Issue 108

JJ: Up until about a month ago how was your year going?

MW: We were doing great and our projections were that this was going to be our best year. The HW-4040th Anniversary table was a killer, a huge success. [Author’s Note: I own one.] We had just done a dealer training event for new products which went great.

We had a 50-unit HW -40 order for Asia about to ship. Then it all froze. Everything now is put on hold.

JJF: What was the day that it all changed?

MW: Back at the Tampa show [the February, 2020 Florida Audio Expo] I started to get the feeling like our business was in a slow boiling pot, but the day Munich was canceled was the day I knew (Feb 28th). If cancellations were out as far as May, I knew that some changes had to be made.

JJF: How did the changes then occur where you decided that you were going to stop making tables and start making medical devices, and what did you tell your staff?

MW: At first I sent home all my high-risk workers and changed the factory so that people who remained were [physically] spread out. The idea was to finish as many turntable orders as we could and strictly become (for the time being) an online website selling products. The idea was to keep shipping product until we were forced to close by government decree. Then two weeks ago Friday we thought that we were going to have to close, so I was ready to propose a toast to all my workers and thank them.

JJF: And then what happened? How did you find out that you were exempt from the closure law?

MW: I heard that the law in New Jersey allowed companies that are manufacturers (and that means us) to stay in business even though some of our suppliers from other states are not allowed to be open. I called our lawyer and he said yes, you are essential because you make an essential product. Music is essential. At this point I thought we should be doing something.

In reality we are considered essential because we can retool to make other things. Although that is not a requirement, it is elective on my part.

JJF: So when did the decision to make hand sanitizer actually come to realization?

MW: Again last week, I realized that we had the ingredients for hand sanitizer because someone had made a comment on Facebook that they couldn’t get hand sanitizer. I realized that we had all the ingredients [to make it] because we make vinyl cleaning fluid. We have the stations for bottling it, we had the alcohol, we had the 1-ounce bottle containers. We started to reach out to other suppliers and at that point I said that this product was going to be made by us for no profit. It would all be distributed for free.

We are using the protective plastic from our instruction manuals. Any plastic not nailed down, we’re using it or cutting it and it’s used as either a face shield or a full blown medical shield. One of the guys here, his wife is a nurse so she was able to explain the parameters. We made a prototype and sent it over to the hospital. They said that it was perfect. The next question was, “how much is this gonna cost?” I said “it’s free,” and they broke out in tears.

JJF: Can you still manufacture turntables during this time?

MW: Yes; we have a reduced staff but for the most part yes. We split the time between making turntables and the sanitizer and masks.

JJF: Have other high-end manufacturers reached out to you since this story came out?

MW: A lot of companies are laying off most of their employees. I have heard from some companies saying that they would like to help out but don’t know how they can. We are lucky to be in a state that allows us to do business.

JJF: Thank you Mat!

Mecca Beach, the location of this shot, is not on the ocean. It's on the shores of an inland lake named the Salton Sea, the product of a Colorado River flood in 1905. Mecca Beach is located on edge of the Mojave Desert in Imperial County, California, and produces some of the best sunsets on the west coast.

When we hear the term “Baroque music,” most of us automatically picture the ornate courts of Europe in the 17^th and early 18^th centuries, with the music of Vivaldi or Bach being performed for royals and nobles.

Well, it’s a fair image, but not the only one. There was also a musical Baroque on another continent. As a result of colonialism, European music had made its way to Central and South American, even if most of the Baroque composers in those regions don’t show up in the music history books.

Fortunately, you can always count on performers who specialize in early music to seek out the esoteric. Thus, there has long been a steady trickle of new recordings of these American Baroque composers. (The now-defunct Dorian Records deserves a nod for getting this trend in motion 20 years ago with its Baroque Music of Latin America by Camerata Renacentísta de Caracas.) Here are a few recent recordings:

Fernández: Chanzonetas (IBS Classical) features the vocal work of Gaspar Fernández (1566-1629), a Portuguese-Mexican who worked in what is today Mexico, back then called New Spain. As is true of many New Spanish composers, not much detail survives about his life and career.

This recording is a collaboration by Capella Prolationum (voices) and Ensemble La Danserye (instruments). The program consists of a type of Spanish-language song called villancicos, poems (in this case by Alonso de Bonilla, who wrote mostly on religious topics) set to music in a form originally derived from a type of medieval dance in Spain. Villancicos were popular among New World composers.

As you can hear in the very short song “Virgen, a parir te atreves” (“Virgin, You Dare to Give Birth”), the rhythm has a distinctly Spanish syncopation, emphasized here by strummed guitar chords at certain off-beat moments. The small group of singers uses a degree of vibrato that is surprising for an early-music group, and I admit I found it distracting. But the lead soprano’s wobble is made up for by the strength and enthusiasm of her singing.

“Oh, qué gozo tan profundo” (“Oh, What Deep Joy”) is written in a more polyphonic style, with the soprano voice beginning a line and the others responding to, imitating, or extending the phrase. The instrumentation seems to consist of late-Renaissance instruments such as haut-boit (early oboe), sackbut (early trombone), and lute.

Another album of Gaspar Fernández’ work is now available from the Phaia Music label (although they spell it Fernándes – he lived in a time before standardized spelling, even of names). On Cancionero musical de la Cathedrale d’Oaxaca, the Cuban early-music ensemble Ars Longa is directed by its founder, Teresa Paz. Although they’ve also done recordings of Monteverdi and other more “standard” early music, Ars Longa’s primary mandate is to help preserve the little-known repertoire of Spanish colonialism.

“Jesós de mi goracón” (“Jesus of My Heart”) is another of the Fernándes/de Bonilla religious songs. Its infectious rhythm and delightful orchestration (transcription from the original manuscript is attributed to one A. Tello) really demonstrates how such a song could have originated in a type of dancing. The various timbres of percussion are modern choices based on what was probably available in that historical time and place.

