Tony Cordesman was a great friend to those of us at PS Audio and to so many in the industry, and we deeply mourn his passing on January 29 at the age of 84. Anthony H. Cordesman’s “day job” was as a national security analyst, but his avocation was reviewing high-end audio gear, which he did brilliantly over a long career. I will have much more to say in a tribute to him in the next issue.
Ray Chelstowski, Frank Doris, Harris Fogel, Roy Hall, Rich Isaacs, Howard Kneller, Paul McGowan, B. Jan Montana, Ernst Müller, Rudy Radelic, Wayne Robins, John Seetoo, Peter Xeni
Logo Design: Susan Schwartz-Christian, from a concept by Bob D’Amico
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As one of the first musical art forms created in the US to attain worldwide acclaim and acceptance, jazz straddles the line between the challengingly cerebral harmonic complexity found in orchestral classical music and the interactively creative spontaneity of NBA-caliber basketball.
Jazz recorded in the studio, however, may take advantage of technology’s ability to edit, replace, and otherwise manipulate performances after the fact, not unlike in pop, rock, R&B, hip-hop, and other music genres.
No stranger to the readers of Copper, celebrated engineer and producer Jim Anderson (13 Grammy Award album wins and 26 nominations) graciously invited me to observe a recording session he was engineering for composer and trumpeter Franco Ambrosetti (pictured in the header image) at Sear Sound in New York City.
Hailing from Lugano, Switzerland, Franco Ambrosetti is the son of European bebop pioneer Flavio Ambrosetti, and has been a fixture on the international jazz scene since 1967. He has recorded 26 albums to date as a bandleader, with guest appearances on another 50 more with friends such as Michael Brecker, Tommy Flanagan, Greg Osby, Gato Barbieri, John Abercrombie, Kenny Barron, Italian singer MINA, and many others.
Jeff Levenson, who has produced and/or supervised two Grammy award-winning and 11 nominated albums, was in the producer’s chair. Steven Sacco assisted Jim and ran the Pro Tools digital audio workstation (at 24-bit/192 kHz).
The musicians whom Franco and Jeff rostered for this session included: Peter Erskine on drums, John Scofield on electric guitar, bassist Scott Colley, pianist/music director Alan Broadbent, and Franco himself on flugelhorn and trumpet.
Jim explained that the first composition to be recorded was an Ambrosetti original entitled “Habanera.” Franco went on to note that the song’s original use was for a theater production, and that a subsequent session would add orchestral strings, brass, reeds and percussion. As a result, Alan Broadbent was tasked with the challenge of maintaining the tightrope walk for the musicians between playing too sparsely and mindful of the string overdubs to follow, and maintaining the creative lightning in a bottle magic that occurs when top-notch musicians can stretch out and play freely together, throwing musical phrases back and forth into all types of emotionally-laden moments.
Recording engineer Jim Anderson.
Interestingly, Levenson had notes on areas of the piece regarding things that had been planned for the composition on his laptop computer, but Jim Anderson did double duty as both recording engineer and score tracker, i.e., keeping reference to where in the sheet music score they were in “Habanera” so that Levenson could refer back to a specific measure, which would allow the musicians to punch in or re-record from a particular phrase or passage if needed.
In keeping with the basketball analogy, Jeff Levenson’s role was that of the head coach, Jim Anderson’s was equivalent to the offensive coordinator, Alan Broadbent served as the point guard, while Franco was the first option shooter.
Keeping in mind the strings and other instruments that would be added to “Habanera” in a subsequent session, the piece brought to mind elements of Ambrosetti’s previous works, particularly “Nora’s Theme” from Nora (2022), his previous record. It was also cut at Sear Sound with Jim, Jeff, and the same band, except with Alan wearing two hats as both conductor (for the orchestral overdubs later on) later on, as well as pianist for this session.
The use of flugelhorn as a lead instrument with strings and a sparse, jazz rhythm section playing over simple melodies that contain harmonically complex voicings are reminiscent of the soundtrack pieces and hit songs of Burt Bacharach, and “Habanera” had a similar early 1970s feel. It was easy to picture what it would sound like, once punctuated by the strings to be added.
Although Jim Anderson mixed Nora at his private New York studio, he informed me that he planned to do an immersive mix for the new Ambrosetti project at SkywalkerSound in California.
After several takes and alternate sections to be comped and edited later during the mixing stage, the band took a break and then returned to record an arrangement of Mal Waldron’s “Soul Eyes.”
With apparently less restraints for what they needed to edit in their playing, all of the musicians were noticeably more relaxed as they launched into “Soul Eyes” – resulting in a looser performance with more abandon and swagger. The solos taken by this gathering of jazz veterans were a delight to witness, and the fun they took in one another’s playing was palpable.
After several takes, the band broke for a late afternoon lunch and to also listen to the playback. Jim introduced me to the musicians, where I got to chat briefly with John Scofield and more in-depth with Franco Ambrosetti.
Scofield exclaimed to me that he had to consciously self-edit his playing and play more restrained in anticipation of the string and brass arrangements. He chuckled about playing “a musical skeleton” of the guitar part instead of what he might normally play if the music was to be solely heard as played by the quintet in the room. While certainly much leaner than his solo recordings or covers of blues and Grateful Dead tunes, Scofield’s approach recalled Miles Davis’ focused trumpet lines on Kind of Blue.
Guitarist John Scofield.
Franco Ambrosetti’s perspective on composing music reflected a strong preference for structure and cues, not unlike what can be found in classical music. His extensive experience in composing original music for theater productions and film soundtracks bear this out. In addition to the theater origins of “Habanera,” Ambrosetti has also composed the soundtracks for feature films like the Swiss-German World War II drama The Journey (1986), the Italian-Swiss film Terra bruciata (1995), and for documentaries and TV series. As a result, Ambrosetti’s original music melds the moods, rhythms, and harmonic sophistication of jazz with melodic themes and orchestral arrangements from the Western European classical music tradition.
As a musician and native New Yorker, I have had the good fortune to have been able to either visit or do recording work in some of the best studios in the world. However, Sear Sound was one that I had never entered before, so this session was of special interest to me.
Founded by the late Walter Sear in the 1960s, Sear Sound is the oldest professional New York recording studio still in operation. A New York landmark, Sear Sound is well-known for its collection of vintage analog tube gear and for the many great artists who have recorded there, such as David Bowie, Steely Dan, Lou Reed, Lenny Kravitz, Nora Jones, Wayne Shorter…and the list goes on.
Jim Anderson took time during the break to walk me through Studio C, where I got to see which microphones he had chosen along with their placements (a mix of predominantly Sanken mics with Neumann U87s to capture the ambient room sound).
The tracking sheet for the recording session.
Jim also showed me the custom Sear-Avalon 60 x 24 x 2 console with flying faders (volume sliders that can operate automatically, making it easier to do a mix), the multiple racks of Pultec, UREI, Teletronix, and other equalizers and processors, and some customized Millennia Media and John Hardy M-1 preamp units that Jim opted to bring from his personal studio for these sessions.
As the playback through the Genelec 1031A monitors filled the room, the musicians grinned from ear to ear, pleased with the results of their handiwork. Jeff Levenson took notes on things he wanted to do in post-production and although I was invited to stay for additional recording, I took my leave, impressed with what I had witnessed and heard.
I think the most surprising aspect to the session was how conventional it was, especially when compared to most other rock, pop, R&B, or even hip-hop sessions. I had expected a session where once the mics were set up and the Pro Tools record button was hit, the players would just let it rip, as they did in Jim Anderson’s recent Donald Vega project, As I Travel.
I was unprepared for a jazz session with multiple punch-ins, where iconic players on the caliber of a Peter Erskine or John Scofield might actually flub a part, and even passages with alternate takes had to be comped and edited during mixdown.
On the other hand, it was refreshing to once again be in a large-enough professional recording studio where all of the musicians could play together in the same space. There’s a magic that happens when world-class musicians interact with each other and spontaneously create music that is far different from when individual musicians overdub their parts in isolation, which has, for better or worse, become the norm for much of today’s record production.
It was certainly a treat to sit in and observe the Ambrosetti sessions at Sear Sound, and I am grateful to Jim, Jeff and Franco for welcoming me into their private world for a few hours to hear them capture jazz lightning in a bottle.
In our world of high-end audio, we often find ourselves tangled in the web of specifications, measurements, and tangible data. As a self-admitted crazy audiophile and a 50-year veteran in designing audio equipment, I've always believed that while numbers and graphs are crucial, they don't tell the whole story. There's a world beyond the measurable – what I like to call the unmeasurable aspects of sound.
Let’s start with the emotional response to music. It’s a universal truth that music can evoke a range of emotions, from the deepest sorrow to the heights of joy. But how do you measure the goosebumps you get when listening to a live recording of your favorite band? Or the tear that trickles down when a familiar melody reminds you of something in your past? These reactions are profoundly personal and beyond the scope of any measuring device. As audiophiles, we often seek equipment that can recreate this emotional resonance, making us feel as if the artist is performing right in front of us.
It's the essence of what we're all about.
The "live vs. recorded" debate is another area where the unmeasurable aspects come into play. Many argue that no recording can capture the magic of a live performance. There’s truth in this; a live concert is not just about sound. It’s about the energy in the air, the interaction between the artist and the audience, and the collective experience of being part of something unique. However, high-fidelity sound systems strive to bridge this gap (and sometimes exceed it). The goal is to reproduce sound so accurately that you close your eyes and feel as if you're there, amidst the crowd, feeling every beat and every note in your core. This "presence" is something we cherish, yet it defies quantification.
How do you measure that?
Then there’s my favorite, the aspects of "soundstage" and "imaging." These terms refer to the ability of an audio system to create a three-dimensional auditory space. A well-set-up system can place each instrument and voice in its own distinct spatial location, much like in a live performance. How do you quantify the breadth and depth of this soundstage or the accuracy of imaging? Sure, there are measurements for channel separation and frequency response, but they hardly scratch the surface of what you experience when a sound system gets it just right, creating a holographic illusion of a live performance.
Another unmeasurable aspect is the timbre of sound. Timbre refers to the color or quality of sound that makes a particular musical instrument or voice distinct. It’s what makes a piano sound different from a guitar, even if they're playing the same note. High-end audio equipment aims to reproduce these timbral nuances faithfully, but how accurately it does so cannot be fully encapsulated by numbers (though one could argue that phase accuracy and harmonic faithfulness might qualify). It's more about the listening experience, about recognizing and appreciating the subtleties in different instruments' sounds.
Lastly, let’s talk about the personal connection we have with our audio systems. For many of us, our sound systems are more than just a collection of components; they are a gateway to our past experiences, memories, and emotions. The warmth of a tube amplifier might remind someone of their first encounter with high-fidelity sound.
Think about the first high-end audio component you ever purchased or the first time a piece of music truly moved you through a quality system. These experiences often mark significant milestones in our lives. For instance, I recall the first pair of high-fidelity speakers I ever encountered. A pair of JBL corner horns playing Edgar Winter's "Frankenstein." A truly life-changing event for me.
The process of building and curating a sound system is deeply personal. Each choice, from selecting a DAC to finding the right cables, reflects our individual preferences, our unique approach to sound, and our interpretation of what music should feel like. It's akin to creating a piece of art; every component is a brushstroke that contributes to the final masterpiece. The system becomes a reflection of our personality, our tastes, and even our philosophy towards music and sound.
The personal connection also extends to the rituals and experiences associated with listening. For many of us audiophiles, listening to music is not just a passive activity; it's an immersive ritual. Dimming the lights, selecting a record, adjusting the volume, and settling into our favorite listening spot – these acts transform listening into a meditative, almost sacred, experience. It's a time when we disconnect from the hustle and bustle of the world and connect deeply with the music. This ritualistic aspect adds a layer of personal significance to the experience, making it about more than just sound quality.
While the quantifiable aspects of high-end audio equipment are undeniably important, they don't provide the complete picture. The unmeasurable aspects – the emotional response, the live vs. recorded debate, soundstage, timbre, and personal connection – are equally vital in shaping our audiophile experience. They remind us that at the heart of our pursuit for perfect sound lies not just a quest for technical excellence, but also a deep, emotional journey through the world of music and memories. It’s these unmeasurable aspects that transform a mere listening session into an experience, taking us on a journey that’s as personal as it is profound.
Header image: maybe she's pondering the age-old question of measurements vs. listening. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Maksim Popov.
Man has always competed to be Top Dog. In the days when caves were homes, the guy with the biggest club was Top Dog. As we became more civilized, the man with the fastest horse was Top Dog. During my youth in the early 1960s, the Top Dog was the guy with the fastest car.
That position was established through street racing, but when some kids died drag racing away from a stoplight, the county made available a deserted World War II airstrip in the middle of the windswept prairie. "The Slab" had just enough intact pavement to mark off a 1/8th-mile drag strip with about 10 miles of run-off through a cattle range. Every Saturday during the summer, almost every teenager in the area drove to The Slab to see who would be Top Dog, a position which conferred the status of a star athlete for that week.
