Issue 198

Octave Records is honored to present internationally-acclaimed classical guitarist Ana Vidović on its latest release, Ana Vidović Live at Hampden Hall. Recorded with impeccable clarity using Octave’s Pure DSD 256 process, the album features Vidović in an intimate live setting performing a two-disc set of works by J.S. Bach, Barrios, Scarlatti, Sor and other composers.

Ana Vidović has been hailed as one of the world’s finest classical guitarists. She began playing at age eight and became the youngest student to attend the Academy of Music in Zagreb, Croatia. She has appeared at recitals, concerts and festivals worldwide and won numerous international awards including the Fernando Sor Competition in Italy, the Francisco Tarrega Competition in Spain, the Eurovision Competition for Young Artists, and many others. She is a graduate of the Peabody Institute.

Vidović plays with a beautifully expressive, rich tone, where notes seem to bloom out of her instrument, an Australian Jim Redgate guitar. Vidović said, “Guitar is a very interesting instrument with such a wide range of colors and dynamics. I really try to explore that.”

Ana Vidović Live at Hampden Hall presented her with the opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream. “My wish has always been to do a live recording. And finally, I had a chance to do that, so I’m very happy.” Recorded at Hampden Hall in Englewood, Colorado, all the nuance and expression of her playing were captured using Neumann U67 large-condenser main and close mics, along with a stereo Telefunken mic at a distance for hall ambience. The album was recorded using Octave’s Pure DSD 256 process to convey the highest level of clarity, depth, spaciousness and musical realism.

The double album, available on disc or in two volumes via download, was recorded, mixed and produced by Paul McGowan, with assistance from Jessica Carson and Terri McGowan. It was mastered by Gus Skinas. Ana Vidović Live at Hampden Hall features Octave’s premium gold disc formulation, and the discs are playable on any SACD, CD, DVD, or Blu-ray player. They also have a high-resolution DSD layer that is accessible by using any SACD player or a PS Audio SACD transport. In addition, the master DSD and PCM files are available for purchase and download, including DSD 256, DSD 128, DSD 64, and DSDDirect Mastered 352.8 kHz/24-bit, 176.4 kHz/24-bit, 88.2 kHz/24-bit, and 44.1 kHz/24-bit PCM. (SRP: two disc-set, $58; each volume via download, $19 – $39 depending on format.)

The album begins with a masterwork – a guitar transcription of J.S. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major. Vidović performs this extremely challenging piece with a spellbinding depth of feeling. Other selections include Bach’s Violin Sonata No. 1, the Gran Sonata Eroica, Op. 150 and Grande Ouverture Op. 61 by Mauro Giuliani, Intro and Variations on a Theme by Mozart, Op. 9 by Fernando Sor, and Augustin Barrios’ magnificent La Catedral, all performed with Vidović’s remarkable virtuosity and connection with the music.

I spoke with Ana about the new album, her approach to guitar playing, and many other things.

 

Ana Vidović. Courtesy of anavidovic.com.

 

Frank Doris: You're a world-class musician. You've been performing since age eight, and you were the youngest student to attend the Academy of Music in Zagreb, Croatia. When did you first realize you were going to be a musician, and what made you pick classical guitar?

Ana Vidović: I was very much influenced by my older brother. I have two older brothers, but one of them is a guitarist. His name is Victor, and he was first from three of us kids to start playing an instrument. So, he chose guitar, I think because of my father. My father used to play electric guitar, bass guitar, was very much active in his youth, and had his own band. He loved all kinds of music; rock, pop, jazz, blues, and classical, of course. Growing up, we had a lot of records: Segovia, Julian Bream, John Williams. He loved classical guitar, but never really played it, [but] Victor picked it up very early. I think he was about seven or eight.

He was an amazing talent, progressed very quickly, and started to go to competitions and started performing [when he was] very young. When I was [about] five years old, he was already in his teenage years. So I listened to the sound of the guitar from a very, very early age, and said, “oh, I want to do that.”

Then he taught me some basics of technique. He was my teacher for two or three years. And when I was about eight, I started to go to music school.

FD: Jumping ahead to your new Octave album Live at Hampden Hall, why did you choose the pieces that you did? There's a wide range of moods and you play an arrangement by Fernando Sor (Intro and Variations on a Theme by Mozart, Op. 9), who is a tremendous influence in classical guitar composition.

AV: That's one of my favorite pieces. All these pieces – when I perform live, the audience is very important to me, and how they respond to certain pieces. Over many years of performing, I've collected quite a few repertoires, and I had the audience in mind, because people tell me, I'd like to hear you record this piece, I'd like to hear you record that piece. So I was thinking of both my audience, and also listeners who maybe don't play classical guitar, but would like to hear a classical guitar being represented in a certain way. And all these pieces really represent the guitar very well.

So it was a mixture of different things. And of course, I love all these pieces. And the repertoire for the guitar is very interesting. There are, like you say, a lot of moods, a lot of different techniques, and a lot of dynamic ranges that you can represent on the guitar.

FD: The Bach Cello Suites are a challenge for anybody. But I was really struck by your playing on La Catedral. I don't know how to describe it, but it's almost like you're coaxing or pulling the sound out of the instrument. It's like it's blooming. I don't know what kind of technique you use or to get the sound and the dynamics. What are your thoughts on that piece and the way you approach playing it? And I suppose in playing in general.

AV: Well, thank you so much. It's very nice to hear your thoughts. I really appreciate that. And this is my goal, to present each piece in a unique way, [to] try to find things that always, always have the instrument in mind and what the instrument can do. I always put that first.

And over the years, of course, we always search for new things. And these pieces I've played for quite a while. Some of them are new, but some of them are older. And as you mature, as a person, as a musician, you change your way of playing certain pieces. I think La Catedral probably sounded different maybe 10 years ago when I played it, or five years ago. You always try to find new things and challenge yourself.

Also, it was a live performance. In a live setting, I think we, as artists, we process things differently because if you're in a studio, you're just taking many takes. And I think it's more about perfection and every sound, every note has to be [perfect]. But in a live setting, you are connecting with the audience. It's a different quality of performing, so maybe that comes out as well. And La Catedral is a beautiful piece.

FD: When you're playing live, you're in the moment and you feed off the energy of the audience. But when you're in the recording studio and you're looking at that red light, it's intimidating.

AV: It's such a different feeling, when you go into the studio and there's nobody there except the sound engineer. My wish was always to do a live recording. And finally, there was a chance to do that. So, I'm very happy.

FD: What did it feel like to hear your music played back with such good sound quality?

AV: When I first heard it, I was really amazed, and I had some of my friends listen to it. I wanted to hear different opinions, and they all just they said “wow, that's really something special.” Paul did a wonderful job. He really captured the moment, also the sound of the guitar, and I think he really had a clear idea how he wanted it to be represented. The guitar can be a challenging instrument to record. So I was just very, very happy and amazed with the quality of his work. And he was very respectful. He let me listen to it many times. I really enjoyed working with him and just capturing the moment.

FD: What kind of guitar do you play? It has a sweet, rich tone, and being a guitar player, I’m really interested in that sort of thing!

AV: The quality of the art of guitar making is on such a high level, and many people are very innovative and trying to do new things. This guitar was made by an Australian maker, Jim Redgate. I met him more than 10 years ago, because I was looking for an instrument…the most important thing for me personally is to connect with the instrument. When you play, you have to have this connection. You have to feel like it's part of you. Of course, I was looking for a certain sound, a certain projection, a certain volume. But the most important thing was just to feel like this is something that I could be playing for many, many years.

FD: I'm with you there.

AV: You know what I mean?

FD: I feel the same way. You could go to a store and play five or 10, and you're like, “no, no, nah.” And then you pick up the one where it's just, “wow. I have to have this one. I can't leave without it.”

AV: There is always that one, right…mine was kind of the same situation. And after that, I never changed. I love it. I really do. And this particular one keeps opening up as you play it, as you kind of grow with it; it's still changing, so there's so much to discover still.

FD: Wow. After all this time.

AV: Yeah, yeah, exactly. Amazing. They change, and I think it's also due to us, the way we play, and they're kind of changing with us. So it's kind of both the player and the instrument. [Ana uses D’Addario strings – Ed.]

FD: Who were your biggest musical influences? You already mentioned your brother, but who are some other people who have affected you as a musician?

AV: Many artists from different backgrounds. I always really was curious about other styles of music. Of course, I play classical as my first, but I always was really, really curious about jazz, blues, rock, pop, anything, just anything that's good-quality music. Of course, I listen to classical, but these days I find myself listening more to jazz and blues because these musicians really inspire me. They approach music in a different way, so I’ve learned so much from them. It's something that I can apply to what I do [it would be difficult to name them all]. B.B. King, Sting, I love the Police, Stevie Ray Vaughan, just a variety of different genres. And I always find something that I can learn from these artists.

FD: I was listening to Charlie Christian the other day, and in his time, it was groundbreaking. There were acoustic guitarists who had gone before him, but he was really one of the first electric guitar players to play in that jazz soloing style. Or, say, Wes Montgomery. This is coming from another world, what he's playing.

AV: Yeah, exactly. When you hear it, you just kind of know, it's them, right? It's their sound, and they're so unique in what they do, but it's incredible because we don't know where it's coming from. It's like [from] a different planet, different world.

FD: Sometimes I wonder if even they know where it’s coming from.

AV: That's a good question! And I think in a pure way, I think in some of these artists, it's so pure because they're not trying to…they're just doing what they feel from inside, and that's the best. They're just doing. Of course, they work hard, but I think there is a certain level of talent that they developed. But you're right. Yeah, it's incredible.

FD: That leads me to a question: playing a classical guitar piece requires a lot of study and preparation. How do you prepare for a piece?

AV: Well, the preparation is a very long process, to come to the point where you are ready to perform something live and record it. I would never record something or perform live if I wasn't a hundred percent ready. So all the preparation, the work comes before you step on stage and before you have the confidence to play something in front of the audience. Some of these pieces [on the album], are older, some are new.

To prepare one piece, for example, the Bach Cello Suites, it's like different steps that we take. It's first learning the notes, [the] music, working on the technical aspect of that, takes the most time because you have to work on the fingerings, you have to work on the finger placements. On guitar, you can play a certain line or a certain note in many different places. So you have to decide where to play it, and how to play it with what dynamics, and how much pressure you use with your fingers. All these decisions have to be made very early on, and that's part of the process.

And after that, when you feel comfortable with that part [of the process], then you work on the performance dynamics and the colors. That's a next step, which also takes a lot of time. The last is the memorization. We usually play without music, without the score. That takes also a lot of time to be ready to perform live. The memory has to be very solid. It has to be, [that] if something happens, you can find your way around. You have to know what's coming up, what note is coming up. That's the last step usually. And then you kind of mature with the piece, and then when you're ready, to perform it live. I would say [it takes] sometimes months, sometimes years.

FD: I just assumed you had the music in front of you. Wow! I have to tip my hat.

AV: I think if you have music in front [of you], it changes your performance because maybe you’re too much focused on the music score and not so much [on the performing]. I think when you memorize something, it's just a different level. You can just focus on playing, and the sound. I like it better than having music in front of me.

FD: I see more and more and more performers using their iPads. And it's one thing if you just glance at it every now and then to remember a lyric or something. But it's another thing if you just stare at the thing, and it takes away from the performance. I tell players, once you get on a stage, you're not just a musician anymore, you are a performer.

AV: Exactly. Exactly. You have to think about the audience, right? I mean, they're such a big part of the performance.

FD: I have a few more questions. You know the famous Andres Segovia quote where he declared the electric guitar to be an abomination. When I was a kid playing electric guitar, I was like, “who's this guy?” Then I found out he was one of the greatest guitar players in the world and thought, OK, his opinion has some weight! But I guess you don't feel that the electric guitar is something awful.

AV: No. Maybe it's my father's influence, but I’ve always felt like we can really learn so much from other styles. Guitar is incredible because it has so many different styles. I think the guitar is the only instrument [that] has so many different varieties. Look at flamenco [for example]. And all these techniques are so different. But perhaps at the time [Segovia said what he did], it was a different time. I mean, Segovia was amazing. He was the first classical guitarist ever to really bring classical guitar to a certain level. So, I have such an admiration for him. It's incredible what he has done for the instrument. But today, again, we live in a different time, so it's good, too. It's good to be influenced by other artists.

FD: Do you do strictly classical fingerpicking, or do you ever pick up an electric and play with a pick for fun?

AV: I do. I love it. I wish sometimes that's what I would do [professionally]. That's what I could have done from the beginning. Sometimes you always wish you could do something different, but [electric guitar is] very different. If I were to perform [on electric], I would have to completely, completely focus on that. Because as I said, those are different styles, and it's amazing how everything is different, the technique, the way you hold the guitar and the way you place your fingers. Also, the amount of sound that comes out! I wish classical guitar could be louder, but sometimes we use amplification to amplify the sound.

FD: That's what hooked me, the sound of it, the look of the electric guitar. You could be cool in high school. I think that's what got a lot of people interested. And then they figured, “oh yeah, wait, I have to make music with this thing!”

AV: Right? Yeah. And also, all these amazing artists that we talked about, they were a big influence. When you see somebody perform, you say, “oh, I wish I could do that.”

FD: Well, as you say, the guitar is so diverse that maybe you have to focus on one particular aspect of it. Is there anybody who can play anything? Maybe Tommy Emmanuel?

AV: I think maybe some people like to play both electric and classical. But it's difficult because you kind of have to change your mindset, right? So I think it would be difficult to do both. Yeah.