“Fransiquiya ¿Donde vamo?” seems to be a type of song, perhaps coming from France. It’s another toe-tapper, opening with baroque guitars and percussion that sounds almost African. The singers in Ars Longa have a clear and buoyant sound that truly brings this music to life. They make me imagine that life in a Spanish-Mexican court was lively indeed.

Trésors des couvents (Diapason 4), featuring 17^th-century music from “New Spain”. The four-member French vocal ensemble Vox Cantoris, directed by Jean-Cristophe Candau. The title, which means “Treasures of Convents,” refers not only to the original purpose of this music for worship, but also to where the manuscripts were found – in the libraries of Mexican convents.

Besides a handful of anonymous works, the recording is devoted to the music of Juan de Lienas. His exact dates are unknown, but his career flourished in the middle of the 17^th century. De Lienas is rare among this group of composers for having apparently been born in the New World and also having indigenous blood. It’s believed that he lived and worked primarily in Mexico.

Vox Cantoris produces a rich, meditative tone with very little vibrato, as you will hear in “In manus tuas,” an example of de Lienas’ religious songwriting. The instrument you hear is a dulcian, a double-reed predecessor to the bassoon. It’s played here by Isaure Lavergne. De Lienas is using vocal-writing techniques that would have been popular in Europe a generation or two before, the dense polyphony of late Renaissance church music.

Another track combines two scriptural texts that were beloved by motet-writers in Europe: “Miserere mihi” and Psalm 133: “Ecce nunc benedicite.” The “Miserere” starts with an introit, or opening based on Gregorian chant, before opening up into angelic four-part counterpoint. This music can soothe the soul, and the performance does it great justice.

The most recent New World Baroque recording I’ve been able to find is L’or et l’argent du haut Pérou on K617 Records. On it, the instrumental group Ensemble Elyma is directed by Argentinian conductor Gabriel Garrido, and joined by a French choir called La Maîtrise Boréale. Together they pay tribute to the composer Juan de Araujo (1646-1712).

Araujo was born in northern Spain but ended up getting a job in Peru as a maestro di cappella (basically, music director for a church or a court). It is believed that he worked at several cathedrals in the region.

“Batailles et déplorations: A recoge pasiones inhumanas” (“Battles and Lamentations: On the Collection of Inhumane Passions”) is a religious work that shows de Araujo’s swirling and complex style. Garrido leads his forces with intelligence, delineating phrases with a rhythmic freedom that never loses track of the underlying beat.

These three composers were not the only ones working in Central and South America during Europe’s Baroque era. Others to keep an eye out for include Diego José de Salazar, Manuel de Sumaya, and Domenico Zipoli. Happy exploring!

Hum has no place in an audio system. It’s often caused by improper grounding. When I worked at The Absolute Sound from around the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s, eliminating unwanted hum was a constant struggle. (Well, one of many constant struggles but I digress…)

Since the TAS systems were (mixed metaphor alert) audio magnifying glasses, such noise could be anywhere from annoying to maddening. And with editor in chief Harry Pearson in the listening chair I had to do everything I could to make sure it wasn’t present. Anything and everything…

A major cause of ground hum is a ground loop. This can occur when an audio system is connected to ground at more than one point, such as when the various components in a system have their AC power cords plugged into outlets in multiple locations. It can also happen because the components have their grounds connected via their audio interconnects; for example, the interconnects between a preamp and power amp.

So, when I would get ground hum, the first thing I would try to do was to break the ground loop. Sometimes I got lucky and could just happily plug everything in…preamps, phono stages, monoblock amps, turntables, CD players, at times electrostatic speakers all at once…and the system would be noise-free. Other times…hum hum hum, aarrgghh!

Here’s the disclaimer portion of the program: I am not a licensed electrician. I’m NOT recommending ANY of these procedures and will not be held responsible if you try any of them.

My standard first step for eliminating hum would be to use a “cheater plug,” one of those 3-prong to 2-prong adapters. Back in the day we thought nothing of it; today, as Wikipedia so eloquently states, “this practice has been condemned as disregarding electrical safety.” In fact, they’re illegal in Canada and other areas.

You’re supposed to use a cheater plug as an adapter for plugging three-prong AC plugs into old “grandfathered” two-prong outlets. You’re supposed to connect the grounding tab of the cheater to an electrical ground, such as the screw that connects the wall plate to the outlet. But I wanted to break ground loops! So, I never did that. In fact, sometimes I’d use multiple cheater plugs, since some audiophile sages had decreed that a system would sound its best if it was only grounded via one 3-prong AC cord, with all other cords floated.

Not only that, but received wisdom at the time was that you should try the cheater plug oriented both right side up and upside down to see which way sounded better.

I would start by taking a voltmeter and touching one probe to the chassis of a component, or a grounding post on, say, a preamp and sticking the other probe into the grounding hole of the wall outlet. I’d have to poke around to make contact with the metal in the hole. (Somehow, I never got shocked.) Then I’d note the AC volts reading on the meter. It would usually be close to either 120 or zero volts. If the latter, fine. If the former, flip the plug! Sometimes I’d have to go into plumbers-butt contortions to hold both probes and look at the meter.

I would then flip each plug for each component and listen to see if the sound improved. (Hours of agony but I had to maintain what we strived to create as the Best System on Earth.) Sometimes it did. So, the cheater plug would stay upside down.

I had a bunch of cheater plugs, including the now-discontinued type with a grounding wire rather than a metal tab for even more hazardous adventure. But, some of them had a bigger prong on one side to assure they’d be properly oriented when plugged in the “right” way. If I had to use them upside down I’d file the bigger prong down. Safety second!

Some audiophile power cords are big and heavy. And if you used a cheater plug with them, they’d tend to want to fall out of the outlet. As a result, before every listening session I’d check to see if the cords were loose. Yes, there was a time when I actually did this.

Ground loop diagram. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Chetvomo.