Stuart was raised in Britain, where aspiring to be Top Dog was tacky, so he was indifferent to the car culture. He spent his time reading physics books and playing with his slide rule, which he carried like a pistol in a leather holster on his belt. Every conversation with him ended up being about physics, which most of the other kids avoided like biology or Bronte. So they didn’t go out of their way to spend time with him – to which he also seemed indifferent.
One day, he drove to school in a well-used Ford Falcon two-door sedan, a car he’d inherited from his aunt. We thought that was a perfect match – a boring car for a boring guy. You can imagine how surprised we were when shortly afterwards, he started showing up at The Slab.
Most of the guys were racing the cast-off cars given to them by their fathers – mainly four-door family sedans with large-displacement V8 engines, or worn-out pickup trucks from the family farm. Over time, they installed high-flow carburetors, noisy exhaust systems, and other go-fast goodies. These vehicles were heavy, so they wasted a lot of horsepower off the line burning rubber rather than building momentum.
Stuart understood the physics of acceleration and the importance of mass. He knew that on a 1/8-mile track, weight was as important as horsepower. So when he learned that his Falcon was the lightest domestic car in production at the time, he saw an opportunity to beat the aspiring jocks at their own game.
The first thing he did was eliminate all the Falcon’s frivolities: the radio, bumpers, hubcaps, spare tire, chrome trim, door trim, and seats. Then he sprayed the whole thing flat black with rattle cans to hide the rust. It looked like a sewer rat.
With help from a friend of his father’s, he replaced the 6-cylinder engine with a salvaged 289 cubic inch V8 from a crashed Ford station wagon, and like the others, added a bigger carburetor and a loud exhaust. When he felt his project was done, he decided to debut it on the last and most important day of the summer’s car culture – Labor Day. That day's winner was judged Top Dog for the entire, endless, Canadian winter.
Many contestants showed up, some in resplendent rides complete with racing stripes and racy cheerleaders. They chuckled at Stuart's flat black, two-door, commuter special with a folding lawn-chair driver’s seat bolted to the floor.
When it was time to separate the men from the boys, the big boys ripped through the 1/8th-mile track with sound and fury, each adding another layer of black rubber to the tarmac while the onlookers cheered with glee. It wasn't until the afternoon's festivities were coming to a close that Stuart was allowed to compete. He was paired with the Top Dog of the day – ostensibly for comic relief. His opponent drove a ’59 Plymouth sedan with fresh pearlescent paint and a transplanted hemi-head engine. Everyone laughed at the contrast.
The flag dropped and the two were off. The sewer rat came out of the chute like a slingshot and immediately took a sizable lead. The Plymouth roared like a movie dinosaur, lighting up the tires which squealed and smoked and thrilled the crowd. They expected it to blast by the Falcon like a jet plane. It built up speed like a 727 and was going visibly faster than Stuart’s Falcon when it crossed the finish line, but not soon enough to catch Stuart.
A silence came over the crowd. When the mumble started up again, everyone agreed that the outcome would have been different had the course been 1/4-mile instead of half that.
But it was irrelevant: Stuart was the new Top Dog. Slide rule engineering had won the day. The guy in the Plymouth left the scene directly from the track. It was the most memorable event that strip had ever seen. Stuart had earned the respect of his contemporaries and afterwards, almost all the high school students made a point of greeting him in the hallways and cafeteria. He even attracted a couple of groupies – science nerds who followed him around like puppies.
I was reminded of this story decades later at the home of a fellow audiophile. Like Stuart, Brad did his physics homework. He created a speaker system using second-hand JBL drivers sourced from a pro sound shop in the big city a couple of hours distant. Each speaker employed two 12-inch woofers, a 10-inch midbass driver, a large horn, and a bullet tweeter – all contained in crude, home-made cabinets with huge baffles painted in flat black. They looked as tacky as Stuart’s car.
He also bought several pro-sound amplifiers, which matched the distressed look of the speakers. Each of them was as heavy as a cannon, but Brad liked them because they had tons of reserve power and the seller threw in a passive equalizer. He also bought a professional Stanton turntable which was top of the line – from a decade ago. His living room was lined with striped, multi-color, Hudson Bay blankets for sound damping.
The members of our audio club frequently visited one another’s homes on Saturdays to socialize and listen to music. One day, my co-worker, Hermann, joined us. I’d been to his large home several times. He was a lawyer and had the latest audio hardware and expensive, voluptuously-curved speakers painted in pearlescent automotive paint.
After the obligatory serving of adult beverages, Brad played a cut from one of Hermann’s albums, “Take Five” by Dave Brubeck. When the stylus dropped, so did Hermann’s jaw. I knew he was hearing more detail, dynamics, bandwidth, and soundstaging on this system than he’d ever heard at his home. He listened to the entire cut without saying a word, then requested Brad play several cuts from his other albums. Hermann was speechless. His sophisticated system had just been smoked by a sewer rat. Shortly afterwards, Hermann took his records and went home.
Atypically, I didn’t hear from Hermann for several weeks. When we finally got together for lunch, he did what I’d expected and dreaded: he asked if I thought Brad’s system sounded better than his.
This was a no-win situation for me. If I affirmed that it did, Hermann’s critical listening skills and fiscal acumen would come into question. If I didn’t, I’d be lying. So, I copped out like a politician and responded to his question with another question.
“Let’s talk about what we agree upon, Hermann. We both agree that better recordings result in superior sound, right?”
He agreed.
“And we also agree that a better system results in superior sound.”
“Right?”
“And we agree that acoustics plays a major role in the accurate transmission of that sound?”
“Right.”
“You’ve spent a lot of money on equipment, but you didn’t spend much time researching like Brad did.”
“I’m a busy guy, Jan, I relied on reviewers to tell me what’s best,” he responded.
“And maybe it is, for them. But their sound preferences, musical tastes, and acoustic spaces may be totally different from yours.”
“That’s likely,” Hermann mused.
“You have a great house with a lovely view, but the front wall of your living room is all glass, the back one is a marble fireplace, and the floors are travertine tile. Acoustically, it’s a giant bathroom, Hermann.”
He chuckled, “I know, I know, I’ve thought about room treatment,” he said, “but I’m not prepared to compromise the view or the aesthetics of my living room. My wife would never allow it.”
“OK, but now that your son’s in college, you have a good-sized bedroom available that can be converted to a dedicated sound room.”
“But my wife has moved her sewing stuff in there.”
“So make her a deal: in return for removing all your audio clutter from the living room, you get the bedroom.”
Hermann’s face lit up. “That might be doable!” he responded.
A few weeks later, Hermann called to advise that he’d just taken delivery of several acoustic panels. I returned to his place and we spent an afternoon moving furniture, equipment, and sound panels. Each time, I measured the results with my frequency spectrum analyzer. We used an equalizer (which I’d brought with me) to eliminate a 12 dB room mode at 60 Hz.
The difference was startling. The smaller room dramatically improved the bass and dynamics, the EQ killed the 60 Hz room mode which made the midrange sound more highly resolving, and the acoustic panels kept the sound from the metal dome tweeters from ricocheting between the walls like bullets. Hermann was delighted.
But his system still didn’t sound as much like live music as Brad’s. For that, he'd need different speakers. It takes more than pearlescent paint to be Top Dog.
The DirectStream DAC MK2 received a 2023 Brutus Award from Dave and Carol Clark at Positive Feedback. In the review Dave noted: “The DirectStream DAC MK2 is a major improvement over the older version. While it retains the basic sound or character of the older DAC, it goes further in all the areas that have an impact on one's music. One's engagement and enjoyment…Kudos to the PS Audio team! A clear winner.”
Gear Patrol featured the aspen FR10 in a recent “Today in Gear” roundup. They said, “the aspen FR10 is making us redo our budget numbers and seeing if we can possibly afford this dreamy speaker.”
What the...? This is a homemade "Sleepy Time Bed Radio" found at a meet sponsored by the Mid-Atlantic Antique Radio Club (MAARC) about 20 years ago. He dreams of vacuum tubes. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Joe Haupt.
Nothing's more frustrating than having your vintage automobile blow a fuse...or your preamp or power amp right before settling down to listen. This is a Buss Fuses store display from decades ago, date unknown. From the author's collection.
Hey, sonny, back in the day they called 'em cycles per second, not Hertz! This Electro-Voice ad is from 1951.
History in the making – this was the very first issue of Popular Electronics, published in October 1954. Forget about the test gear – we want that shirt.
My wife and I have a subscription to the New York Philharmonic. I love the place where they play, now named the David Geffen Hall, because they have finally (after three attempts?) got the acoustics right. The hall, which is a long rectangle, always sounded terrible but now, with the remake, it really sounds good.
"The undulating wood panels are inspired by the mathematical shapes of sound waves. They reflect and diffuse sound, enhancing the auditory experience of acoustic performances on stage," says Lincoln Center.
They sure do.
The walls are covered in beechwood and look wonderful. No flat surfaces appear. It is satisfying that they got it right.
It is certainly much better than the relatively new (by comparison) OsloKonserthus, which we visited about four years ago. There the sound was consistently terrible and at the intermission, I happened to speak to a musician who regularly plays there, and he told me that the acoustics are so bad the musicians have trouble hearing one another.
But this is about Handel’s Messiah.
The version we heard last December was played, of course, by the New York Philharmonic, conducted by Fabio Biondi, with the Handel and Haydn Society chorus plus four soloists.
This was a serious ensemble. The lights dimmed and the music began.
Part I
About 17 minutes into the music, I realized, I really hate Handel. I can’t stand baroque music. I find it tedious and sonorous. Now why did I go to a concert by Handel? It’s because the last time I listened to Handel was when I was 13 but, being quite old, I had forgotten just how bad it was; hearing it now made me vow never to go again. 17 minutes gone and over two hours left.
It was torture except for the distraction. Sitting next to me was a couple. He, late fifties, she much younger (early thirties). I first noticed them when they approached their seats because he seemed incapable of keeping his hands off her. This was sweet and reminded me that my wife and I often touched multiple times during the course of the day. (We still do, but not as much.) Nevertheless, they seemed to be enjoying each other. At times, his arm was over her shoulder. Other times he was squeezing her thigh. Normally l, like most decent people at a concert, sit still and groove to the music, but as the Messiah ground on I kept glancing at them. Not with envy but more with curiosity.
Finally, there was an intermission, (I think between Part I and II). And as I stood up, grateful to be free from such turgid music, I once again noticed their constant touching.
This break was a welcome relief and as the evening wasn’t too cold, we went out on the balcony that overlooks the fountain and plaza of Lincoln Center. Such a lovely New York view.
At the entrance to the balcony, there is a bar, so a large whisky seemed appropriate to bolster me for Part II.
Part II
There were four soloists who took turns to either sing or use recitative; they all had wonderful voices but that didn’t help the slow pace of things. At one point, unexpectedly, simultaneously, everyone stood up. Now I never stand up, not even for the National Anthem and I prefer to not do what everyone else is doing. I recognized the strains of the Hallelujah chorus but as it was muffled by the folks around me, I did finally rise just in time to see my neighbor grab his date’s ass. This wasn’t a gentle caress; it was more like a frenzied grasp. She seemed happy with this and somehow, so was I.
I wondered why the audience stood for the Hallelujah chorus, but my research yielded no sensible answer. Maybe some notable years ago rose to fart and because he was royal, everyone else also stood. It’s as good a reason as some of the ones proposed by the experts.
More than a few audience members chose to leave just after the chorus. I guess I am not the only one who can’t stand Handel.
Part III
At some time during Part III, a solo trumpet played. It was so beautiful that I almost woke up.
The concert over, I mentally said goodbye to my neighbors. The story I have concocted in my head is this: he is married (he wore a wedding ring, she did not). He’s from out of town, and has found a date for the evening. They both had a fabulous meal with a great bottle of wine at Le Bernadin. Then a concert (Handel) to be followed by brandy and a night in The Pierre.
My wife calls this fantastical thinking, and it may very well be, but listening to Handel for over two hours can do strange things to a person.
I don’t have a photography studio and it likely shows. Still, I don’t like taking what I consider to be serious photos of audio gear in the field. Instead, I prefer shooting at home, where I can at least have some control over things like lighting and component positioning.
Recently, I was making a YouTube video at retailer New Life Audio in Commack, Long Island, New York, and couldn’t resist the opportunity to get in a few shots of Valve Amplification Company’s (VAC) gorgeous Statement 452iQ mono/stereo Musicbloc power amplifier ($75,000 USD each). Its circuitry is fully balanced, with provision for single-ended inputs that are converted to balanced prior to amplification. The amp can be switched between 450 watts per channel mono and 225 watts dual-mono operation. According to VAC, both modes perform equally well. Note that the amp’s power and tube sections are physically separated to reduce noise. In fact, that’s the reason why the amp stands vertically.
The 452iQ uses VAC’s patented iQ Continuous Automatic Bias System. There’s no need for the user to ever have to adjust tube bias, and the amp will even indicate when the eight Gold Lion KT88 output tubes need to be changed.