FD: Are there any current classical guitarists that you like or would recommend that people listen to?

AV: I think many, many now, because classical guitar has gotten to a point where people are playing on a very, very high level. There are many young artists that are coming up and finding their way, and even experimenting with different sounds on the guitar and trying to really develop their own individual style. It's really great to see that classical guitar is developing so much. And I always like to see people coming from different parts of the world. When I was living in Croatia, my dream was to go to the United States and study. And everybody has a dream that they develop. That's wonderful to see. And of course, I'm always loyal to the artists that we mentioned, Segovia, Julian Bream, and John Williams are one of my biggest influences. An incredible artist. So, I am very loyal to who I grew up with and listened to, and I really admire those artists.

FD: What’s it like working with the people at Octave Records?

AV: What I really appreciate about them is that they're just wonderful, kind, and very easy people to work with, very honest. And I appreciate it because sometimes in this business, unfortunately, it's hard to find people that are honest [in what] they want to do. The [Octave people] want to respect the artist, and they want to really connect to you in a certain way and let you do what you want to do. I really appreciate that they let me play the program that I wanted to play. They really had me involved in all the processes and the sound and everything. I really had a very, very good feeling when I met them and worked with them. Hopefully we'll do other projects as well. And as I said, when I heard the final product, I was very, very happy because the quality was amazing. And that's what we all want, just to be true to what you do.

So you had better do as you are told/you better listen to the radio.”

(Elvis Costello, “Radio Radio”)

Sanyo catalogued the MR2810 2-Band Radio Cassette Recorder in 1982. I received mine about 1984, when my friend Lee, who had invited me to join his family for dinner, stuffed it into my briefcase. Lee was a generous guy. Or maybe, after several hours of my company, he was bribing me to leave. I know I needed a radio.

 

 

I have now completed the 35th year of my field test of the Sanyo MR2810. My conclusions thus far: This unit surpasses all other audio systems in the areas of sound quality, ease of use, durability, and cost-effectiveness. Let’s look at each factor and learn why my Sanyo is red hot and your whatever ain’t doodly-squat.

Sound Quality

When I lived in Seattle, the MR2810 had no trouble coping with alt rock, classic rock, jazz, big band, music of the Baroque era, and 11 out of 17 losing seasons by the Seattle Mariners.

When I lived in Boise, the MR2810 was pummeled by a radio environment almost entirely composed of news, talk, head-banging, wall-to-wall Boise State Broncos, and “fun oldies to make ya feel good” among other things. And yet the radio continued to function at the same high level, threading this minefield to bring in what few hours of jazz and blues were available each week.

Now I live in Portland, Oregon, and with the exception of the Mariners, who I no longer follow, I am back in a Seattle-like spectrum. The MR2810 had no problem readjusting.

Purists might question the aural quality of a device with one speaker and no provision for such exotica as “tweeters” and “woofers.” Chill, purists. My radio has always lived above my workbench in a garage. I am too busy drillin’ holes, drivin’ screws, rippin’ planks, and other proofs of my manhood for fripperies such as the midrange. Everything from Miles to Mozart to Moby rocks.

 

 

As an example of the life-like sound quality the MR2810 delivers, I refer you to my first dog, Emma, who guarded the open door of whatever garage I was working in. In the 1990s, whenever the DJ cued up “Been Caught Stealing” by Jane’s Addiction, I knew I had less than five seconds to sprint to the radio and hit the kill switch before the song’s barking began and Emma erupted.

And all this on an energy budget of 5 hard-working watts.

Ease of Use

The kill switch is an excellent example of the simplicity built into the MR2810. It’s a single-pole, single-throw paddle switch; it’s either on or off. The AM/FM selector is a similar switch on the back of the device. The microphone and headphone jacks are also tucked away in back, preserving the sleek 1980s styling up-front.

The radio has been further simplified by time thanks to the demise of the cassette player. With no cassettes, there’s nothing for the microphone to record to. As for headphones – why would I want to hear the MR2810 at a range as close as just outside my ears?

The recording button was red but has faded to orange. I’ve considered repainting it, but I don’t want to ruin the collector value.

Durability

My radio has spent most of its life in dusty environments tinged by car exhaust and paint fumes. In Boise, the radio had to withstand summertime temperatures of more than 110 degrees Fahrenheit. In Seattle and Portland, the air is wet and cold for half the year. The MR2810 has survived a lack of climate control, enterprising spiders, two long-haul moving trucks, and inquisitive party guests.

 

 

Cost-effectiveness

You can’t beat a radio someone gave you just to get rid of you. But here’s something I’m sure Sanyo never intended: I haven’t had to change the batteries in this century.

That’s right. My sound system costs nothing to run.

The MR2810 came with a power cord, which I lost a couple of houses ago. Without the cord, it requires five D cell batteries to function. Somewhere in the late 1990s, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had changed the batteries. I started paying attention. I have yet to change the batteries.

I asked Justanswers.com what might be happening inside my MR2810. This cost me a non-refundable trial membership fee of $5. “That’s pretty strange,” Dustin S., my trial membership electrician, said. Today’s D cell batteries last up to 10 years, he told me, but only if unused and kept in their original packaging, not as part of a live circuit.

He asked me what brand of batteries I was using. How should I know? No way was I going to pop the hatch on the battery compartment and expose the toxic soufflé I suspect is back there. You know that if I disturb this thing, it will never speak again. “Eveready,” I guessed.

“Well,” Dustin said. “What you are describing is possible. It all just depends on the exact type of battery. It’s possible that you bought an early D cell lithium battery. And that you’ve gotten some incredible life out of it.”

Dustin said I have a good advertisement for Sanyo. But the field test of the MR2810 is not over. See you in 2055.

Postscript: 14 months after I immortalized my radio in Copper, it died. When I opened the battery compartment, I found five Energizer batteries. Energizer promises their batteries won’t leak, and these didn’t, but they were heavily crystallized. I cleaned everything and inserted new batteries, but the patient did not respond. In April of 2021, I brought my old friend to Best Buy. The young man on duty listened patiently as I told him of my Sanyo’s service. Many thanks to Best Buy for recycling old audio components and for providing a grief counselor.

 

They worked...for a while.

 

Farewell, faithful friend.

 

This article first appeared in Issue 120. All images courtesy of the author.

 

Copper has an exchange program with FIDELITY magazine (and others), where we share articles, including this one, between publications.

 

Horgen is a tranquil village on the western shore of Lake Zurich. It has everything that makes Switzerland Swiss for a tourist: a quaint village center on a gentle slope, traditional architecture, small stores, state-of-the-art infrastructure – and Piega. Anyone who knows just a little bit about Switzerland knows that the products of the loudspeaker manufacturer reflect many aspects of the Swiss Confederation. Exquisite ingredients such as resonance-calmed aluminum housings, high-tech adhesives and ribbon drivers meet as a matter of course with classic design approaches, loving craftsmanship and a team that has grown together. If you were also able to experience (I had the honor many years ago) how the cabinet strands are pulled in the aluminum factory under the pressure of several thousand tons, then you know that a hefty portion of natural force is slumbering in the speakers: “Next to the press, it feels like a loaded freight train is hitting,” developer Kurt Scheuch had promised us at the time – and was absolutely right.

But the purpose of my visit was not to describe the country and its people to you. Everything revolved around the profound change of the company: in the past years, Piega mastered a process that is currently causing headaches for many hi-fi manufacturers. The manufactory founded by Kurt Scheuch and Leo Greiner had to be transferred to the next generation. Of course, this requires more than just visiting a notary. In 1986, the founders were still among the first front of hi-fi innovators. While tinkerer Scheuch initially took care of the recognizable sound signature of the loudspeakers in a small garage and gradually discovered his interest in aluminum, Leo Greiner represented the company both internally and externally. The two did not have to analyze the concept of their manufactory to understand it; they designed it.

Greiner’s sons Alexander and Manuel, who today manage Piega in a commercial and sales capacity, faced greater challenges: they had to internalize the brand’s signature and “footprint,” find a potent replacement for Kurt Scheuch, and unite everything with their own ideas and visions in such a way that Piega still remained Piega in the end.

The manifestation of the successful transition stands physically in the listening room during my visit to Horgen: the brand new Master Line Source (MLS), the ultimate top model and so fresh that it had not even found its way onto the homepage yet. The name addition “MK-II” marks a generation leap and explains my initial irritation – in the run-up I had assumed an improved version of the next smaller MLS 2. Piega can be quite indifferent to the risk of confusion between the models. At the cost of a single-family house in a decent location, the four-piece colossus is such an exclusive temptation that series production was not even planned. The “MLS MK-II LTD Edition” is a thoroughbred technology carrier, a flagship, and is to be custom-made in this capacity only a few times: “This unique speaker was made especially for you with love, care and attention to detail at Piega in Switzerland,” announces a bronze-colored plaque on the back of serial number 002, which I meet in the listening room. It is a pure stroke of luck that I experience it at all: the customer from England wanted to combine his new box with an experience and a trip to Zurich. He will come to hear them in Horgen before the black gems are carefully packed for their journey. 

But first it’s my turn! Barely an hour after my arrival, development manager Roger Kessler thrusts an iPad into my hand. “I’d suggest you take this and have a good romp,” he says, and is gone shortly thereafter. Alone, I don’t feel. The two huge bass cabinets, only slightly lower than me at 178 centimeters, and two monolithic walls of ribbon tell me that everyone in the house will be there when I step on the gas right away. I lean back in my chair and kick things off with Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” Guitar sounds ripple before the first hit on the bass drum jerks me back into an upright sitting position. Not what you’re thinking now: of course the kick sounds [deep], authoritative and digs comfortably into the pit of your stomach via huge speakers with an efficiency of around 94 decibels. Turn up T+A’s HV electronics and the low end can get downright brutal. What startles me, however, is the fact that I can perceive the drum in the room for a moment. From the center, a few centimeters to the right and barely two meters behind the speakers, a circular object flickers before my eyes with every pedal stroke of Mick Fleetwood – a shadowy image, in dimension and position so comprehensible that I suddenly get goose bumps. Probably the best imaging I’ve experienced so far – and the perfect prelude to an exclusive two hours with the MLS MK-II.

It continues with Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed And Confused,” which takes over the listening room with its atmosphere and coolness. The voice of Robert Plant announces tangibly and vividly the qualities of the newly-developed coax ribbon. The multi-part nature of the MLS ensures perfect localization of sound events: The Piega team sought out the spots in the room for the bass cabinets, each weighing 200 kilograms, where they would work perfectly, and then aligned the slim midrange/tweeter units (no less heavy, though, at 100 kilograms each). As a conglomerate of four perfectly-balanced line arrays, the MLS MK-II radiates sound in the form of line waves. Several times I bend over, duck in my chair, some times even stand up completely. No matter in which vertical position I hold my head, the total of 30 drivers remain “in phase” and sound identical in every sitting position without a trace of interference. The quite large Piega listening room is at the lower limit of what is possible, as I later learn. A loudspeaker of this size and performance class requires a lot of room to breathe. 

After tearing myself away from the MLS, I take a tour of the house. Employee Mario Ballabio explains to me all the steps that he, his colleague Jasmine Keller, and daughter Ailina Ballabio, who works at Piega while studying, have to take into account. I have already been able to follow his explanations on several occasions, but I am always surprised anew at the precision with which the three of them go about their work: the supplied wafer-thin Kapton foils are processed with concentration, a sense of proportion and a thousand-times-rehearsed hand movements. I witness Jasmine Keller gluing elongated damping strips to the back of tweeters, which – once near the ribbon – find their way to the foil as if by themselves. This has to be right the first time. She then uses a scalpel to make four small incisions on the edge of the tweeter, giving them more freedom of movement and bandwidth. “For that reason alone, we’ll never be a big mass producer,” Ballabio explains. There is a physical upper limit to the number of ribbons that can be produced each day, he says. This is especially true, he says, for the complex coaxial midrange/tweeters.

On this occasion, I learn a detail that had completely escaped me until now: in fact, they do not manufacture a state-of-the-art coaxial ribbon (as I always thought), but rather an adapted version for practically every loudspeaker model. The widths of the counter-phase wired traces, magnets, and the size and freedom of movement of the tweeter are adapted to the variables of the particular model and its cabinet. Actually logical: the coaxial drivers must match the number and efficiency of the bass drivers used. On shelves I discover a good dozen mounting frames for different variants and generations of the complex ribbons.

A little later, I’m sitting in the listening room with development manager Roger Kessler, reflecting on the experience. He is one of the “newcomers” to the company. Previously, he worked as an audio engineer in the automotive industry, integrating car hi-fi systems for BMW. The fact that different approaches apply in such an environment is evident from the answer to my first question: I tell him that I think it’s a huge challenge to improve a loudspeaker like the MLS in the first place. Where do you start? Analysis and troubleshooting, Kessler replies, adding that you can actually always find something to refine. The MLS MK-II was developed as a joint effort between the old and new guard. Kurt Scheuch developed it together with Daniel Raymann. He himself had brought to the company above all his knowledge of measurement technology, analysis and computer-aided simulations. Only this made Piega capable of realizing a product like their Ace [series] wireless speakers. Since their active modules are manufactured in the Far East, trial and error was virtually impossible. So Roger Kessler and his team simulated all the parameters of the three [Ace series] models in the computer. Only when all the individual components had been delivered did it become apparent that the calculations were correct. The wireless speakers are therefore not only a new product in the Swiss company’s portfolio – their development history is also unique.

