audio, to find out just what the hell was going on.
Well, I found out.
Sound Advice, the once reputable audio store, a store that had represented some of the best brands in high-end audio and video, was not only no longer an authorized dealer for PrimaLuna, but had been cut off from any further purchases for non-payment. An executive at Upscale Audio confirmed to me by telephone that no order had ever been received by them for my amp. Six weeks they strung me along.
These were the most deceitful and dishonest audio salesmen I’ve dealt with in forty plus years of buying gear. They lied to my face with a big smile about having ordered my amp when they had never ordered it — nor ever intended to! They should hang their heads in shame; they should never work in the industry again. Despicable. I came very close to contacting the State Attorney to file a claim for criminal fraud.
(Upscale Audio sold me the amp direct at the same sale price. A very classy move on their part that I’ll always appreciate.)
On October 11 I returned the loaner and got a partial refund of $500. The manager refused to give me a full refund of my purchase price at the store due to “company policy.” About eight days after I received my partial refund, the Pinecrest store was shuttered by the Miami-Dade County sheriff, apparently for nonpayment of rent. A nice final touch!
I had to wait another 12 days for the rest of my money, finally receiving the remaining portion of my refund on October 23, only after several less than friendly calls to the Fort Lauderdale main store.
The day I received the first portion of my refund I prophetically told the store manager, who shall remain nameless, “When this company goes belly up remember this transaction because you’ll be at fault for it as well.”
A sad and ignominious end…
Thirty five years ago, a mere lad of 25, I was already a veteran classical music and jazz fanatic. I bought LPs, attended classical concerts with the Miami Philharmonic, recitals by some pretty great pianists, operas, and heard great jazz at the many venues we had in South Florida back then. I never learned to read music, nor did I play an instrument, but my love of music was—and is—unbreakable.
That year, 1982, I lucked in to what was to be my most memorable life changing musical event. On a Sunday morning that summer I was reading the music and arts section of the Sunday New York Times and read an advertisement that Herbert von Karajan—my favorite conductor at the time, and still in my top three—would be conducting the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra in four concerts in New York at Carnegie Hall that October. Tickets were going on sale the next day. I resolved to plan a week long vacation in the Big Apple to attend the four concerts. Karajan and the Berlin would be performing works by Richard Strauss, Igor Stravinsky, Johannes Brahms, and Gustav Mahler. Unfortunately, my week-long vacation plan turned into a three day trip. I called the ticket office the next day and learned that the first two concerts on Tuesday and Wednesday had been sold out in minutes. As luck would have it I couldn’t snag tickets to hear my favorite Brahms symphony, the Fourth, but managed to snag tickets to the Friday (the Brahms Third and First) and Saturday (the Mahler Ninth) concerts. The New York Times described the upcoming concerts on October 17, 1982:
New York is a crossroads for the great orchestras of the world, but a visit here by the Berlin Philharmonic remains a rarity. Its last concerts in New York came six years ago. This week, as part of its 100th birthday celebrations, the Philharmonic returns to Carnegie Hall for four long-since sold-out concerts under its music director since 1955, Herbert von Karajan. At this late stage of his career (he is 74 years old), Mr. Karajan is still widely recognized as a master of late Romantic repertory from Wagner through Shostakovich, and the first and fourth of the concerts at Carnegie will give us a taste of that repertory. Tuesday night, following Stravinsky’s “Apollo,” there will be Richard Strauss’s gorgeously excessive “Alpine” Symphony, and Saturday offers Mahler’s Symphony No. 9. In between, Wednesday and Friday, Mr. Karajan and the orchestra will celebrate the 150th anniversary of Brahms’s birth with the complete Brahms symphonies. (The orchestra will offer only four other concerts on this American tour, all in Pasadena, Calif., at the end of the month.)
I flew in to New York City alone as was my custom for most concerts and recitals; I hadn’t met any attractive ladies in my age group willing to indulge a classical music fanatic and audio freak like me. I spent most of my first day full there, Friday, visiting the sites. I went to the late, lamented World Trade Center towers, ate at the Carnegie Deli, walked around and gawked at more buildings, and, of course, ate hot dogs. I visited some great record stores in Midtown and Downtown and bought a bunch of LPs that I still have in my collection. I was eager with anticipation for the night’s concert.