But sometimes even all of that didn’t work.

And I had to get the systems up and running for El Exigente. So, more rule breaking.

This usually involved taking lengths of wire and connecting them to the metal parts of the different audio components in a system, sometimes running them in what I pathetically hoped would be a “star” grounding configuration, where all the grounds in a system went to a central point (hence the “star” appellation), sometimes festively stringing wires between them in daisy chains. Or, running wires from the components to the ground screw or grounding hole on a wall outlet, usually by shoving one end of the wire into the hole. (Wish I had pictures!)

Sometimes I’d have to wedge the wires between, say, a top cover and a chassis. Fun when taking apart a $5,000 preamp. I can proudly boast that I resisted the temptation to scrape paint and anodizing off a component in order to make a good electrical connection. More than once, a faceplate would provide the best ground so I’d tape a wire to it. (I was careful to use only scotch tape, since I didn’t want to return a component to a manufacturer and have them wonder why it had tape marks on the faceplate. Unlike the time we returned a speaker with hand truck marks across the front, but that’s another story.)

Turntables could be especially problematic. Many times I had to ground the turntable to something other than the grounding screw on the preamp – you know, what you’re supposed to do. Sometimes I could eliminate the hum by not connecting a grounding wire, or connecting two wires to two different places. A few times I tried floating the entire system – in other words, not connecting anything to the third prongs in the wall outlets. This worked at times but even my younger and dumber former self would never leave a system like this.

It was all strictly trial and error – turn everything on and start poking around until the hum went away.

But there were a couple of times when I had to go from desperation to the Bizarro World. (Also known as Htrae, which is “Earth,” another term for “ground,” spelled backwards.)

One hot summer day I was trying all my tricks and nothing was working. I figured, screw it, maybe Harry won’t notice the hum and went to put a CD into the Spectral CD player in the system at the time.

The hum disappeared. Whaaa? I stepped back to look at the system and the hum returned. Haaaah? Sighing, I pushed the button to eject the CD and the hum disappeared. What the #*$%!?

Then I realized that when I had my hand on the CD player the hum stopped.

I was eliminating the hum by touching the CD player.

I called Harry down for our listening/testing session. I told him what was going on. He asked, “are you actually going to kneel there and keep your hand on top of the CD player the whole time we listen?” Having just gone through hours of troubleshooting while he was impatiently waiting, my answer was yes.

I learned something that day – if you hold your hand on a CD player for more than 10 minutes without daring to lift it off, it gets really uncomfortable. And since it was a hot day, after a while my hand started to sweat. As it did, the hum went down from faint to nonexistent. I became a better conductor as my hand got sweatier!

Then there was another time and another setup where I simply could not get the hum out of the turntable no matter what I tried. I built a spider-on-LSD web of wires connecting all the components. I disconnected every ground wire. I prayed to every deity I could think of. Finally, in a fit of anger I flung the turntable’s ground wire onto the carpeted floor.

The hum disappeared.

You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t possible.

I lifted the wire from the floor. The hum returned. I put the wire back onto the thick red carpet. (Harry was stylin’ in those days!) The hum disappeared. Carpet is supposed to be non-conductive.

I’m losing my mind. But in the interest of science, I started poking the end of the wire at various locations on the carpet. After a couple of minutes I found the spot where the hum was reduced the most.

Well, since I wanted to be professional about it, I soldered an alligator clip onto the end of the wire and clipped it to the carpet. Then I called Harry down to listen.

Of course, the first thing he spotted was the wire attached to the carpet. “What the heck is that?” I explained that it was the only way I could get the hum out of the system. I wish I’d had a camera to capture his look of utter disbelief. “Look, I’ll show you,” I said, and removed the clip…hummmm…

Partly to ensure that I wasn’t going mad, I conducted this demonstration for a number of guests over the next few weeks. They were as incredulous as I was. To this day, I have no explanation.

Postscript:

Today, I find grounding to be less of an issue, maybe because audio components are better. And I didn’t know what isolation transformers were (well duhhhh, but in my defense there weren’t many back then, and who knows what effect they might have had on the sound). Also, Harry was skeptical of power conditioners, which might have helped, and I don’t know if any power regenerators or battery-power systems existed at the time.

Rich Isaacs had a great idea in Issue 107 of Copper (“Complete Recovery: Unusual Takes on Others’ Songs”). It made me realize that I have many cover versions among my collection of albums and 12-inch singles that are cool, curious, noteworthy or sometimes, just a lot of fun.  As with Mr. Isaacs’ picks, mine tend to be quite a change-up from the originals. An interesting point – I often heard the cover versions first, long before discovering the originals, so to me, the originals sometimes seem like the cover versions. Here are some of my own favorites I have returned to, time and again:

BR5-49 – “Real Wild Child” aka “Wild One” (original artist: Johnny O’Keefe)

Australian rocker Johnny O’Keefe wrote and recorded this tune in 1958 as “Wild One.” Decades later, two different cover versions (among many) stood out. Iggy Pop’s is perhaps the best-known cover version out there and changes it up with a dose of punk attitude. Not to be outdone, in 1998 the legendary Nashville retro-country band BR5-49 recorded it on their Big Backyard Beat Show album in yet another totally different, countrified arrangement. Not surprising, however, as BR5-49 at that time had hundreds of cover tunes in their repertoire, from their many long nights playing at Robert’s Western World in the Lower Broadway district of Nashville. While no longer a performing unit, co-leaders Chuck Mead and Gary Bennett work on other musical projects these days. Multi-instrumentalist Don Herron has toured with Bob Dylan and others. And “Smilin’” Jay McDowell is now a curator at the Musicians Hall of Fame and Museum in Nashville.