With the MLS, on the other hand, the development team had looked at countless parameters of the enclosures and drivers on the measuring table and discovered a number of small, sometimes tiny points of attack. However, underlying problems of the previous designs were not brought to light: “the times when you screw on an adjusting wheel and achieve unbelievable changes are over,” he explains to me. But the many details also resulted in a noticeable step forward.

Thus, the UHQD graphene woofers from SEAS were better tuned for the enclosure parameters. The change in weight by coating the diaphragms was enough to optimize the behavior of the 12 drivers. In addition, Kessler replaced the previously separate midrange and tweeter ribbons with an identical number of coax ribbons. For more control, the nearly massless drivers are covered with a foil on the back. Meanwhile, their enormous bandwidth remains intact: the new Model 211 tweeters also play up to 50 kilohertz. Kessler then retuned the crossovers. With a 24 decibel per octave slope, they are quite drastic, but in a line source, despite a total of 30 drivers, only two crossover frequencies are required at 460 and 2,800 Hertz. The final tuning was the biggest challenge with the MLS MK-II. After all, the microphone of the measurement software does not know that it is a line source. And so – as always – the constant listening, checking and enjoyable music listening still remains the decisive step…

 

PIEGA SA
Bahnhofstrasse 29
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Telefon +41 44 725 90 42
mail@piega.ch
www.piega.ch

"When I was twelve years old, my father, a jazz musician, tried to interest me in the music of Steely Dan," Prof. Michael Borshuk of Texas Tech University in Lubbock begins in his introduction to an entire special issue of the academic journal Rock Music Studies, “Steely Dan at 50” (Rock Music Studies, 2022, Vol. 9, No. 3).

"When he sat me down with Gaucho on the family turntable, he likely assumed I'd gel with its sophistication. Instead, I bristled . . . I found the music's sound unapproachingly cold, the songs' harmonic movement alienating."

"I think they mostly appeal to an older crowd," he told his dad.

Borshuk grew up quickly: At age 14, he "loved losing myself in Steely Dan's jazz inspired logic," learning "the prefect fourths and added ninths of their chords." He also made the quick transition from loathing Donald Fagen "outright weird" nasal voice to understanding "there could be no better delivery system for the Dan ethos, simultaneously vulnerable, disgusted, and world-weary."

In the interregnum between Steely Dan's golden era and their 2020s rediscovery, Gen X, Y, Z, and Millennial skeptics scorned the band's music as "dad rock," and maybe they were right, in that ironic way that is the coin and currency of Steely Dan true believers.

Lindsay Zoladz, a pop music critic for The New York Times, published her confession in the June 18, 2020, issue of the newspaper, titled: "I'm Not a Dad but I Rock Like One." When she was perhaps under 10, (in her "first decade," anyway), she wrote: "the blandest, dullest, most excruciatingly monotonous music I’d ever heard in my nearly decade-long life was Steely Dan." But she got religion, pagan though it may be, soon enough: "And then, all of a sudden, I was 32 and listening to Pretzel Logic intently in my best headphones, declaring myself an honorary resident of 'Barrytown.' What had happened to me?"

Others first experienced Steely Dan through hip-hop in the mid-1990s, the ah-ha moment for Jack Hamilton, professor of American studies and media studies at the University of Virginia, and a music columnist for The Atlantic. His essay in the June 2023 issue is called "Surrender to Steely Dan: How the insufferably perfectionist duo captured the hearts of a new generation of listeners." Hamilton first had his mind blown, also in his early teens, listening to a cassette of De La Soul's brilliant 3 Feet High and Rising, particularly the song "Eye Know," built on a sample of "Peg," one of the most perfect songs from Steely Dan's 1977 best-seller Aja.

"Music obsessive that I was, this confounded me," Hamilton writes. "Steely Dan, the musical handle of the songwriting pair Walter Becker and Donald Fagen – was considered toxically uncool." He knew one song well, "Rikki Don't Lose That Number" because the introductory piano line was lifted dexterously from Horace Silver's "Song for My Father," which Hamilton studied in his own jazz piano lessons. “'Rikki's strange combination of jazz, rock, and R&B, alchemized into a near frictionless sonic slickness, seemed antithetical to the grunge era ethos of anti-establishment, heart-on-your-sleeve authenticity," he wrote.

As an avid fan and Steely Dan originalist (there are at least half a dozen columns about my time at Bard, essays on the first three albums, and interviews with Fagen and Becker posted in the Critical Conditions archives), this new attention to Steely Dan both amused and irritated me. The irritation part is undoubtedly an echo of the first-listeners of indie rock bands who get annoyed when their cult band goes mainstream. Steely Dan sold tons of records, but until Aja were still kind of a cult band.

Now The Honest Broker, Ted Gioia, music historian, jazz critic and Substack's resident public intellectual on his The Honest Broker newswletter, has written about his conversion to Steely Dan standom, “How I Stopped Hating Steely Dan.”

There is a Steely Dan Substack by Jake Malooley called Expanding Dan. Expanding Dan has interviews with musicians who played with Fagen and Becker, and he unearths musical oddities through their late engineer Roger Nichols' archives. Most notable: "The Second Arrangement," which got left off Gaucho when the painstakingly recorded tape was accidentally erased. It’s very You Tube viral.

Pieced back together using modern technology, Steely Dan originalists shrugged, while the new SD stans posted comments on You Tube comparing this discovery to that of the Dead Sea scrolls, the Rosetta Stone, and a sign of the arrival of the moshiach. But at its core, "The Second Arrangement" is not a very good song, which makes it a unicorn among Steely Dan tracks. "Understandable why Becker and Fagen dumped this one," said one YouTube commenter. The Stans love it because it's new, but that's what stans are for: uncritical admiration.

There was also a Schlitz beer commercial made by Fagen and original guitarist Denny Dias that was quickly taken down from YouTube by the copyright owner. Malooley saves access to these (and the punch line to a joke by studio musician Jay Graydon that made Fagen and Becker laugh) for paid subscribers only. Since I have been with Fagen and Becker many times when they laughed, I have not bought in.

 

There is a valuable recent rediscovery from an unlikely source: An implausibly beautiful and entertaining album on Spotify called Fire in the Hole: Sara Isaksson & Rebecka Törnqvist Sing Steely Dan. Steely Dan spotters heard the title song at the end of the episode with that title ("Fire in the Hole") on HBO's True Blood. Isaksson plays piano, Törnqvist is well-known in Sweden as a jazz singer. The rest of the accompaniment is sparse and minimal. It's sort of like elegant recital room Steely Dan, and it is unerringly beautiful. Listen to Törnqvist nail the phrasing of "Gaucho," hard enough to say, much less sing and gently swing with:

Bodacious cowboys /Such as your friend will never be welcome here
High in the Custerdome

Bodacious Cowboys, by the way, is one of the more user-friendly Steely Dan sites, or groups, on The Xtwitter, and People Dancing to Steely Dan is one of the most imaginative, since one of peculiarities (possibly built-in by Fagen and Becker) of their music is that it is very difficult to dance to, absurdly so, unless you excel at the game Twister.

To go back to Borshuk's Rock Music Studies (where I am on the editorial board, an honorary role, no conflict of interest) introductory chapter, he lands on a vital aspect of writing about Steely Dan. "There is something about Steely Dan that invites us to collapse the distance between critical interpretation and personal recollection," he writes, which strikes me as profound because it explains my entire relationship with Steely Dan's music. In his footnotes, he credits Ross Cole, writing about "Popular Song and the Poetics of Experience" in the Journal of the Royal Music Association (2021), in which "the ways in which songwriting itself can be a process of self-interpretation, a public act of autobiographical making."

Cole cites the autobiographical response from an adept songwriter's "conscientious craft and communicative virtuosity," to which Barshuk adds the Steely Dan banger: They "provide us with an 'active reading' of their experience, but our engagement with that material in turn prompts our own autobiographical making."

This explains to me why I have been thinking about writing a book about Steely Dan for about 40 years, but have not been able to get to even an outline because of a few reasons: I don't have the musical background to explain why their songs work on that chord/melody level; because I am terrified of outlines; and because my deep experience with and early exposure to Fagen and Becker is so autobiographical that my listening to Steely Dan albums makes me feel like I am a product of their original Android Warehouse, brain-implanted with a microphone and camera, and that they had been composing my life story, during the 1970s and beyond. And who would want to read that? I did pitch it to an academic publisher where an old colleague and acquaintance was doing a music book series, and the response was, "too personal," even for a series of short, personal books about individual artists.

But I had not seen a good book about Steely Dan, anywhere, ever, until now. This was supposed to be an introduction to a post about that book. After 1,400 words, I have buried the lede once again, and perhaps your patience. In a day or two, we will dedicate this space to the only Steely Dan book we are likely to ever need: Quantum Criminals, written by Alex Pappademas, with illustrations by Joan LeMay. I'll tell you about it tomorrow or day after, I hope.

 

This article originally appeared in Wayne Robins’ Substack and is used here by permission. Wayne’s Words columnist Wayne Robins teaches at St. John’s University in Queens, and writes the Critical Conditions Substack, https://waynerobins.substack.com/.

Header image: Walter Becker and Donald Fagen of Steely Dan. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Kotivalo.

 

This cartoon originally appeared in Issue 126.

I woke up a couple of weeks ago and realized that I dreamed that Albert King called me to tell me he was coming over to jam.

As Albert died on December 21, 1992 – I think this call came a little late!

I believe that this dream was brought about by two instances:

One: I was trying to figure out how I was going to explain, in this column, my love for his playing,

…and,

Two: I had very recently had an in-depth conversation with a guitar playing friend of mine about how and why Albert was so important to so many guitar legends such as Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, Billy F. Gibbons, and Stevie Ray Vaughan.

Some time in early 1967 I read an interview with one of my guitar influences and the name Albert King came up. I had only heard of B.B. King at that point and didn’t know about Albert. I then saw an ad in Rolling Stone for a new album release by King called Born Under A Bad Sign.

I ran out and bought it.

From the first second I put it on and heard the opening notes of the title track “Born Under A Bad Sign,” I knew I had just discovered the guitar sound that basically formed the basis for Eric Clapton’s solos. It wasn’t fast playing like Mike Bloomfield; it was slow, really slow. Kind of like Clapton (remember Eric had the nickname “Slowhand”), but not like Eric. It was a sound that made a note sound longer and deeper. King was able to wring out more from one note than anything I had ever heard before.

 

Remember, Jimi Hendrix's debut album was yet to be released, and Cream’s Disraeli Gears release was still six months away. Why are these albums significant? Because Jimi, like Albert, played guitar left handed, which creates a unique sound on its own, and the lead track on Cream’s Disraeli Gears was the song “Strange Brew.”

When Disraeli Gears came out in December 1967 it all came together.

Why?

Because the great solo that Eric played on “Strange Brew” was, note for note, Eric’s attempt at playing like Albert King! As I listened to all the songs on Born Under A Bad Sign, one track stood out: The song was called “Crosscut Saw.”  OMG, I never heard a lead guitar tone sound like that! Not only was the tone mesmerizing, but the note stretch was a semitone further than any note stretch I ever heard before.

 

 

Eric copied that solo on “Crosscut Saw.”  But…not quite, because as hard as he tried he just couldn’t quite bend the notes the way Albert did. Eric has tried. SRV not only has tried, but he even made a DVD with Albert King which is remarkably instructive: as good as SRV was with his fluidity and multiple notes, phrasing and runs, he just couldn’t keep up with Albert’s four notes.

Time and time again Albert would let SRV riff and then, with just his four notes, close the door and blow SRV away.

To be fair to Stevie Ray, he was sitting at the foot of the master, and I feel that he was simply looking to Albert for validation that he was on the right path.

How were those seemingly simply-played four notes impossible to not only recreate, but phrased in such a way as to just demolish anyone else trying to keep up?

How could single notes sound like this?

To be clear, B.B. King also played single notes but they were placed “normally” within a lead phrase. Very polite and clean. Albert’s notes were tough, loud, raw, searing and cutting in ways that only Albert (and I mean ONLY ALBERT) has ever been able to do!

So, early on, I thought that the secret was in his gear.

I needed to know what kind of guitar and amp he was using. Albert played, for many years, a custom-made version of a Gibson Flying V, a model that was originally manufactured by Gibson for only one year, 1958. It was a commercial disaster at the time and discontinued straight away.

The guitar has since been reissued by Gibson as well as many other companies but Albert had one of the originals manufactured in 1958, and it had become associated with Albert King and his signature sound.

The amp however was not a Marshall or a Fender. It was a solid-state amp made by a company called Acoustic. In my opinion, it is the worst-sounding guitar amplifier ever made by a non-communist country!

Albert, however, made it work, and with that, one can learn a very valuable lesson: “It’s really not the gear, it’s the musician's talent that will always shine through.”

I, however, had yet to learn that it wasn’t really the guitar and amp. It was the fact that not only did Albert play lefty but he also played upside down.

Albert was a big man (6' 7" and 250 pounds). He also had big hands. His grip, I assume, must have been vise-like on the guitar neck and strings.

Playing upside down allowed gravity to work its magic so that a note could really bend (when a guitar is strung normally, a player typically bends a note by moving the string up; when a guitar is truly played upside down, the string pull has gravity on its side because the string is pulled down). That is much easier to do, but would never happen with a guitar strung low string to high as it normally is. Albert’s strings were strung high to low, which enabled him to give the string a longer and greater bend – a semitone greater than what normally would be done, giving the note yet another personality.

