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Issue 65

August Heat

August Heat

Leebs

Welcome to Copper #91!

Having left the relatively-balmy temps of the Bay area and returned to the high-altitude frying pan of Colorado, I was reminded of the classic story and radio play, "August Heat". If you're not familiar with it, enjoy this production with Ronald Colman---radio at its melodramatic best. The ads for Roma Wines are fun, as well---I'm all for adding "pleasantness" with wine!

I'm pleased to have the return of the prodigal Prof. Larry Schenbeck. This issue, Larry writes about the echoey ambiance of King's College Chapel. This issue also marks the first column of record reviews from veteran music and audio journalist, Tom Gibbs. I've tagged the column To Be Determined because it's up to Tom to determine what's good---and what isn't.

We have lots of good stuff from our regulars: Dan Schwartz looks back at the glory days of Bill Bottrell's Toad Hall studio; Richard Murison shows us that what sounds good is not at all simple---or universal; Jay Jay French interviews an obsessive Beatles collector who isn't even a Beatles fan (don't ask me---I don't get it); Roy Hall writes about bidets and Budapest; Anne E. Johnson’s Off the Charts brings us hidden gems from the long career of Steve Winwood and the Spencer Davis Group ;J.I. Agnew looks at exactly how music is recorded; Woody Woodward concludes his reverential in-depth piece on Django Reinhardt with Act 5; Anne's Trading Eights brings us great cuts from jazz pianist Dr. Billy Taylor. I mourn the loss of a colleague in The Audio Cynic, and in Vintage Whine, I look at...paper?!?

While in the Bay area, I walked the halls at the California Audio Show. This issue has Part 1 of my report---with some interesting new gear.

We continue the story of the incredible turntable home-built by Ken Fritz, with Part 2 in this issue.

Copper #91 wraps up with Charles Rodrigues out-tweaking the tweaksand a beautiful Parting Shot from our friend Rudy Radelic.

See you next issue!

Leebs.


Reel to Real

Reel to Real

Reel to Real

Jay Jay French

“Hey Jay Jay,  how about an audio column for a change?”

YOU GOT IT!

Several years ago, a mutual friend introduced me to Ken Kessler. I’d been reading Ken’s reviews and musings in Hi-Fi News & Record Review for many years, and really enjoyed his writing style. He is a native American but went to the UK in the early seventies, met his future wife, and, in effect, never left.

We hit it off immediately, due to our similar ages, and shared loves of the Beatles, wine, watches, and, of course, hi-fi. Those have all led to many great conversations.

Over the last three years, I’ve spent several days with Ken—and I will say that our overriding passion is analog. Neither of us is anti-digital, but we both wallow in the warmer presentation of analog. I am also fascinated by turntables, and always have been. Same with Ken.

At this point in our analog evolution, my player is a VPI Avenger Reference with a Dynavector XV-1S cartridge. Ken’s main player is an SME 30/12.

But here is where a reviewer has an edge: as Ken reviews the best products he is able to hear, in real time, the advances in the evolution of  sound reproduction brought by those products.

While I was on my one month vacation in the UK and Europe, Ken had me over and I got a chance to hear two stunning analog presentations. The first one was playing vinyl through the DS Audio Master 1 optical cartridge, and the second was Ken’s latest fixation: reel to reel tape recordings.

This is not an advertisement for any product nor an endorsement. However, my observations result from nearly 50 years of following high- end audio’s march to “the absolute sound” .

I wrote in an earlier piece that, in reality, the closest any consumer will ever get to a recorded event is what the sound engineer and producer are hearing during playback of a final mixed song/performance at the console. After that, the product goes through many different steps before it gets into the hands of the consumer. Each step imparts layers (no matter how small) of conversion distortions that get in the way of that “mixing desk” experience.

To that end, over the last 100 years  many companies have spent millions of dollars closing the gap between what is finally printed on the cylinder/ tape/hard drive and what you, the consumer, can buy.

Ken recently did a full review of the DS Audio Master 1 optical cartridge. Don’t confuse the terminology with the Finial Laser turntable that has come, gone and come and gone over the last 20 years. That player was about reading the groove with a laser beam. The DS  cartridge, however, has a conventional stylus tip. What is optical, however, is how the stylus movement gets to the output pins on the rear of the cartridge. The technology replaces the internal magnets & coils with optical sensors, which greatly reduces the weight of the cartridge. Without all that grunt work done by the magnets & coils to convert the moving stylus into energy, the signal travels much faster and with less “haze”. The DS optical cartridge has to be used with a proprietary preamp, which is part of the package. [Optical cartridges have been around a while: Philco’s “Beam of Light” pickup used a photosensor to translate stylus/cantilever movement into an electrical signal, way back in 1941! The “optical cartridges from the 1970s”  DS referred to in their literature were made by Toshiba, and tended to be troublesome. One final nerd-note: standard magnetic cartridges are velocity-sensing; optical cartridges and strain-gauge cartridges are both  amplitude- or displacement-sensing, and (at least in theory) their output won’t saturate upon major groove movement, as magnetic cartridges can.—Ed.]

To my ears, this transference was breathtaking in its presentation. I was brought yet again, one step closer to the event.

Drawbacks?  Cost, for one. The DS Master One lists in the UK for a cool 20,000 pounds, although a much less expensive version is coming-about $5k in the US.

And…you’d better have a very clean record to begin with as everything is brought closer, including dust and vinyl imperfections.

The soundstage is also not as expansive as I would have liked, as I hear at home in my system— but because I was not able to A-B this directly, this observation is not as authoritative as I would like.

Let’s just say that the experience was very different, and the non- recorded grooves of the vinyl were eerily silent, like a CD. To me it seemed as though the dynamic range of the playback was greatly increased. The whole time I felt like I was listening to as close to a master tape as vinyl could get me.


Jay Jay’s home rig.

My current analog set up (VPI Avenger Reference, Dynavector XV-1S, Moon 810 Phono stage, PS Audio BHK preamp, Pass x250 power amp,Wilson Sabrinas) ain’t no slouch, and I know its benefits and shortcomings well.
We listened to the newly remixed for stereo 50th anniversary Beatles Sgt. Pepper. We both love the Beatles and we both love the new remixed version (more on this later).

Ken’s system consisted of the SME ‘table, Audio Research Preamp Ref 6 and Audio Research Power Amp Ref 75SE, played through Wilson Yvettes —and the sound was spectacular.
It felt like we were in the mastering room!


Ken Kessler’s modest (cough) home system.

The truth about listening to vinyl is that regardless of whether your turntable cost $199.00 or $150,000,00, the record that you are playing is the same 99 cent piece of vinyl with all the inherent limitations of said vinyl :clicks, pops, inner groove distortions, wavelength shortening and adjusted frequency curves. Yes, the better the vinyl playback system, the less these problems get in the way but if you ever get a chance to directly compare the best vinyl to a tape copy of the exact item, you would be in shock.

That brings me to Ken’s latest love….reel to reel tapes and the machines to play them on. Ken has been acquiring, at an ever increasing pace, pre-recorded reel to reel tapes and great tape machines.

I used to own a Revox A77 mk3 back in the early ’70s, and would regularly buy factory reel to reel tapes. I still have some Beatles, Quicksilver, Steve Miller &  Santana official record company  7’’ tape copies. I wish I had kept them all.

Ken played tape after tape of familiar music ranging from an original 7 ½ ips stereo copy of Sgt. Pepper to Motown legends The Temptations to a master copy of Tea for the Tillerman as well as newly recorded product that can be purchased from  a well known catalog at a cost of $450.00 each.

This, my friends, is the nichiest of all analog pursuits.

When set up properly, a tape trounces the best analog for all the reasons that I mentioned earlier. Is there tape hiss? We did not use Dolby, but we couldn’t hear any hiss to distract us. Instead we heard the most natural presentations, played back with an ease that just felt right.


A few of Ken’s Beatles tapes.

The original Sgt.Pepper on reel to reel was so good that we started to rethink the love of the new remix. Tea For The Tillerman finally reached a level of reproduction that removed the last bits of compression, speed variability and audible gain riding, all of which are present on even the best 45rpm vinyl.

Ken’s tape machines are: Technics RS1500 reel-to-reel, completely overhauled by Audiophiles Clinic in the UK  with mystery tweaking, joined by a Revox G36 AND a Tandberg 20A SE half-track!!!

No, I’m not going out to buy a tape machine and get into this world. I just do not have the space and time But…there is something about how we listen, and the levels of resolution that we have ascended to, that allows us to hear what tape can do that vinyl just can’t and will never (at least in the here and now) do.

Mat Weisfeld, who now runs VPI, told me today that they  bring a tape machine to hi-fi shows and play the same album on both vinyl and tape to show how close their VPI  ‘tables can get to tape. That is pretty ballsy. Yes, they get real close—so close that I’m cool with sticking to my vinyl set up.