For context, I have also included a shot that I took of a pair of 452s at Capital Audiofest.
The VAC 452iQ amplifier's vertical form factor sets it apart from most.
The amplifier's iQ Continuous Automatic Bias System ensures stress-free listening.
Detail of the familiar VAC logo.
A pair of 452iQ amps stand tall at Capital Audiofest.
An artful look at audio electronics at Capital Audiofest.
All images courtesy of Howard Kneller. Howard’s audiophile adventures are documented on his popular YouTube channel and Facebook and LinkedIn groups (each, The Listening Chair with Howard Kneller) and Instagram/Threads pages (@howardkneller). His art and other photography can also be found on Instagram (@howardkneller.photog).
My interest in boygenius had already been piqued when one of my students came to class one morning with a T-shirt from a concert she had seen over the weekend. The lettering was very gothic, font possibly Killuminati or Darkgone, suitable for a dark metal band.
But a close look at the script made it clear this was a clever marketing strategy from the band boygenius, lower case "b," one word. The band name is an excellent branding move in itself, as "boygenius" is the greater-than-the-sum of its parts female trio of Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus, and Julien Baker, three rising solo acts in the alt-singer-songwriter vein, who came together for a self-titled 2018 EP. Songs such as "Ketchum, ID" set a template for both close harmonies and each of the three singing lead on a verse, and songs about the inner workings of the exhausted touring musician's mind.
boygenius' March full-length debut the record was the one album of 2023 that crashed almost every silo of the fragmented critical regimes of our era, appearing in best-of-the-year lists that otherwise agreed on almost nothing.
They sold out Madison Square Garden two nights, earned near-headline status at Coachella in California, and at European festivals that define careers. They were the biggest pop music story short of Taylor Swift. (Bridgers opened a Taylor Swift show in Nashville in summer 2023.) Their music and group persona may bullseye sexually fluid, lesbian-adjacent (and who isn't these days) women in their 20s. But it also has great appeal, if the comments on YouTube for the insanely catchy "Not Strong Enough," are any indication, for men in their 50s and 60s. boygenius is the greatest new 1990s rock band of 2023; they were nominated for album of the year and six others to be presented on the 2024 Grammy awards. I heart the record.
Many songs are about emotional instability, panic attacks, playing whack-a-doodle with self-worth. Barack Obama placed "Not Strong Enough" on his 2023 summer playlist. According to Billboard, Lucy Dacus responded by tweeting "war criminal" at the former president. Dacus was having a moment. This, perhaps, is boygenius' singular flaw: all born in or around 1995, they grew up in the era of oversharing, of voluntary surrendering their right, and possibly their need for privacy. Now that they are stars, we will see how much they want to share. And it's a problem: Bridgers found herself harassed and enraged by superfans (aka stans) and paparazzi at LAX, where she was on her way to her father's funeral.
But the oversharing is intrinsic to their appeal: the listener feels like a spy in the house of love, where the line between love and hate is evanescent, impermanent, sometimes the same thing.
So much has been written about them, and almost every story uses the word or phrase "supergroup." I hesitate to call them a supergroup, because that honorific is used and abused to the point of absurdity: put together secondary musicians from Weezer, Ween, and the We Three, and Rolling Stone or Pitchfork will holler: "Supergroup!" faster than a healthy knee will jerk when a doctor hits your patella with a small rubber hammer.
In fact, Greil Marcuswrote about the supergroup phenomenon in 1969, after hearing an album, which left him unmoved, known as Supersession,featuring Michael Bloomfield, Al Kooper, and Stephen Stills. It motivated him to write a review for Rolling Stone of a fake supergroup called the Masked Marauders, a fictional creation in which a real supergroup (think Mick Jagger, John Lennon and Bob Dylan) cover songs such as Gene Chandler's "Duke of Earl." (Come to think of it, I'd go happy crazy if boygenius applied their harmonies to "Duke of Earl.") Marcus explains in a 2002 story from Rock Critics.com.
There are no covers on the record, but there are homages. To me the great homage is "Cool About It," in which the melody line is adapted from Paul Simon's "The Boxer." The opening is fascinating enough, the voice of an angel who sets the unlikely scene:
Met you at the dive bar to go shoot some pool And make fun of the cowboys with the neck tattoos
Later, there is a verse that defines the boygenius aura.
Once, I took your medication to know what it's like And now I have to act like I can't read your mind
The song is mystical, transcendent, punishingly honest: "I'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning/Tell you it's nice to see how good you're doing/Even though we know it isn't true." It makes me really glad my twenties are so far in the rearview mirror, and that boygenius can invite me to travel to these linchpin moments in their lives.
When Lexi McMenamin wrote a kind of definitive feature last March, "The Infinite Gay Joy of Boygenius" in the online zine Them, Bridgers was 28, Baker and Dacus 27. Baker and Dacus are from rural, conservative backgrounds; Bridgers is from L.A. They produced the album with Catherine Marks, who has worked with P.J. Harvey, the Foals, Interpol, and Depeche Mode, producing, mixing, engineering. Though the vocals rule, it's not three-girls-with-acoustic-guitars that dominate, though they are sometimes enough. Most often there’s electronic ambience that is more like the typical rock orientation of the 2020s. But they can also sound like Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks leading Fleetwood Mac, or prime pop Sheryl Crow, as the intro to “Not Strong Enough.”
"Not Strong Enough," which name drops the Cure's "Boys Don't Cry," and which messes with gender-fluidity, as the vocalist confesses: "I'm not strong enough to be your man." It's about drag-racing, a death wish.
"They're furious while staying open and in love with each other, joy and rage in equal measure, and dissatisfied and bored and tired and desirious and all the other human things," McMenamin writes.
This is the boygenius strategy: lovely music selling rage-fueled lyrics. The songs are credited to all three singer-songwriters, who convey a joy in female friendship that one hopes is sustainable at the top of the ladder of stardom they have climbed so quickly.
Dive bars, karaoke bars, endless highway drives, beaches that are never beautiful but filled with emotional and physical hazards; this is the boygenius storytelling world. In "Anti-Curse," the singer is out of her depth swimming on a "public beach," and begins to think she is drowning, on the verge of "inevitable death," and she's reciting her last thoughts: "I guess I did alright, considering/Tried to be a halfway decent friend/Wound up a bad comedian." But then, the tension is broken by a single line: "I'm swimming back." It's a verbal contrast as powerful as Nirvana's singular guitar rock dynamics.
Nirvana is kind of a lodestar for boygenius. Dave Grohl has played drums with them on stage; They posed for the cover of Rolling Stone's February 2023 issue in a recreation of Nirvana's cover 30 years earlier, in pinstripe suits, white shirts and red ties. The subhead of the boygenius cover, of course: "The Supergroup We Need." The album had not even been released yet, another throwback to the Rolling Stone star puffery that, at least in that mag, hasn't gone out of style in its 58 years.
There is a brief, funny song called "Leonard Cohen," in which an argument about this value of the "horny old man" while the women are in the car leads to missed exits on the freeway. Dacus is the lead voice here:
Leonard Cohen once said "There's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in" And I am not an old man having an existential crisis At a Buddhist monastery writing horny poetry But I agree
In case you need to be reminded, Leonard Cohen lived a long creative life, but at the beginning, as a poet and novelist in his 20s, he was a boy genius.
Each had nice solo careers going: Bridgers was at or near stardom, comfortable enough to have the URL on her website be Phoebe F*cking Bridgers dot com. [Editor's Note: the actual website URL doesn't have the asterisk in the name; it's placed here for Copper house style.] She has a feature on the 2022 SZA song "Ghost in the Machine." On her website, you can buy 14-karat gold kissing skull friend charms for $490 or a metal logo black hoodie for $45. I suspect she brings the skeleton/dragon/goth visuals to the party, because that's also the motif for the Punisher album merchandise. At 29, and the oldest of the trio, Bridgers has been nominated for more than a dozen Grammy awards in a relatively short career, and according to People magazine, is in a relationship with actor/comedian Bo Burnham, her latest beau after Irish actor Paul Mescal. Now that she is a star, her sexuality faces scrutiny, and man, have things changed: she may struggle with those who think perhaps she's not queer enough, which may explain her androgynous public appearances.
Dacus, from Richmond, Va., established herself as a singer-songwriter, and when you go to her website, the first offering is the video to "Night Shift," which features plenty of same-sex kissing, in witches' costumes, or not. "Night Shift" is the opening track on her second album, the 2018 Historian, on which she says on her web page: “It starts out dark and ends hopeful, but it gets darker in between; it goes to the deepest, darkest, place and then breaks,” she explains. “What I’m trying to say throughout the album is that hope survives, even in the face of the worst stuff.” On her website, you can buy an 18" x 24" print of a watercolor by Elizabeth Haidle: "In this painting, Lucy embodies elements of the Tarot Major Arcana Death & the Emperor, symbolizing the ability to forge stability and make worlds in the cycle of death and rebirth."
Baker has a nice thing going as a singer-songwriter on the now-established, once-outsider punkish label Matador Records, not to mention endorsement deals with Fender guitars, Walrus Audio pedals, and Ernie Ball strings. Her latest solo album is Little Oblivions.
boygenius is to its generation what Crosby, Stills and Nash may have been to my generation. The backgrounds of CSN may have been more relevant to the supergroup concept: Crosby (the Byrds), Stills (Buffalo Springfield), and Nash (the Hollies) had already been rock stars, but still did not have the individual success that they attained together. Ditto for Bridgers, Dacus, and Baker.
Strangely, David Crosby was critical of Bridgers for engaging in the ultimate macho rock move of smashing her guitar at the end of an appearance on Saturday Night Live a few years ago. Lexi McMenamin suggests that the cover of the boygenius 2018 EP is a kind of homage to the cover of the first CSN album.
If you hopped into a time machine and boygenius was living in Laurel Canyon circa 1969, two things might have been true: one, CSN and boygenius might have been the same band, but only one of them might have made great music out of excruciating self-awareness. And there would have been three more people obsessed with having sex with Joni Mitchell.
A musical wish for the New Year: boygenius single/encore song: CSN’s “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” They would own it.
Billy Joel is one of Long Island’s greatest musical heroes, along with the likes of Louis Armstrong, Barbra Streisand, Carole King, Clive Davis, Perry Como, EPMD, Tony Bennett, and Mariah Carey, just to name a few. All of the above and more than 100 others are inductees into the Long Island Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame, (LIMEHoF), which in 2022 found a permanent home in Stony Brook, New York.
Though he’s one of Long Island’s favorite sons, Billy Joel is no stranger to the rest of the world, having sold more than 160 million records around the globe since 1971. He’s had 33 songs in the Top 40, including the signature “Piano Man,” along with “My Life,” “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me,” “Allentown,” “Say Goodbye to Hollywood,” “She’s Always a Woman,” and the bona fide classic “Just the Way You Are.”
The Long Island Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame.
Like any great artist, some of his best songs are the non-hits, including “I’ve Loved These Days,” “Summer Highland Falls,” “The Downeaster (Alexa),” and many others such as the epic “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant.” (If you’re a New Yorker who grew up in a certain era, you knew a Brenda and Eddie.) He’s won numerous Grammys and accolades including the MusiCares Person of the Year in 2002, and founded Charity Begins at Home in 2008. Some may disparage his work as too square, but c’mon, his songwriting and musical talent are undeniable. He has sold out Madison Square Garden 150 times.
So, having Billy Joel as the subject of the latest LIMEHoF exhibit, “Billy Joel: My Life – a Piano Man’s Journey” felt pretty much inevitable. The exhibition features rare singles and albums going all the way back to his first bands, Attila and the Hassles, and more than 50 years’ worth of memorabilia like baseball-themed promotional items, a Yamaha electric piano from an early tour, the first-known program with him as a performer, and one of Joel’s more than 75 motorcycles. He’s an avid cycle buff and owns 20th Century Cycles in Oyster Bay, Long Island, dedicated to restoring vintage motorcycles. The exhibit is beautifully designed by Kevin O’Callaghan and is an open and inviting space, with plenty of room to browse.
The wall at the entry to the exhibit. Courtesy of LIMEHoF.
As it was for so many of us, a pivotal moment in Billy Joel's life was watching the Beatles perform on The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964.
A view of the exhibit's interior. Courtesy of LIMEHoF.
There are walls – literally – of information and photos about Billy Joel, and attendees can listen to all of his albums via headphones. There’s so much information in the exhibit that I couldn’t absorb it all in an hour.
The centerpiece of the exhibit is a grand piano Joel used on one of the “Face to Face” tours with Elton John. It’s displayed on a rotating pedestal and has one of Joel’s original books of lyrics on top. Rather than the expected Yamaha or Steinway legend on the front, it has “Long Island Boat & Piano” stenciled onto it – an interesting bit of history you’d never get to see otherwise, like so many of the items in the exhibit. Behind the grand piano is a video screen showing concert footage, with the sound piped through the exhibit hall.
The piano used on the Billy Joel/Elton John "Face to Face" tour.