Isaac Hayes – “Don’t Let Go” (Roy Hamilton)

In the late 1970s, Isaac Hayes had a minor career reboot with a handful of new albums when he moved to the Polydor label. There are many highlights during this era (including some downtempo tunes that would give smooth soul crooner Barry White a run for his money), but my up-tempo favorite is his complete 1979 retooling of the jaunty Roy Hamilton hit “Don’t Let Go” as a dance floor workout. The Isaac Hayes version is a full-on remake complete with snappy horn and string arrangements for flavor, and a pulsating four-to-the-floor beat.

Jools Holland – “Mess Around” (Ray Charles)

A few decades ago, prior to being an original member of Squeeze and hosting the popular Later…with Jools Holland music program in the UK, Jools Holland was a young lad banging out boogie woogie on the ivories and recording a fantastic little EP called Boogie Woogie ’78. Assisted by Squeeze guitarist Glen Tilbrook, Jools gives his take on a tune that Ray Charles performed early in his career, penned by none other than A. Nugetre (the infamous pseudonym of Ahmet Ertegun). A rollicking good time! Squeeze (with Holland on keys) would also perform this tune in concert (appearing on the deluxe 2-CD version of their Argybargy album).

Oingo Boingo – “You Really Got Me” (The Kinks)

Van Halen waxed a very respectable version of The Kinks’ “You Really Got Me,” a highlight of their brilliant debut album, giving it a solid boost of hard rock goodness. Danny Elfman and his merry band of mystic knights in Oingo Boingo twisted this tune around completely in 1981, delivering a horn-powered new wave rocker that closed side one of their first full-length A&M album, Only A Lad. Their version features Steve Bartek’s blistering guitar fills, Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez’s thundering drum kit, and the horn section punctuating the lines behind Elfman’s vocal hiccups. With Boingo mothballed permanently, Elfman enjoys a career as a prolific film score composer, with Bartek as his orchestrator.

Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass – “A Taste of Honey” (Bobby Scott)

This tune started out as a tune written to accompany a Broadway play of the same title in 1960.  Originally a shmaltzy waltz, Herbie changed it up, propelling legendary session musicians the Wrecking Crew with his four-beat shuffle arrangement that turned the tune around into something new, becoming a major breakthrough in his long career. Originally the B-side of a rocked-out version of “The Third Man Theme” (which would appear on a later album), “A Taste of Honey” got all the attention and became a hit record that peaked at #7 on the Billboard charts and won a Grammy in 1965 for Record of the Year. And besides that, it also appeared on the album with one of the most infamous album covers of the 1960s. It seemed that everyone’s dad owned a copy of Whipped Cream & Other Delights. Yours truly grew up with this album in the house, not quite understanding the sultry look and whipped cream (actually shaving cream) that model Dolores Erickson sported so well on the cover; at the ripe old age of three, that’s understandable!

The Mavericks – “Hungry Heart” (Bruce Springsteen)

Imagine a jangly rock tune redone in a lazy shuffle with a taste of twangy Duane Eddy-inspired guitar and percolating brass on the back beat, anchored by Raul Malo’s crystal clear vocal, and you’ve got the Mavericks’ twist on this familiar tune. As with many Mavericks tunes, one can’t pin a specific genre on their music, a mix of styles combining their early roots in country with rock, Tejano, pop and Cuban influences. The album this tune is from, Play the Hits, is an all-covers album from 2019 showcasing songs that influenced them throughout their careers, and each one is a treat – one of my musical highlights from last year.

Matt Bianco – “Yeh Yeh” (Georgie Fame & the Blue Flames)

Popular in the UK, I didn’t hear about the band Matt Bianco until after I had discovered Basia’s first two albums. In 1984 she and pianist/collaborator Danny White had performed on the Matt Bianco album Whose Side Are You On? (with the notable hit “Get Out of Your Lazy Bed” and the Basia feature “Half A Minute”) prior to both leaving the group and starting Basia’s solo recording career. After that album, Mark Reilly (Matt Bianco’s leader) restructured the group with the addition of Mark Fisher, and this configuration’s first hit single was “Yeh Yeh,” a rhythmic pop update of Georgie Fame’s smooth, swinging organ-driven original. Why “Matt Bianco?” The band, being fans of spy film scores and TV themes, wanted a name reminiscent of a spy or secret agent. Danny White is the brother of smooth jazz guitarist Peter White, who made a name for himself recording and touring with Al Stewart, as well as performing with Basia on record and in concert.

Devo – “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” (The Rolling Stones)

Perhaps the most upended tune in this entire list must be this version of a Rolling Stones classic that Mark Mothersbaugh and crew whipped (sorry) into a strangely and uniquely Devo-ish arrangement that makes it practically a new tune. New Wave was all the rage in my high school days, and this 1978 track was one of many tunes that shook our basement parties into a pogo-ing frenzy. I still have that loud neon green t-shirt somewhere, I’m sure. (Important safety tip—the pogo is very hard on calf muscles.) Like Danny Elfman, Mothersbaugh has gone on to score many films and television shows.

Pseudo Echo – “Funkytown” (Lipps, Inc.)

Australian synth-rockers Pseudo Echo gave a very 1980s take on this 1979 chart-topping funk/disco classic. The band managed to nudge their version up to No. 6 on the Billboard charts, whereas the Lipps, Inc. version spent four weeks at No. 1. Interesting side note – Lipps, Inc.’s lead vocalist Cynthia Johnson previously sang in a group called Flyte Tyme, which featured future members of The Time (Jimmy Jam, Terry Lewis, Jellybean Johnson and Monte Moir were all Flyte Time alums). Pseudo Echo’s run of hits ended in the 1980s, but they are still recording and performing sporadically despite a fluctuating line-up throughout the years.

The Cramps – “She Said” (Hasil Adkins)

The Cramps were no strangers to obscure 45s as a source of inspiration, and this one is no exception. This time, they reached way back into obscurity with their rough updating of Hasil Adkins’ eccentric “She Said,” perhaps just a little more coherently than Adkins’ original. What better way to end this list than with “a dying can of that commodity meat,” and a tune that mostly likely nobody else has ever covered.