The reel to reel game, if you have the money and the time to search for long ago discontinued product and very expensive new product, will without a doubt  get you even closer to “being there”.


Jay Jay and Ken, with the tweaked Technics deck in the back, a Revox G36 in the front.

Thank you Ken, especially for talking Beatles. As much as I have read, know and own of their records, Ken has over 300 bootlegs! This is some serious shit.

Thank you Ken for the day and the amazing Chinese food at lunch, and especially, all the gear!


A Monster Story, and Sonos Goes IPO

Bill Leebens

Noel Lee was an engineer at the Lawrence-Livermore Laboratory and a drummer when he  started his company Monster Cable in 1979, thus becoming one of the founders of the US audiophile cable industry (along with the Cobra Cables imported and sold by Polk Audio, the garden-hose-sized Gold and Brown cables sold by Fulton Musical Industries, and the braided cables from Kimber Kable). The company grew massively, largely due to extensive marketing, a large, well-trained salesforce, and extensive penetration into mainstream retail outlets. Many veterans of the audio industry have done stints at Monster at one time or another.

In the early 2000s, the company became notable (or notorious) for its willingness to sue anyone and everyone using the name “Monster”, all the way from Disney’s film Monsters, Inc., down to Monster Mini-Golf in Warwick, Rhode Island. The company’s actions led to a public perception of Monster Cable as a bully, and somewhat ridiculous (ironically, in recent years Monster Energy Company—makers of the vile energy drink—have continued down the litigious path). In the last decade, Monster—now known as Monster Products to reflect the diversity of their product lines—has been best-known for fostering the Beats headphone line, and then losing it.

At its peak during the Beats years, Monster revenues supposedly  neared $1B.  Last fall, the company made an implausible attempt to enter online gambling; even more implausibly, in May the company filed an S-1 filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission, stating the company’s intent to offer $300M in cryptocurrency. Close reading of the offering made “Monster Money” sound more like gift certificates than a legitimate cryptocurrency—if there is such a thing.

According to the S-1 filing, the company lost $29M in 2016, and nearly $27M in 2017. At the end of 2017, an auditor’s report expressed “substantial doubt about our ability to continue as a going concern.” in Q1 ’18, the company lost nearly $20M—this after spending millions on a single Super Bowl ad.

In response to the S-1 filing, the SEC released what is called a “Bedbug Letter”—a letter indicating that a filing is found upon first reading to be so grossly deficient that the Division of Corporation Finance (colloquially known as “CorpFin”) will not engage in the usual practice of a detailed examination of the filing.

Football fans: what’s the most “Hail Mary” plays every thrown by one team? I suspect that Monster is headed towards that number—if they haven’t already exceeded it. Did I mention that Lee fired most of the board, including the President and COO who had been the partner in the online gambling play? And that the CFO resigned? As usual, our friend Ted Green has all the grisly details.

It will be interesting to see what transpires next in Monster World. Bring popcorn.

____________________________________________________________

In Copper #63 we wrote about the likelihood of Sonos having an initial public offering (IPO) of its shares. Since then, such has come to pass: on Thursday, August 2, the stock began trading on NASDAQ. Pre-trading estimates set the share price at $17-19, but the stock actually opened at $15. After briefly hitting $21, trading closed at just under $20 at the end of the opening day.

We mentioned a number of risk factors mentioned in the S-1 filing which were somewhat offputting, but pre-launch press was nearly all upbeat. Since trading began, the stock has remained essentially flat, staying around $19—and media coverage of Sonos and its future prospects has become increasingly skeptical. Digital Music News expressed concerns that Sonos would follow the path of Fitbit and GoPro— tech companies which started strong, but whose limited product offerings quickly reached market saturation, and crashed. CNBC’s “Mad Money” host  Jim Cramer loudly compared Sonos to Fitbit: “…Fitbit’s stock has been a total, unmitigated disaster…I got burned by that one. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

We’ll keep an eye on Sonos’ progress—or lack thereof.


Customers Behaving Badly

Don Kaplan

Customer: “There’s a violin in it.”

Sales Manager: “What did you say?”

“I just heard a beautiful piece of music on the radio. It had a violin in it. I want to buy it.”

“Do you remember the name of the radio station? Was it the classical music station? If so, we can look it up on their playlist or call the station…”

“I don’t know. There was a violin in it.”

“OK. Was it a solo violin?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was it a violin with another instrument? Perhaps a piano?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Was it part of a small group of instruments? A violin with an orchestra?

“There was a violin in it.”

“Without more information I can’t really help you…”

“I guess you don’t have it. Thanks for checking.”

After working as the sales manager at a classical music store for 17 years I’ve met wonderful customers and had the satisfaction of helping many enthusiasts find the recordings they were looking for.

I’ve also had to deal with arrogant customers, litigious customers, and customers who think they are entitled to impose their own rules on everyone else. Like the customer who raced into the store and announced that her husband had presented her with a gift certificate to the classical music store even though she had told him she didn’t want to shop there. After finding some discs to buy she threatened to sue me personally because I wouldn’t stop what I was doing to ring up her sale (I was still helping the customer ahead of her). I explained that only one employee works in the store during each shift and I would be happy to help her in a moment. She positioned herself near the counter, phone in hand with her lawyer’s number prominently displayed, and complained in a loud voice to anyone who would listen how she was being forced to wait while I finished helping the person who preceded her.

One customer who always behaves badly asked me to look up a very esoteric recording. After searching about a half hour I located it and asked her if she wanted me to order the disc. “Oh, no, I just wanted the information. I’ll buy it on Amazon. Do you have a pen and paper?” Another time I was playing a popular disc of arias and show tunes sung by an opera singer. The same customer screamed at me from the only place in the store that doesn’t have an acoustic dead spot: “You’re crazy! That music and singer you’re playing is horrible! You should see a psychiatrist!” Of course everyone in the store turned around to look at me—the guy with such poor taste in music he was in desperate need of therapy. I now make sure to play the disc every time I see her enter the store.

Then there was the customer who grabbed a handful of CDs and took them out of the store to show her friend who was sitting at a nearby café. She didn’t ask if she could borrow the merchandise. I didn’t say anything because I was able to watch her from the counter. When she returned she replaced the CDs and grabbed some more merchandise to show her friend. At that point I intervened and explained in a friendly manner (a major accomplishment since I hadn’t been to see a psychiatrist yet) that merchandise had to stay in the store until it was paid for. Nothing personal. It was a store policy. She admitted she knew the policy, apologized for removing the discs without asking, and had her friend come into the store to look at other selections.

A week later a “letter to the editor” written by that customer appeared in a local paper. She said she would never return to a certain music store because one of the managers accused her of stealing. She neglected to mention in her letter that she had told me she was aware of our policies and was wrong not to talk with me first. Or that I trusted her when she removed discs the first time. Or how I politely explained our policies without accusing her of anything.

We have customers who gather an armful of discs, decide they don’t want any of them, and drop them anyplace. It’s hard to locate a Mozart quartet if it has been filed under Stravinsky. Kind of like finding broccoli mixed in with the breakfast cereals. Decided against a disc? Hand it to anyone who works in the store and we’ll file it for you. And there are customers who seem to enjoy the hunt more than the catch. They ask for a particular disc, start inquiring about other CDs before I’ve had a chance to show them the first disc they asked for, race around the store looking for the next title they think of, find but don’t examine it because they’re already asking if we carry yet another CD (repeat this action several times)… then exit without considering any of the discs they were so anxious to look at.

My most entertaining customers are the ones who are intimidated by classical music. They march into the store eager to buy music and stop dead in their tracks. You can see them thinking “Whoa! It’s classical music! Which circle of hell is this?” When they realize we only sell classical music they pivot and run out, horror-struck, looking as if they had just seen an alien burst out of an astronaut’s stomach.

And so it goes. Come visit us anytime. Buy a disc of show tunes and you, too, can terrorize your family and friends. Looking for something else? Just remember to tell me if it has a violin in it.


Who Are You?

Christian James Hand

HELLO! In this installment of “Hand Picked” we’re going to do a little bit of the ol’ “Cross-Promotion.” Over on her “Off The Charts” column this issue, Anne E. will be discussing some of the deeper cuts from The Who’s canon, so, I thought that I would do MY business to one of my faves from them, “Who Are You?” A classic Townshend song and story.

The Who By Numbers had been released in 1975. It moved some units, but didn’t REALLY feature a stand-out “Smash Hit” amongst the tracks. Once released, the band, as always, hit the road and toured the world promoting it, something that they had done numerous times, and would continue to do until present day. Upon their return, however, it was back into the studio and time to record ANOTHER album. If you haven’t already, I urge you to pick-up and read Townshend’s autobiography Who I Am. It’s a brilliant tome that illustrates perfectly the amount of pressure that he experienced as the Principal Songwriter in the band. The Who By Numbers had been written during a particular rough bout of Writer’s Block. And, now, here he was again. Back into the breach, lads!