Another view of the interior. Courtesy of LIMEHoF.
Richie Cannata's Selmer saxophone and Ampeg Gemini 1 amplifier.
And the beat goes on: by the time you read this, Billy Joel will have released his first single since 2007, “Turn the Lights Back On” (out on February 1). He will also have performed at the 2024 Grammy Awards.
The “Billy Joel: My Life – a Piano Man’s Journey” will run through the summer of 2024.
The Long Island Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame has partnered with Long Island Cares to help fight hunger on Long Island. Visitors to LIMEHoF through Feb. 29 who donate a bag of nonperishable food items will get a half-price discount for their guest, and a free Billy Joel poster.
In addition to the Billy Joel exhibit, the Long Island Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame has a second-floor room with memorabilia, stage costumes, record album covers, reproductions of concert posters and much more from the other LIMEHoF inductees. There’s also a theater and a stage that features performances from Long Island bands and artists most Sundays, and special events including movies, concerts, panel discussions, and artist appearances.
Billy Joel and his sister Judith at Meeting Lane, Hicksville, New York in the early 1950s.
Now there's a look! The Attila album cover, 1970.
A display of baseball-themed and other memorabilia.
A Yamaha electric piano used on one of the earlier tours.
A closer look at the "Face to Face" piano with the lyric sheet book on top.
The setlist from the Madison Square Garden performance of July 11, 2019.
Original 45 RPM singles.
Original 8-track albums and studio master tapes!
One of the many informational walls at the exhibit. Courtesy of LIMEHoF.
I first heard about the Slambovian Circus of Dreams, aka the Slambovians, a few years ago, from the guys and gal in the band I’m in. They were raving about how great the Slambovians were as musicians, entertainers and songwriters, and were psyched to go to an upcoming concert. I didn’t go, out of laziness.
However, our band members’ enthusiasm was enough to make me check the Slambovians out…and I was really impressed. I’d thought the Slambovian Circus of Dreams would be just another stereotypical “Americana” band, but they defy such easy categorization, blending folk, jam-band stylings, instrumental virtuosity, psychedelia, a healthy dose of hard rock, and a whole lot more. And not only can these guys and gals play, they can slay it onstage. Just listen to any live version of one of their signature songs, “The Trans-Slambovian Bipolar Express.”
The Slambovians have been around since 1999; even before that if you count their previous incarnation as progressive rock band The Ancestors. They’ve released 19 albums including their latest, 2022’s A Very Unusual Head. So, when I got a message from music publicity person Anne Leighton saying the Slambovians would be playing a concert near me at Long Island’s Boulton Center for the Performing Arts (on February 9), and that they were available for interviews, I considered this to be fate telling me it was time to connect.
I talked with guitarist/songwriter/singer Joziah Longo and accordion/cello/mandolin/flute player Tink Lloyd, and we just let things fly.
Frank Doris: Let me ask the inevitable question where you probably sigh and go, “oh, not again.” How did you come up with your name?
Joziah Longo: When we were working in studios in Manhattan in an early stage of a band we called The Ancestors, people used to say, “things are slamming!” I kind of evolved that to say, “that is Slambovian!”
So I carried that around with me, that Slambovian thing, for years, just using it as a kind of tongue-in-cheek extension of “slamming.”
And then what happened was a series of things. Eddie Kramer [recording engineer for the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Led Zeppelin and others – Ed] did an album with us. Every major label was interested in that album because Eddie flipped over it, and they started courting us. [But] I was a very neurotic Syd Barrett-ish kind of guy at that time. I did not want to sign with a major. I really saw it as a trap. And everybody thought I was arrogant to not want to sign. It caused some ill will in the industry.
The Slambovians: RJ McCarty, Tink Lloyd, Matthew Abourezk, Joziah Longo, Bob Torsello, Sharkey McEwen.
FD: You’ve been around for a while.
JL: We've done festivals and all kinds of things. We're booked like a year in advance. This has been the day job for us for the past 30 years. It's nonstop for us, and each place [we play] means a lot to us. You give everything you've got. You're ready to drop dead on stage [after] every time you do a performance. That's what it's about for us.
FD: When you hear the name “the Slambovians,” it sort of gives you a picture of what kind of band you might be, but it doesn't give you any hint as to what you really sound like, if you get what I mean. At first I was wondering if you were going to be some kind of comedy band like the Bonzo Dog Band, or a bunch of hipsters with pawn shop guitars, but you’re nothing like that. And you rock really hard.
JL: We do! Honestly, the words [used to describe a band] never fit. We are like a classic rock band from the Sixties and Seventies. And it’s like we held onto that Syd Barrett edge if you catch what I mean [Syd Barrett was the co-founder and original guitarist for Pink Floyd – Ed.], so all that whimsical, crazy, cool, trippy stuff comes out. The Americana influences have got to do with the fact that my father played all the classic Hank Williams, Hank Snow, all that [country music] from that era, and then moved right into the British Invasion. He would tape things off the radio and he'd learn the songs, and then teach 'em to me when I was a kid. So a lot of that Americana aspect of the band is real Americana. It’s not the glued-on stuff.
FD: How did the band get together?
JL: Tink and Sharkey (guitarist/mandolinist/vocalist Sharky McEwen) and myself have been the core, and people have flown in and out of band, and I have kept it together. [After] Tink and I didn't want to sign [to a major label], in the mid-Nineties we went back to school to learn how to do basic engineering, graphic design and shoot video, so we could just do things ourselves without always being tied to a bunch of big sumo wrestlers in the industry that wanted to throw you around the ring.
We created the name, “Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams.” We thought, “that'll chase everybody away!” And then, just because of the name, we started getting gigs. And odd things happened when we played obscure places. People like Garth Hudson [of the Band] would show up. And we were like, “this is something, there's something magic going on here.” We were asked to do bigger and bigger festivals. Then somebody in the UK got wind of us and brought us over. And it just kept evolving into this thing that provided enough money for us to raise a family and do what we needed to do, even though we didn't have any structure or help or booking agent even at that point. We're not trying to kiss the industry's ass in any way. We never have.
Joziah Longo, Garth Hudson and Tink Lloyd hanging out at the Colony in Woodstock.
I'm especially honored when musicians or sound techs at shows hear our music and they like us. To me, that's the sign of whether the band's any good or not – when our contemporaries appreciate the band, we know we're on the right track.
We've never tried to cater to any particular market. As so many great musicians say, good music is good music. It's hard to even classify. We steal from every realm, and we do it just because we assimilate the things that we love. People always think I'm like a [Frank] Zappa, and that the music is all going to be stuff that's out on that edge. But they're always surprised that it's very “gettable” stuff. It dances into the fringes, but it's very core is simple, down to earth, bread and butter in the middle of it. It's just classic stuff that took a little acid.
FD: So, you didn’t consciously decide the Slambovians were going to be “eclectic.” You just took all your influences and blended them together and went for it.
JL: That was it, Frank. Honestly, it evolved, and I guess there's a certain quirkiness in me. I’ve always had a hard time fitting into anything or anywhere, or doing anything normal, or going to school. I was always a little bit on the fringe of things without meaning to be.
FD: Sharkey’s the guy who plays the Les Paul guitar, an unusual choice for an “Americana” band.
JL: That Les Paul is mine. I've carried it around like the Holy Grail.
FD: He gets an unbelievable sound.
JL: People like Sonny Landreth – when we do festivals, they stand around and watch, and they always ask, “Shark, how are you getting that sound?” Back in the days when we used no amps, he just ran everything direct out through his effects pedals, right into the house PA.
FD: So, he’s not using some “magic” amp. it's in his hands and his approach.
JL: Yeah. He’s one of those guys that can't even tell you the pedals he’s using. They mean nothing to him. He just intuitively picks the right things and he's very reverent towards the music. He really paints what needs to be said in a very cool way.
TL: We're talking about us, but you can't really talk about the Slambovians without talking about the evolution of the music industry as a whole. The early Nineties was still pretty traditional in terms of how you made a record, but because of working in the studio and talking to studio heads like Tony Bongiovi at Power Station, people were saying, “hey, don't invest in big studios. Everything's changing to digital, to desktop publishing, to desktop engineering.” We were feeling this change, this kind of wave, and then we were feeling like it was a good time to catch the surf and kind of ship out. So, we disappeared from New York City and kind of dropped out, and [thought], “we've got to be more DIY.”
Around that time, we were living in Westchester County (New York), and I was thinking, “where's a healthy music scene we can plug into?” It was the beginning of the singer/songwriter renaissance, the coffeehouse circuit renaissance that was happening with Ani DiFranco, Dar Williams, all those people. Westchester was part of that hotbed between the Hudson Valley and Northampton/Boston area. There was a real circuit of open mics everywhere.
I had just picked up the accordion because we wanted to do something stripped-down and acoustic, so we could just go in guerilla style and play open mics and build an all-new following. And that's what we did. The very first open mic Joziah did after not playing out for a year got him an offer to play a radio show that week. It turned out be a big classic rock station, WPDH, with an audience of thousands. We were listening on the way to the station; I was so freaking nervous. It was a morning show. We thought the DJs were going to eat us alive. You know how crazy those guys are. We played a song called “Genius” and they said “Wow, I'd buy that!” Everything played after that was golden.
Tink Lloyd proving the accordion is not an uncool instrument. Courtesy of Stuart Berg.
When I bought the accordion I said, “damnit, I'm going to play this thing!” And everybody laughed at me, but then that accordion opened all the doors. That's why we kind of got in the folk circuit. I’d said to Joziah, “the problem with trying to compete with bar bands is it doesn't make any sense. You're an amazing songwriter. Let's go where the song appreciators are.”
We met Garth Hudson from this guy who had booked that radio show. He said, “Hey, why don't you play this “Best Unsigned Band” thing here in Poughkeepsie?” We walked in with my little toy accordion, Joziah’s acoustic guitar, and our drummer, just the three of us. They gave us a corner on the stage to play, and it was like, “What the hell is this?” But we started playing, and John Regan, who was the bassist for Peter Frampton and other rock luminaries was one of the judges. He started weeping. So did John Platania, Van Morrison’s long-time guitarist. And then Garth Hudson walked in the middle of our little set. He was watching from the back of the room. And we won.
TL: We got this kind of crazy response from people, but we just kept hiding out in the woods. Joziah used to just go walk in the woods in Sleepy Hollow, near our house. And there's a special place that's right in the woods, behind the graveyard. That's where he came up with the name “Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams.” We started using the name, but we weren't even playing anywhere. We were in art school. Then we used that as the title for a show we were presenting. That's where we met our [original] drummer, Tony Zuzulo, who’s been with us for most of the band's career. He was our professor. He came in and helped us finish our first album. And that was the beginning of our live performances as the Slambovian Circus of Dreams in the late Nineties.
That's kind of where it started. [Now], We've been voted best unsigned act, best this, best that, for years. We're local, but we're also international to some real special towns in England and here in the States.
FD: I read that you were the first band to play in China after it opened its doors about 30 years ago. How in the world did that happen?
JL: It’s a crazy story. We had played in Japan on a bill with other bands, in this punk club in Japan, the Monster Club or something like that. This Japanese band who had seen us play got into China and people loved them, and even the government loved them. And [an official] said to them, “Do you know another band like you?” And they had just seen us play in this punk club in Japan, and told them about us.
The guy got buzzed about the idea, and then found out we were an American band, but he still pursued us. This guy took a chance, and all of a sudden we were going to China and playing in Shanghai before it really opened to the West. There was only one hotel in Shanghai when we played there. And we played several shows around the city for a few weeks. They wrote such positive things in the press about us, and they even printed the first English word ever in the People's Daily newspaper. The first English word ever.
We took a cameraman with us and filmed it, so you can see that we had armed soldiers at our show, who wound up becoming our friends instead of shooting us for what we did on stage! You can see the footage in our video, “Shanghai.”
Tink and I have been living on the edge all the time. When we had our run-in with the industry, our family wound up homeless. We had to get grants to go back to school. We were piss-poor and we had just dissed the industry. But Tink and I are both nuts. We're like you; we're nutty musicians who just…music is the thing. We throw caution to the wind.
TL: We're still pretty small, but we're a very small success story.
FD: Well, that takes a lot of courage. I don't know if I would've had the nerve to do that.
JL: The courage is the answer. You’ve just got to keep your boat patched. As long as the water can't get in, you won't sink.
After the recent pandemic, it's a new time to hit the reset button, and it's a new time to get small for everybody. There's so much craziness going in the world. We need to find out what's important.
You need to consolidate your friends. You need to consolidate your life. Think about what's important. That's why we're excited to go to a town like Bay Shore and play a place like the Boulton Center, a small town that's got pride in this historic theater reopening. We're very into hometown America, It's a Wonderful Life kind of thing. Because what we’ve got to value is a very small dream, no matter how much people knock America for this or that. All our ancestors came here with a dream in mind to make the cool magic town where everybody fits. And I think that's the thing behind the Slambovians, and that's what the Beatles were for us, lads from a working-class town in Liverpool that they made romantic and powerful.