 

Jimi Hendrix played lefty, but he strung his guitar normally (with the high E string closest to the ground), so he had the same limitations as the rest of us mortals. To my knowledge, Albert was the only person I ever saw who somehow learned all the chords and notes, not just in reverse but upside down! [Otis Rush played like this, and I've seen a few other left-handed players do it. Many of them simply flipped a right-handed guitar upside down.  – Ed.]

Basically, they say a bumble bee is theoretically not supposed to be able fly…but it does.

A guitar was never meant to be played like this…but Albert did it!

Here is the Wikipedia explanation of his style and unique tonal palette:

…King was left-handed, but usually played right-handed guitars flipped over upside-down. He used a dropped open tuning, possibly more than one, as reports vary: (C#-G#-B-E-G#-C#) or open E minor (C-B-E-G-B-E) or open F (C-F-C-F-A-D). He never used the sixth string. Steve Cropper (who played rhythm guitar on many of King’s Stax sessions), told Guitar Player magazine that King tuned his guitar to C-B-E-F#-B-E (low to high). The luthier Dan Erlewine said King tuned to C-F-C-F-A-D with light-gauge strings (0.009, 0.012, 0.024 wound, 0.028, 0.038 and 0.050 inches). The lighter-gauge strings were a factor in King’s string-bending technique.

I only learned this years later after I tried to get that tone, but just couldn’t quite get there.

I saw Albert and B.B. King on a double bill in 1988 and as good as B.B. was, when he invited Albert out to play with him, Albert just hung back and devoured B.B.

I last saw Albert in concert a month before he died.

During the encore of “Born Under A Bad Sign” he got up off the stool that he was sitting on most of the show, and walked off without finishing it or saying goodnight.

I felt really bad for him as I could see he was struggling. I also knew that I had probably seen him for the last time.

I think you get it now. I revered his blues playing above everyone else.

Next time you listen to “Strange Brew,” you are listening to Albert’s guitar solo!

I have a side project called The Pink Slip Blues Band with Michael Cartellone, the drummer for Lynyrd Skynyrd; Joel Hoekstra, the guitar player for Whitesnake; and Bobby Held on bass (producer of Joe Bonamassa’s first two albums).

We always play “Born In Chicago,” my homage to Mike Bloomfield of the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, and “Crosscut Saw” in memory of Albert and my nod, by extension, to Clapton.

While all those who love Albert’s playing keep trying and falling just short, we will never stop paying our respects to the greatest blues guitarist of all:

The Mighty Albert King.

 

 

This article first appeared in Issue 60 and is slightly revised and updated.

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Grant Gouldon.

 

  This cartoon first appeared in Issue 115.

An AR-XA turntable, circa 1960s. As Ivan Berger noted in his article in Issue 105, hundreds of thousands were sold.

 

Elegant simplicity: the AR-XA pivot and counterweight.

 

This example even has the original box. Photos by Howard Kneller, from The Audio Classics Collection.

 

That's the signpost up ahead! Your next stop: the audio Twilight Zone, by way of this early 1970s Wega Studio 3300 music system.

 

From the people who brought you the Etch a Sketch: a circa 1967 Mighty Tiny record player, made by Ohio Art.

 

Howard Kneller’s audio and art photography can be found on Instagram (@howardkneller, @howardkneller.photog) and Facebook (@howardkneller).

This article first appeared in Issue 149.

Merlin waves his Wand; the Scene changes, and discovers the British Ocean in a Storm, AEolus in a Cloud above: Four Winds hanging, &c. . . . AEolus ascends, and the four Winds fly off. The Scene opens, and discovers a calm Sea, to the end of the House [i.e., stage]. An Island arises, to a soft Tune; Britannia seated in the Island, with Fishermen at her Feet, &c. The Tune changes, the Fishermen come ashore, and Dance a while; After which, Pan and a Nereide come on the Stage, and sing . . . The Scene opens above, and discovers the Order of the Garter. [from King Arthur: or, The British Worthy: A Dramatick Opera. London, 1691; music by Henry Purcell, text by John Dryden]

“What,” asks Edward Langhans in his essay on the theatrical context of Purcell’s dramatic music, “can we make of stage directions like these? How were they carried out – if, indeed, they were? What sort of theatres did they have? . . . Were the playhouses equipped to present such spectacles . . . or were the effects called for with the hope that technicians could devise ways to produce them?” Langhans actually follows these questions with useful discussions of the architecture and equipment of 17th-century London’s two (!) functioning professional theatres, Drury Lane and Dorset Garden, the latter of which was used for musical spectacles like King Arthur.

If you’ve seen Ingmar Bergman’s lovely film version of Die Zauberflöte, shot in the Baroque theatre at Drottningholm, Sweden, you’ll get a rough idea of what was available in London. Of such stages, Langhans says “the magical transformations, especially in near-candlelight, are a delight.” Still, no CGI back then; audiences had to rely more on their imaginations to assist with the willing suspension of disbelief.

It’s funny how our earliest experiences with music sometimes come back to mock us – or less often (but to wondrous effect), to engage us anew and on a wholly different level. Whatever we experienced in our piano lessons from sweet old Miss Bidwell, or what we sang in middle-school chorus, or in that garage band we formed a bit later with our besties – it is but prelude, friends.

Back when I was barely old enough to vote, I was so taken by the music of Henry Purcell (1659 – 1995) that I conducted his 1694 Jubilate at a local church; I think my old friend David Hickman played the C trumpet part. Later on I’m sure I sang some of Purcell’s many solo songs, and maybe some ensemble music with colleagues somewhere.

But one moves on. Other shiny things attract your attention.

Now it’s Purcell Week again chez Schenbeck, all because of a charming, nearly perfect recording of the music to King Arthur (Alpha 430) from Lionel Meunier and Vox Luminis, Meunier’s ultra-versatile group of HIP vocalists. Right, vocalists. They regularly collaborate with players who work at a similarly high level; so why did I assume the violinists “&c.” ran the show? Okay, Meunier does take a credit as fourth recorder player on this album, but look again and you’ll see he also sings bass. I suspect the title “Artistic Director” is partly a matter of convenience and etiquette. It’s clear that, for these folks, Henry Purcell essentially runs the show.

If you know much about Purcell’s short but extremely full career, you know he spent his early years creating music for church and court: anthems, welcome odes, various instrumental collections. He came to theatre music relatively late, and in that genre remains less well-known, mainly because he worked in what has been called “semi-opera” or “English opera.” With the exception of Dido and Aeneas, his theatre works are not through-composed operas but rather what might be called enhanced incidental music. (He also wrote non-enhanced incidental music, i.e., theatrical overtures and entr’actes with an occasional song or dance thrown in, which I’m not discussing here.)

In Purcell’s five semi-operas – Dioclesian, The Fairy Queen, The Tempest, The Indian Queen, and King Arthur – there’s still a lot of spoken dialogue. King Arthur has a libretto by John Dryden tailored specifically to Purcell’s musical strengths. The principal characters – Arthur, Merlin, Arthur’s sweetheart Emmeline, various Saxon villains—do not sing, because Restoration audiences wouldn’t have understood such a thing. As Isaline Claeys explains in her brief but helpful liner notes,

In [Dryden’s] “dramatic operas” . . . music illustrates scenes of dreams, inner reflection, hymns or magic. According to custom, the sung parts were reserved for mythological or legendary characters, while the dramatic protagonists expressed themselves in speech.

If someone onstage is singing, they’re probably a fairy, a ghost, an evil spirit, or a metaphor. Cupid gets some nice moments, as does the Cold Genius (i.e., Bringer of Frostbite), several Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and the occasional Saxon Priest. This works out fine, although if you’re serious about following the plot, you’ll need to pay attention to Claeys’ synopsis. One or two huge events go unmarked in the musical sequence, since only principal characters are involved: at the end of Act Two, for example, little Emmeline is abducted by Oswald, King of Kent (“a Saxon and a heathen”). But all we hear at the end is a Shepherds’ Chorus, Hornpipe, and Air. They’re quite nice, of course.

This would be where I provide two or three audio clips to illustrate high points of the recording. But Alpha’s distributor outhere and Presto Classical have beaten me to it. Click on their links and you’ll get access to clips from every one of the 51 tracks. (I recommend especially the excerpts from the famous Frost Scene, beginning with Act III: “What Power Art Thou” and ending with the Borée and Hornpipe. Also fun: the Act IV Trumpet Tune and Act V “Fairest Isle.” (Note that most of these tracks are between 2 and 4 minutes long; some are shorter. Goldilocks would say that’s just right.)

You’ll want the booklet, digital or hard copy, because it’s got complete text in English and French. In case you want to see the rest of Dryden’s text, here is a link to the entire play.

Beautifully sung, played, and recorded. What is the secret of this music’s charm? I think it lies in the way Purcell shapes the tunes, rhythms, and settings so that they seem simply perfect and perfectly simple. This saga of Arthur, King of the Britons, becomes a family romance; one imagines people discovering it as if it were a travel diary grandpa kept in his youth. (It helps that grandpa encountered witches, warlocks, and beneficent wizards on his trip.)

 

(On the YouTube page you can find links to individual numbers if you scroll down to gemstone212121’s comment. Note that this video was made three years ago, when Vox Luminis collaborated with La Fenice and its conductor Jean Tubéry.)

 

Header image: Henry Purcell, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/public domain.

This article was first published in Issue 79.

Before the Runaways, before the Go-Go’s, before the Bangles – there was Fanny. David Bowie was quoted in a 1999 Rolling Stone interview about Fanny: “They’re as important as anyone who’s ever been, ever.” Fanny was led by the sisters June and Jean Millington, on guitar and bass, respectively. They defied gender stereotypes with sophisticated musical virtuosity, great songwriting, passionate singing, and a ferocious, kick ass, no-holds-barred attitude on stage.

After four Fanny albums, June Millington left the band and became a leading producer and artist in the women’s music genre, working with Holly Near, Cris Williamson, and other notables. She also founded the Institute for Musical Arts in Goshen, Massachusetts. A nonprofit organization dedicated to teaching professional performance and recording techniques to young girls and teens interested in music, IMA also houses a full-fledged recording studio.

June, Jean, and Jean’s son Lee Madeloni recorded Play Like a Girl several years ago, which signaled the Millington sisters’ return to original rock music. Their last 2018 release hearkens back to their roots with Brie Darling (nee Brandt), who played drums with them as teens in The Svelts, and who sang with and played drums with Fanny for one album, a hit single, (Jean’s, “Butter Boy” – about David Bowie) and a later tour. The album is Fanny Walked the Earth, and features some surprising guest appearances that pay tribute to Fanny’s legacy as well as sets the stage for new future music.

[Editor's Note: in 2021, after this article was originally published, the documentary Fanny: the Right to Rock was released. It's currently available for streaming on PBS.]

June graciously took the time to share some of her unique producing and performing insights and experiences for Copper.

John Seetoo: Popular music has had a number of noteworthy sibling band partnerships: Brian, Dennis, and Carl Wilson in the Beach Boys, Eddie and Alex Van Halen, Gregg and Duane Allman, Ray and Dave Davies of the Kinks, Angus and Malcolm Young in AC/DC, Maurice and Verdine White in Earth, Wind & Fire, Noel and Liam Gallagher of Oasis, and most recently, Caleb, Jared, Nathan, and Matthew Followill of Kings of Leon. What do you think are the elements of a sibling musical partnership that differs from others? As you and Jean Millington Adamian have been playing together since the beginning, back when you both still lived in the Philippines, which one from the list do you think resembles your relationship, or is there one unlisted that is a more accurate comparison?

June Millington: I have to acquaint myself with the full list of siblings you noted, but my guess is the fact that we were girls, and then women growing up together, would be a different experience from the boys’. Music not only opened us up to the world, in a way it shielded us. We felt special, and could now more or less jump over the moat of (mostly) racism that was already evident and was erected by society to keep us in an inferior mode. We didn’t know why, but we could sure feel it. Heck, when we did pop music off the radio, we were invincible. It was a great shield, all the way from America!

As girls, we huddled in front of the radio (transistor! brand-new technology!) in Manila and found great solace in learning songs together, feeling the thrill as music goes through you – not to mention the healing qualities intrinsic in doing music – and we got applause from members of the family. They always asked us to play after dinners, at the beach, and at other gatherings, and got such a kick out of our singing and playing (perfectly) songs like “Island in the Sun” and “Yellow Bird.” It was a fantastic feeling!

As we got older, started a band, and eventually moved into the Fanny realm, we created our own, shall we say, holographic frame that we stepped into. It was hard work, but it was definitely a type of freedom. Later, we had to learn to step out of that frame and become human beings – with no hype, etc. – and that was hard work, as well.

It’s hard for me to believe that boys have as hard a time pushing their way forward; bravado is expected of them and girls generally are required to hang back. There are still prejudices against women and girls playing in the genre of rock and roll – that stance is, to many people, still in the male domain. So we definitely had to deal with that stereotype. Actually, I hated being forced to challenge the guys, and so many of them felt and accepted that as a position, resenting us along the way. (The better players, like Skunk Baxter, Lowell George, Steve Love, Johnny Winter, Jeff Beck, Terry Kath, and John Hall, never felt that way – a relief, believe me.) We just wanted to do music, make some friends, and have a good time!

 

JS: Your release of Fanny Walked the Earth not only comes full circle for you, Jean, and Fanny after nearly 50 years, but officially reunites you with Brie Darling, who was your drummer back in your 1960s high school band, The Svelts, and for a Fanny tour in the mid-1970s. So you three were not only a pioneering all female rock band, but an all female Asian-American/Filipina rock band! Were you all thinking, even in the back of your minds, about your place in history as you were writing and producing the new songs, or was this an afterthought realization, and did that perspective have a bearing on your artistic decisions?