In 1970 a dear friend, Hank Rau, introduced me to a new band, Chicago Transit Authority. I want to dedicate this column to Hank, who I’ve known since the first grade. He’s always been a wonderful friend and I never listen to Chicago without thinking of him.

In being introduced to the band I discovered a new guitar hero. Terry Kath, guitarist and tenor vocal for Chicago Transit Authority was an unknown guitar name. Oh, everyone knew who he was from hearing the music. With songs like “Make Me Smile” and “25 or 6 to 4” being such big hits, all you had to say to someone was, “You know that guy on 25 or 6 to 4?” and the recognition was immediate even if they didn’t know Kath’s name. On the other hand, other guitarists were well aware of him.

Terry Kath was born in Chicago in 1946 to musical parents. Early in life his parents Ray and Evelyn Kath bought a cabin and some land fronting a lake and the family spent summers there. The family had neighbors who would bring instruments and play on summer evenings. Terry’s brother Rod played drums and Terry picked up the guitar when he was about 10 years old.

Rod was famously asked, “Why’d he pick the guitar?”

”Mostly to make our dad angry. Dad hated the guitar and the longhairs that played it.” Ah, the good old days. We used to spend hours coming up with ways to piss off our parents. And it was so easy.

Kath did the same thing everyone did; at age 12 he met a friend and they started practicing songs and playing parties and school dances. At 15 he got his first real guitar and amp, and began working on stuff like the Ventures, Johnny Smith, Dick Dale, George Benson, Mike Bloomfield, Clapton and Hendrix. Wow. Given that mix of diversified influences he could have turned to most genres. His preference was rock.

Terry began a semi-pro career in 1963 with the Mystics, who became Jimmy Rice and the Gentlemen. You remember them right? Yeah no.

Here he first met future Chicago fellow founders, drummer Danny Seraphine and Walter Parazaider on sax and winds. In 1966 Kath joined a cover band named the Missing Links along with Seraphine and Parazaider. They started playing with eventual Chicago members James Pankow (trombone), Robert Lamm (keys) and trumpeter Lee Loughnane. They gigged in nightclubs around Chicago as The Big Thing. (They must have sat up all night thinking up dat name.)

There’s a great story from this period. The Big Thing was a cover band but this chafed Kath. He had ideas and knew the band was capable of much more. They were auditioning at a small nightclub for a Chi-town hoodlum club manager who asked them to play a song so he could dance with a waitress. At Kath’s urging they played Frank Zappa’s “How Can I Be Such A Fool.” They, um, didn’t get the job. But the band members all point to that incident as a defining moment for the band.

In late 1967 Peter Cetera was asked join The Big Thing on bass and the lineup was set. By 1969 the band had moved to LA, signed a record contract with Columbia, and renamed the band Chicago Transit Authority. They started working on that first record.

By all accounts, from band members and producer James William Guercio alike, Terry Kath was the clear leader. James Pankow had learned music theory at DePaul and Kath went to him with a song idea. He wanted to have a piece he’d been thinking about that introduced the band members musically. Kath couldn’t write music himself and had no theory training so he enlisted Pankow to write down what was in Terry’s mind.

The result was “Introduction,” the album’s opening song. Keep in mind while you listen to it that Pankow was astounded by the complexity of the song and how hard it was to write down, and couldn’t believe this was coming straight out of Terry’s head. Then in the studio, one take.  What?” Some stories about famous ‘one takes” in studios are incredible but this one suspends belief.

Danny Seraphine reported in an interview this was the most difficult song he ever played.  There were several key changes and time changes starting with 4/4, then 3/8, moving to 19/8.  Try counting out 19/8 sometime and get back to me.

Immediately you are grabbed by the voice. The voice of Terry Kath has been compared to the style of Ray Charles and I can hear it. No matter where or who he got his tone from, he was not only a crazy good guitar player and songwriter but could sing like his soul was on fire.

By the way Peter Cetera was a fine bass player.

Speaking of crazy guitar, there’s a song that opens Side 3 where the producer put Kath in a room by himself with just a guitar and an amp. No pedals. Just guitar, amp and a Bogen PA amplifier used as a preamp. The result was “Free Form Guitar.” How this managed to make it on a debut album was a sign of those times and a tribute to the faith of the producer James William Guercio.

Joe Walsh was interviewed for the film The Terry Kath Experience. He remembered studying Terry’s playing to try and figure out what he was doing and was mostly successful. But on “Free Form Guitar” Walsh shook his head and said “In some places I had no idea how he was getting his guitar to sound like that.” He paused and said, “I miss him.”

Remember. No pedal effects, Jimi. And before your “Star Spangled Banner” at Woodstock.

By the way. For headphone listeners, that was fair warning.

For the gearheads among you, he was playing a Fender Stratocaster. The amp was a “Showman amplifier with a twin 15 bottom” according to the album liner notes (likely a Fender Dual Showman from this description).

Live, Kath used a RadioShack PA amp that he would not give up. When the band was on stage the thing would pick up the broadcasts of local truckers delivering lettuce. So Terry and a sound guy came up with a stoner-inspired fix that strapped chicken wire around the amp to isolate it from the nearby highway. You heard me.

(Right now there is a dear reader trolling eBay looking for a RadioShack PA amp. I’m positive you can find one. Still won’t make you Terry Kath my friend.)

Before recording their first album the band was the house band at the Whiskey A Go-Go in Hollywood. During a set the band noticed Jimi Hendrix with his entourage at the back of the room. Later in the band room they were laughing and amazed that the man might have caught their set. Damn man! He was there, Holy sh*t. Hendrix was there! As related by a band member, the door opened and in walked Jimi. He pointed his finger and said, “You guys are mother-f***ers.” He hired them for a tour and told people Kath was his favorite guitar player, and better than him. In a whisper, Chicago went from the house band at the Whiskey to touring behind Jimi Hendrix. Before Jimi died in 1970 he and Terry were discussing a joint project. Crap.