The sessions for Who Are You? were fraught with problems. Two different studios were used. Firstly Ramport, and then RAK, and then back to Ramport. The producer, Glyn Johns, had to abandon the recording before it was finished in-order to go and start a Joan Armatrading album, leaving Jon Astley to try and get it across the finish line. Keith Moon was virtually incapable of playing due to his diminished health from the drugs and alcohol that had become a routine part of his life. He would pass away a mere 3 weeks after the album’s release—an event that leant a weird poetry to the cover photo that featured him sitting on a chair with “Not To Be Taken Away” stenciled on the back of it. Roger Daltrey, already concerned about his recovery from throat surgery, knocked Glyn Johns unconscious during an argument over a rough mix of one of the tracks. John Entwistle confessed to being un-inspired by most of the material and disappointed in the condition, and performance, of his close friend Moon, who was also disgusted at his own state. And, hanging over the entire proceedings, was the band’s concern and insecurity, over the emergence of Punk Rock, and the feeling that they were now a dinosaur act that was rapidly becoming irrelevant.

But, a record was needed. Got to feed The Machine.

After a particularly arduous, 13 hour, royalty meeting with Allan Klein, hence the “11 hours in a Tin Pan, God there’s got to be a better way!” lyric, Townshend headed to the nearest “local” to seek some respite and something to drown his sorrows. It was whilst at said “local” that he ran into Steve Jones and Paul Cook of the Sex Pistols and was pleasantly surprised to find that they credited him, and The Who, for being the percursor, and honorary Fathers, of the Punk Movement. They trio proceeded to REALLY celebrate the meeting and Townshend got so hammered that he, literally, passed out in a Soho doorway only to be roused from his stupor by a policeman asking the question that would go on to be the title of the song in question. They DO say, “Write what you know”, after all.

Personnel:

Drums – Keith “Moonie” Moon

Bass – John “The Ox” Entwistle

Keys – Rod Argent (of The Zombies and Argent)

Guitars – Pete Townshend

Vocals – Roger Daltrey

As I mentioned earlier, Moon was in a terrible condition for the making of this album. “Who Are You?” was the only track that didn’t require him completely re-tracking the drums in the last two weeks of the recording. It’s quintessential Moon: his entrance is marked by the some of the grooviest 16th beat hats ever recorded and then SMASH! he’s in and the pocket explodes. Firework tom-fills, cymbals crying out for mercy, and the sloppy precision of his playing as the song vacillates from extreme to extreme under the direction of the skeletal guitar layer from Townshend. It’s EPIC. It’s Moon. There’s never been another. The kick-drum pulse of this track holds the entire thing together. He’s as good as there ever was and his death is one of the real tragedies of Rock.

Pete always said that we only heard the stories, but that they were all his FRIENDS that died in this period. Something to think about. So much loss.

One of the greatest “Engine Rooms” of all time is that of Mooney & Entwistle. This track is a beautiful example of the two of them driving the track onwards and DAMN THE TORPEDOES! Entwistle drops into the song with a descending, off-kilter, series of notes that are COMPLETELY unrelated to anything else that is occurring in the song at that time, one of his signature tricks. As Moon grooves the hats, Entwistle provides a pulse that wraps around the keyboard arpeggio and lays down the pocket that all of the other instruments will be built on. Quite a foundation. His choice to let the piano and guitars handle “The One” in the verse and him coming in on “The Push” of the “And” inside the bar-structure is another ridiculous choice that highlights him NAILING the down-beat into the chorus and allowing it to EXPLODE on arrival! Listen to the attached audio to hear what I am talking about. It’s SO simple, but it’s also everything. Simple. Complex. Simple. The bloke was a Master. RIP Ox. The subtleties of his choices alongside the barrage of the guitars and drums is what set him aside from all others. A Badass. He took what Macca had pioneered and increased its weight considerably. Go on YouTube and watch footage of him playing live. “Stoic” is the perfect word, except from the wrists down. It’s like two little octopuses are hanging out of his cuffs.

[Christian breaks down “Who Are You?” here, track-by-track—enjoy!—Ed.]

Pete Townshend pulled off quite a trick when he convinced the World that The Who were a HUGE guitar band but based so many of their hits on a keyboard pattern or arpeggio. “Who Are You?” is a great example. The synth goes for almost the entire song and its “pulse” is the sound that all of the others bounce-off of. Townshend was a genius when it came to this. The original keyboard player, John Bundrick, broke his arm falling out of a cab on the way to the studio, so Zombies’ keyboardist Rod Argent was drafted in to pick up the slack and he provides a beautiful piano line to this track. The “Middle 8” is a complete left-turn that belies the robust, Rock’n’Roll, heft of the rest of the arrangement. Brilliant.

There’s not much that needs to be said about Townsehnd’s guitar playing. He’s an Icon. A Legend. The story of the instrument in culture is not the same without him. This track is a PERFECT example of why. There’s never been ANYONE who has been able to say more with less. His choices on this song are flawless. He flips from sinewy arpeggio to jagged power-chords and back again with the grace of coked-up ballerina. The acoustic shuffle in the bridge brings the entire song into this post-Americana, finger-picked, country location, that contradicts its SoHo doorway origins. This is followed-up by one his simplest leads ever that mimics the notes Argent is playing on the piano off in the middle-distance. There’s SO much drama…but also Grace. It’s a Master Class in precision, feel, and perfect choices. It also shouldn’t be lost on the listener that as the song begins to climax there’s a strange, sort-of, police siren aspect to the part Townshend rides out on. He has always had the ability, that I think is unique to him in Rock Music, to tell a STORY with his instrument. Many have come close, Hendrix is another example, and one of the reasons, I would guess, for their “Mutual Appreciation Society”, but it isn’t the SAME as Townshend’s version. His “voices” are different. Clearer. More focused. I LOVE his playing on this song. It’s ALL of him in one track. The Blues. Rock. Avant-garde. Jazzy flourishes. And the sound of a Punk hammering at the walls with his Weapon Of Choice! What kind of song IS IT!?

Daltrey confesses now that he took the plaintive, poetic, lyrics that Townshend had written and injected them with the sneer, and hint of violence, that we hear, because of his fear of the band being swept away by the youth-driven wave that was Punk in mid-Seventies London. Who were The Who NOW?! What did they mean at this point? Anything? Were they the victims, or the victor? And how?! It’s telling that Daltrey was the one who ad-lib’d the “Who the F*CK are you?!?” lyric. Townshend hadn’t written it that way. There’s even a sense that Roger is asking the Punks “Who the f*ck are YOU?!” Pete has always been the “sensitive” one of the two of them, Roger the scrappy, “Street Fighting Man”, and he is more than up for the task of screaming at the walls that have now begun to surround the band as it moves into its second decade together. It’s also telling that they chose to take The Clash on the road with them when they hit the States to tour. A friend of mine got to see the show at the Hollywood Bowl with the Clash opening. He said that it was one of the greatest live shows he’s ever seen and that BOTH bands held their own. Daltrey and the lads stood in the wings and watched every performance. What an AMAZING image THAT is. The mantle not “passed”, but, rather, shared. Roger had a particular fondness for Strummer all the way until his death in the 2000’s.

The Who’s career is unparalleled in music. There isn’t another band who has survived the tragedies, convolutions, and soap operas, of 50+ years in the business and remained as iconic as The Who have with only two remaining members. Their years without Moon are multiples of their years with him. They were never an “easy” band, either to be in, or to be a fan of. Pete is a complicated soul. A searcher. A thinker. And he’s struggled because of it. Roger is, by his own admission, a “simpler man”, and it’s also unique to The Who that the principal songwriter has spent most of his time in the band being heard through the voice of another. Complicated indeed, As complicated as the music. But, also, deceptively simple.

Check out Who Are You? Nobody makes records like this anymore. And only The Who made records like it at all. That’s why they are The Who! Still.

Have a great couple of weeks.  See you at the next one.

Stay Golden,

cjh


The Who

Anne E. Johnson

They’re one of the defining bands of rock music, but even The Who had songs that didn’t hit the big time, even when they were at the height of their influence. Some were meant as novelties. Some are part of larger compositions. And at least one scaled up toward the Top 40 but didn’t quite make it.

There are few truer signs of musical respect than when an original and creative group of musicians is willing to record a cover. In 1967, the Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger and Keith Richards were convicted of drug charges expected to land them jail. The Who’s guitarist, Pete Townshend, announced that The Who would only release Jagger/Richards compositions until their friends were freed.

The one cover single they managed to release before public pressure led to the sentences being overturned was “The Last Time” with the Stones hit “Under My Thumb” on the B-side. It was released only in the UK, although eventually it found its way onto the Odds and Sods album of rarities.