I think the hope is to always return to the simple dream. Appreciate your friends, build community. If we can make the community work, we can make the world work.
You’ve got to build a world around your band. Try the new things that people are doing, TikTok, artificial intelligence, try all that. But the real core is this: you build a world that people can come to, and when they come, they can escape the bullyism of the world and start anew, and feel empowered to go into the next week of their lives and face what they're facing and turn it into something hopeful. To me, that's what a show is, for all of us, Frank, I think.
We're all the same. We're all trying to figure out how to make this thing work. Forget the divisiveness. I’ve got a new song called “The Enemies of Love.” It's saying, forget “the enemies of this, the enemies of that, there are no enemies at all, in all below or above, in all creation, except the enemies of love.” I grew up in a neighborhood in Philly where people liked to fight with each other, but politics didn't separate them. It made them argue in a good way, and then they'd laugh at each other and have a beer over it.
Let's work together. Let's find common ground. Let's make a town where there's people from both ends of the spectrum and they're working together and they're listening to each other's ideas.
Joziah Longo. Courtesy of Stuart Berg.
FD: The world has done a reset over the last few years because of COVID. Aside from the obvious fact of gigs disappearing for a while, how did it affect you? I know you did that uplifting video, for “A Box of Everything.” How else did the pandemic affect you?
JL: I think honestly it was a gift to us. I don't mean the bad sides of it, but we’d been on the road never-ending. And what that time allowed me to do was start recording the 300 songs I had waiting.
FD: 300 songs?!
JL: I'm cursed with a little bit of the Dylan Syndrome. People were like, “you write all this stuff, just be the guy yourself!” But I feel like you want be in a band where people are equals and everybody's bringing their thing.
I'm as prolific as Dylan, but we're trying to be the Beatles.
TL: At age 12 Joziah was playing Dylan covers on street corners. He thought he was Bob Dylan. But he says he had room to think that because Bob Dylan thought he was Woody Guthrie!
JL: My dad and grandfather played the bars in South Philly in rough neighborhoods. From my first Christmas, they bought me plastic guitars and real guitars. My grandfather hung a guitar over my crib.
FD: That's the opposite of most parents. Most, including my father, would be like, oh, please god, don't be a musician. You'll be doomed to a life of misery and screw yourself up completely!
JL: Before the Beatles or anything even happened, I was stuck with this thing. It's the only thing I know how to do. Luckily it draws really great players. We’ve had a myriad of guitar players that were incredible. But luckily Sharkey stuck around and even after his midlife crisis or whatever it was, he realized the Circus is the only place to be.
I think we're all late bloomers, Frank. We haven't even done what we're supposed to do yet. We're just starting.
FD: I feel like when you’re really on as a musician, you're tapped into something. You hear so many musicians say this.
JL: Absolutely. Yeah, absolutely.
Tink Lloyd and Joziah Longo.
TL: So now that you got on this metaphysical tip… consider even the term “Slambovian,” which means “wow, that's really slamming.” But for us, it's like transcendent channeling, that's where the term “Slambovian” came from. That's beyond slamming. That means you're in the zone. For us, it's a descriptive, but it's also an experience. The Slambovian Circus of Dreams is kind of a zone, a realm, when we play a show. There's this communication that goes on between the musicians. When you're playing it's a big mind meld, but the audience also becomes part of it. The word circus means “circle.” So, it's something between the band and the audience as well. It's that transcendent thing, which is really why people go to shows. They want to get connected to the mothership.
JL: We sell more merch than anybody at the festivals we play, including big name bands, which means that [being in] that zone somehow is experienced by the people. They're in the zone, and the love they feel for that zone that they go to when they hear the music is really what it's about. It's a zone in a realm that's being channeled through this band. And every band's got their unique realm. That's why I always say to young musicians: you've got to just create a world around you.
FD: It's magic. That's the word I keep coming back to. That's what great music is all about. There's something about it that's beyond human understanding, I think.
JL: If there is an afterlife, we only enter it with what we've achieved in this life. Meaning, the skills that allow us to give are the most important thing. What can you give when you go to the spirit world? What is it you're capable of giving, and are you giving? If you're giving, when you go to the afterlife there's billions of people that have died already waiting for you to do your tour. We think that when we drop dead, we'll do the real Slambovians tour. We'll go down to hell and play. Make Satan wish we never came to visit!
TL: I have a motto that I came up with recently for 2024: “Don't pick a side. Pick a future.”
Header image courtesy of Lee Hetherington. From left to right: Tink Lloyd, Sharkey McEwen, Joziah Longo, Matthew Abourezk, Bob Torsello, RJ McCarty. All other images courtesy of the Slambovians unless otherwise noted.
I heard the news on January 16 – Jim Winey, the founder of Magnepan, maker of Magneplanar loudspeakers, had passed away at age 89. As I’m sure so many in the industry and so many listeners felt, it was a moment of great personal sadness. You see, Jim Winey and long-time employee Wendell Diller were one of the first people in the audio industry to make me feel welcome when I was just starting out as a writer for The Absolute Sound in 1984.
Before Magnepan, Jim was an engineer at 3M, and also a tinkerer and audiophile. In one of his experiments, he attached conductive material to a thin membrane mounted near magnets. When an audio signal is applied to this kind of planar magnetic driver, the membrane moves back and forth in correspondence to the audio signal, thus creating sound. The results of his experimentation encouraged him to perfect the design and bring it to market as the Timpani 1U in 1971. Through the decades Magnepan has refined their planar magnetic technologies and expanded their product line, from the almost shockingly affordable $995 per pair LRS+ to the flagship 30.7 system ($44,000 per pair) which stands over six feet tall.
Late 1970s Magnaplanar MG-1 loudspeakers. The grille on the right speaker has been removed. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/public domain.
The details of when I first met Jim are fuzzy in my brain, but it was probably at my first CES in 1988, in Las Vegas. As an audiophile I was familiar with Magneplanar speakers, having first heard them at a dealer I can’t remember, probably in the 1980s. I may not remember the details, but I sure remember the sound. The transparency, lifelike soundstage, transient attack, and above all, sense of being there with the musicians absolutely astounded me. The experience gave me a lifelong love of planar magnetic and electrostatic flat-panel transducers (as well as enclosure-less dynamic driver designs).
Magnepan used to exhibit with Audio Research and others at the Golden Nugget, and at that 1988 CES they invited the press to an open house that was a must-attend on every reviewer’s calendar. I was excited and a little apprehensive – after all, Harry Pearson had gone on and on about Magneplanars in the pages of TAS and in my mind, Jim Winey and Wendell Diller were larger-than-life figures. How delightful, then, to find out that the three of them were down-to-earth Midwesterners who welcomed me with genuine warmth. They instantly put me at ease and invited me to sit and listen.
Jim Winey in an early Magneplanar ad.
Well, there’s a reason Magneplanar speakers and Audio Research electronics are considered a classic combination, though, both companies being from Minnesota, it made geographic and practical sense that they would partner. The system sounded wonderful, even better than what I’d heard at that dealer that time, and closer to real life than anything I’d heard before.
I spent a good amount of time at that press event simply basking in the sound. Big full-range speaker panels – probably one of the Tympani models – in a large room with plenty of tube power to drive them made for a glorious, expansive sound.
Jim was ever-eager to explain the details behind the speakers, and about speaker design in general. I thought I knew something about planar magnetic drivers and ribbon tweeters until I met Jim, who spent much time with me at that event, and whenever I met him. He was like a proud father bragging about his children when it came to the Maggies. I could feel his genuine affection for music and for his speakers. In fact, he was like the cool uncle you met at family events, talking about and teaching you things that you wouldn’t know about otherwise, and being a mentor.
Over the years I would make it a point to see Jim and check out Magnepan’s latest designs. I lost touch with him and with Wendell after I left The Absolute Sound in the 1990s and became a public relations person, where I’d be chained to our clients’ booths and not able to roam the show floors. A few years ago, I reconnected with Wendell, but somehow never got to speak with Jim again.
With his passing, the industry has lost one of its true founding fathers, and a true gentleman. I will remember him fondly, cueing up records and CDs, then stepping off to the side of those tall, slim panels, and listening along with the people in the room with a knowing smile on his face.
The top-of-the-line MG 30.7 loudspeaker system.
******
Magneplanar Speakers: Different by Design
Located in White Bear Lake, Minnesota since its inception, Magnepan has exclusively manufactured planar magnetic panel loudspeakers. Unlike dynamic drivers that utilize cones, Magneplanar speakers employ electrically conductive wires or foil strips that are bonded to a Mylar sheet. When an audio signal is sent to these planar magnetic drivers, they move back and forth to create sound. The drivers are dipole; that is, they radiate sound to both the front and rear. This creates a spaciousness to the sound that many listeners find extremely pleasing and lifelike.
Many Magneplanar speakers are physically large in order to produce extended bass at higher volumes – planar designs are not as efficient at this task as conventional woofers mounted in enclosures, especially of the bass reflex variety. Magneplanars are relatively inefficient at 86 dB and have a 4-ohm impedance, meaning that it takes something of a robust amplifier with higher power and high current to drive them sufficiently. For Magneplanar aficionados, such considerations are outweighed by their sonic advantages. Over the decades, refinements in materials and production techniques have kept them in the top rank of loudspeakers. Once revolutionary in design, Magneplanar speakers have attained the status of classics, and deservedly so.
Copper has an exchange program withAAA (Analogue Audio Association) magazine of Switzerland (and other publications), where we share articles, including this one.
The composer Sibelius (1865 – 1857) has given his native country a firm place in the world of music. His fame began with the tone poem "Finlandia," which was performed in 1900 as Finland's contribution to the Paris World Exhibition. The composer's sense of home is reflected here. The world of Finnish legends, nature and national myths were always his sources of inspiration.
Musicologists long regarded Sibelius as an outmoded composer, even to this day, because he stuck to composing in major and minor keys at a time of upheaval. The fact that he had his own musical language has been overlooked. This article aims to provide more details by discussing his seven symphonies.
Sibelius came from a Finnish-Swedish family. He spoke Swedish at home. Finnish was his first foreign language. (Finland was part of Sweden until around 1800 and subsequently a Grand Duchy in the Russian Empire until independence in 1917.) When Sibelius was three years old, his father died. At the age of 20 he began to study music, attended the Helsinki Music Institute, and became friends with its founder Martin Wegelius. He also was a friend of the Italian pianist and composer Ferruccio Busoni, who put him in touch with a group of young artists. It was here that he met the writer and representative of the "Young Finland" group, Juhani Aho, as well as the writer Arvid Järnefelt and his brother, the composer Armas Järnefelt. Their sister Aino later became his wife. They had six daughters. In 1904, the family moved into Villa Ainola in Järvenpää on Lake Tuusula, 38 kilometers from Helsinki. Several artists lived nearby.
In his life, the composer often stood in his own way. His character was complicated and brought him in jeopardy. Particularly in his younger years, an excessive lifestyle led to health and financial problems. Sibelius was equally prone to splurging and melancholy. Because of his heavy tobacco consumption, he had to have a throat tumor removed. Alcohol, a lavish lifestyle and the construction of Villa Ainola left him in debt. It was only in 1927 that he was free of debt for the first time. He completed his last composition in 1931. In the years that followed, he struggled with the composition of an Eighth Symphony, which he had promised to the conductor Serge Koussevitzky. But he burned the manuscript a few years later. He did not publish any more compositions in the last 26 years of his life. Sibelius died of a cerebral hemorrhage in Ainola in 1957 at the age of 92.
Ainola, Jean Sibelius' house in Järvenpää. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Paasikivi.
A Musical Language With Recognition Value
In musicology, the discussion arises every now and then: can Sibelius' compositional style be considered backward and outmoded? Is there anything to be gained – as the German avant-garde did – from the questionable comment by Theodor W. Adorno in 1938, who discredited Sibelius as a musical bungler who "sets up some completely inelastic and trivial tone sequences as themes" in his work? Or is it appropriate, on the other hand, to see in the composer's more "progressive" works the beginnings of the minimalist music of a Steve Reich or the finely-chiseled polyphony of a György Ligeti?
Such questions seem absurd to me. I would like to suggest a different approach: it is a fact that many music lovers who know individual works by the composer can assign them to Sibelius when they hear other works. Sibelius therefore had his own musical language with recognition value. Sibelius' music is heavy-blooded and yet healthily distinctive. It seems as if he describes the dark beauties of nature with both a harsh coloration and a calming rhythm. In 1911, Sibelius wrote: "My music has nothing, absolutely nothing of a ‘circus.’ What I have to offer is clear, cold water." Sibelius did not want to reorganize tonal structures or, like the twelve-tone composers, dissolve them into atonality; he simply wanted to explore them to their limits. He did this in his symphonies by constructing and developing them as a harmonic unity. In the first two symphonies, he did this in broad, late-Romantic sounds and in the traditional four movements. In the last symphony, he found a concentrated form in one movement. At the time of Sibelius, composers as diverse as Claude Debussy and Richard Strauss were polemical about the formulaic constraints of the symphony genre; Sibelius' symphonies are strict in form and structure.