That first album and the touring began the most prolific period of the band’s career. From 1969 to 1977 they released an album every year. Four of them were double albums and they had a string of five consecutive albums that went to number one.

In 1972 Terry moved into the Caribou Ranch in Nederland, CO, a recording studio built by producer Guercio. Kath was the first artist to record and live at the ranch that would go on to record some of the most iconic players in pop and rock. Unfortunately the ranch also became a playground for firearms. Terry wasn’t into hunting but loved sport shooting and the band did a lot of it out there. Kath started wearing an automatic pistol on his hip almost constantly.

He also started on drugs during this period. A lotta dat was going around. He was uncomfortable with fame and the band’s celebrity had resulted in a period of melancholy that resulted in heavy drug use. And we all know drugs and guns do not mix.

I have always erred on the side of drugs.

In January 1978 he was partying with road manager Don Johnson. Terry was playing with a ‘38 revolver and at one point put the revolver to his temple and pulled the trigger. Terry apparently knew the gun was empty and did it as a goof. Despite warnings from Johnson, Kath picked up his automatic, showed the empty clip, popped it back into the gun and repeated the temple trick. But there was one round in the chamber, Terry.

Terry Kath was 31 years old, had just finished writing a solo album and was planning on leaving the band.

Everyone involved, and most emphatically Don Johnson, swore he was not suicidal. He was just the victim of a tragic Pavlovian mistake.

On another gear note, Kath had several guitars but was most famous for a Telecaster he’d had modified. Kath was involved with guitar amplifier company Pignose Amps. He decorated the Tele in the hippie style of the day. Put lots of sh*t on it. Adorned it with a beloved Chicago Blackhawks logo and plastered Pignose stickers all over it. Great player, sh*tty designer. The thing was a monstrosity and had gone missing, but given its legacy it was worth finding.

In 2015 Terry’s daughter Michelle Kath Sinclair wrote and produced The Terry Kath Experience documentary, which used a search for the Pignose Tele as an understory. After contacting as many people she could think of she found the damn thing in her grandmother’s closet. Family.    “Oh. You were looking for this?” Sheesh.

Great watch and a must for fans.

There is a quote in the beginning of the doc that noted that if Kath had been in a power trio named The Terry Kath Experience he would have been one of the greatest known guitar players of the 1970s. The emotions of the band members talking about Terry some 40 years later is worth the watch. Michelle. Beautiful job.

How about a couple of examples. These cuts are from a July 1970 Tanglewood concert. Both   are well known, especially the second. I used these because the live recordings are a cut above the album takes to say the least. The first is a cover of a Spencer Davis Group tune penned by Stevie Winwood and producer Jimmy Miller. Needs no introduction.

If you look closely you’ll notice that little RadioShack PA amp tucked between the monster speakers.

And listen for Kath spurring on the drummer during the percussion break. “Come on man!”  Seraphine then shows some pretty nice chops.

Shiver me timbers.

The next is played on the putrid classic rock stations about 47 times a day. When the single first came out we took a while figuring out what the darn thing was about. Now we all know the story of “25 or 6 To 4.”

I always loved that man’s wah wah pedal work. Played like it was a part of him.

Wait! He really was one of the greatest guitarists in rock history!

Thanks, Terry Kath.

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

My passion for audio was ignited in the 1960s (are we really that old?). Like most of my peers I listened to a lot of music. My two older brothers helped fuel my enthusiasm. My oldest brother loves classical music and opera (he is an expert on the subject) and played me lots of fabulous music on his KLH all-in-one system. (I think it was a Model 11 variant.) You could pull out the second speaker to hear a wider stereo spread to get the best sound we had at the time. Henry Kloss, founder of Acoustic Research (AR), KLH and Advent, was involved in that product series. Sadly, that item left with him for college, leaving my brother and I with a system much lower sound quality.

My other brother introduced me to rock music, which took be beyond the pop sounds I had been listening to previously. Of course, the Beatles changed our lives a whole lot, followed by the British Invasion. Fortunately, my parents were also music lovers. They were dancers and enjoyed a lot of dance music and jazz, played on the Victrola record player they used. It was powered by electricity (early Victrolas were wind-up) and had a built-in speaker.

I followed the Top 40 AM radio countdowns, owned 45RPM records and bought a few albums. I remember my brother playing bands like the Young Rascals loud enough and often enough to bring the neighbors and the police in to ask what the racket was all about!

Then my other brother moved off to college. Both brothers are quite a bit older than me. I was left with my GE hi-fi with a flip-over stylus (some of you may remember those – one side for 33 and 45 RPM records and the other side to play 78 RPM discs), hinged swing-out speakers and a fold-down turntable. I knew it was crap as the KLH sounded much better, but I did not know a thing about the actual technology of audio and why the KLH had superior fidelity. However, I’d had a taste of hi-fi sound, and that was all I needed to be motivated to hear more.

I began to read about it in magazines like Audio and Popular Science and what I took from my friend’s Dad, who had magazines in his home office. My friend’s dad was a doctor and had a mono McIntosh system with a big Klipsch speaker. His dad later went stereo and had the first HH Scott stereo tuner I’d ever seen or heard, along with an early Dual turntable. The fuse was lit. I now had some idea of what was really possible.

At the time, I was 13, living in New Jersey and allowed to go into New York City on the bus, on my own or with friends. We went to museums and concerts (my older brother took me to the Met, Carnegie Hall and then Avery Fisher Hall). I was buying records and became interested in recording. Early tape recorders were available then, and my dad got me one that took little 3-inch reels. I went about recording inside and outside the house. The tape and technology were fascinating. I had read about wire recording during World War II times and this of course got me recording birds and animals and my friends and I trying badly to play instruments. Although, my oldest brother was an excellent pianist and we had a Steinway he would only play for me. I recorded him playing some Liszt and Chopin pieces and we both enjoyed the experience though not many of my friends appreciated Classical music then.