The Who’s up-tempo conception of “Under My Thumb” is a testament to the differences between the two bands. While the Stones’ version is all Jagger and swagger, this is a group effort, with voices mixed evenly, and Keith Moon’s drums predominantly thunderous. It’s less preposterously sexy, but it’s an interesting texture:

 

In an era when the very definition of rock music was being poked and questioned, Townshend made history with his rock opera Tommy, released as an album in 1969. While the album engendered the mega-hit “Pinball Wizard,” not all of its tracks could be made into singles. “Underture,” for example, is a 10-minute instrumental with wordless vocalise, and it’s completely radical for its time.

There are elements of Indian music here, although not as blatantly as found, say, in songs by George Harrison. Several guitars, both acoustic and electric, plus bass are strummed with mesmerizing repeated downstrokes of the pick (as opposed to down and up), while the drum sound is diffused and leaning toward the higher frequencies. The result is that the guitars are the rhythm instruments, and the drum kit is atmospheric.

 

Speaking of Indian influence, Townshend wrote about his quest for spiritual enlightenment in “The Seeker,” released as a single in 1970. The protagonist in this deadpan number looks to pop heroes for guidance, calling out to “Bobby Dylan…the Beatles…and Timothy Leary.” The phrase structure is plodding, like the steps of a pilgrim on a long quest. You’ll recognize some melodic and harmonic ideas from “Bargain,” a Townshend song released on Who’s Next the following year that met with the kind of success “The Seeker” couldn’t muster.

 

Who’s Next included a couple of worthy cuts that didn’t get the single treatment. With an achingly beautiful opening section (I don’t usually associate beauty with The Who), “The Song is Over” is basically a sad love song. Townshend sings at first, over a perpetual-motion electric piano riff, with the lyrics full of regret. But Roger Daltrey takes over as the focus shifts to the importance of telling this story to the “sky-high mountains,” and a stronger rock energy starts pumping, along with those upward modulations so indicative of The Who.

 

From the same album, but in a contrasting style, is bassist John Entwistle’s “My Wife.” It’s dark humor about a man whose wife is trying to murder him over an affair, even though he was only out with the lads. The lyrics about the extremes he’ll go to for self-defense are amusing, but the interesting thing about this track is how un-Who-like its musical style is. The chord progressions are simple. The guitar is distorted with flanger – how mundane! – and serves to double the vocal line or mimic it rather than drive the beat or counterpoint the main rhythmic ideas. Another Entwistle touch is the craggy brass chorus starting at 1:35, which he played and overdubbed himself.

 

For all the contributions of Entwistle, Moon, and Daltrey, it’s arguably Townshend’s innovation that made The Who essential to music history. His rock opera Quadrophenia demonstrates that. Although it was made into a movie in 1979 and still today is played live by symphony orchestras, the work started as an album in 1973. The Billboard and UK singles chart stats speak volumes about the effect Townshend’s vision was having on music consumers: the whole album hit the number 2 spot in both the US and UK, but only three singles charted, and only one breached the Top 40 (“5:15”). Townshend fans were learning to take his work as a whole.

Having said that, it’s still worth looking at a couple of individual songs. “The Dirty Jobs” describes the experience of the opera’s young protagonist, Jimmy, who’s doing menial labor and listening to the old men who’ve resigned themselves to a life without hope of improvement or self-respect. The last verse finds Jimmy encouraging them to fight for a better existence, like they might have in their youth.

Daltrey’s passionate delivery is highlighted by a repeating spiccato (short, bouncing bow strokes) violin riff that struggles against a synthesizer’s sustained notes. The roiling drum sound adds to the unrest.

 

“Bell Boy” shows off The Who’s vaudevillian theatrical bent. Daltrey sings as Jimmy while Moon over-Cockneys his way through the spoken part of Ace Face, a former gang leader now reduced to servitude in a hotel job. Brass-like synth samples act as a backdrop, giving scenic depth.

 

In September of 1978, Keith Moon died of a drug overdose. Although The Who soldiered on, they never found the same level success with new material that they had with the original quartet. It’s eerie that their last album with Moon, Who Are You (1978), included a track dealing with this very possibility. “New Song” bemoans the difficulty of always being original, even if the fans don’t care if a new single has “plagiarized something old.” Back then, a thirtysomething rock star was an old fart in danger of ossifying. One can only imagine how the two surviving band members, Daltrey and Townshend, see this song now that they’re in their seventies.


If No One Ever Reads This Column…

Richard Murison

…did I actually write it?

There is a catchy phrase, “Perception is Reality”, which is often thrown about as a pithy epithet, although at times it shows up as a surprisingly profound truth.  The underlying notion is that if you perceive something to be so, then it doesn’t matter what the underlying reality is … only the perception ultimately matters.  The unspoken sneer is that perception is an inadequate proxy for reality, and is polite language for “fooled into believing …”.  However, a scientific approach to the issue can lead to more rigorous and useful definitions of what comprise Perception and Reality.

For example, I perceive my loudspeakers to be standing in the room in front of me.  That’s generally good enough for me to be satisfied that they are actually there.  There ought to be a difference between my perceiving them to be there, and the loudspeakers actually being there.  After all, if I head off to the kitchen where I am no longer able to perceive them, would they in fact no longer be there?  Would they cease to exist as soon as I cease to perceive them?  As a scientist I can provide a number of independent steps I could take to determine whether or not the speakers disappear when I head off somewhere else, and I am confident that those steps will confirm that my speakers do indeed continue to exist when I am no longer perceiving them.  But even so, to this day there are whole branches of philosophy that deal with existential questions such as these.

Even more interesting, there are branches of science which deal with these issues at a profound and elemental level.  Quantum Physics, for example, is very happy to throw at you any number of odd and bizarre experimental observations that appear to be at odds with a rational, conservative view of reality.  And no matter how counter-intuitive these things can appear to the lay person, what we see is that time and time again experimental evidence sides with the weird science against the otherwise “rational” and “logical” positions.  So that, yes, bizarrely enough, there is good science behind the notion that my loudspeakers in reality do not exist until such time as I either perceive them, or perceive the consequences of some other system (or observer) which interacts with (or “perceives”) them.

But a different kind of perception is at play when we come to actually listening to loudspeakers, or more generally to the system as a whole that plays music through them.  The net result is that the system causes the air to vibrate.  Those vibrations impinge on our ears, and our brains set about trying to make sense of those vibrations in the context of the world in which we live.  And that’s very important, because what we perceive is not the vibrations themselves, but rather what our brains are able to make of them.

That may sound like a “pithy epithet” all of its very own, but it is in fact a critically important concept.  Take, for example, a binaural recording played over headphones.  If you clamp your head in a vise you will often find that you can hear a clear and highly detailed three-dimensional sonic image.  But if you free up your head so you can move it – even if only slightly – then the three-dimensional aspect of the image will usually collapse in an instant, and can be frustratingly difficult to re-establish.  In this example, the sound waves being presented to our ears is not being changed one iota.  Only our brains’ interpretation of those sound waves is changing.  It is an extreme example, but it is a good one with which to introduce the general issue here, which is that we hear only what our brains allow us to hear.

I have two audio systems in my home.  One is a no-compromise audiophile stereo setup used for serious music listening.  The other is a 5.1 surround sound Home-Theater system, which is used only for watching video content.  The HT system is massively compromised, and can in no way be described as having audiophile pretensions.  It has four in-ceiling speakers, a center channel of a different brand, and a subwoofer of a third brand.   It is all powered by a cheap mass-market receiver.  The sound is pretty dreadful by any audiophile standards.

Here’s the thing, though.  I have a number of DVDs of live music performances, from opera through rock concerts.  When I am watching the video content I am generally completely unaware of any limitations in the audio quality.  I find I am completely immersed into the performance, and if anything, I would go so far as to say I perceive the audio quality to be rather good.  But if I put a CD in the player instead of a DVD, the result is pretty much unlistenable.  What is going on here?

The answer relates to how the brain works.  And I feel I should point out straight up that for exactly this very reason the specific results I get may not be the same as the equivalent results you’d get.  But that’s fine, because it’s not the specific result that matters here, rather it’s the understanding of the mechanism(s) at play.  When our brains interact with the world at large, they seek to understand what they are seeing and hearing in terms of their experiences.  Our brains have ‘templates’ (for want of a better word) of experiences that they want to try to fit things to.  So, for example, when we see photographs of people in the famous Ames Room, our brains perceive a rectangular room, containing people of unexpected sizes.  But people from primitive cultures, who lived in round rather than square structures, when shown such images perceived an odd-shaped room containing sensibly-sized people.

The Ames Room is a classic example of how we see only what our brains allow us to see, rather than what our intellects would prefer us to see.  I believe my experiences with my Home Theater setup are variations on the exact same phenomenon.