[June Millington notes: Brie Howard Darling was in the band from summer 1966 to beginning of the summer of ’67. She quit and rejoined off-and-on after getting married, and played with us even while pregnant, quite a feat! That was late ’67 into ’68, and then she had the baby and we re-teamed up with Alice (de Buhr) and Addie (Clement) as Wild Honey; that ending up being the band that got the record deal with Richard (Perry) and Reprise. The Fanny tour we played on to back “Butter Boy” was late spring into summer 1975.].

 

JM: Fanny Walked the Earth was a fluke in that there was a tribute concert for me in early 2016 in Northampton – the area where I live and work with IMA – and many musicians were involved. Jean and Brie came out to be part of it, and as we rehearsed we realized it felt so good, like we were 17 again! Realizing all three [of us were] Filipina-American was not a thing for us when we were teenagers; there was no space for that. We had to prove we could play like guys, and that was it. Fortunately, we so enjoyed doing the music, so liberating!

When we realized we would love to play together more, then we self-recognized the package: older women who could totally slam (with a track record), and Asian-American at that. We realized how proud we were, moreover, to be Filipina-American, and wanted to bring that into the public’s consciousness. We realized that would be a big statement, and wanted to be a part of that societal force. Our material was not influenced by that, however – we wrote whatever we wanted, and let it all go. Like we did when we were in our teens and early 20s!

JS: When you and I spoke in the past, you mentioned some of the Filipino music influence creeping into a few of your rhythms and phrasing choices, like playing faux gamelan sounds on guitar for songs from your solo record, Heartsong, in particular, the song “Coconut Mentality.” Apart from your record with Jean, Ticket to Wonderful, which had some Hawaiian music coloring, is this something you may return to again, especially now that you have a Filipina band? Does Brie have similar roots as you and Jean in Filipino culture, and might this emerge in lyrics of future songs, if not overtly in the music for a future follow up Fanny Walked the Earth record?

JM: Brie’s mother is Filipina and dad is Anglo-American, exactly like me and Jean, but she did not grow up in the Philippines. So, we did have parallel experiences growing up (again, think racism), but not exactly the same. There’s nothing like eating the food, hearing the language, understanding the cultural norms…a lot of them non-verbal. As far as writing songs with lyrics/music reflecting the Filipino/Asian-American experience, it’s possible but I can’t really say. That’s a good idea on the face of it! But given Jean’s stroke, which happened [in] January 2018, doing a follow-up album is seriously on hold. I’m continuing with turning my autobiography, Land of a Thousand Bridges, into an audiobook here at IMA, and writing Book II, which starts in 1975 when rock ‘n roll overlapped with feminism, a most critical time. Then came disco, and AIDS, my producing albums, co-founding IMA, working and recording again with Jean…it’s a big piece, to which I’m devoting a bulk of my time. I’m booked for the rest of my life!

JS: You had some interesting guest appearances from members of the Go-Go's, Runaways, and the Bangles, as well as from Patti Quatro, who also played in Fanny during the 1970s. You have mentioned in other interviews that the guest appearances were mostly due to Brie’s invitations. Pairing veterans with younger guest stars seems to be a common marketing trend across music genres, from blues (John Lee Hooker, B.B. King), classic rock (Santana, America, Billy Gibbons), country (Roy Orbison, Loretta Lynn), R&B (Isley Brothers), and Hip-Hop (LL Cool J), being just a few examples. Are you very cognizant of your musical legacy, and are there any other artists whom you would welcome in the future for guest appearances on your recordings?

JM: That’s a good question, but as of yet I don’t think that way because I never have the budget for it. Were I to daydream about pairing with other guest artists, I think I’d start with Bonnie Raitt – that’s a natural. Then Skunk Baxter, and I would definitely dream of doing some music with Ruby Ibarra.

JS: In addition to a love of harmonies and a very specific vision and disciplined pre-production work ethic when in the studio, you and Brian Wilson are also both deaf in one ear from an early age, yet have produced wonderful records. In June Millington’s case, how do you approach mixing? Do you go for a good mono balance first, then tell an engineer where you want stereo placement and get feedback from trusted colleagues, or is there another methodology that you use?

JM: I can hear conceptual stereo, in that I know where things are placed. I also have intuitive hearing in my left ear, but it’s also important to know that changes in the stereo field presents to me as changes in volume. I’m very aware of that and, armed with knowledge from so many years in the studio, I am armed with that knowledge and use it to the utmost. I’m alert to nuances, and to pitch (read, pitch anomalies), and have the type of brain wiring (no sound or equilibrium on one side) that allows me to edit mentally, arrange and re-arrange things in my head, and “see” music as a 3-dimensional field as represented by sound reproduction. In addition, I’m tuned in to the “colors” of chords and voicings. All that, along with knowledge of quite a bit of theory, allows me to get a lot done.

Most importantly, I work with an engineer whom I trust implicitly and let them go for it. Strictly speaking, that’s in the realm of pre-production. Choose who you want to work with, and make decisions. If he or she was also involved in the tracking and overdubs (my preference), I can wait quite a while before making suggestions. I enjoy that process, of trusting the person I’m working with, of being surprised by the talent, because good engineers always come up with something super-interesting. When they’re good, they’re colossal. [Good examples: Geoff Emerick, Leslie Ann Jones, John Cuniberti, Roma Baran, Leanne Ungar, Lee Madeloni.]

JS: You stress the importance of pre-production when producing records, and yet you also love jam sessions and improvising. Now that you have your own professional recording studio at IMA, have you ever recorded anything in a stream of consciousness improvisational mindset and wound up keeping the tracks because the inspiration could never be replicated?

JM: The trick is to balance all of the above. If you hear some new, unexpected thing happening, tape it – try to incorporate it. You never know – there’s got to be a willingness to even check out the merest bit of improv, or going off the chart. The only issue is time: if you got the time, and the money, go for it! Especially in the digital realm, there’s always Save and Save As. That really gives you a lot of freedom, and compared to the days of tape, where it was sometimes difficult to find other takes, I’m shocked by how much. Of course, you sacrifice some in the sound quality (Right! Tape is deeper and warmer…) but it really is all in the balance. Make decisions and go for it.

As far as recording entirely in “stream of consciousness improvisational mindset” mode, I would say no, in my case. I like to have a plan, and charts. But that happens in overdubs, definitely. That’s where I find that type of freedom. But then, it’s set up that way. You gotta have good players to play simply, because that’s kinda more dangerous in terms of execution (and we all wanna show that we can play!), but it opens up all the spaces where other things can happen. I love that. But you gotta have your hands on the reins.

 

JS: You have mentioned in other interviews about how the women’s music world was not used to drums and rock and roll when you started your involvement in the field after leaving Fanny. The energy of heavy rock seemed to be the antithesis of the quiet, emotional communication that the singer-songwriter genre tried to convey in the 1970s. I remember a concert you played with Cris Williamson at the Beacon Theater in New York City where you killed it with an amazing solo. I think the song was “When Anger Takes The Wheel.” Cris Williamson seemed to be almost apologetic that the band was rocking so hard with you stepping forward! Was this a big transition and leap for you musically? Did you have to develop a wider and different musical vocabulary and frame of reference in order to work with musicians in women’s music after spending so many years with Fanny on a major label?

JM: Yes, I indeed had to make many adjustments in working within the realm of women’s music, which began with Cris asking me to play on The Changer and the Changed in 1975. So much about it, I loved: the inclusiveness on a number of levels, the spiritual aspects, the friendships themselves ongoing for many years and many of them enduring. These are real connections.

But there were dissonances, too – like being asked to turn down (especially when I established myself as an artist/songwriter in that genre), which grew more frequent when Jean played with me later! The one that really had my head kinda spinning was when Cris let me play drums (she pretty much let me do anything I wanted, which was very cool), and some objected to my playing a “male” instrument. That was just an ill-informed prejudice, which I conveniently ignored.

But let’s not forget that I’ve written many ballads and quiet, more spiritually-inclined songs as well: “You’ve Got a Home,” “Keep Me Anymore,” “Rosarita,” “Calling Your Name (to the Stars),” “All the Children”…songs that I hold close, and that continue to nourish me.

JS: Guitar Player magazine included you in an article about 50 of the most overlooked guitarists in music history and said you were so good you should have had the “female” qualifier before “guitarist” removed. Seeing the previous question from the other end of the telescope, there are women who are taking the technical skill level on guitar to unheard-of heights that shred gender differences. Players like Kaki King, Vicki Genfan, and someone who reminds me a lot of you in terms of being an Asian-American guitar trailblazer – math rock whiz Yvette Young of Covet. Especially since you say you came to the blues later in your musical development, do you feel that the drive towards technical virtuosity and the ability to communicate emotionally through one’s instrument can be at odds? Can a successful blend between the two be made, and if so, how have you tried to accomplish this?

 

JM: Technical virtuosity is something that always eluded me. I’m one of those (in any field) who came up from behind. I just kept working, driven by my passion and the fact that I recognized that music afforded me, in this life, the ultimate freedom. In my view, the only thing that could keep one from the ability to communicate emotionally via an instrument is that you chose the wrong one (or, misheard the “signals” coming from a variety of instruments, all of which I think have essential souls and sing to us, whether being played or not).

All instruments are ready to sing, to fly. Whether you are the key that fits into the lock is a combination of luck and, quite frankly, grit. The ability to keep going. I’m just lucky in that I instantly knew that the guitar was for me, and vice versa. So I was never gonna give up.

Yvette Young is a fascinating study and someone whose talent and output is impossible not to admire. I’m happy to be mentioned in the same sentence with her as a trailblazer.

 

Part Two of this interview will be published in Issue 199.

Header image courtesy of  Marita Madeloni.

This article first appeared in Issue 79.

I’m a firm believer in fair use when it comes to audio media — if you bought it, you own it, and you’re free to do with it as you please — as long as it’s for your personal enjoyment and you’re not trying to sell it illegally for profit. Apparently the code writers/hackers in the world agree with me, and it’s really great that we can finally transcode just about any digital file type that exists to ensure compatibility with ever-evolving audio equipment. I’m departing from my usual review format to focus on a developing technology I’ve been following for several years now, which is the ripping of SACD discs and the extraction of the Direct Stream Digital (DSD) layer. I first became aware of this about three years ago, and have followed its progress with great interest, although I haven’t had the tools available to me to make this happen until just a few weeks ago. Why a nearly-dead, niche technology like SACD, you may ask — my involvement with it goes all the way back to my very first gig in audio journalism, twenty years ago at the old Audiophile Audition website.

I wrote my first piece for Audiophile Audition in 2001; the SACD format had been unceremoniously launched the year before to very little fanfare. SACD offered great promise, with many technological positives; the only real downside being the somewhat prohibitive cost of the discs and players. In the year following SACD’s release, John Sunier (the now-deceased editor at AA), offered me what would prove to be a ridiculously generous and nearly unlimited flow of SACD discs from all the major record labels. I also received discs from a multitude of smaller labels who were eager to jump on board the SACD bandwagon — and I didn’t even have an SACD player at the time. Fortunately, manufacturers and record company reps were keen to get information about the new technology out there, and were very accommodating when it came to getting hardware into the hands of reviewers.

My experience with SACD was that its playback was revelatory; no other digital disc could come close to providing the level of clarity, organic purity, and very nearly analog-like sound quality. By the time the major labels pulled the plug on the format in 2009, I had amassed a collection of over 300 titles. And I’ve added more in the decade since then, bringing me to a total of about 400 discs. I don’t play them as much as I’d like, because I’ve pretty much become a slave to the convenience of streaming digital music. I’ve purchased a number of high-res downloads — including some DSD downloads (about a dozen). However, the cost is prohibitive, so I haven’t gone all-in with DSD downloads. But having so many SACD discs on hand, I’ve always dreamed about being able to add those to my digital music library for convenient playback.

The first time I read anything online about being able to rip an SACD, it involved what appeared to be a mega-complicated process of exacting procedures, requiring very specific, no-longer-in-production equipment with very limited availability. At that point, this was limited to certain Oppo universal players and early Sony PlayStation models. And if the firmware on any of those units had been updated beyond a certain point, they would no longer perform the process, which was fairly long and involved, and apparently placed a significant strain on the lasers of the units being used for ripping. You’d read lots of threads with people literally pulling their hair out over failed ripping attempts, or over finally locating a correct Oppo or PlayStation unit, only to find that they’d been run to death ripping SACDs. Becoming an SACD-ripping early-adopter didn’t appear to be in the cards for me.

 

 

I pretty much had given up on it until about a year ago, when I stumbled onto a thread linked to the Sonore (manufacturer of Rendu streamers and associated equipment) website that referenced a program called ISO2DSD. Googling that eventually led me to the HiFi Haven website, where there’s an entire thread dedicated to ripping SACDs. Which is a tad daunting, because the thread has 140 pages of comments that range from relatively cryptic tidbits of absolutely essential information, to full blown rants detailing chaotic failures at the process. I waded through a mountain of detailed information for seemingly countless hours — even days — and eventually picked up some essential clues on how to make the process actually work. I’d recommend going ahead and registering for the site — like I did, you may find yourself occasionally stuck in the process, and have a need to reach out to anyone who might be able to provide some guidance or perhaps a clarification.