The radical aesthetics of nature that can be heard in his works stands in contrast to the progress of civilization. The fascination of the sounds set in Nordic landscapes may associate with natural beauty, but it has an underground aura, as if one were on the edge of civilization. There is the composer's sensorium to recognize himself in mystical elements of nature and the world. For the unprejudiced listener, this may seem like gazing melancholically into vast Finnish landscapes. And that brings us to the recognition value. It is this individual sound that has brought the composer's works the respect they earned in recent decades.
Early Recordings
The first recordings of the symphonies were made as early as the shellac era, between 1932 and 1934. Robert Kajanus (Symphonies 1, 2, 3 and 5) and Serge Koussevitzky (Symphony No. 7) made recordings with English orchestras. These can be heard on two double LPs from World Records, although they are not recommended as an introduction to the symphonies. But listeners already familiar with the symphonies will be fascinated by the brisk, even "modern" interpretation of the Third Symphony with conductor Robert Kajanus, for example.
Complete Recordings of All Symphonies
There are eight complete recordings of all the Sibelius symphonies, all from the analog era. The earliest is that by Anthony Collins with the London Symphony Orchestra. It was made in mono between 1952 and 1954 and was released as individual records on Decca. In 2015, a beautiful and luxurious album set (six 180-gram LPs) was released as a reissue (Decca 478 8497). The sound is good for the time when it was made, but there is a lack of treble, and the bass is not very prominent. Collins is a convincing performer. He takes the Third a little too quickly.
Early recordings on World Records SH191/2 and World Records SH172/4.
There are three complete recordings from the 1960s. The first is Leonard Bernstein's recording with the New York Philharmonic. The interpretations are dramatic and, where appropriate, stormy, luminous or mysterious. I have little enthusiasm for the sound, however. These recordings, released on single discs by Columbia/CBS, convey a rather superficial and not very homogeneous overall sound in which the winds are not well integrated into the overall picture.
However, the recordings by Lorin Maazel with the Vienna Philharmonic (Decca SXL) from the same period are convincing in terms of sound. The interpretations of Symphonies 1, 4 and 7 are really successful, but those of Symphonies 5 and 6 are not convincing.
We also find a very good, precise and transparent sound in the complete recording by Sir John Barbirolli with the Hallé Orchestra. The localization of the instruments is most convincing. Personally, I love these interpretations with their somber character. One weak point is the fact that the tympani are not audible enough. Critics have complained that Barbirolli takes the Second Symphony too slow. Barbirolli is at his best in Symphonies 4 to 7 (HMV SLS 799, 5 LPs).
The Seventies brought us four complete recordings: Gennady Rozhdestvensky and the Great USSR Radio Symphony Orchestra delivered appropriate and powerful interpretations (released on Melodia/Eurodisc 88 624). The sound is quite good, but somewhat shriller and less transparent than with Maazel and Barbirolli.
Just as Rozhdestvensky made Sibelius famous in the Soviet Union, Kurt Sanderling and the (East) Berlin Symphony Orchestra brought the composer some fame in the German Democratic Republic. His recordings released on the Eterna label sound quite good. Controlled emotions and striking, unrelenting interpretations characterize these highly recommendable recordings.
In the mid-1970s, Colin Davis and the Boston Symphony Orchestra (Philips 6709 011, 5 LPs) presented a classical, restrained and very sophisticated interpretation of all the symphonies. I personally got to know Sibelius through these interpretations. I have heard more exciting and thrilling recordings since then. Nevertheless, favorable things must be mentioned: for example, a transparent sound, warm string tones and good dynamics.
Paavo Berglund's recordings with the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra are much praised. Here the tympani finally have an appropriate place in the sound. Berglund has the advantage in the form of excellent EMI recordings! However, because the interpretations ultimately seem somewhat formal and too earthbound to me; they are not my top priority.
However, when listening to the individual symphonies, it is appropriate to broaden one's view and consider other recordings in addition to the ones discussed and to include other recordings of the respective symphonies.
Setting Priorities
Which symphonies could those listeners concentrate on who don't want to dive straight into the composer's entire symphonic work? I recommend first the Fifth (perhaps his best?), then the Second (perhaps the most beautiful?). But also, the rarely played Sixth and then the Seventh. The First is exceptionally beautiful but has the least of the composer's unmistakable tonal language. The Third (written in a time of doubt) and the " dry" Fourth are indeed exciting, but less accessible. The fact that all the vinyl discs mentioned in this article were recorded in analog format is coincidental.
Symphony No. 1 in E Minor, Op. 39 (1899)
This symphony is conceived in the classical style and still seems to be strongly indebted to Tchaikovsky. The slow movement has its own character. Elements such as longing, lamentation and pain are embedded in this work in what can be described as a lonely man's dialogue with nature.
The 1964 recording by Lorin Maazel with the Vienna Philharmonic is undisputedly well interpreted and also of audiophile quality (Decca SXL 6084). As a student, the young Maazel initially considered this to be like a second-rate Tchaikovsky. In this recording he revises his judgment. Those who prefer a more dramatic and equally convincing performance should listen to the aforementioned recording with Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic, although the sound here is anything but delightful. And if you want the symphony to sound more "aristocratic," listen to Colin Davis with Boston (see above). I would not include other recordings in the shortlist, such as those by Malcolm Sargent with the BBC on HMV or Eugene Ormandy with the Philadelphia (RCA), Alexander Gibson with the Scottish National Orchestra (Classics for Pleasure) and Herbert von Karajan with the Berliner Philharmoniker (EMI).
Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 43 (1902)
This is the best-known and probably the most frequently found symphony on listeners’ record shelves. It is warm-hearted and impulsive. The scheme of the form is traditional, somewhat more unrestricted than in the First Symphony. Instrumentation and harmony serve to express a closeness to nature. Gripping images develop more naturally from the themes than in the First.
I put 14 recordings of the Second on my turntable. I would like to recommend five of them as the better and more interesting ones: Paul Kletzki recorded the Second with the Philharmonia Orchestra in July 1955 at Kingsway Hall in London. The producer was Walter Legge. In this very early stereo recording Kletzki chooses very brisk tempi. The sound of the recording on my Hi-Q Records Supercuts pressing is excellent. (The original stereo version was released on HMV SAX 2280.) The interpretation is dramatic, in some places stormy, which prompted one critic to complain that this was "overdone." However, the whole thing has lightness. Pierre Monteux's recording with the London Symphony Orchestra is also good in sound, with good differentiation between the instruments and sections, as well as being dramatically exciting. It has been released on RCA Living Stereo LSC-2342.
Unexpectedly for me, I count George Szell with the Netherlands’ Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra among the best five. Although the rather good sound is somewhat sharp, this recording captivates with fast tempi and a dramatic feeling with exciting changes of mood. Less dramatic but tonally transparent and with a good, fine string sound is the recording by Colin Davis with the Boston Symphony Orchestra (as a single disc on Philips 9500 141).
A mono recording by the great Sibelius interpreter who had waited in vain for 20 years for his commissioned work, the Eighth Symphony, also deserves a mention: Serge Koussevitzky recorded the Second Symphony with the BSO in November 1950. This mono recording sounds astonishingly good for its age, has impressive dynamics, and is brisk, dramatic and full of tension (Victrola RCA VIC 1186).
For various reasons, I have not included the recordings of the following conductors in my shortlist for the famous Second Symphony: John Barbirolli, Paavo Berglund, Leonard Bernstein, Anthony Collins, Lorin Maazel, André Previn, Gennady Rozhdestvensky, Kurt Sanderling and Malcolm Sargent.
Symphony No. 3 in C Major, Op. 52 (1904 – 1907)
This symphony was composed after the Sibelius family moved to Järvenpää and thus into segregation. This is a consequence of his affinity for his native Finland, and his nature-oriented artistry. The symphony indicates a turning point. At just under 30 minutes, it is shorter than the first two symphonies and has more of a smooth, classical style. Here, Sibelius moves away from the romantic intensity characteristic of his earlier works. It is only in three movements and concentrates mostly on a few melodic harmonies. Sibelius proves here to be a searcher of form.
I hesitate to make recommendations for this symphony. Colin Davis on Philips is probably a very good choice. Davis presented a sensitive and well-proportioned interpretation on this 1977 recording. He has an excellent instrument at his disposal with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The Third coupled with the Sixth Symphony was available as a single disc on Philips 9500 142.
Okko Kamu with the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon 2530 426, released in 1974) is worth listening to, but the playing of this orchestra does not come close to that of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Lorin Maazel (on Decca) sounds very good, but his interpretation of the Sixth Symphony (on Decca SXL 6364) does not appeal to me. Just in passing, I would like to mention that the very first recording of the Third with Robert Kajanus and the London Symphony Orchestra from June 1932 delivers perhaps the most convincing interpretation. Kajanus identified himself early with Sibelius' work and had a perfect sense of proportion (World Records SH 173/4 Mono, 2 LPs, also contains the Fifth).
Symphony No. 4 in A Minor (1910)
This symphony has an uncompromising musical language. It is a somber, austere and rather repellent work, far removed from his sometimes-romantic depiction of landscapes. It is not a feast for the ears. When asked about this work, Sibelius is said to have commented later: "to be a human being is miserable."
Who has the best empathy for this rather spartan work? Paavo Berglund offers a good listening opportunity. In his complete recording with the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra for EMI, however, the slow movement lacks the great arc over the feeling of desolation of these emotional parts. His earlier recording with the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, released in 1970, is altogether more optimal. Berglund does not make access to this unwieldy work easy, but he avoids any pathos and convincingly reveals its structure (Decca SXL 6431).
Lorin Maazel is also quite convincing in this symphony with the Wiener Philharmoniker and has the bonus of an excellent sound. Listen, for example, to the appropriate coolness with which he draws the first movement. Gennady Rozhdestvensky and his USSR Radio Orchestra also achieve this mystical tone in the first movement and the necessary emotional depth. However, this recording lacks the tonal transparency that we hear with Maazel or Berglund in the Decca recordings. Incidentally, Herbert von Karajan also made two remarkable recordings of this work with his Berliner Philharmoniker on Deutsche Grammophon.
Symphony No. 5 in E Flat Major, Op. 82 (1915, revised 1918)
The composition of the Fifth shows that Sibelius was wondering whether and how he could search for new means of musical expression. Should he move tentatively in the direction of the modernism that was current at the time or continue with what he felt suited best for him? After the first performance of the symphony in 1915 (in four-movement form), he revised the work several times until he published it in 1918 in the three-movement form that is still common today. He didn’t venture very far into modernism. Nevertheless, his Fifth is the most original. It is expansive, romantic, optimistic in character and has a demanding, elaborate final movement. Regarding the final version, the composer said with little clarification: "I wanted to give my symphony a different – more human – form, more earthy, more alive." In any case, it has remained one of his most popular works to this day.
John Barbirolli's recording with the Hallé Orchestra impresses with its present and transparent sound. The location of the instruments is impressive in this recording.The interpretation convinces me.In terms of sound, this recording is number one, with the limitation that the important tympani are not audible enough in terms of recording technology (as a single record on HMV ASD 2326, coupled with the Seventh Symphony).
The tympani are appropriately showcased in the recording of Colin Davis and the Boston Symphony Orchestra.It has good dynamics and a nice string sound (Philips).Good sound and easily audible tympani are hallmarks of Paavo Berglund's recording with Bournemouth.But in my opinion this interpretation lacks intensity.I'm also only moderately impressed by the praised recording with Herbert von Karajan and the Berliner Philharmoniker (DGG).There is no coherent soundscape here.
Symphony No. 6 in D Minor, Op. 104 (1918 – 1923)
As far as performances of the Sibelius symphonies are concerned, this one could be described as "the neglected one." And yet one can attest to some mastery in its tonal language. It is neither heroic nor majestic. It is even-tempered, it does not hash with effects. Lyrical soundscapes dominate.
For this symphony, I recommend first and foremost Herbert von Karajan with his Berliners. For this rural "watercolor painting," his conducting has a fine agility, and his interpretation has a depth that others lack. (DGG SLPM 139 032, with the Seventh Symphony on the B side of the record). Those who find the sound here to be too smooth may find a good alternative with Sir John Barbirolli (as a single disk on HMV ASD 2648, coupled with the Third Symphony). Lorin Maazel is not to be recommended for this symphony. There is a lack of imagination in his recording of the work. The slow movement does not convey the appropriate pallor and poignancy of summer light. Paavo Berglund seems to me to be uninspired in this work. If you like mono sound, go for Anthony Collins with the LSO (as a single disc on Decca LXT 5084).
Symphony No. 7 in C Major, Op. 105 (1924)
This symphony has majesty, in just one movement with a multi-part structure. The whole thing seems as if the composer wanted to allow a few motifs to develop autonomously. Are there any signs of a departure from major and minor tonality? In the decades that followed, Sibelius didn’t give any answer to the question of how things might continue after the Seventh.