When I play a concert video DVD my brain sees the picture and attempts to match the sound to the image.  Because we are primarily visual creatures, the image, rather than the sound, is the primary point of interpretative reference.  I have a good, clean image on the screen, and so my brain adjusts its interpretation of the sound accordingly.  Not only do I hear a trumpet when I see a trumpet, but I perceive a better-sounding trumpet (perhaps what I really mean is a more satisfactory-sounding trumpet) than I would do if I were not actually seeing clean footage of the trumpet playing on the screen.  When our brain tells us we are seeing a more lifelike image, or hearing a more lifelike sound, what it is really telling us is that what we are seeing and hearing is a more accurate match to its internal ‘template’.

This, to my mind, illustrates a critically important phenomenon, and one I don’t see discussed as widely as I think it should be.  What we have here is clear evidence that how we perceive sound quality can be impacted – sometimes remarkably strongly – by factors unrelated to the actual sound quality itself.  This is something that we, as audiophiles, experience quite strongly, although it generally falls into the category of things we don’t like to admit to.  We tend to argue against the notion that sound quality is something that has to be perceived, because it inherently plays into the hands of those who wish to contend that we never actually hear those things in the first place.  But the fact that a given system can be perceived to sound anywhere from higher to lower quality according to unspecified or unknown factors does not mean that one system cannot sound better than another.  Nor is it inconsistent with an expectation that a better system will have the potential to deliver a better perceived listening experience.

In my mind, the most interesting question is as follows.  Can an improvement in the actual performance of one sonic attribute result in an improved perceived assessment of an otherwise unrelated sonic attribute?  For example, if we improve a system so that it delivers a high-quality three-dimension soundstage (for example, through improvements in speaker placement) can we thereby enable a listener to perceive a more accurate tonal palette?  I have a sneaking suspicion that this might actually be the case [although I do accept that in the simple example given, moving the speakers will affect both the imaging and the tonal balance].  Given that, as I mentioned earlier, humans are primarily ‘visual’ beings, I wonder whether the ability to ‘visualize’ a three-dimensional sound field will help the brain to better fit what it hears to an internal template, such that the listener will perceive a higher quality overall sonic picture?  I know that from my own personal experience, my overall listening pleasure is maximally enhanced when I perceive good, holographic imaging, although it is not clear to me whether under these conditions I also perceive a specific improvement in, say, tonal accuracy.  In any case, I must emphasize, this is pure speculation on my part.

But the other side of the coin is when people try to perform the dreaded “double blind test”, the bane of the audiophile world.  Because the factors governing perception of sound are still very much unknown, we do not yet have a scientific basis upon which to establish test conditions where what the subjects perceive is sufficiently well controlled.  It is not surprising, therefore, that the results of such tests are seldom satisfactory to the audiophile community, whereas the community of skeptics can continue to wave the perception issue in our faces and snort that we are all just fooling ourselves.


What’s In the Box?

What’s In the Box?

What’s In the Box?

Bill Leebens

There is no mystery in the world today.

–That’s not entirely true.  There’s plenty of mystery, mostly related to the inexplicable fame of certain individuals, famous for…being famous.

The mystery that is lacking is in subtlety,  or a tantalizing glimpse of—what was that?

Ever seen grainy old footage of a fan dancer? Yowsah. Again: today, no subtlety. You thought JLo in that green Versace dress at the Grammys was blatant, back in 2000?

Hogwash. Compared to Kendall Jenner’s recent après-Oscars outfit, JLo was the Mona Lisa, all hints of a slight smile and a barely-raised eyebrow, compared to…TA-DAA!!

Believe it or not, this tangential rant was prompted by seeing this sad-looking case, which clearly was well-traveled and not at all pampered. And yet, there is a bit of mystery about it: what’s in there?

The header pic reveals the flamboyant innards of the nondescript tube caddy, which looks as though it had been stored in a mildewy cellar for decades. For those of us of a certain age, seeing such a case evokes memories of a TV repairman coming to our house, driving a panel truck, wearing a uniform shirt with an embroidered name patch (“Pete” sticks in my mind, and is likely a creation of cross-firing neurons), and lugging an obviously-heavy tube caddy into the house.

Several elements of this scenario may require explanation for the under-60 set: back before 1965 or ’70, cathode-ray tube TVs largely had vacuum tube electronics. Those TVs were generally pretty hefty, especially if one had an elaborate console.

During this time, the third major television network appeared: ABC. Most of its programming was still in black and white; NBC made a big point of all their national programming being in color, and famously began their shows with an animated peacock, symbolizing the colorful programming.

In mid-’60s small-town Minnesota, that was it: three channels. We knew that The Cities (Minneapolis-St.Paul) had several more channels, ranging from NET (National Educational Television, precursor of PBS) to several mysterious high-numbered UHF stations that seemed as though their studios were in a two-car garage in the burbs. Late at night we could occasional get a drifting, snowy signal from those channels, as I learned when trying to tune in a showing of one bad horror melodrama or another.

So—back to that stranger coming into the house. TVs of that period had knobs to adjust the framing of the picture on the big picture tube: horizontal hold for when the picture rolled, vertical hold for when it whipped side-to-side. When those adjustments couldn’t stabilize the picture or the sound or image became staticky—inevitably, someone in the family would say the magic words: “Guess we got a bad tube.”

If a family had a do it yourselfer, that person might take charge, giving the set a hard whack on the side, which would sometimes cure the ailment, at least for a moment. Advanced DIY-ers might actually understand the basic circuits of the sets of the era...

–but my family did not include such a person. Marveling at the way the garage door opened when Telstar orbited overhead at night was literally cosmic, and beyond our understanding of electricity or RF signals—and having been knocked on my ass as a small boy by a severe shock, courtesy of a frayed cord, I certainly wasn’t going to be the one who unscrewed the perforated masonite back of the set and start poking around.

Enter “Pete”. Or whatever his name was.  Pete came in lugging the tube caddy and some tools. He would turn the set on, look and listen critically for a few seconds, mutter “uh huh, uh huh” under his breath, then start unscrewing the back of the set—by hand. No fancy little powered screwdrivers in those days. When asked by a pesky small child (me) what the issue was, Pete would rattle off a string of polysyllabic jargon that was every bit as meaningful to me  as listening to my Dad’s doctor friends talking shop. He’d look in the chassis for tubes that glowed too much, too little, or in a color other than the approved palette. If he were in a patient mood, he’d point out the misbehaving tube, unplug the set, take out the bad tube,  unfold the caddy  to expose his traveling tube stock, pull out the needed replacement and pop it in, plug the set in and fire it up.

He’d use a mirror to view the screen while still behind the set; occasionally his young sidekick would be allowed to hold the mirror. Pete would adjust the focus of the signal, make sure all was well, then button up the back of the set. He’d scribble out an itemized receipt on a pocket pad, keeping a carbon copy, then patiently wait while the lady of the house wrote out a check. The bad tube would be left as evidence of what went wrong, and was generally swiped by the sidekick as a souvenir.

It doesn’t really matter. Anyway, that whole visit would rarely last even a half-hour—then Pete would be on his way.

Several aspects of this story leave me with a sense of wistful nostalgia. There was a time when technology advanced at a fairly measured pace, and devices were built to have extended lifetimes. Of course, as TV picture tubes flattened and became squarer, with less distortion, the old units showed their age, and became indestructible rusty relics destined to be crushed or buried, leaking God knows what into the water table. Today, as HDTv was followed by 1080p, and now 4k and 8k, the sets are largely disposable, and cheap compared to an hourly repair rate. Fix it? Why bother?

And when was the last time that any service person came to your home, was nice to the family offspring, and left you feeling well-served and satisfied with the cost?

I honestly can’t remember the last time I had that experience. And that’s a damned shame.


Bert van der Wolf

Bert van der Wolf

Bert van der Wolf

Lawrence Schenbeck

[Bert van der Wolf is a distinguished Netherlands-based engineer/producer with over thirty years’ experience in developing and advancing high-resolution, multichannel classical recording. Recently he agreed to share his thoughts with us on a variety of topics.]

You have an extraordinarily wide range of experience within the industry. How did you get started on this path?

As a child I discovered I was quite good at playing musical instruments, first piano, later guitar, both classical and pop/jazz. I wanted to study at a conservatory after high school. However, my father encouraged me to consider something more reliable than music, because he felt the odds were against making a living in it. So I started out studying electrical engineering. After three years I got fed up with the culture at that school. I tried to apply at Polygram for an internship, but around then they started accepting only students from the Koninklijk Conservatorium’s recording department. I immediately decided to skip to the conservatory, but first I had to perform military service for a year. The rest is history! At the conservatory, I felt like a fish in the water and basically became a professional producer/engineer in two years, half the usual time needed for the course. I got an internship at Channel Classics and “fell with my nose in the butter,” as they say, because they were just starting the label. I recorded their first 100-plus productions, not to mention countless third-party jobs for other international labels.