Avery Fisher Hall/Lincoln Center, Manhattan. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Zeb Martin.

Later this led to me and my friends having a pirate radio station. We pre-recorded our programs and mixes and could be heard for about three miles all around, enough for our friends to know about us and for some parents to complain. My show was called “Markus and the Robot” after my friend Mark and me. It’s another tale for another time. Our friend Fred had the transmitter and his dad heard from another friend in the FCC that they knew but didn’t care.

During this time I  was earning a good deal of money for a kid, from things like snow shoveling, leaf raking, summer jobs and so on.

At that time, Acoustic Research had a small demo room facility right in Grand Central Station in Manhattan. This was not long after the introduction of the AR XA turntable and AR’s early series of acoustic suspension speakers (which use a sealed enclosure to produce more bass from a smaller cabinet, although at the expense of efficiency) . I had heard about them and wanted a listen. Big horn speakers, like what my friend’s dad had at home, were far too large for me to get my mother to accept in our home, but the AR speakers were small bookshelf models.

On the day I first heard AR speakers, my friends and I started the day out just loitering around, being typical tween and teen hooligans, but eventually, in we went to Grand Central. It didn’t take much to convince my friends to go to the AR facility for a demonstration. Amazingly, they did not throw us out, but gave us a demo, which far exceeded our expectations. Who knew you could get that much volume and bass from a cabinet that size?

Listening to these, demos, we realized how much sound we were missing. Background vocals became individual voices rather than just a blurred chorus. You could tell the difference between instruments rather than just heading a wall of sound (though a lot of record production was that way at the time). The sound of the bass was amazing to us, since all the systems we ever listened too previously lost all of that. We had no idea how low you could go. And finally, we heard actual stereo imaging, and this was the point. We could hear what seemed to be bands spread across the image. For the first time, we heard what we considered to be immersive sound. (Yes, certainly not at the level of spatial detail and quality of sound of today, but the change from what was basically highly distorted mono was dramatic.)

Acoustic suspension loudspeakers were a real innovation then and while AR speakers were a lot of money for me, it was still possible for me to afford them as I was ready to commit most of the money I had saved for them and the rig I wanted to buy.

Once I heard the mighty AR3 speakers at that demo, my mind expanded with possibilities. The speakers could fit in my room, sort of. Though they were large, they were much smaller than most others I’d heard, and had much better output and bass. I convinced my mother they were alright to buy, and she did like the look of the walnut cabinets, so I got a pass. She did not care that they were so large as they would be residing my room, and they were “not ugly,” in her words. I was sold! I thought about creating my new stereo system, and schemed on how to get it all paid for and in my room.

The two of us had the best damn stereos around. Friends came over to listen. It boosted my social worth and I luxuriated in the sound, especially when my mother let me blast it. In many ways, this system gave me as much pleasure as the many more that would follow, even though the quality of the gear and the refinement of the sound continued to improve greatly over the decades.

These Golden Age stereo components were really some of the greatest audio products ever to become available. They made a big difference in not only my listening enjoyment but an entire generation, thanks to their superior performance, relatively accessible pricing, and form factors that enabled them to fit into a home environment. My components were also rugged enough to take the full force of a teenager’s abuse and still put out some great sound.

To this day, I recall them more than fondly.

My passion for audio equipment led to me getting an after school job at Sam Goody (the former large music retailer) which was my entry into the audio industry, but that is another story for another time. And I continue to keep trying to get more people to just take a listen. If they do, then maybe they’ll be as affected by the music and the sound as I continue to be.

Sam Goody record and music stores used to be everywhere, including this one in Hollywood. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/BrokenSphere.

Up to now we have only talked about the most basic tube amplifier design, consisting of one triode tube in a Class A1 single-ended configuration.

There are numerous configurations and classes of operation that can be built around different amplification devices, such as tubes, transistors, op-amps or other components. These can be used in multiples; for example, a tube amp with two, four (or more!) power tubes per channel. There are types of non-linearities which are associated with particular configurations. One example is crossover distortion, which is particular to push-pull amplifiers operating in Class AB or Class B.

These types of amplifiers use pairs of amplification devices, each device amplifying one half of the output signal and with the amplifier combining their outputs, to explain their operation in simple terms. Errors in combining the signals result in a particular type of distortion around the zero crossing (the point of minimum amplitude) of the waveform.

Hearing this type of distortion sounds much more unpleasant than listening to distortion that affects the peaks of the signal (the clipping distortion discussed in Part Two of this series), as there is no equivalent to zero crossing distortion that occurs in nature.

In general, distortion that increases with signal level sounds less objectionable than distortion that increases as the signal level is decreased. The latter can unfortunately also occur in some circuit configurations.

Dynamic linearity is often in itself non-linear with frequency. A circuit may have a wider linear range at some frequencies than at other frequencies within its linear frequency pass band.

But, is it measurable? Yes, of course.

Dynamic linearity can be either measured for an amplification device such as a tube or transistor alone (the inherent linearity of the device) or for a complete circuit, with the latter being more useful to the consumer and the former more useful to the engineer.

The dynamic range specification of an amplifier can offer a hint about its dynamic linearity, but it will not tell us the whole story, as it is often just the range between the noise floor and the “maximum output” of the amplifier, whatever that means (there are several different opinions on how to define “maximum output”).

Distortion specifications may offer another hint regarding dynamic linearity, but again, they are far from the whole story. Given that distortion figures can vary with signal level and frequency, a single measurement can be made at a convenient signal level and frequency where a particular circuit will exhibit the lowest figures. This is just specsmanship and does not tell us much about the sound or performance of that circuit. Plots of distortion components versus frequency at different signal levels, on the other hand, would be far more revealing. Perhaps even a bit too revealing, which is why they are seldom seen.