The Brahms Third and First were given excellent performances. Interpretively, Karajan’s standard-setting 1964 recorded cycle is still my favorite, but I was enthusiastic, as I knew this was a once in a lifetime event. The Third, my second favorite of Brahms symphonies, was brilliantly performed. (I love that final movement!) The First was given a fine performance as well. (The New York Times reviewed the two concerts.) After hearing this magnificent orchestra playing Brahms in the pre-renovation Carnegie Hall that first night, I can say that the hall deserved every bit of its reputation as one of the most acoustically perfect halls in the world. I heard every note and phrase clearly in that space, regardless of fortissimo or pianissimo. A marvel, absolutely superb. Gusman Hall in Downtown Miami, my sum total of concert hall experience until then, was but a shadow of what Carnegie was, despite its problems.
After another day of sightseeing and more LP buying on Saturday, I gave myself an additional treat that last evening. Before the concert I had dinner at the original Russian Tea Room, next door to Carnegie Hall. I drank cold vodka, had a superb lamb dish, and drank tea served in a traditional Russian tea glass.
After I finished my dinner I walked next door to Carnegie about an hour early for the concert and started chatting with other fans that were already there. We talked about Mahler, Bruckner, Beethoven, Brahms, Karajan, Furtwängler, the Berlin and Vienna Philharmonics, Leonard Bernstein (of course), our favorite recordings, and so on. It was wonderful to share my love of classical music and opera with folks (other than family and a couple of acquaintances) and not experience the deadened eye rolls of those whose favorite music comes in loud, monotonous, three-minute rhythmic chunks.
The only work on the Saturday program was Gustav Mahler’s Ninth Symphony, an hour-long symphony that was fated to be Mahler’s final completed symphony. I had not listened to all of his symphonies back then. I knew the First and the Second, the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth, Das Lied von der Erde, and, of course, the Ninth. I had heard two versions of the Ninth before the concert: Karajan’s Deutsche Grammophon studio recording from 1980, and one of my treasured recordings, Bruno Walter’s EMI recording with the Vienna Philharmonic from 1938—the famous Anschluss Ninth, performed and recorded live just two months before the Nazis took control of Austria forcing Walter to flee. As much as I liked the recordings I had listened to, nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared me for the experience of hearing this work performed live by Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic.
The frail Karajan, seventy-four years old and ailing from back surgeries, walked out slowly to thunderous acclaim for him and his orchestra on their last night in New York. After the applause it was deathly quiet; everybody in the hall was on pins and needles waiting for the two “heartbeats” to begin the first movement. Once they did, the symphony unfolded itself in such a way that it was impossible not to give rapt attention to everything going on in the score. The first movement Andante was played brilliantly, full of longing and pain; the Ländlers and Rondo-Burleske were amazing as well. But it was the final movement, that glorious Adagio, the most difficult of symphonic movements for a conductor and orchestra to sustain through its final pppp moments, that hit me like a thunderbolt. Mahler had glimpsed what the other side was and had written it down for all of us to hear. Those last twenty-five minutes unfolded as if from the heavens above until the strings of the magnificent Berlin orchestra faded out and Karajan put his baton down. I was, quite literally, in stunned silence at the end. So were many others. The ovations were many and long.
This was the greatest concert I have ever attended, bar none, and the passage of time has not diminished my vivid memories of it. Its effect on me has been mystical, spiritual, other-wordly. I don’t know quite how to explain it other than the music moved me and reached inside my soul and shook it up forever. A live performance by Karajan and the BPO at the Berlin Festival, recorded that year and released on Deutsche Grammophon a few years later, was the very first compact disc I ever purchased—and I hated compact discs with a passion. Not a month goes by since I purchased it that I don’t listen to it and remember that night. I have fourteen versions of this symphony in my collection (including the two by Karajan): two by Bruno Walter, three by Leonard Bernstein, Sir John Barbirolli, Giuseppe Sinopoli, Valery Gergiev, Carlo Maria Giulini, Jascha Horenstein, Bernard Haitink, and Riccardo Chailly. Some are excellent, and some are okay—I especially like the Concertgebouw and Berlin Bernsteins, the Horenstein, and the Berlin Barbirolli—but only the live Karajan comes close to what I heard that Saturday night.