What are your earliest memories of hearing good or bad records, of modifying equipment, developing musical values?

I remember listening to my first audio equipment, under my bed, with two different tube radio receivers; I had constructed my own proprietary stereo cartridge from what had been a mono Philips record player. It was magical, playing the records my parents got for free at Readers Digest, just as thrilling as today, when I enjoy good recordings and playback with high-resolution multi-channel immersive formats. The feeling was the same.

And from there?

At the conservatory I was immediately struck by the joy that radiated from the lessons of my most important teacher, Adriaan Verstijnen. His passion was contagious. Every so often I was permitted to follow him around and join at projects: he was working for Harlekijn Holland and Erato, recording Ton Koopman and The Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra and artists like Reinbert de Leeuw. Later, when I arrived at Channel Classics, I got a true baptism by fire: we did over 40 projects in the first year and a half. Channel always put quality first on its agenda, so I had to perform from Day 1 at the highest level. Luckily I stayed and did well, and many musicians crossed my path.


Photos, here and above, by Brendon Heinst.

Your video from dCS (click here) reminds us of the early days of digital and how it “grew up.” What’s your 21st-century perspective?

We now have a much better knowledge of digital, how it differs from analog and how it became mature to a level that exceeds the best analog. Furthermore, the development of digital mixing tools, the enormous DSP power of edit engines and various plug-ins for reverb, delay, and more have multiplied our options for creativity in the editing and mastering room. That adds a lot to the magic and makes it more likely to communicate exactly what musicians intend to transmit onstage.

What problems remain?

The biggest problem is that digital sound, offering ultra-high resolution, often shoots past the reality of life. An ultra-high-definition TV can show a picture that does not exist in real life. You can zoom in on a fly on the wall at 60 yards and see its eyeballs if you want. In audio it sometimes feels as if transparency and dynamics have been overexposed—exaggerated, really—within the mix. High End now implies a move toward unrealistic transparency and projection from all angles of the soundstage, encouraged by equipment that enables this. But real life has logical blurs around the focal point—a point that should, in contrast, be very high-res!

Perhaps that’s how our brains typically handle live music. Somehow we choose a focal point, and everything else goes into soft focus. Does ultra-resolution work against this?

It’s not necessarily ultra-resolution that’s the problem, it is how engineers react to the new possibilities it offers. In the past, when the best technology captured less information, engineers tended to over-gather data, placing equal emphasis (or worse, over-emphasis) on all aspects of the potential mix. Then, to compensate for the lack of visual and other sensory information (the data our sight, skin, and scent collect at live performances), they created layers—depth of field—via supporting microphones, EQ, and dynamic alterations. They could offer focal points everywhere simultaneously, often incoherent in imaging and perspective.

Remember when HDTV came out? By capturing more information, the new visual transparency revealed too much of the actors’ make-up. This changed the “grime departments” at television shows forever, and vastly complicated the tasks of set decoration, lighting, and more. With ultra-resolution audio, engineers now have to come up with more subtle accents, more sophisticated mixes. That has not happened across the board. Timbres, transients, and imaging are still being overproduced, as if high-res did not exist; the make-up is showing.  Analog—and DSD, in a way—comes with a nice layer of “lingerie,” a term I use for differences between real life and the “ultimate/naked” truth of high-resolution audio.

Sounds like you’re saying “a veil should not be lifted.”

Going back to cruder formats like analog tape or vinyl is certainly not the solution. I am experimenting with unique microphone setups to create a holographic image of the event with interactive transparency: finding elements in the mix that invite the listener’s engagement. I do not want to present everything on a platter. Many mixes are like McDonalds, where you get exactly what you expected. It’s consistent and in that sense “professional,” but ultimately it lacks mystery. With haute cuisine, a diner expects to seek out subtly blended ingredients, discerning their presence within the meal’s gestalt. When you listen to a good holographic recording of an orchestra, the total soundscape should grip you without anything seeming isolated or exaggerated. If a mix focuses on bits and pieces—all the individual sounds, all the moments, with pin-point accuracy—you get recognizable high-res, but not music.


Photo by Aart van der Wal

When you plan a recording session, what are your priorities?

Most important is to create an environment in which musicians can reach their optimal potential. This will be different for every artist, but in general I strive to make the experience inspirational and engaging. My contribution is only a tool; it must never become an obstacle. I am most happy if musicians start talking music immediately after hearing the first take. This means the sound is not blocking their process; it’s just another instrument we must play.

In an engineering/producing relationship with an artist, who chooses whom? What is the basis for a good working partnership?

Many artists know how to find me, and they ask labels to hire me, or they hire me themselves. Challenge also encourages musicians to work with me if they feel the project will benefit from my style. The secret to creating a good partnership is to find the artist’s ultimate strength and put the emphasis on that very aspect!

How do your methods differ from what other engineers do?

I wouldn’t know; I am never there! I do think we all need similar assortments of temperament and skill. This profession is a killer. Some people make it, some leave; there are always others ready to take over your job. I am still here after thirty years—twenty years as an independent!—so it’s clear some musicians appreciate my work.

Has your setup changed in the last ten years?

Not much. I began working in DXD (352kHz/24bit) in 2005 and developed my proprietary (HQMM) microphone matrix system around then too. Because dCS unfortunately left the pro community, I have moved toward Merging Technologies for AD/DA hardware. I still work occasionally with dCS on consumer products, but their systems are no longer compatible with current standards and demands in pro audio. The most striking development for the industry overall has been audio-over-IP, a true blessing for us, incredibly flexible, high-quality digital I/O that cuts out a lot of destructive digital processes we once had to deal with.


Recording Bruckner with Jaap van Zweden. Photo by Aart van der Wal

You created Turtle Records two decades ago. How?

It was a chance meeting with Harry van Dalen at Rhapsody Sound in Hilversum, Holland. I was distributing dCS converters on the European mainland and he wanted to do a 96/24 recording with a Nagra-D and a dCS 904. I went to his place and found a stunning shop with playback tools that I did not know of. High End!! I was mesmerized, and Harry had many of my recordings, which I suddenly heard with “new glasses on.” Our ideas about sound and the business were strikingly similar, mine from the source—the recording world—his from the playback side in consumer audio, so the very same evening we decided to start something together. I would supply the infrastructure for recording, he the network in High End and his knowledge of true high-end equipment. And so Turtle Records® was born.

I am proud of the high standard we established in the first few years. People are still talking about it! With five partners, however, it was difficult to make it go as a business—perhaps impossible. Since 2008 the label has been completely mine, so maybe that will make it less impossible; I hope so! My other company, Edison Production Company BV, now harbors Turtle.

How did your relationship with Challenge Records develop, and how does it currently work?

Back in my Channel Classics days I was hired to do location recordings for Challenge. When I became an independent producer/engineer, they began hiring me on a regular basis. At some point they discovered my High End network and found a consistent difference in quality and USP whenever I led a project. Eventually Challenge created a brand for my productions, “HQ|NORTHSTAR by Bert van der Wolf,” and put it on the cover, much to my embarrassment; later on I started to appreciate the benefits. Because of the immense trust I received from my buddies at Turtle and the folks at Challenge, the HQ|NORTHSTAR brand is thriving and has become a solid platform for many artists. I also reserve the right to release those productions as part of my personal portfolio on www.spiritofturtle.com.

How else did you develop yourself on the business end?

For years I switched around between hardcore producer/engineer, label manager, and hardware sales/marketing (dCS, Sonodore, Avalon Acoustics Pro, Siltech, others) for High End brands worldwide. That gave me an edge over those who did only one thing, so I got job offers in many adjacent businesses.

Did that surprise you?

I was more surprised by the time lag in consumer response and awareness of my work. It was thirty years before I started to notice more interest. I have just been doing my job, not spending much energy on activities like showing up at award shows or (even) applying for them with productions. Lately things have drifted into new waters; I am doing many more audio shows and interviews in online magazines like this one. Of course, my discography encompasses about 600 recordings, so perhaps it was time for people to start noticing. I still have much to learn about the process.

Any advice?

Well, you’d better love it so much that you have to do it, otherwise it is way too hard!

What do you see as the greatest challenge facing independent producers like you and work like yours in the next 20 years?

It’s the changes in how people consume music. Already it is like water from the tap rather than an exclusive, valuable product.

It’s priceless in the wrong sense.

Exactly. Collecting and fairly distributing revenues is a real challenge for the industry, but if it is not settled soon, many will not survive. Not even me, I’m afraid. My method has always been to build a profile at the highest technical and artistic level. My wife used to ask me, “why can’t good be good enough for once?” But I was convinced that only spectacular is good enough to stay alive. It can be a burden both economically and emotionally. The investments in equipment and time have been staggering.