The process of ripping SACDs has gotten significantly easier over the last couple of years. I guess there are folks out there with lots of time on their hands, the ability to write sophisticated programs that have seriously simplified the process, and the time to test a ridiculous variety of players to confirm whether they will actually work with the programs. The very first step can be found on the HiFi Haven website, on page 1 of the thread, midway down the page, where there’s a comprehensive listing of player models that will work for SACD ripping. These are all currently Blu-ray players (that support SACD playback) that incorporate a MediaTek chipset that’s needed to make ripping possible. The MediaTek chipset was introduced in 2010, and was commonly used in the players listed below from 2012 through 2017. That list currently includes:

Sony brand compatible Blu-ray players:

BDP-S390 (also sold as BX39 in some markets)

BDP-S490

BDP-S590 (also sold as BX59 in some markets)

BDV-E190

BDP-S4100

BDP-S5100 (also sold as BX510 in some markets)

BDP-S6200* (also sold as BX620 in some markets, requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript sacd_extract_6200 version)

BDP-S7200* (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript sacd_extract_6200 version)

BDP-S790* (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript version/S790 variant)

BDP-A6000* (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript sacd_extract_6200 version)

BDV-NF720 (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript sacd_extract_6200 version)

BDP-S6500* (also sold as BX650 in some markets, requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript version/S6700 variant developed June 2020)

BDP-S6700 (not recommended, only certain early production is compatible)

UHP-H1 (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript version/S6700 variant developed Jun. 2020)

Pioneer brand compatible Blu-ray players:

BDP-80FD

BDP-160

BDP-170

MCS-FS232 * (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript version S6200/7200 variant)

Oppo brand compatible Blu-ray players:

BDP-103 and 103D

BDP-105 and 105D

Cambridge brand compatible Blu-ray players:

Azur 752BD

CXU

Arcam brand compatible Blu-ray & CD/SACD players:

FMJ UDP411

FMJ CDS27

Primare brand compatible Blu-ray player:

BD32 MkII

Electrocompaniet brand compatible Blu-ray player:

EMP3

Denon brand compatible Blu-ray player:

DBT-3313UD and 3313UDCI* (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript version/S790 variant)

MSB Technology brand compatible Blu-ray players:

Universal Media Transport V

Signature UMT V

Yamaha brand compatible Blu-ray Player:

BD-S677

Marantz brand compatible Blu-ray player:

UD7007* (requires Sony ARMv7 AutoScript version/S790 variant)

I’m pretty certain few (if any) of the player models listed are in current production, and some of the Sony models sold for less than $100 USD when brand new at stores like Target, Costco, and WalMart. A number of them can be found online at sites like eBay for around $50 or less, and numerous posters have detailed finding one of the player models at thrift stores like Goodwill. I bookmarked the model listing page on my cell phone and started a casual search for one of the players; I often frequent thrift stores looking for cheap CDs, and virtually every one I go into regularly has a half-dozen or so Blu-ray players priced anywhere from $10 to $20. From all accounts on the HiFi Haven SACD ripping thread, one of the players that’s most commonly available and used for ripping is the Sony BDP-S5100 (also sold as BX510 in some markets). I decided to forego the online search for one of the players, choosing instead to trust dumb luck in finding a functioning unit in a thrift store.

 

 

My frequent thrift store searches were unsuccessful over a period of about a year, until a couple of weeks ago, when I found a very clean Sony BX510 player at a Goodwill for $11. Woo hoo! I have a personal theory that a lot of disc players donated to Goodwills and the like were probably only used for DVD or Blu-ray playback, and probably not subjected to extreme usage or abuse, meaning that the SACD drive function is more than likely pretty pristine. The BX510 I scored came without a remote; being able to access the player’s setup menu is essential to getting the ripping process to properly function. Luckily, I happened to have a newer model Sony Blu-ray player (purchased at WalMart for about $50) in my living room, and its remote worked perfectly with the BX510. Barring all else, working remotes can be gotten from Amazon for less than $10.

 

You’ll need to connect the player to a monitor or TV, and you’ll need the remote to make a few basic settings on the player’s on-screen setup menu. 1) Go to the Audio Settings tab, and turn the DSD Output Mode to “Off.” 2) Then go to the BD/DVD Viewing Settings tab and set the BD Internet Connection to “Do Not Allow.” 3) Go to the Music Settings tab and set the Super Audio CD Playback Layer to “SACD.” 4) Go to the System Settings tab and set the Quick Start Mode to “On.” I also set the System Software Auto Update to “Off,” even though the current conventional logic is that it’s no longer critical to the machine’s ability to rip SACDs. 5) Finally, you’ll need to go to the Network Settings tab and choose between “Wired” or “Wireless” — once again, the original thought process with SACD ripping was that wireless wasn’t feasible because of the huge data transfer going on, but recent experiences have shown that not to be the case. I’ve actually had good success with a wireless connection, so whichever path you choose should work for you.

 

Okay, so now that you have your player set up, there are a couple of other considerations that need to be made. First of all, you need to download the latest version of JavaOS for your computer’s OS; the ripping program is based on Java, and requires a minimum of Java Version 8 to function properly. Most computers use Java to assist or manage a variety of functions, but you do need to confirm that you at least have Java Version 8 running.

  

The biggest advance in SACD ripping came with the introduction of the SACD Extract software in 2018. The software will work in Windows, Mac, or Linux environments; when you click on the link, it takes you to page 15 on the HiFi Haven SACD ripping page. In the post, you’ll see two buttons marked “Spoiler: AMD/Intel” and “Spoiler: Raspberry PI”; click on the one that pertains to your computer system processor setup, and opening them will reveal the download links that match your OS. Download the .zip file, extract it, and place it not buried too deeply on your system hard drive; for example, if using a Mac, place it in the Application folder. With Windows, place the file somewhere on your “C” drive, like in the Program Files folder.
 

  

 

The download package includes a number of files, but only two require any attention from you; the one named “SACDExtractGUI” is the actual application and visual interface that you launch every time you rip an SACD. The second file you need to be concerned with is one that’s named “SACD_Extract”; this is an executable program that governs the ripping process on your computer. No installation is necessary of any of the executable (.exe) files; they automatically run when the program is launched. All the software here is open source, which means that many developers are making regular improvements; one just happened recently that has fixed some problem issues I had with certain discs not ripping. This tends to be a problem most often with classical SACDs, where the metadata character string for a particular file exceeds 256 characters — it happens a lot more often than you might imagine, and the ripping software originally couldn’t process files that exceeded that limitation. Fortunately, there’s a fix; go to page 142 of the HiFi Haven thread; midway down, click on the link EuFlo’s GitHub repository, and scroll down to the bottom of the page.

Choose the -99 link that matches your operating system. Extract the files, then delete the “SACD_Extract” file from your existing software folder and replace it with the new one you just downloaded. So far, everything I’ve ripped has worked perfectly with the new executable file.

 

 

The last physical thing you need is a USB flash drive; preferably at least 4 GB, though the files you’ll be loading to it are fairly small. The flash drive should be formatted as FAT 32 (MS-DOS) or NTFS, with Master Boot Record (MBR) chosen as the partition scheme. This part is VERY IMPORTANT to the overall success of the process. I’m running Windows 10, and I’m not completely certain that it will allow you to format a flash drive using MBR — I wasn’t able to get any of this working properly until I used a Mac to format the flash drive as MS-DOS and MBR, and now it works with both Macs and Windows. After formatting your flash drive, go to page 2 of the HiFi Haven thread; midway down the page, there’s a reference to an AutoScript download. You’ll need to pick the link that pertains to your particular Blu-ray player manufacturer, and then extract the folder to a safe place on your hard drive. The folder will be named “AutoScript”; without opening the folder, copy it to your flash drive. Don’t open the folder under any circumstances — doing so could inadvertently alter the files within, causing them to function improperly, or not at all.

 

 

 

So, that’s everything you need; a functioning BD player properly set up, a properly formatted flash drive loaded with the AutoScript program, and the SACDExtractGUI program with the latest .exe update loaded onto your computer. I’ve done this on both Mac and Windows, and there’s one key setup difference. Windows applications and programs are automatically executable files upon opening, but that’s not necessarily true with Mac and Linux OS. The “SACD_Extract” file — which is the actual program that runs the process — has to be made a Unix executable file for Mac and Linux. Go again to page 15 on the HiFi Haven SACD ripping thread, to the same post that has the “Spoiler” links to the specific OS program files, and there are detailed instructions to easily make “SACD_Extract” an executable file using the Terminal function. I can’t honestly comment on Linux, but I know for a fact that it works with Macs.

All Blu-ray players have a USB port on the back panel, and some have one on the front panel as well; for some reason, the program seems to work more effortlessly when you insert the USB flash drive with AutoScript into the rear panel USB port (yeah, it’s much less convenient — sorry!). Connect the Blu-ray player to your network (if hard-wired) with the flash drive inserted, then power it on. It doesn’t need to be attached to a monitor, but you need to be able to determine the network address of the player. Since most networks tend to re-assign IP addresses with some frequency, it can be a bit of a task to keep up with your player’s current IP address. A handy smartphone app is FING, which will scan your network and identify your player’s IP address for you — it’s super-simple to use.

 

 

Then navigate to the location of the SACDExtractGUI program and double-click to open it; first of all, at the very top of the page and under “Program,” you’ll need to navigate to the location of the “SACD_Extract” executable file. There’s a test button and a prompt below will confirm that it’s working properly. Just below that, click the “Server” button, then enter the IP address of your Blu-ray player; the port will always be “2002,” and you can ping it and test it to make certain that you’re connected and the port is accessible. This program will work for extracting both the Stereo and Multichannel layers of an SACD, but be forewarned — that’s a ton of data, and ripping the entire contents of an SACD can easily run in the 4-plus GB range. For that matter, the stereo DSD files are very commonly 1 GB to 2-plus GB, so prepare yourself mentally for the long haul if ripping multichannel. In my experience, a typical stereo DSD extraction takes about 10 minutes or so.

The program offers multiple choices for ripping; you can rip the contents of the SACD to an ISO file — which is strictly for archival purposes, and can’t be played back without extracting the DSD files from it. Your other two choices are ripping as DSD Storage Facility (DSF) or DSD Interchange File Format (DFF). The difference is that ripping as DSF allows for the inclusion of metadata, and DFF does not, so if music library organization is important to you, DSF ripping is the only logical choice. So depending on what you want to extract, check “DSF” and Stereo and/or Multichannel. You might want to do a test rip; some DACs tend to insert a “pop” between DSD tracks. So you might want to also check the “Padding-less DSF” box, which tends to eliminate any problems of that sort. I’ve used it with all my rips, and haven’t noticed any issues of any sort.

The last thing you need to do is to navigate to your storage location, or wherever you plan on placing the ripped files for the short term. If you don’t browse to create a path for the Output Directory, the program will automatically place your ripped files into individual folders within the folder where the program is located on your hard drive. Just make certain that you have plenty of storage space available; I’ve ripped over 150 SACDs so far (in less than five days!), and ripping only the Stereo layers has already totaled almost 350 GB. I then transfer the files to another SSD that’s network-connected — surprisingly, the large files copy across my wired network very quickly. I then wipe them from my computer’s hard drive — at one point recently, I came within 1 GB of maxing out my computer’s M2 SSD drive, which wouldn’t have been good. And of course, you need to have some storage redundancy, just in case disaster happens and you lose a hard drive. You don’t want to have to go through this process again!

This surely goes without saying, but the ripping process is fairly labor-intensive for your computer. Not only is the laser drive of your Blu-ray player placed under a fair amount of stress, but it’s also helpful if your computer has a fairly robust processor with multiple cores, utilizes a solid-state drive, and is equipped with plenty of RAM. I’m using a fairly fast Intel Core i5, quad-core processor with an M2 SSD boot drive and 8 GB of RAM. It makes the process fairly effortless, but when an SACD rip is underway, my computer’s fan runs almost constantly and there’s a lot of buzzing and clicking — it’s obviously a pretty involved process.

By this point, if everything is a go, you’ll need to turn on the BD player again; because of the AutoScript on the inserted flash drive, the disc drawer should automatically open (I’ve noticed that it sometimes goes through this motion a couple of times — nothing to be worried about). Insert your chosen SACD, press the close button, and wait for the disc to load and show you the total disc playback time on the player’s display. If at any point, “WAIT” shows up in the display, something has gone wrong. But if the timing shows up okay, then touch the power button to power the machine down; when the machine display goes blank and the unit shuts down, remove the flash drive from the back of the machine. Then click the “Run” button on the SACDExtractGUI program; within a few seconds, the program should start, and you’ll see the disc ripping in the GUI display on your desktop.

As I noted above, if you’re only ripping the stereo layer of an SACD, it usually takes about ten minutes or so, and that’s for a hard-wired or wireless connection. And you don’t need to reinsert the USB flash drive with every rip; once inserted, it’s usually good for six or eight SACD rips. My experience is that the program tends to “lose its mind” after about six or eight rips, and the process is very specific to get back on track. If you go through the normal process and “WAIT” appears in the BD player display, a reboot of the player is required, and this can only be accomplished by physically power-cycling the unit by unplugging it from the power source and then re-plugging it. At that point, you also need to re-insert the flash drive; it’s basically just like starting over again, and the process has to be exact every time. 1) Unplug the BD player from the power source, 2) re-insert the flash drive, 3) re-plug the BD player to the power source, 4) insert the SACD, 5) power down the BD player after the total time shows up on the display, 6) remove the flash drive from the rear of the player, and 7) press the “Run” button on the extraction program. Follow these steps, and it works really effortlessly, and once you get the drill down, every single time.