This symphony has at times been apocryphally described as Mahler’s premonition of his doom (he died in 1911 at age 51); maybe it was Karajan’s premonition as well. After the series of concerts in which he conducted the Mahler Ninth, an interviewer asked Karajan why he never conducted it again. He replied that the music had shattered him in such a manner that he could not open the score again. He is quoted by his biographer Richard Osborne as saying that the music in the symphony is “coming from another world, it is coming from eternity.” I know what he meant and his interpretation bears it out. It is devastatingly beautiful music, full of sadness, longing, and resignation—and, yes, a little anger. Today, at almost 61 years of age, I believe I’m beginning to understand what Mahler was trying to tell us about love, about life and beauty, about spirit and transcendence, about impermanence, about farewells, and about death.
If you want to hear what it was like to be at Carnegie Hall that chilly October night, listen to the live Karajan recording of the symphony—but especially the Adagio—in a darkened room, as quiet around you as you can get it. This is as close as you’ll come to matching what I experienced thirty-five years ago tonight.
Have some tissues handy.
Ten years ago today, a product was introduced that would revolutionize the way people use technology as part of their daily lives. began. I bought mine as soon as I was contractually able to do so.
The iPhone has changed everything.
In a a previous post, I mused about the new age of digital sound reproduction and how amazingly good — no, scratch that: great — DSD and Blu-ray Audio sounds. In this listener’s opinion, digital sound has finally come of age and gone to places none of us could have imagined back in the early 80s when Compact Discs were first introduced with the then empty promise of “perfect sound forever.” I also lamented on how LPs were no longer going to be a part of my listening. I haven’t changed my mind on the former; about the latter, read on.
Since that post was published in February 2014, I’ve made several changes to my system that have improved the sound. I’ve switched all my interconnects and speaker cables to Transparent Cable. I no longer have the slight edginess I had before with the Nordost Blue Heavens. I’m not knocking them at all; they were an improvement in my system when I added them. What I’m saying is that my particular mix of equipment sounds better with Transparent, real. They are a definite improvement in the bass, which is as solid as a rock now.
I don’t use the McIntosh MC30 tube amps every day for obvious reasons — after all, these are 62 year old amplifiers who have been refurbed once already. But when I do use them they’re heavenly. Best amplifiers I’ve ever heard in my system. My Bryston 3B-ST — what I called my “everyday” amp — was nearing the twenty-year old mark when it would no longer be under warranty. I had purchased it used with seven years left on the (amazing) Bryston warranty. I sold it and bought a used Harmon/Kardon Citation 12 amp. A musical amp, very satisfying to my ears. Alas, it lasted all of six months before it failed. I replaced it with a brand new Parasound 275v2. Nice, overall, but not as musical as the HK. The Parasound is my “everyday” amp now. It’s not the best, it’s a little bright, but it’ll do. I also sold my old Classé preamp and replaced it with a near mint condition McCormack Micro Line Drive preamp (also bought used) that can be used either in passive or active mode. This is as “straight wire with gain” as I can currently get.
The biggest equipment purchase I’ve made since 2014 was also the most ear-opening. It has irrevocably altered my view on how the ‘Redbook’ CD — and its PCM derivations — sound. I enjoy listening to CDs ‘straight-up’ through my Oppo BDP-105 with its excellent DAC. Listening to the same CDs through the PS Audio DirectStream digital-to-analog converter, however, has shifted the paradigm. The DS DAC takes the PCM (Pulse Code Modulation) encoded into every CD and converts it to DSD (Direct Stream Digital) before outputting it to the preamp. The results of this magic are nothing short of amazing. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve sat there listening to music and marveling at how good PCM really is. The difference between the Oppo’s internal DAC and the DirectStream is not subtle. And the Oppo is no slouch.
Later this year, PS Audio plans to release the DirectStream Memory Player, a new transport, based on the Oppo transport mechanism, that will play CDs, SACDs, and Blu-ray Audio discs, among others. This transport is unique in that the DSD layer in SACDs will now be sent as a bitstream via I2S to the DirectStream DAC for playback. All disc output, not just SACDs, will be now be heard in glorious DSD. I plan to move heaven and earth to get one of these babies.
Which brings me to my analog system. In late 2005 I purchased a 20-year old single-speed Linn Sondek LP12 turntable that came with an old Grace G707 tonearm, Mitch Cotter cabling, and no cartridge. I purchased a Sumiko Blackbird EVO-III cartridge and had it professionally installed. A couple of years later I added a Clearaudio Basic phono preamplifier to the system. Over the almost nine years I used this analog system I would have to rate it as “just okay” to “pretty good.”