Will you recommend one or two of your most recent projects?

I am extremely proud of the integral Prokofiev symphonies for Challenge with James Gaffigan and The Netherlands Radio Philharmonic. Also my Bruckner with Jaap van Zweden and the NRPO (Challenge CC72702); Symphonies 1, 3, 6, and 8 are of similar caliber. The Turtle 25th Anniversary album I did for dCS (booklet here, downloads here or here) encompasses several genres and is a very fine example of what I am happy to give the world.

Bert van der Wolf, thanks again for sharing your thoughts. How’s your tennis these days?

Still playing, still coaching! Music and tennis can be quite similar, you know: timing is everything.

[Finally, two clips. First, the opening of Bruckner Symphony No. 1 (Linz version). We hear the tactile thrum of low strings; other colors gradually make their way into the conversation. Dynamic bloom is well caught, reinforcing rhythmic drive even as it highlights the theme’s gradual unfolding.

00:00 / 03:08

Second, Liza Ferschtman performs part of the Korngold Violin Concerto with Jiří Malát and the Prague SO (Challenge CC72755). It’s paired with another live performance, the Bernstein Serenade after Plato’s Symposium; both are sonic and expressive knockouts.]

00:00 / 04:27

Our header image features the NorthStar studio in Haaften, including Avalon Acoustics Eidolon Special-X and Avalon Sub Special-X (both modified by Neil Patel), Avalon Indra; Spectral Audio DMA 250, 160, and 100’s; dCS Pro DACs, clocking, and DDCs; Siltech cabling; Acustica Applicata DAAD acoustical treatment devices; Nagra-D digital audio recorder; Sonodore/Rens Heijnis custom monitor equipment; and VPI turntable.


Hitting Bottom

Dan Schwartz

Mark Malboeuf, alias badbeef, asked me to comment on a thread in the PS Audio forums about PS’ AN-series speakers in development, and as I thought about it, I realized I had too much to say for a comment. So…

First there was the mighty Ampeg SVT, one of the first two high-powered and very large bass amps — the SVT was tube, and the Acoustic 360, solid state. Both were equally interesting and equally unprecedented.

The 360 was, like the Les Paul Amplifier of the same era, a preamp and a powered cabinet. I have no idea where or why this idea came into being. People were trying things. It was a good idea, brought only partly into being. The 300-watt cabinet was huge, deep, and contained an 18” driver in a folder horn. So automatically it gave a deep but woofy sound.

The SVT was allegedly developed for the Rolling Stones’ fall 1969 tour of the US, famously documented on the incredible bootleg LiveR Than You’ll Ever Be and the subsequent “legitimate” release Get Your Ya-Yas Out! It…  was, to my mind, a 97-lb. fuzzbox. You can turn it up to 4 — or about 11 o’clock — cleanly, and from there on it would start to saturate, and rather than increasing volume, you would just be increasing distortion. No headroom. But: the speaker cabinet: THAT Ampeg got right.

The Ampeg SVT cabinet that they got right.

As Mark said in the discussion, it was an 8 by 10” configuration, arranged in 4 pairs, the boundaries of the cabinet only slightly larger than the speakers. Internally it’s baffled by pairs as well, so it’s sort of 4 cabs stacked one on top of the other. Initially it was a relatively shallow large box; later versions were a bit deeper and added upper handles and lower casters. And holy cow, did it work! (Within reason.) The smaller drivers (as opposed to the more common 15” or 12” drivers) gave better highs, and combing that many speakers gave a large front of oomph!

And this is where we connect with the high-end: the first time I sat in front of the IRS V, at Harry Pearson’s back in the Pleistocene era, and he played me a track by Yello, I felt the bass drum walloping me in the chest, though I was about 10 feet from the woofer towers. It was actually kind of incredible. And though he had the two columns of 6 12” inch drivers separated by some distance, I felt like I was sitting directly in front of the SVT of god. It’s hard to convey that sense of sheer wallop if you’ve never felt it. The SVT can likewise really punch you in the gut. It’s very definitely a feeling.

My own SVT is, first of all, only the cabinet — I don’t need an overly- heavy, medium-powered amp that distorts when you try to turn it up. And it’s the original, flat-back version (its road case is one of my favorite pieces of gear, a beautiful sea-foam green). I got it 35 years ago, but in 1989 George Cardas and I modified it. Though it always had a 4-pin XLR input, only two of the pins were used. Those wires went to a terminal strip which distributed the signal into one of the interior boxes, to the drivers therein, and then onto to another box, and so on to the other three boxes, each of which had its own terminal strip. George and I removed the internal wire and the terminal strips, and replaced it with his wire, all eight drivers wired directly to all four pins of the XLR.

The first album I did with the rewired cabinet was Jon Hassell’s City: Works of Fiction, so you can judge for yourself whether the resulting sound was good or not. On that album I drove it with my hot-rodded SWR SM-400 amp, a hybrid 500-watt amp that one person can carry.  If I were still using the cab, I would use it in an SVT-of-God configuration with the prototype of the Wolcott Presence amplifier, a 250-watt amp with a ton of overhead and intended for high-end audio usage, with eight EL-34 tubes in an auto-bias arrangement. I can select from a range of different preamps, but most often, I went with something built by my friend Bill Sundt, modeled on the SVT’s front end. I even have a Volvo V70 for driving it around. But it hasn’t been out of storage, cabinet or amp or stacks of preamps, in 15 years.

The mighty Wolcott Presence. Still made!

For medium sized gigs, I have a cabinet that gets quite a bit of usage and was, though briefly made, a really brilliant design. It’s called, stupidly, Henry the 8×8. But it really works (as long as the horn tweeter is shut off). Though capable of bottoming out, which the SVT isn’t, it also is capable of quite a bit more low-end and is a lot shorter (and a bit deeper). But again, quite a bit shorter, and I can wrangle it into the old Volvo by myself. It doesn’t have quite the crunch and wallop, but has a more natural low end.

It’s downside is the presence of that bullet-horn tweeter.  20-odd years ago, as SWR was getting off the ground, I took one of my Thiel 03As out to the SWR shop and played through it for Steve Rabe, whose company it was. “You hear the natural top end? I want that.”

I didn’t get that — I got a bullet tweeter, and now they’re hard to avoid. But fortunately, on the Henry cabinet, there’s a volume control for the tweeter, and it’s always turned down.

Best laid plans….

[Lest you wonder about the header pick…er, pic—a Crafsman adjustable wrench is Dan’s preferred pick for the bass—Ed.]


50 Ways to Read a Record Part 1

50 Ways to Read a Record Part 1

50 Ways to Read a Record Part 1

Bill Leebens

I’ve spent half a century immersing myself in the history of recorded sound. Recently I’ve had to go back to the very beginning and start over: I’m in the process of developing a podcast on the history of recorded music. I’ll keep you apprised of when it will go live.

Starting from scratch, what has jumped out at me is that this didn’t all start with Edison and Berliner…which is the place where the histories generally begin. As is the case of most histories, they leave out the tangled, untrackable beginnings involving the poor schlubs who were aced out by superior legal firepower, or by “historians” who like to keep things simple for the sake of textbooks, product literature, company histories, whatever. When it comes to recorded music, don’t think late 19th century—think, oh, the 9th.

That’s right: the NINTH century. A thousand years before Edison, a thousand years before Berliner.

…and you’re going to have to wait for the first episode of the podcast for that story. Sorry.

Meanwhile, back at the monitor: Jay Jay’s mention of the DS optical cartridge opened the creaky hinges on my memory, bringing up thoughts of all the different technologies that have been utilized to track a disc. I’m tempted to write “decode” rather than “track”—after all, that’s what the process is, right? Decoding?

In the beginning—of music reproduced on cylinders and discs, anyway—there was the needle. The thing that actually read the groove was, in Victor and other lateral-cut discs, a replaceable steel needle. You’d think that such needles would last a long while, but such was not the case: they were often dulled within a single play, and were supposed to be replaced then. Replacements were sold for as little as 10/penny, but consumers often used the needles far past their intended life, gouging records in the process. A variety of other materials were used besides steel, including actual cactus needles.

Edison’s cylinder phonographs used a stylus to track vertical, or so-called “hill-and-dale” grooves in the wax or plastic cylinder. Use of vertical grooves allowed the grooves to be more closely-packed than those of lateral-cut discs, yielding longer playing times, up to 4 minutes. The constant velocity of the cylinder also avoided the inner-groove distortion that bedeviled discs—and still does. Cylinders provided better sound than early discs, but as discs became the dominant format, manufactured by hundreds of companies, their fidelity improved.