Concerning the interpretation, the live recording by Yevgeny Mravinsky and the Leningrad Philharmonic from February 1975 is my first choice (Melodiya CM 02859-60). Rhythmically unique, the conductor carves the score in stone with abrupt clarity. There is something irresistible about it, even if it seems to have a "curtain" in front of the orchestra. A second famous interpretation, the one in mono by Thomas Beecham with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra from 1957, is less transparent in sound and does not seem to me to be a reference. Kurt Sanderling with the Berlin Symphony Orchestra (all symphonies on the Eterna label) is definitely worth listening too and is quite good in terms of sound and interpretation. And of course, Sir John Barbirolli and Colin Davis are also a good choice for this symphony. Here, too, I will take the liberty of referring to the excellent very first historical recording: the live recording from May 1933 with Serge Koussevitzky and the BBC Symphony Orchestra, newly founded at that time (on the aforementioned World Records SH.173/4).
And More:
Sibelius' symphonic work is richly represented on vinyl. In this article I have mentioned what I consider to be the most important recordings. Despite all efforts to remain objective and descriptive, value judgments remain subjective to a certain degree. I have limited myself to the Sibelius' symphonies. If you listen to the recordings you may have in your own record shelf, you may agree with my judgment here and there, and often see things differently. You will also benefit from a bonus contained on several of the records mentioned: many of them contain symphonic tone poems by Sibelius including “Finlandia,” “The Swan of Tuonela,” “Tapiola,” “Valse Triste,” and the “Karelia Suite.” It is well worth listening to these wonderful works.
It took NRBQ keyboardist and founding member Terry Adams over 30 years to release his first solo album. After completing work on the Robert Altman film Short Cuts, he was approached by New World Records executive Arthur Moorhead and asked to consider making a jazz record. The result is the highly acclaimed 1995 release, Terrible. The naming of the album certainly didn’t reflect the material to be found in the 12 original tracks and the record has since become a much-revered spin among fans of NRBQ and jazz in general. Memphis songwriter Van Duren, a longtime fan of NRBQ, has said that for years this record was his in-between-sets “go to break music.”
Now Omnivore Records is reissuing the record with four additional tracks and making it available on vinyl for the first time as a 2-LP set. It’s another exceptional collaboration between Terry, the band and the label, with entirely new packaging and photos from the sessions. The record is bright, with heavy doses of brass, and the sound is open and airy; perfectly representing the live setup the players embraced at the Nevessa Production facility in upstate New York.
There is an army of talent to be found on this record, and Terry receives support from bandmates Johnny Spampinato (guitar), Joey Spampinato (bass), and the late Tommy Ardolino on drums. But the focus here is on the creative genius to be found in Terry’s work. The writing, the arranging, and his on-the-spot innovation bring a sense of magic to this music. It transcends genres and reminds us all of how uniquely his vision has impacted the music of his infamous band and the artists who’ve been privileged to work alongside of him through the years.
In live shows, Terry is known for bringing a zany sense of Marx Brothers-inspired humor to his performances. While this record is anchored in jazz, Terry never takes himself too seriously and the inherent fun that the players most likely had in these sessions is transmitted through each take.
Copper caught up with Terry to talk about the making of the record, his approach to the creative process, and to hear about what might be next for an artist who always seems to have something new that’s he’s just about to share with the world.
Terry Adams, Terrible, album cover.
Ray Chelstowski: While you were often busy outside of NRBQ with collaborations, it took some time to do a solo record. Why was it the right time to do one in 1995, and why did you decide to make it a jazz record?
Terry Adams: Well, I was asked by Arthur Moorhead of New World Records to do a jazz record. He had been talking to (drummer) Bobby Previte about it. For me songs just kind of arrive so I never really think about sticking to a theme, and Arthur told me I could do anything I wanted as long as I included the NRBQ song “Yes, Yes, Yes.” So I did. The only song I kind of cheated on is “These Blues” which isn’t really a jazz tune but I threw it in anyway.
RC: It’s surprising how quickly the record came together, especially with this many different ensembles.
TA: Things went quickly. We did the entire thing in three or four nights. I set up different ensembles for each song. I had a few really good rhythm sections and five or six different horn solos going on in my head. We recorded in Saugerties [New York], which is near where I used to live, so it ended up being a nice, fun time.
RC: This is a brass-heavy record. How did you go about charting the horns?
TA: When I was writing the charts I got tendinitis in my right hand. It started to take so much energy to write the parts for these guys, so I started to use Jim Hoke (saxophonist) to write out the horn parts from then on because I couldn’t score. The music I make is really about the personalities that make it. I don’t look to hire the perfect musician who can read the parts. Instead, I look for the personalities that will make sessions more fun and the music more of ourselves.
RC: Did your work on the Robert Altman movie help you decide on who would support you on the record?
TA: Well, I met Bobby Previte and Greg Cohen (bass) [while] doing that movie. The rest of the guys had been friends for a long time. Bobby and Greg lived in New York City so it wasn’t hard for them to get up to the studio. It was only about 100 or so miles so that all worked out pretty easily.
RC: There are four new songs on this reissue. Did you arrive to the studio with songs in hand, and how did you decide which ones to keep?
TA: I had some that I guess you could say had been laying around, or that we had been playing. But when we got to the studio I wrote and added some too. There’s one song, “Wrong Gasket,” that was recorded outside of the album sessions. That was live in Toronto with Marshall Allen (sax). I included it because it thought it fit perfectly with this album.
I think it was really because I had enough songs. It seemed like the right amount. It’s a pretty long album and is about an hour long. But when you make a two-record set you wind up with one side that’s blank if you don’t add more. You put 20 minutes per side and then there ends up being nothing on side two of the second record. So, I told them that I had some things that would fit.
RC: Was this recorded live and did it require many takes?
TA: Yeah until you get it right. We’d set things up, go through it a couple of times and see how things were going. When we were doing “These Blues” we were having a really good time and it was getting [to be] late at night. There was nothing wrong with the takes that we didn’t end up using. It’s just that I wanted more out of them. So, I called John Sebastian (Lovin’ Spoonful) who didn’t live far from the studio. He answered the phone and I told him that I had this session for him, just a blues song, and that I wanted him to come over. He said, “I’m sorry but I’m in bed. I’m already in my pajamas.” So I said something like, “OK, we’re just going to have to make history without you!” As soon as I said that he showed up with a guitar and some crazy amp and that was that. You can hear his distorted guitar and it’s exactly what I mean about the personality [of a musician]. Everything was fine with the guys who were playing on the track, but once a different guy walks into the session the spirit of the room changes. That’s what knocked “These Blues” over the top.
RC: You’ve now done a number of projects with Omnivore Records. Is there anything else in the queue? And what’s next with NRBQ?
TA: Yeah I just finished one. I don’t know that we are ready to announce it. It’s a reissue and we found a good guy to work with and the remastering has it sounding really good. There’ll be bonus tracks and some other stuff.
In terms of the band, we’re heading out down South for a little bit. In April we’ll be in the Midwest. We’re always working on something.
Octave Records offers something refreshingly different with the release of Sturtz: Live at Roots Music Project, an acoustic quartet that blends folk, soul, bluegrass and Americana into a unique sound that’s been described as “a reassuring blend of fresh air.” The band is led by guitarist/vocalist Andrew Sturtz, joined by Jim Herlihy on banjo, Courtlyn Carpenter on cello and background vocals, and Will Kupper playing stand-up bass and singing back-up vocals.
Sturtz: Live at Roots Music Project was recorded in DSD high-resolution sound using Octave Records’ Pure DSD system, for a you-are-there sonic realism that conveys every nuance of the band’s distinctive blend of acoustic instruments and open, airy sound. It’s a warm, intimate and inviting recording, yet musical details are rendered with exquisite resolution and clarity, from the upper harmonics of the acoustic guitar and richness of the cello, to the sweetness of the vocal harmonies. Jessica Carson, Executive Producer for Octave Records said, “Sturtz plays music that’s as Colorado Americana as a group can get. Their mix of styles, captured in the songwriting of Andrew Sturtz, is a beautiful representation of the Boulder music scene.”
The band: Jim Herlihy, Courtlyn Carpenter, Will Kupper, Andrew Sturtz.
Sturtz: Live at Roots Music Project was recorded in Pure DSD 256 using the Pyramix workstation, with Paul McGowan as the recording and mixing engineer and Terri McGowan assisting. The album was mastered by Gus Skinas.
Sturtz: Live at Roots Music Project features Octave’s premium gold disc formulation, and the disc is playable on any SACD, CD, DVD, or Blu-ray player. It also has 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, 176.2 kHz/24-bit, 88.2 kHz/24-bit, and 44.1 kHz/24-bit PCM. (SRP: $19 – $39, depending on format.)
Andrew Sturtz.
Though all-original, the songs feel friendly and familiar, from the easy swing and breezy harmonies of “The Beck and the Call” to the wry humor of “Quarter Life Crisis,” the reminiscing of times past in “Go There,” and the album’s upbeat closer, “Changing by the Second,” which acknowledges that people and their relationships always change, but that can be a good thing. Sturtz: Live at Roots Music Project is a raw and honest live performance.
Octave Records has released Live at Nocturne II by the Tom Amend Trio, capturing the band in stunning DSD 256 high-resolution audio at the legendary Denver, Colorado jazz club. The trio, featuring Tom Amend on acoustic and electric piano, Matt Smiley on acoustic bass, and Dru Heller on drums, play a spirited set of original and post-modern jazz tunes. Tom performs extensively as a leader and sideman, and has worked with Christian McBride, Chris Potter, Dave Liebman and many others.
The Nocturne’s stage, room, and acoustics are ideal for jazz, and the recording quality of Live at Nocturne II (available on hybrid SACD and download) brings listeners right into the performance. The sound is dynamic and present, from the most delicate cymbal stroke to the nuanced touch of Tom’s piano playing and the articulation and depth of Dru’s acoustic bass. As Octave Records Executive Producer Jessica Carson noted, “If you aren't able to see the Tom Amend Trio in-person, this album will bring the show to you. The realism is everything you could hope for in a live recording.”
Live at Nocturne II was recorded in Pure DSD 256 using the Pyramix workstation to capture all the musical textures of the trio, with the instruments arranged on an intimate soundstage, creating a deep connection to the music. The album was recorded and mixed by Paul McGowan with Terri McGowan assisting, and mastered by Gus Skinas.
Tom Amend.
The album features Octave’s premium gold disc formulation, and the disc is playable on any SACD, CD, DVD, or Blu-ray player. It also has 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, 176.2 kHz/24-bit, 88.2 kHz/24-bit, and 44.1 kHz/24-bit PCM. (SRP: $19 – $39, depending on format.)
Live at Nocturne II gets off to an energetic start with Carla Bley’s “Syndrome,” with dexterous interplay between the three musicians and a swinging up-tempo feel. The relaxed original, “Edge of a Dream,” has Tom Amend switching to a Rhodes electric piano, and he takes full advantage of its rich, chiming texture while Matt Smiley has a chance to contribute melodic soloing that weaves in and out of the mix. The Rhodes is also featured on Chick Corea’s “Mirror Mirror” in a lively rendition that gives each player a chance to shine in solo spots. Other album highlights include the easy swing of Amend’s original “Spatula,” the driving improvisations in “RSVP,” and the flowing musical arcs of the piano lines in “Loud Clock” and “Utviklingssang,” the album’s closer.
The cost of energy is something we consider at least once a month when the utility bill arrives. Like most anyone else reading this, I have seen our household electricity bill grow substantially over the past decade or two. We are likely to point our fingers at the rising utility rates, yet we often don’t stop to consider that our usage is creeping up also, year after year, in ways we may not realize.
I have observed this at home. Our lighting usage has evolved since first moving into this house in 2010. While we had mostly incandescent bulbs when we moved in, I replaced a few of those with compact fluorescent bulbs in the early 2010s and finally, over the past several years, have switched almost exclusively to LED bulbs throughout the house. You would think with those large drops in usage that It would affect our bill but no, it was still creeping upward despite that substantial savings in lighting costs.
If many LED bulbs use 1/5 to 1/6 the electricity of incandescents, shouldn’t that have made a bigger difference in the monthly bill?
Granted, we still have an older, inefficient refrigerator, and summers with the air conditioner running are always a pain in the wallet (despite replacing a decades-old compressor two summers ago). Our water heater and forced air furnace are fueled by natural gas. Our house is also a mix of energy efficiency and inefficiency in that the original part was built in 1940 (and not very well insulated), while the back third is an addition built in the mid-1980s.
Being empty nesters, there are only two of us in the house using lights, appliances, and electronics. But I can imagine larger households have seen a similar if not larger increase in electricity usage. We need to look beyond the obvious and begin itemizing exactly what we are using, so we can make sense of our true energy costs.
I long suspected there were other energy-consuming items in the house. For this article, I thought it would be enlightening to put an actual wattage number to some of the various gadgets around the house to see where all the energy goes.