The sound wasn’t what I had expected out of a Linn. The sound pulled out of my LPs was less than stellar. I did some minor tweaks, including repairs to the Linn’s unique suspension, by a local Linn dealer. But the results were still not as good as I had hoped for. I knew the only way to improve this table, and that was to throw a lot of money at it. I definitely needed to upgrade the tonearm, the interconnects, possibly revisit the Linn’s suspension mechanism again, and maybe upgrade my phono preamp. Expensive tweaks that would result in a large upgrade bill: at least $2,000 and probably more. And, to add insult to injury, I would still only have one speed and wouldn’t be able to play high-resolution 45rpm LPs. The law of diminishing returns kicked in with my dissatisfaction and I threw in the towel: in May 2014 I sold it. Separately, of course, to make up as much as I could of my total investment: turntable, tonearm, interconnects, cartridge.
Quo vadis, analog? Out the door, sadly. I went all-in with digital, using the Oppo as the main source for all my listening and, starting in 2015, with the DirectStream DAC as my digital processor. I’ve been extremely happy with the sound of my system.
Then a funny thing happened. Earlier this summer I purchased a “millennial” high-end audio rig for my then almost 21-year old son: a Pro-Ject Essential II turntable, and a PS Audio Sprout integrated amplifier, driving my almost twenty year old B&W DM302 loudspeakers — plus his iPhone, of course. After setting up the Pro-Ject, I taught him the basics of using a turntable and how to use LPs. We spun his first LP on his first real sound system: Combat Rock by The Clash. (Number two was Frampton Comes Alive.) Not only was I thoroughly impressed with the sound coming out of the Sprout for Bluetooth and digital, but the Pro-Ject sounded quite fine. The phono section of the Sprout was damn good and I thought that, maybe, an integrated solution was the best choice for me to reenter the world of vinyl. After all, I still have over a thousand LPs in storage that I haven’t sold.
I decided on the VPI Player, the second generation of VPI’s Nomad turntable. The Nomad was very well reviewed and the rumors in the spring was that the second generation version of that turntable was forthcoming in the summer. I decided to wait. It finally arrived October 1.
It was the easiest turntable setup I’ve ever had. Literally, it was unpack it, plug it in, plop an LP on it, drop the tonearm and play! I’ve had it for only two days but can confidently report that it is a winner. I finally have an analog rig that gets the juice out of my records, much better than my Linn ever did and, as a bonus, it cost a hell of a lot less than the Linn upgrades I was contemplating. First LP played? A 45rpm direct-to-disc Charlie Byrd jazz album that is one of my reference discs. I hadn’t heard in a very long time and can honestly say that I’d never heard it the way I heard it Saturday. Wonderful.
A full review will follow soon.
Next year, 2015, I will celebrate forty years as an audiophile. I didn’t know I was an “audiophile” back in 1975 when I purchased my first “stereo” for the amount of $500—a daunting sum for an eighteen year old mail room clerk supporting his family. I was a “hi-fi nut,” a “stereo guy,” in the parlance of the times. That simple system, consisting of a Scott receiver, Kenwood turntable, and two Altec loudspeakers, gave me a lot of pleasure over many years and helped me discover a lot of great music. I’ve become very nostalgic for those early “stereo” days. Recently, I found the big brother of my Scott R74S receiver on eBay and almost impulsively purchased it out of sheer indulgence; I’m always amazed at how expensive these Golden era receivers go for on eBay.
Music is the raison d’être of our hobby. There’s no other reason why anyone would (or should) be an audiophile in the first place. It’s the burning desire to create the experience of the live performance in the home—the “perfectly realized illusion,” as I’ve described it elsewhere—that drives us every single day. Every purchase, every upgrade, every tweak, every adjustment, is made for one reason and one reason alone: to enhance the enjoyment of the music we love and bring us closer to the live performance.