In early disc and cylinder reproducers, sound was produced by purely mechanical or acoustic means: the needle was connected by a linkage to the diaphragm of a reproducer or “sound box”, which would move back and forth to produce sound. Amplification was purely acoustic: the reproducer was connected to a horn, which coupled the reproducer’s output to the air and magically making it louder. This site has a very thorough explanation of how the “sound box” worked; the mechanical design of the reproducer was rather similar to later balanced-armature loudspeakers.

An excellent diagram of a Victor reproducer, similar to most of those used on lateral-cut discs.

When it became clear that cylinders were losing the format war to discs, Edison produced his own take on the type: the Diamond Disc. Like his cylinders, Diamond Discs had hill-and-dale grooves, tracked by a permanent, diamond stylus–hence the name. In order to combat warpage and accommodate the depth of the vertical grooves, Diamond Discs were thicker than lateral-cut discs: nearly 1/4″ thick, and many were pressed on only one side. As the stylus’ tracking motion was up and down with the vertical-cut discs, the diaphragm of the reproducer had to be parallel to the disc—whereas with lateral-cut discs, the reproducer was at a right angle to the disc.

With the introduction of electrical recording, amplification and playback of discs, everything changed. The first magnetic cartridges appeared in 1925; nearly all were of the type now called moving iron, in which a cantilever or armature moves between the poles of a magnetic field, generating a modulated output. Early units were massive by today’s standards, and still used the throwaway steel needles. Their construction and operation is nicely explained in this somewhat homespun video:

 

Bell Labs developed much of the technology of sound reproduction, as we discussed back in “Saved By the Bell(Labs)” in Copper #2 and Copper #3. Western Electric, the hardware arm of the Bell System, developed the motion picture sound recording system that was licensed to Warner Brothers and marketed as Vitaphone, with the first sound movies shown in 1926-27, with the sound provided by synchronized phonograph records—which, oddly, played from the inside out. (A number of early Vitaphone soundtracks can be heard here—but I digress,)

Bell also produced records of test-tones to test telephone lines. While most records of the time were still lateral-cut, Bell discovered that greater fidelity and lower distortion could be produced by vertical -cut discs. Eventually, a need was found for a phonograph cartridge which could play back both standard lateral-cut discs and the Bell vertical-cut test discs. The development of the Western Electric 9A “Universal Phonograph Reproducer” ocurred in the ’30s and was described in an article the October, 1940 issue of the Bell Laboratories Record, which can be read here (scroll down to page 27). Described in the article as “very small”, the 9A was by modern standards quite large, and heavy. It was a moving-coil cartridge, and the generating mechanism could be rotated by a knob to adjust for the type of disc being played—rather like later “turnover” cartridges which could play both standard groove 78s and microgroove LPs.

There are collectors who swear by the sound quality of the 9A, describing it as dynamic and lifelike, despite frequency response which barely reached 10kHz. Audio magazine reprinted the Record article on the 9A in 1958 as single-groove stereo LPs were becoming available, and pointed out, “Because of the distinct parallel between design requirements of the Western Electric Model 9A vertical/lateral pickup of the early 30’s and those encountered in today’s single- groove stereo cartridges, this article is of unusual interest. The 9A, as most old timers will recall, was the first pickup designed to deliver both vertical and lateral voltages from a single stylus. While the two signals were not used simultaneously in the 9A as they are in stereo pickups, it must be admitted that the Bell Laboratories engineers who developed the unit came dangerously close to inventing single – groove stereo almost 30 years too soon.”

A later cartridge of similar design, the Westrex 10A, was one of the first cartridges able to play back single-groove stereo discs—developed by engineers at Western Electric offshoot Westrex, as described in “Stereo at Sixty” in Copper #44.

The Western Electric 9A “Universal Phonograph Reproducer.”

You can get a sense of the size of the Western Electric 9A from seeing it in use on a WE turntable, in this video:

 

We’ll continue our survey of record playback technology in the next issue of Copper—starting with the ancestor of the optical cartridge JayJay raved about.


Is It Live, Or...?

Is It Live, Or...?

Is It Live, Or...?

Charles Rodrigues

Sinai

Roy Hall

The muezzin woke us up with the Adhan (The Muslim call to prayer). It was dawn in Jerusalem and we had spent the night in my favorite hotel, The American Colony in East Jerusalem. We rose early to join our group for the ride down to Eilat, in the south of Israel, where we would pick up our transport, a 6-wheeled command car for the journey into the Sinai desert. There were about eight couples and three guides and after brief introductions, we set off into the Sinai. This was 1979, before Israel returned the Sinai to Egypt. Sinai was a fairly safe area to explore.

Our first stop was Nuweiba, on the Red Sea. In those days it was a sleepy beachfront with minimal facilities and the most glorious beach. We camped (meaning, we laid out our sleeping bags) on the beach and watched the sun turn the mountains in Saudi Arabia ochre, crimson, and purple as it set behind us.

The next day we set off for Wadi Feiran, sometimes called “the endless wadi (dry river bed).” At about 80 miles long, it is the largest in Sinai and even though we were in an open but covered command car, it was a long and arduous drive. The temperature was around 110 degrees and the reflected sunlight was draining. We stopped for lunch at one of the few overhangs offering shade. After eating I strolled a little and on looking up saw some graffiti high up on a ridge. Horrified to see desecration in such a pristine place, I climbed up for a closer look. There were about three words, but in a language I couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t Hebrew or Latin or Arabic, so I called down to one of the guides and asked him to look at it. He started to laugh.

“It’s Syriac,” he said. “It’s the script used by the Nabataeans over two thousand years ago.”

Some fellow traveller, over two millennia before me, had left his mark.

A few miles later after setting up camp and eating supper, we heard a strange sound. It was a splash. We all ran up to see a pool of clear water with palm trees all around it. Swimming after a long hot day in the desert was a welcome and entirely unexpected delight.

At the far end of Wadi Feiran, where we had set up camp, is the Sinai’s largest oasis and is believed to be the spot where Moses struck a rock in anger and water poured out so the Hebrews could drink. During our orientation our guides encouraged us to drink large quantities of water throughout the day, for most illnesses in the desert were due to dehydration. They were not wrong; quite a few members of our group (including my wife) were taken ill the next day. After that, they all drank water like crazy. They also told us that the dryness of the desert preserves things for the longest time, so that when we went to the toilet we had to bring matches, so we could burn the toilet paper after use. If we didn’t it would litter the desert for eons to come. Matches aside, the eeriest aspect of relieving oneself was the absolute stillness and quiet of the desert. There were no birds or insects, no wind and no rustling of trees. The loudest sound was your heartbeat. I enjoyed this solitude, but many found it disconcerting.

The following morning we woke up at 3 AM for the long trek up Jebel Musa (Moses Mountain), which we know as Mount Sinai. This is the place where, according to the Old Testament, God gave Moses the 10 Commandments. It was still dark when we reached the summit but very soon the sky began to lighten. As this early morning white light washed over the rocks and slowly illuminated the landscape I felt that there certainly was something mysterious about the place. Perhaps it was the light, or maybe its significance, but as I thought of Moses spending 40 years here I began to understand how religion could have had its genesis in these hills.

We then started our descent towards the Monastery of Santa Katarina, which lies at the bottom of the mountain. Legend holds that Moses encountered the burning bush at this site. The burning bush is a type of local bramble. As no fire was erupting from it as I passed, I was unimpressed.

Entering the Monastery can be tricky, as the monks are fickle, but on this day they granted us admission. The monastery, which is over 1500 years old, has the second largest assemblage of old manuscripts in the world. Inside the church was a massive door covered in a rich dark patina. Even though it was said to be over 1000 years old, it was in beautiful condition. This is testament to the constant low humidity of the desert. We also were allowed to see the Chapel of St. Tryphon, which exhibits the skulls of deceased monks. The monastery also has a wonderful collection of icons, some of which also date back over a thousand years.

From the monastery, we headed east towards the Red Sea. At one point, the trail ended at a wall of earth about 7-8 feet high. For the first time I lost confidence in our guides as they seemed to be amazingly competent and never lost. Thinking that we may have to back up, I was startled when our driver put the vehicle in very low gear and proceeded to climb the wall. The command car had six enormous wheels and they effortlessly eased their way up the embankment and onto level ground. We were now in Dahab, a fishing village consisting of a collection of huts and lean-tos. It is famous for its coral reefs and the “blue hole”—a sinkhole over 300 feet deep. Against the vastness of the desert, the coolness and serenity of the water was a welcome break.

Before we left the desert I once again pondered on the mysteriousness and serenity of the Sinai. If I had wandered these hills for 40 years, thousands of years ago, would I have become religious? Would I have believed in a god…?

From Dahab, we headed north to Eilat, and then to the van that would take us back to Jerusalem.

Our first stop? The wonderfully clean toilets of the King David Hotel.


Urban Mystery

Urban Mystery

Urban Mystery

Bill Leebens