It probably took me ten days to figure out how to get the very first SACD to rip; it was pretty much a combination of small errors and poor sequencing of events on my part. Probably the biggest hurdle for me was the whole “power cycling the BD player by unplugging it and replugging it” thing, which seemed really counterintuitive to me. And getting the flash drive with the AutoScript program properly formatted — this is vitally important. Also, if you’ve been ripping with a wired connection, and then decide to try wireless — the setup will revert to the wired IP address, which will have to be changed manually on the ripping program GUI. It really, really helps if your internet download speed is fairly fast; mine is only about 30 Mbps, and it works well with most everything, but don’t try running multiple devices simultaneously — your wife or significant other will end up getting kicked off the Wi-Fi signal, and if your situation is anything like mine, all hell will break loose!

 

 

I mentioned earlier that choosing to rip to DSF files is a great choice because it allows for adding metadata and images to the files. It’s a bit more difficult than editing the metadata with FLACs and other digital media, but I’ve found a really great freeware program, MP3tag, which works pretty effortlessly with DSF files. But it’s a little bit of a learning curve! So far, after about 160 ripped SACDs, I’ve pretty much discovered that you generally get most of the necessary metadata as part of the rip process, but it may need a little tweaking here and there. Some of the fields come up with incorrect or marginally correct information, but I’ve decided that having access to the music is the most important thing here, and if the metadata is less than perfect, I can live with that. You’ll definitely want to add album artwork to the files, and I’ve discovered by trial and error over a period of several years that after you drag the DSF files into MP3tag’s file name window, you need to use your cursor to highlight all the file names before you make any batch alterations to the tags. For example, when adding album artwork, you simply drag it into the artwork window (with all the tracks highlighted), then go to the top of the frame and click on the “Save” icon (it’s a floppy disk). Just keep the file names highlighted throughout the editing process, then click Save; that guarantees that everything is retained in your tagged information.

While there’s a lot of really great information at the HiFi Haven SACD ripping thread, it’s kind of pieced together in a patchwork manner, and takes a fair amount of dedication and desire to get things working. That said, I now feel pretty much like an expert of sorts at this — and it’s really gratifying to simply click a button and get really great DSD playback from my digital library without all the fuss. The sound quality is every bit as great as from a spinning disc — it’s darn near intoxicating! I’ve been listening to a ton of music that I don’t listen to as often as I should because of the added convenience factor, and I still stand by my previous declaration — DSD to me sounds so very much closer to analog than anything else out there.

Thanks to Mikey Fresh and everyone over at the HiFi Haven website for their dedication and perseverance in making this technology much more manageable for those of us who weren’t born computer geniuses. Oh, and in the three weeks since I spotted my working BD player at a Goodwill for $11, I’ve seen a couple more at about the same price, and they’re all over the internet. If you have any interest in this at all, have a fairly large library of SACDs and would like to try ripping them, it might be prudent to pick up a player or three just to have on hand. I know I will!

 Header image: MSB Technology Universal Media Transport V.

This article first appeared in Issue 135.

Just so there are no misunderstandings, I have to explain to you how focused is my interest in reel-to-reel tape. I absolutely don’t want to be challenged or trolled by studio denizens about why did I forget about such-and-such, 30 ips is better, yadayadayada. My interest is, firstly, ONLY about playback and, secondly, about domestic machines because I only care about pre-recorded open-reel tapes.

Thus, you will not read in my jottings anything to do with professional machines, the current availability of fresh blank tape, mixing desks, how to ensure correct record levels, microphones, ad infinitum. That’s because not only am I concerned exclusively with pre-recorded tape, my interest is also restricted to what we might call The Original Open Reel Era. For clarity, the tapes you can buy today from the Tape Project, Fonè, STS, et al, comprise what I will call The Open Reel Revivalists.

Simply put, I have no intention of recording anything live or off-air, though I will, at a later point, touch on the cult interest in transferring CDs or even LPs to tape, by those who find it improves the sound. Moreover, I am fully aware that there are countless audiophiles using professional machines, especially the much-coveted Studer 800 Series decks in 1/2-track form, in their sound systems. Mazel tov to them. But pro decks, in the main, relate to my field of interest as howitzers do to water pistols.

Finishing off with the hardware element for the time being, as I understand it, the production of open-reel machines (pro or domestic) from major makers ended around 2010 with the last of the Otaris. The end of quantity- or series-production tape decks for studios is not something I have researched, so I am going on what I was told by professionals. Since then, what you have are virtually bespoke, limited production items from specialists like Ballfinger, or resuscitated decks from the various restorers and resellers of Technics, TEAC, ReVox, and other rescued units.

For purely domestic open-reel tape recorders, from Akai, Sony, Pioneer and so on, I would have imagined that they ceased production in the early-to-mid 1990s. That certainly applies to one of the most important and popular manufacturers, which – according to authors Luca Maria Olgiati and Paolo Bologna, in their definitive history – show that ReVox’s last open-reel machine, the PR99 Mk III, was made in 1993.

[For the full saga, get a copy of their superb book, ReVox Reel to Reel Tape Recorders 1949-1993 (ReVoxMania, ISBN 978-1-36-659060-2). I found mine on Amazon.]

Finishing off with the hardware, the puzzler in my arsenal is the Otari MX5050 because I always thought of that brand as pro-only, yet here is a machine which, like the Technics RS-1500, plays three speeds and two formats. And who ever used 1/4-track in studios? Even if I lost all my other machines, between the Otari and the Technics there isn’t a commercial pre-recorded tape, whether Original Open Reel Era or current 15 ips stuff, which cannot be played.

 

Now back to pre-recorded tape. Roughly speaking, commercially-available pre-recorded tapes date from the early 1950s to the mid-1980s. I have not found any open-reel tapes from any of the major labels after 1984 or so. From that point onward, as exemplified by early, pioneering open-reel specialists like Chad Kassem’s Acoustic Sounds, the aforementioned Tape Project and Foné, and the others which emerged in their wake, nearly all post-1980s pre-recorded tapes are 15 ips, two-track recordings on 10-inch spools, with prices that, frankly, are forbidding, even though they simply reflect the costs of making pre-recorded tapes today.

Let’s deal with the Revivalists at this point. I have nothing but the utmost respect for them, and understand why they have to charge anywhere from $200 to $800 for their tapes. This is not the place for a lesson in economics or commerce – if you don’t believe in profit margins, flights will soon resume to Cuba, Belarus or North Korea – but these guys have to add a markup. When the best price for a 10-inch spool of raw tape is anywhere from $70 – $100 (and as the majority of the labels seem to be in Europe, so you must add shipping and duty to US-sourced blanks), you’re already into three figures.

Then we come to the available recordings on the revivalist labels. These are divided between reissues of material from known artists, such as the Tape Project’s titles by Linda Ronstadt and Creedence Clearwater Revival, to what I can only describe without being mean or cynical as “audiophile repertoire.”

For those of you old enough to remember the heyday of audiophile vinyl, when any Japanese pressing was considered gold dust and direct-to-disc was the height of sonic excellence, the cliché was “great sound – a shame about the music.” Part of the problem, according to the musicians, was that direct-to-disc recordings did not enable multiple takes and editing was categorically out of the question, so performances were cautious or even stilted. Despite the involvement of wizards like Doug Sax, Lincoln Mayorga, Keith O. Johnson, and others of that caliber, the audiophile genre never threatened the appeal nor sonic supremacy of recordings from the best years of Mercury, RCA, Capitol, Columbia or Decca/London.

While there were some stunning and desirable titles on audiophile labels, from artists including Taj Mahal, Thelma Houston, Earl “Fatha” Hines, Ry Cooder and others, for the most part what you ended up with were LPs you played once, put away, and only retrieved when friends came over to hear your new preamp or cartridge. One suspects they were only played repeatedly by retailers, or exhibitors at hi-fi shows. Huh? You actually listened voluntarily to the Sheffield Lab Drum Record for pleasure? Don’t tell me: you also pour a brandy and groove on Shure test disc LPs. Hmmm…the only audiophile LPs I still play are reissues via Mobile Fidelity, Nautilus and others, of known titles.

 

It’s the same problem with contemporary open-reel tapes. For those re-issuing familiar works, in addition to the cost of the blank tapes, the high cost of maintaining machines for duplicating, and the need to make copies in real time, comes the swingeing cost of royalties. One label with which I discussed the idea of releasing even big-ticket, ultra-limited runs of open-reel editions of their titles simply stated that, when compared to LPs and SACDs, the costs of labor, materials, but especially royalties based on a percentage of the retail price, it is simply not worth the effort for sales which might be as low as a few dozen, if even a few hundred.

So, what does that leave? If you’re not able to reissue known works under license, then you are forced to record new repertoire. Paying the performers, booking a concert hall, funding an orchestra – it isn’t cheap unless you think you can get away with some unplugged troubadour recorded in your living room.

Every once in a while, however, something amazing will slip through, like Eleanor McEvoy’s Forgotten Dreams on Chasing the Dragon. In addition to being an intimate, live set from a much-loved vocalist, the label even eased the pain of acquiring a copy by offering it not just on direct-cut vinyl, CD, and its premium 15 ips, 10-inch, 2-track tape, they also made it available on 7-1/2 ips/7-inch for a massive savings (£350 for 15 ips vs £215 for 7-1/2 ips).

But that’s the exception. The bulk of current pre-recorded open-reel tapes involve artists you probably never heard of, playing music which is best described as “special interest.” If – and I am totally not expecting this to happen – pre-recorded open-reel tapes are going to transcend the few hundred enthusiasts wealthy enough to indulge in them, then we’re gonna need reel-to-reel copies of Dylan or Adele or Marvin Gaye or Queen or ZZ Top or Taylor Swift or Elton John or even Ed Sheeran, and for under $200 apiece. And I base that latter figure on how Mobile Fidelity sells out of every one of its Ultradisc One-Step LPs at $125 a pop, in runs now typically hitting 7,500 copies.

Which is where I came in, finding original pre-recorded tapes no newer than 35 years old, probably stored in a garage or attic, covered in mouse droppings, poorly spooled, with split boxes and smelling like a corpse. Next time, we’ll discuss the trials, tribulations, and credit card flexing required to build up a library of tapes worth playing. And yes, I’m in love with one containing folk tunes from Peru.

 

Header image: Just one of KK’s latest finds on eBay – not bad for under $100 including shipping to the UK and criminal import charges. All images courtesy of the author.

This article first appeared in Issue 149.

As timeless minutes drifted by, the young man sensed something cold and hard melting inside of him. Eyes closed, senses open, a tear ran quietly down his cheek. He wasn’t sure why. His consciousness began to swim in the warm swirling currents of sound, his thoughts surrendering to the impossible beauty of the palpable sonic tapestry being woven in front of him.

A quickening of the tempo was matched by his pulse. He opened his eyes to ground himself, but to no avail. Colors leaped from strings, reeds, skins and horns in glorious celebration. There was no turning back; he was fully involved. He lost all peripheral experience; only the liquid glow of the orchestra remained. One by one, instruments added their voice to the dance, pounding, building, rising and undulating, initiating this young warrior into acoustic alchemy – driving, reeling and flowing, testing, caressing and blanketing him with an unrelenting embrace – preparing him…until finally, the full weight of the orchestra crashed as one through the roof of his soul, consuming him in a rapturous crescendo.

As the last resounding notes of the first movement echoed into history, he was dazed. His face moist with tears and sweat, wide-eyed, smiling, laughing. Leaping from his seat, he burst into a wild and unrestrained applause. His clapping was crisp, fierce, loud and fast, aimed with reverence at the conductor’s back.

What’s going on? Why hasn’t he turned to face the audience…? 

Silence.

Everyone was staring. The pace of his clapping waned as he looked through watery eyes at the faces around him. Didn’t they like it? What, are these people deaf? How could anyone…I mean… Didn’t you hear?! Too late now. He stood his ground, his clapping quickening in defiance. Salty tears ran races to his shirt as he mined his spirit for resolve. A hundred musicians were looking at him, most of them slack-jawed. The conductor slowly turns. As the maestro sees his face the percussion of his lonely approval intensified, exploding into its own crescendo of gratitude. He couldn’t stop. Their eyes met.

A slight smile found its way to the maestro’s countenance as an elderly woman nearby rose slowly from her seat and with delicate hands added power to the day with her soft applause. The young man smiled at her. Others rose. Hesitant kudos dappled across the field of humanity like a gentle wind on golden wheat. The conductor, now in a full yet sheepish smile, bowed deeply, extended his baton towards him and looked out at his congregation. With permission granted and the safety of numbers, the hall erupted into volcanic appreciation. All around, gasps are heard as the surprised musicians rose with their instruments and bows, inciting yet another wave of joy in an undisputedly magical moment.

The next day – as predicted by the gracious older woman who was first to join the young man’s tribute – the entire art world was alive with discussion and fanfare as news of this triumph of beauty over convention spread the globe through hungry media.

 

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Johnaco.

This article first appeared in Issue 120.

I got my first transistor radio in 1961. It was cheap, made in Japan, and the brand was Lloyd’s — anybody remember that one? I couldn’t wait to listen to it. At first, I thought that when the DJ said, “Here’s Neil Sedaka with his latest hit, ‘Hey Little Devil,’” that Neil was there in the studio performing! Hey, I was only nine years old and a little naïve. That was the first song I heard on that new radio, and I wanted to buy the record. It wasn’t until a year later, on a family trip through Central California, that I found a copy at (nostalgia alert!) a Ben Franklin five and dime store.