A major purchase late last year finally allowed me to achieve a long time goal of mine: to have separate, dedicated analog and digital music systems—using the same B&W 804S loudspeakers. My digital music system consists of an Oppo BDP-105 connected straight in to a Bryston 3B-ST power amp, using Nordost interconnects and speaker cables. My analog system consists of an old, but upgraded, single-speed Linn Sondek LP12, purchased used, that came with a Japanese Grace G707 tonearm already mounted and connected to a pair of Mitch Cotter silver phono cables. I purchased a Sumiko high-output moving-coil cartridge to complete the package, and had it professionally set up. The table is fed through a Clearaudio Basic phono preamp to an old Classé Model 30 line preamp that’s connected to a pair of vintage (refurbished) McIntosh MC30 tube power amplifiers on semi-permanent loan from a good friend (and fellow Ford enthusiast) in Michigan. I use Nordost interconnects and dedicated Anti-Cable loudspeaker cables. Occasionally, I’ll connect the Oppo to the McIntoshes for that special audio experience only tubes can provide. Not too shabby, I’d have to admit. It’s been a long and winding road from my Scott, Kenwood, and Altec days.
I’d always wanted to separate the two intractable “sects” in this religious audio war. I had been, after all, an insufferable analog snob and hold-out until 1990. I hated compact discs and digital recordings and never thought—never believed, actually—that digital would ever measure up. Never the twain shall meet.
Boy, was I wrong.
Next to the California Audio Labs DX3 (the CD player that actually got me to like listening to CDs), and the absolutely indispensable PS Audio Soloist dedicated A/C port, the Oppo BDP-105 is probably the most revolutionary audio component I’ve ever had in my system. It’s been a jaw-dropping experience to listen to music with it. It plays everything: CDs, SACDs, HDCDs, DVD-Audio, Blu-ray Audio discs, MP3s, Apple Lossless, WAV, high-resolution FLAC files, DSD files, and, of course, movies. This thing even makes crappy, lossy MP3s sound better than they deserve.
However, it’s the high resolution digital content I’ve listened to over the last few months—Blu-ray Audio discs, 24-bit FLAC files, DSD files—that has compelled me to question and reevaluate everything I’ve believed to be audio truth since I started in this hobby.
Take Wagner’s Ring, for example. In the good old days, I owned the Solti, Karajan, and Böhm versions on LP. I listened to them many, many times, especially the Solti, a marvel of sound production and engineering thanks to John Culshaw. All three had pretty fine European pressings as I recall: UK London FFRR, German DG, and Dutch Philips, respectively. Currently, I own five versions on Compact Disc and DVD, Solti’s on Decca and Keilberth’s on Testament being my favorites. Thanks to the fantastic anniversary edition released last year, a Blu-ray Audio version of Solti’s Ring is now available: the complete tetralogy on a single disc! I know these operas. I’ve heard them dozens of times. I saw Walküre at the Met. I love this music and I’m very familiar with the Solti recording. When I plopped that Blu-ray Audio disc into the Oppo and pressed play, it was like a thunderbolt: the level of orchestral and vocal detail, the musicality, the soundstage, and the sheer power of this massive score had never been presented to me like this, not on LP, not on remastered CD. To say listening to this Blu-ray Audio disc gobsmacked my audio paradigm would be an understatement.
Here’s another example: I’ve owned the great Boston Symphony Orchestra stereo recording of Maurice Ravel’s Daphnis et Chlöe conducted by Charles Munch—one of my “desert island” discs—on LP, CD, and the Living Stereo SACD. One of the greatest compositions of the 20th century, and one of my all-time favorite pieces of music, I know it like my own skin. The BSO recording, justifiably famous, and beautifully recorded, has long been a reference for me. I can say without reservation that the SACD, to my ears, is the best of the three. Musical, huge soundstage, the BSO in its glory days. I have yet to hear the 24-bit/174kHz FLACs that are in my queue to buy. These will, in all likelihood, top the SACD.
The preferred high-resolution format from most labels is the 24-bit FLAC file. I have several that have made an impression on me. From Linn Records: a very short excerpt of Steve Reich’s Electric Counterpoint, adapted for percussion instruments, makes you think the performer, Kuniko, is right in front of you, live; and an achingly beautiful St. Matthew Passion with voices so real, so clear, they are almost heavenly. From LSO Live (courtesy of B&W Society of Sound): a superb—and probably not well known—Valeri Gergiev Mahler cycle (including a marvelous 9th), and a well, fantastic, Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique conducted by the late Colin Davis.