The catalyst for my power usage investigation was the purchase of a portable Anker PowerHouse 521 120-volt power unit. I bought this mainly to power the refrigerator I carry in the car, the idea being to keep the refrigerator running while the car is parked or the engine stopped, and to recharge the battery as I drove. The Anker can simultaneously provide power and recharge itself, as one of the intended uses is to supplement a portable solar panel. (The largest Anker units can power an entire household for hours.)
Anker PowerHouse 521 charging unit.
One feature of the Anker PowerHouse 521 is that it shows both incoming and outgoing charge rates in watts. Out of curiosity, I decided to hook it up to a few things in the house to see what their power usage was. Aside from a few typical household devices like phone chargers, I was surprised to see what a few devices were using, including the audio system while it was idle!
My trusted companion for this experiment was an inexpensive watt meter, easily found on Amazon. (I thought of buying the industry standard Kill A Watt made by P3 International but since I don’t plan to use it that often, I bought a generic TechBee meter from Amazon for only $9.99. Plenty good enough for our purposes.)
After I collect usage data from the TechBee meter, I can plug in the cost of electricity from our utility company to put the kilowatt hours into the practical terms of dollars and cents.
TechBee model JK-PM04 power meter.
Since the numbers I measure and analyze will take up some space, I decided to split this article into two pieces. What will follow is a summary of what we will be examining in depth with data when I start itemizing many of our household electronics. While I may name a couple of brands in this series (simply to clarify exactly what a device is), I am not out to “name and shame” anyone and will not be naming any of the audio equipment.
As I sat here earlier this month beginning work on the list of devices I planned to document, I realized we have a lot of “vampires” in the house. “Vampire power” refers to devices that consume energy even when we think they are shut off. Some only nibble on the powerlines a little, but many nibbles can add up to a rather large chomp.
Here is an overview of some of the devices I can think of that might be using energy at idle.
We have several Wi-Fi smart plugs and smart LED bulbs in use, as well as some outdoor smart plugs that operate decorations during the holidays.
Various chargers live full time in sockets throughout the house; anything from individual USB chargers to multi-output charging bricks. There are also the occasional flashlights and LED light bars being charged, but I usually unplug those and store the chargers if I’m using them only occasionally.
How about our computers? We have desktop computers in sleep mode, and laptops on a charger in standby mode. Networking equipment (modems or optical interfaces, routers, switches, wireless access points, etc.) that runs 24/7 also draws a lot of power, as can NAS (network attached storage) boxes, which in essence are bare-bones computers running any number of hard drives or SSDs.
Televisions must also draw power at idle and, for that matter, any device in the home that can be power cycled by remote has to remain in a constant standby mode to detect the infrared signal from the remote to turn the device on. A glance at the coffee table will give us a rough clue as to what might be drawing power while idle.
Video game consoles similarly have remotes, and sometimes even the remotes live on chargers. The consoles may also update while they are not in use.
Audio systems can often draw a lot of vampire power, especially the more modern “digital age” components. The simplest of components with a physical power switch draw nothing, while other components on standby can draw a surprising amount. (I found that one of my components uses a shocking amount of electricity at idle!) If there are any subwoofers that turn on automatically, or speakers that require wall power, add those to the total.
And don’t forget the doorbell.
This is all just inside the house. Let’s look outdoors, and in the garage. A garage door opener at idle is drawing power. Motion-sensitive lights draw power when not illuminated. Surveillance cameras are a continuous draw and use more power at night when the infrared LEDs turn on after dark. In the garage, battery chargers for power tools and battery tenders for automotive batteries are consuming the kilowatt hours.
Getting curious yet? I sure am! I’ve already compiled some preliminary usage readings from the TechBee watt meter, and the results are making me anxious to see the results. Next month’s installment will feature compiled data and a total of power used in kilowatt hours, the measure by which our utility company charges us for electricity usage.
I was trying to think about the first audio show I attended. I couldn’t remember. Part of the reason for that was that because when I was young, there weren’t any shows that I knew of. The closest I came was either a listening party at an audio store, or at someone’s house when they had just purchased a new stereo. Of course, now there are audio shows seemingly just about every week somewhere on the globe, and half a dozen strong ones in the US.
Each show tends to have its own personality. This is due to many factors including the goals of the organizers, the clientele, the size of the venue, and the geography. For example, T.H.E. Show, which will be held in Costa Mesa, California this year, has a group of loyal attendees – so loyal they are named show “Ambassadors” and while they aren’t paid staff, they contribute to the family feel of that show and enliven the proceedings.
Capital Audiofest, held in Rockville Maryland every fall, is another show with a family feel and a warm, mellow vibe. Show organizer Gary Gill is such a pro that rarely does an event that’s as complicated as an audiophile show go off with such apparent smoothness as Capital Audiofest. From check in to navigating the show’s easy-to-follow room layout, Capital Audiofest was a great experience, overflowing with energy, exhibitions, eager attendees, gear, and music. (Capital Audiofest 2024 will take place November 8 – 10, 2024. The organizers will also host the first-ever Southwest Audio Fest in Dallas, Texas on March 15 – 17, 2024.)
As in previous shows, the main floor of the open-air lobby was filled with vendors offering everything from expensive limited-edition vinyl to record-cleaning systems, vintage audio gear, cables, and even 8-track tapes. Folks milled around, chatting away, enjoying themselves in the large, well-lit atrium, with floors of audio exhibits overhead and surrounding. In addition to the hotel-room exhibitors, there were enormous rooms just off the lobby, and others that were a little off the beaten path, like the SVS exhibit in the hotel’s library. Upstairs featured a bewildering amount of sublime gear, from the simple and affordable to gear that would be right at home on a mega yacht. The audio press was in full-force, as the scores of write-ups online (including the one in Copper Issue 202) will attest to.
Nancy and I had a great time at Capital Audiofest, so much so that we missed out on a few rooms. We arrived on Saturday and because we kept bumping into friends and colleagues we sort of lost track of time. I try to make a first run through audio shows quickly, and then return and listen to systems in detail. This time, there were so many rooms that we didn’t manage that; instead, we were happy to see less, and listen and learn more. When we got back home, I realized who I’d missed, and kicked myself. It’s probably best to check out the floor plan and exhibitor list before the show and formulate a battle-plan. Or, you can just meander the floors, checking out whatever piques your interest. Either way, it was a wonderful experience.
Wandering around the atrium, and listening to music in the rooms, it dawned on me that while vinyl is in demand, so are CDs, and Blu-ray audio discs. In fact, at many shows, vendors can’t rely on streaming services due to bandwidth limitations on the venue’s Wi-Fi, so they bring a server or drive loaded with music, and have stacks of LPs, CDs or Blu-ray discs on hand to insure plenty of music in case streaming doesn’t work as well as expected.
Capital Audiofest always draws a diverse group of exhibitors, press, and attendees. Here are Howard Kneller (The Listening Chair With Howard Kneller), Kemper Holt (The Listening Room), Zev Feldman (The Jazz Detective/record producer), Nancy Burlan (Mac Edition Radio), and Allan Hyman (Merrill Audio).
Ofra Gershman of Gershman Acoustics, which hosted singer Anne Bisson to an appreciative audience.
Richard Pinto of Treehaus Audiolab shows off the new top of the line Phantom of Luxury field-coil loudspeaker.
Bill Campanale traveled all the way from Queens, New York to attend CAF. Folks asked where they could get the T-shirt, but he designed and printed it himself. I say give a few of them to your wills and estate attorney, to explain when you leave an inheritance of speaker cables instead of cash.
******
If I may digress a bit: I'm still collecting CDs, although mostly at thrift stores and garage sales these days. I did recently pick up some surround SACDs including Dire Straits’ Brothers in Arms, the new limited edition Mike Oldfield Tubular Bells surround mix, and the recently-released copy Steven Wilson Dolby Atmos mix of Van Morrison’s Moondance. There is still something wonderful about holding a record, CD or SACD and squinting at the liner notes, although my back doesn't agree when I need to move boxes of them. I still think vinyl is way sexier, but love listening to CDs in the car, as well as home, and ripping lossless to my computer.
As an archivist, I like the idea of WORM (Write Once Read Many) media, which is almost completely resistant to damage if stored and handled properly, something you can't say for vinyl or tape. CDs certainly don't have the ritualistic aspects of LPs. And the cases are always one step away from cracking…
I remember the first time I played a CD of Willie Nelson’s Stardust for my dad, on a rebadged Magnavox (Phillips) CD player, with a Proton receiver, through some lovely Mission loudspeakers, and he was just floored at the quality. When I played him some other titles, he just marveled at the definition and musicality. Even though we had a nice Gerrard turntable and solid-state Fisher receiver, it never seemed to sound that clean, with no clicks, pops, or noise to distract.
We bought that system for our family’s condo in Palm Springs, California. When he sat down and listened, he would act annoyed and dubious and crack jokes about unnecessary expenditures on a fancy stereo. That was until he heard it. Then he would hand me his credit card to buy more CDs. The receiver came from some crazy sale they had in New York at The Wiz, dirt-cheap, under a hundred bucks. It’s still working today, although its developed some noise in the right channel. I remember hooking up the Proton to speakers at a friend’s house one day, then switching back to his 1970s-era solid state receiver and being blown away at how much better the Proton sounded. While people now wax poetic about 1970s gear, I’ve heard enough horrible solid-state units from that era that I’m not automatically impressed, even if I do love all the dials, knobs, and switches.
******
At the time of writing this article, we’d just returned from CES 2024 in Las Vegas, and while there wasn’t a huge amount of new audio gear on display, there were new CD players. In fact, many of my colleagues noted that CDs seem to be making something of a comeback, with some really capable new players for sale or in development, and this reminded me of the first times I heard the CD format back in the 1980s. So, wandering around the Capital Audiofest atrium and seeing CDs for sale or being used by exhibitors was an affirmation that just as folks predicted the end of vinyl, CDs are shouting, “I’m not dead yet!”
At CES 2024, the Leiyin Audio booth in the Central Hall of the Las Vegas Convention Center (LVCC), featured a lovely new S.M.S.L Audio CD player on display. In case you aren’t aware, as a distributor, Leiyin Audio is responsible for many of the “Chi-Fi” brands people are slowly getting to know and love, such as, XDUOO, FIL, TRN, MOONDROP, TRUTHEAR, SMSL, Topping, Gustard, TANCHUJIM, and others. We asked about the use of the term “Chi-Fi” and if they viewed it as a derogatory term, as some commentators have posited, and they said they were fine with it and saw nothing negative about using it. So, there’s that. With all the equipment they had on display, what was the unit they were most excited about? Their new CD player, the S.M.S.L PL200 MQA-CD player/DAC.
As always, we have more photos...
Christopher Hildebrand of Fern & Roby with some of their beautiful handcrafted gear.
Howard Kneller and Zev Feldman during their presentation at CAF. Zev is holding one of his latest releases, Maximum Swing by Wes Montgomery and the Wynton Kelly Trio.
Danny Labrecque of Luna Cables exhibited a variety of models, all based on using cotton as an insulator.
Leonid (Leo) Ayzenshtat of Orchard Audio, creator of the superb PecanPi series electronics, with his new Class D Starkrimson Mono Ultra 2.0 amplifier.
Jaime Demarco of Black Ice Audio, which was one of the most buzzworthy rooms at the show. Formerly Jolida, Black Ice Audio showed a range of high-value tube preamps, amplifiers and other components.
Hailing from Paris, France, here's the Advance A10 Classic integrated amplifier, featuring numerous connection options including a phono input, HDMI and multiple digital inputs.
Signage abounds at audio shows. Here's one for Free hugs, if you knew where to go.
Norman Varney and Dale Stultz of AV RoomService and J.R. Boisclair from WallyTools were first brought together by mistake, when they unexpectedly had to share a booth at a previous audio show. Now they always exhibit together, helping attendees understand and control room and equipment resonances, and improve the performance of their phono cartridges.
Here's a magnificent Analog Audio Design TP-1000 tape player. Pricing is available on request by visiting their website.
Here's a closeup of the tonearm of The Wand turntable. Designed by Simon Brown from Design/Build/Listen in Aotearoa, New Zealand, The Wand was an audio work of art and a show standout. it features a 14-inch platter, four-layer platter construction, an asymmetrical platter designed to reduce resonances, and a unique Zentroidal three-point suspension system that places the center of the suspension close to the playing arc for shock and vibration rejection.
Here's Michael Fremer (The Absolute Sound, The Tracking Angle) with Mick and Ken Bucher of Magnepan, maker of Magneplanar loudspeakers.
This absolutely stunning Western Electric 91E integrated amplifier ($14,999 – $15,999 depending on finish) combines old and new technology, featuring newly-manufactured 300B power tubes, an LCD display screen, and remote control operation.
Here are two CAF attendees who had flown in from Bermuda, hanging out in the mbl room with David Solomon of Qobuz.
Header image: Norm Ginsburg (Gingko Audio), Ralph Cager (Danacable), and Ollie Felibrico of Water Music with a Loricraft record cleaner. They demonstrated the effectiveness of record cleaning with a before and after display that showed the reduced noise level of cleaned recordings.
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