 

A Lloyds transistor radio similar to the first one Rich owned. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Joe Haupt.

 

The next 45s that I bought included “Telstar” by The Tornadoes, “Out of Limits” by The Marketts, “Mother-in-Law” by Ernie K-Doe, “Bumble Boogie” by B. Bumble and the Stingers, and “Talk Talk” by The Music Machine. Even then, my taste was all over the place. I also bought “She Loves You” b/w “I’ll Get You” when The Beatles burst onto the scene. It was on Swan Records, and the label included the admonishment “Don’t Drop Out.”

There were three Top 40 stations in the Bay Area at the time – KYA and KEWB out of San Francisco, and KLIV from San Jose. The first LP I ever bought was a KEWB compilation record called Disc/Coveries, with 12 hits of the day, including “Cathy’s Clown,” Walk, Don’t Run,” “Spanish Harlem,” “Quiet Village,” “Sleep Walk,” and “Alley Oop.”

 

 

My father had assembled a “hi-fi” system from the fifties that included a Bogen tube amp and a Garrard changer. He played the piano and sang in choral groups, so there was a lot of music in the house. My parents had a Sony reel-to-reel recorder with speakers that folded up into a sort of suitcase, and my brother and I had great fun with that, doing fake interviews and speeding up the tape to make us sound like The Chipmunks.

 

 

My first record player was a battery-powered portable made by Singer (yes, the sewing machine company). It had a built-in speaker, but I installed a headphone jack so I could listen to ‘phones or an external speaker. The case was plastic, so I opened it up, cut the wires to the speaker, and hooked them up to the kind of headphone jack that cut the signal when a plug was inserted. I drilled a hole in the side of the case to mount the jack. For the external speaker, I took an old television speaker and mounted it in a gallon ice cream tub for the enclosure (no jokes about “tubby” sound – it was definitely better than the original).

My first real audio equipment was bought when I was in high school. I had a Garrard SL-55 turntable that I stripped down to semi-automatic by removing the changer arm, installing the single-play spindle, and blocking the off/on/changer switch from going all the way. It was fitted with a Shure M44E cartridge. I bought a cheap Nikko TRM-40 amplifier with separate tone controls for each channel, a Sony 355 reel-to-reel, and Pioneer SE-30 headphones (those white semi-spherical ones). My speakers were towers by Pickering (!) that my father bought in 1948. Actually, he had only bought one, but I happened to find another one languishing in a local Radio Shack store. The original drivers were replaced with Wharfedale 8-inch two-ways, and the cabinets had a tunable port on the back. I borrowed albums from friends and taped them, ultimately amassing a collection of over 90 reels with two LPs on each. I recorded stuff from The Who, Fleetwood Mac, Blood, Sweat & Tears, Chicago Transit Authority, Sly and the Family Stone, and Pink Floyd, among many others.

I only started collecting actual records when I got a job at a Wherehouse record store while in college. Between working that record store gig and being the music director for the radio station at San Francisco State University, I had access to used and promotional albums in abundance. It wasn’t too long before I had a few hundred discs. By then, my taste was heavily skewed toward progressive rock, having been bowled over by Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s debut album. I told myself that when I got to 1,000 LPs, I would get rid of one to make room for each new acquisition. Yeah, that didn’t happen – especially since my employment path ran exclusively through record stores for nearly 30 years. But I did recycle some, and I do deeply regret trading away many items from that time. Several obscure Italian prog albums that I got rid of because I didn’t like the music enough are now worth well in excess of $500 each on the Japanese collector’s market.

Orange crates were the budget storage medium of choice in those days, but the sag factor meant that you had to put a good solid board between them if you wanted to stack them. Once I got to six crates (three high on either side of the audio equipment), it was time to build real shelving. Another collector that I knew had made open-back shelves using 48 x 12 x ¾ particleboard, and I copied his basic design. I made four-foot, three-foot, and two-foot modules, ultimately totaling 75 linear feet.

Britain still had a few more months of World War I to endure when Margaret Marian Turner was born in Slough, England in 1918. By the time World War II came around, she was a skilled enough jazz pianist – she’d obsessed over Fats Waller and Count Basie in her teens – to join the USO. While touring for the troops, she met her husband, Chicago cornetist Jimmy McPartland, at an after-show jam session in Belgium.

Still, there was nothing remotely likely about her becoming a jazz star. But she did it. Even more than her fifty-plus recordings, her importance to other musicians can be measured by the nine honorary doctorates and many awards she received over the decades.

Her playing? Elegant, yet courageous. Her charm, intellect, and curiosity are as obvious in her music-making as they are in her personality. Jazz fans got to know her well, thanks to the National Public Radio show Marian McPartland’s Piano Jazz, which she hosted from 1978-2011. She died in 2013.

Please enjoy the beauty, bravery, and brains of these tracks by Marian McPartland.

1. Track: “Paper Moon”
Album: The Magnificent Marian McPartland
Label: Savoy
Year: 1952

As mentioned in a previous column (Issue 197), the record manufacturing process actually begins with the composition, arrangement, performance and recording, since these will greatly influence the sound of the final product. With this out of the way, let us have a closer look at how records are actually made.

In the vast majority of all cases since the 1950’s, the recording arrives on stereophonic magnetic tape, or more recently, as digital files, to a disk mastering studio.

There, it will be transferred to disk, which means that master disks will be cut, one master disk per side, containing a spiral groove, modulated by the sound of the recording. In the days prior to digital recording and magnetic tape, the only way to transfer a recording to disk was from another disk. This was sometimes done to compile a long-playing (LP) record from multiple recordings of individual songs, or to allow some edits to be worked into the record. More commonly, though, prior to the widespread use of magnetic tape, recordings were done direct-to-disk, rather than being transferred to disk from another medium.

The disk mastering setup is, in effect, a sound recording system (a rather bulky one at that), consisting of a disk recording lathe, a cutter head, control units, and audio electronics.

The disk recording lathe, as its name implies, is a machine tool related to the lathe used for metalworking and screw cutting in particular. It is a very accurate mechanical assembly, which clamps and rotates the workpiece (a blank disk) at a steady speed while feeding a cutting tool across its surface to cut a spiral groove. What may appear as a crude and primitive process to the uninitiated, is the grandmother of modern micromachining, resulting in one of the most accurate products humans can make.

 

The feed rate, rotational speed, depth of cut and many other parameters are often adjusted through control units which even permit some limited degree of automation and repeatability. The cutting tool is held in the cutter head, which can impart vibrations to the tool in proportion to an electrical signal driving it. The audio electronics include, as a minimum, the pre-emphasis module (which implements the RIAA recording characteristic) and a cutting amplifier, which is essentially a power amplifier designed to drive a cutter head. The audio electronics often also extend to signal processing units, cutter head protection units, instrumentation to monitor signal level and the coil temperature of the cutter head transducer system, and possibly more. The complete system, despite its complexity, does not know or care what happens upstream of its inputs.

 

Any signal appearing at the inputs of a disk mastering system will be transferred to disk, whether this comes from a tape machine, a record player, a CD player, a DAC or even just a couple of microphones and microphone preamplifiers.

In the latter example, we would have a direct-to-disk recording, meaning that there was no other recording medium involved, and the sound is recorded directly to the master disk. In this case, the master disk is a first-generation recording, with only one round of recording side effects. All other cases of recordings transferred to disk from other media are second-generation re-recordings at best, and commonly many more re-recording generations are involved, along with several rounds of side effects.

Direct-to-disk recording may appear pure and simple, but was largely abandoned as soon as magnetic tape appeared, due to several great challenges, detailed below:

A master disk is called a “master” because its contents will be replicated onto multiple other disks during the manufacturing process. It is an aluminum substrate coated with a soft nitrocellulose lacquer. Only one side is used to cut grooves and due to the lacquer being soft and sensitive, they cannot be played back without damage! As such, a direct-to-disk recording cannot be played back until much later on in the record manufacturing process.

 

Any errors or defects affecting the recording will only be heard after substantial investment in manufacturing operations and long after the recording session is over. These costs will have to be covered well in advance of getting to hear the first clues of the outcome.

Even if all went perfectly well during the recording session, there is still the risk of the master disks being destroyed during the subsequent manufacturing steps, rendering the entire project a total loss.

Moreover, a master disk has to be recorded in one go, with no editing possibilities. The musicians have to be able to perform a whole side of a record in its entirety, with no mistakes or unintended sounds. If something goes wrong (such as legendary stories of the police interrupting an orchestral recording session towards the end of a perfect side due to complaints about the noise), the disk is thrown away and the entire side has to be performed and recorded all over again.

In case this does not sound nervewracking enough, I should point out that the disk recording lathe alone can easily weigh around 700 lbs. and the rest of the setup would be another 700 lbs. This was often carried on location, somewhere with decent acoustics where an ensemble and crew numbering well over 100 could fit, with suitable transportation, accommodation and subsistence arrangements, for everyone!

Last but not least, remember those disk mastering system automation capabilities I mentioned earlier? Forget about them! They rely on a preview signal arriving in advance of the program signal to be cut to disk, allowing enough time for heavy parts of the mechanical assembly to speed up and slow down and for the control systems to calculate all that.

Now here is the catch: since there can be no preview signal during a direct-to-disk recording, there can be no automation! Everything has to be done manually. This was exactly what the “Keeper of the Groove” (as credited in the album notes) was there for in some of the Sheffield Lab direct-to-disk recordings. This was a musically trained person sitting in with the disk mastering engineers and reading the score, giving advance cues of all the sudden loud passages, pauses, etc, for the engineers to manually ride the lathe controls during the cut! For some of these epic sessions, they carried up to three complete mastering systems on location, all cutting simultaneously, just to make sure that at least one of the master disks would survive and be deemed usable for commercial release.

Needless to say, the aforementioned challenges render direct-to-disk recording sessions rather expensive and risky undertakings. Still, they have yielded some of the best-sounding records to be found.

Not that transferring a recording from another medium to disk is without its difficulties. But, it allows the use of a preview signal and automation, as well as the ability to take test cuts of the exact same performance and log the settings for repeatable results when cutting the masters. No heavy lifting involved and no organizational or logistics nightmares to deal with.

Perhaps, one would probably like to think, the ability to take your time in a known, controlled environment, to figure out how it would be best to transfer the material to disk, would make up for this additional level of generation loss.

The modern reality of the music industry tends to be quite grim in this respect. Ideally, the mastering engineer would take a lot of time to fine-tune all the different settings for the most accurate transfer. Test cuts would be taken, which a producer would take home to evaluate with a clear head and return a few days later to oversee the process of cutting the actual masters. In an ideal world, the original recording would also be technically adequate and along with the composition, arrangement and performance would be compatible with the particularities of the destination medium it would be released on. In practice, however, this is rarely the case nowadays.

Recordings are often done in haste, on a small budget, without bothering with a proper arrangement of the compositions, often without even a producer. Inadequate monitoring further exaggerates the problem. Recordings make it to the mastering room and then may require radical processing and correction just to be able to be properly transferred to disk.

This takes time and experience, neither of which comes cheap. Such recordings are not usually backed by budgets sufficient to cover problem solving at the mastering stage.

This is how what I like to call “safe-mode mastering” came to be. This introduced preset signal processing units which chop away the low and high frequencies (which would require some time to figure out how to cut properly), butcher away the dynamics (if there were any there to begin with), and narrow down the stereo image and “shrink” the recording to fit comfortably on the disk medium using standard “safe settings” on the lathe as well. In fact, once you take out everything that makes a recording interesting and worth listening to, you can just cut it without even bothering to actually listen through the whole thing in advance.

The automations will ensure it will work, at least to the extent of that it spins and makes some noise. You may wonder at this point, why bother at all then, all this waste of potential and resources for records that sound worse than their digital sources? I personally feel that if you are not going to do it properly you might as well not do it at all and save us all the hassle for a bunch of records nobody will ever listen to more than once, if at all. There is a booming market for plastics recycling, especially targeting stacks of unsold records sitting in warehouses, which recycling facilities and record pressing plants buy by weight, demonstrating the extent of the problem. The more ethical operations at least remove the paper labels before granulating…

A great-sounding record begins with a great real life sound and a great recording of it, done with a good understanding of the recording medium and of the final distribution medium to which it will need to be transferred. The best-sounding records I have cut required no signal processing at all. The recording was great as it was. No “shrink to fit,” just an accurate transfer. But still, it took time and effort. This involved deciding on the best settings for the groove depth, the spacing between grooves and how this may change throughout the side, the cutting stylus heating system temperature, the amount of vacuum suction needed to clear the chips created during cutting with no audible effects, selecting the best cutting stylus out of a batch and the best blank lacquer master disks (carefully aged), taking several test cuts, auditioning on a calibrated reference reproducer and accurate full-range monitor loudspeakers in a room with excellent acoustics, inspecting the test cuts and then the entire length of the final master disks under the microscope, and doing this process all over again for each album.

While in “safe-mode mastering” one can boast about how many masters they cut in a day; for serious work, we talk about how many days it took to cut a master!

When seemingly perfect masters have been cut and inspected under the microscope, they are sent off to the the next step of the manufacturing process, without having any possibility of listening to the actual master disks and with a whole load of things which could still go wrong downstream. Should the master disk get damaged or should other faults occur or be discovered during the subsequent stages, we are back at the beginning again, cutting a new set of masters to be inspected and sent off!

 

In the next column, we will have a look at the subsequent stages of record manufacturing: plating, and pressing.

 

This article was first published in Issue 92.

Eye-catching imperfection, taken in Grant County, New Mexico.