What really, finally convinced me that I was in a whole new ballgame was what I heard from the brave new world of DSD audio files. I downloaded some free DSD 64 files from 2L, a small Norwegian boutique label, primarily because of their classical selections. I listened to movements from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No.32, Mozart’s violin concerto in D major, Haydn’s String Quartet Op.74, Schubert’s String Quartet No.14 (my favorite, Death and the Maiden), Tchaikovsky’s Souvenir de Florence, and an aria from a Vivaldi cantata: they are nothing short of breathtaking. They sound like real music in a real space, with none of the unmusical harshness and digital fatigue I’ve hated as long as I’ve listened to digital.
What I’m hearing from all of these high-resolution digital formats, and DSD in particular, is truly remarkable. That infamous promise—“perfect sound forever”—made way back in 1983, may have indeed been finally kept.
All of this bloviating begs the question that gets to the heart of my conundrum: Do I need a new turntable to bring the LPs I play on par sonically with these new-fangled high-resolution formats I’m listening to that sound so damned good?
There are turntables currently being sold that cost well over $100,000—the Walker Proscenium, Clearaudio Statement, and Continuum Caliburn, being the most highly regarded. Then there are the turntables priced in the $10,000 to $50,000 price range—VPI’s new $30,000 direct-drive, a fully-loaded brand spanking new Linn Sondek LP12 for around $20,000, tables by SME, Basis, Avid, DaVinci, etc. And finally, the “entry level” price range I’ve researched for myself—turntables ranging in price from $1,000 to $6,000 from Clearaudio, VPI, Rega, Pro-ject, Music Hall, etc. Please note that I’m not factoring in tonearms (if needed), cartridges, cable upgrades, phono preamps, new preamps, etc. All necessary links in the analog chain.
So where are you going, “analog”? Or rather, where are you trying to take me? Save for the most expensive and resolving systems—systems I have not heard and can only dream of hearing—won’t the inherent imperfections and limitations of LP record playback, well known to all of us, still be there for me? I’m not minimizing the incredible achievements of these turntable designers and inventors in the least, but you have to admit that the cost of quality analog LP playback—getting the most music out of those pesky grooves as perfectly as possible—is pretty steep. (To be fair, dCS and Esoteric digital gear ain’t cheap, either.)
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if the truly amazing resolution and musicality I’m hearing out of my modest digital system, from uncompressed DSD files being played from a hard drive, can only be matched by an analog system requiring at minimum five or six thousand dollars (the entry-level cost of quality analog LP playback), or a serious investment on my part equal to that of a four-door sedan, an SUV, a Ford Shelby GT500 Mustang, or a Porsche Panamera, then hasn’t the medium made itself irrelevant to a ‘real-world’ audiophile like me with a ‘real-world’ budget?
Yes, I have lots of LPs, and yes, I have LPs that I thoroughly enjoy playing, and yes, I have LPs that will never, ever be released on any digital format, and yes, I have LPs that I probably couldn’t part with, and yes, I’m still emotionally attached to every last damned one of them after forty years. In the end, though, do they matter if I just can’t get the juice out of them with the system I have?
Sometimes, as Gertrude Stein quipped, there is no there there.
All that cold hard cash can purchase a hell of a lot of high-resolution downloads, Blu-ray Audio discs, and SACDs—and a music server or two.
There are so many irreconcilable differences that this time, I’m loath to say, the trial separation may end in divorce.
(This essay was originally published on PS Audio’s late, great weblog, PS Tracks.)
The very talented young conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, Gustavo Dudamel, is in a bit of hot water.
His silence on the topic of the popular uprising against the socialist government of Nicolas Maduro in his home country of Venezuela has not gone unnoticed. Maestro Dudamel may, in fact, support Maduro and may have (tacitly) supported the late unlamented socialist Hugo Chavez. Nevertheless, he is witnessing a massive, sincere, angry outcry by his very brave fellow countrymen protesting the regime’s socialist policies. To his shame, Maestro Dudamel has not commented on the Venezuelan people’s fight against tyranny. If he is a fellow traveler, shame on him. If not, then he’s just the latest sad victim of what befell Wilhelm Furtwängler so many years ago. It would behoove young Maestro Dudamel to remember he was principal conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra during the entire Nazi era. The bloody stain of his association with the barbarians of the Nazi Party remained with him until his death and continues to this day.