A directly heated triode tube such as the 300B is incredibly linear within its intended operating range. This means that its amplification factor will remain nearly constant at any signal level between the grid-current and cut-off region, at any frequency from 0 Hz to several megahertz, with very low distortion, if measured on a suitable test setup that can properly measure the characteristics of the triode itself.

Shindo Laboratory Cortese amplifier with 300B output tubes.

A practical 300B amplifier circuit, on the other hand, would never achieve the same stellar level of performance. It can range from incredible to horrible, depending on the skill of the designer, the practical circuit implementation, the quality of the components used, the power supply unit and even the actual physical enclosure the circuit is built into!

If thoroughly conducted and understood, measurements can help us know what to expect. But there is no single-number specification that will adequately describe the dynamic linearity of a circuit. In effect, the dynamic linearity defines the complex behavior patterns of a circuit in the presence of a complex audio signal of constantly changing amplitude and frequency.

But how is this related to music? Imagine a live performance in a very quiet space with excellent acoustics. This is the ideal description of a recording session. Recording engineers are very fortunate in this respect. Prior to recording anything, they actually get to experience the sound of a “live performance in a very quiet space with excellent acoustics,” without even an audience present. Then they go next door into the control room and get to listen to the sound, as picked up by the microphones, prior to being recorded, on accurate monitor loudspeakers.

Unless the dynamic linearity, frequency and phase response of the recording equipment is exemplary, they stand no chance of hearing anything resembling the sound of the live performance. We recording engineers can be optimistic and assume that everything we did was as good as it gets and that we have produced an excellent recording.

In practice, we don’t really stand a chance to fit the real-life dynamic range of a performance into a recording, but with a bit of effort, we can come impressively close.

When you then try to play back this recording on your own equipment at home, you ideally want to hear the soft sounds being soft and the loud sounds being loud. Ideally, you would be recreating exactly what happened in that performance space.

This may pose certain challenges, social as well as technical. Your neighbors and your family, for starters, may not take kindly to a realistic reproduction of a symphony orchestra crescendo or a screeching electric guitar solo. Officer Joe may even stop by, not to fully appreciate the linearity of your setup, but to inform you that it was deemed “too realistic.” [You have a way with words, J.I.! – Ed.]  At the other extreme, your neighbor’s lawn mower or city traffic may invasively mask the softest nuances of the string quartet you were looking forward to enjoying. But, this is all provided that your system can indeed render both the whispers and the screams in good perspective, without producing sounds that shouldn’t be there. And while a gradual slight increase in distortion might go unnoticed during the crescendo, a sudden increase in distortion during the softest whispers of a piece would certainly not be as subtle.

When the crescendo finally arrives, you ideally want to notice. It should come with a bang, not be squeezed into a lifeless mash that barely sounds louder than what came before. Not only must it be louder, but also punchier, just as it was in real life. If the punch is lost due to the lack of adequate dynamic linearity, the original intention of the composition and the magic of the performance will be lost with it.

Imagine the sound of a drum hit in real life. It is an enormous momentary bang followed by a longer, much softer and smoother tail, providing the clues regarding the size, type and tuning of the drum. The instantaneous peak at the time of the hit is of immense amplitude, while the decaying tail eventually fades into nothing.

Can an electronic circuit handle both the instantaneous peak and the “fade-to-nothing” with equal grace? Well, it ought to. This is what dynamic linearity is all about. The lack of dynamic linearity can chop off the tip of the peak, destroying the impact of the drum hit, while also “fading-a-bit-too-early-into-something-fuzzy” instead of a clean fade-to-nothing, ruining the character of the drum. This makes it harder to tell which drum is which and makes two drum hits of different loudness and impact sound equal in level, diminishing the resolution of the system.

“Resolution,” in this context, is used to describe the resolving power that would allow two drum hits, one slightly stronger than the other, to remain distinctly audible as two drum sounds, one hit slightly harder than the other. If, upon reproduction, it is no longer possible to tell that one of the hits was stronger than the other, then the dynamic linearity of the system and therefore its amplitude resolution is inadequate to realistically represent the recording.

The same applies to any other sound of any instrument, but the drum sound example perfectly demonstrates the point.

This concludes my series on linearity. In all its forms, it is both measurable, audible, and a major consideration during the design stage of audio equipment.

Meeting one’s musical heroes can often take place in unexpected circumstances. Back in the late 1980s, a particular music hero of mine had played a rare concert at the Beacon Theater in Manhattan. On top of the incredible musical performance, which ran the gamut from techno pop, world beat, classical and funk to avant-garde, it was my first music date with the woman whom I would eventually marry.

A year later, I actually saw him in the lobby of my apartment building with his son, dressed casually wearing a Yankees cap. I told him I was a big fan of his and loved the Beacon show. He was gracious and humble and thanked me for the compliment. I then asked him how long he was staying in New York.

He said, “I’m living here now.”

I said, “Wow, that’s great.” Thinking he was closer to midtown, where many of the Japanese companies like Sony had offices, I asked, “did you find someplace in midtown?”

He chuckled. “No. I live here now. 11th floor.”

My jaw almost hit the floor. The elevator opened and we went inside.

“Wow. Guess we’re neighbors.”

“Yes. Enjoy the day,” he said as I got off on the 4th floor and the elevator doors closed behind me. That was my first personal encounter with the legendary Ryuichi Sakamoto.

Japanese techno-pop rock Icon. EDM/cyberpunk music pioneer. Fashion model. Movie star. Academy Award-winning film composer. World/ethnic music fusion collaborator. Synthesizer and computer music tech guru. Solo piano recording artist. Musical ambassador. Activist.

These are just a few of the titles that describe Ryuichi Sakamoto.

A classically trained pianist in Japan, Sakamoto first rose to prominence as a solo instrumental synthesizer/keyboard artist in the late 1970’s with his first release, Thousand Knives of Ryuichi Sakamoto. His collaborator on drums, Yukihiro Takahashi, was a former member of The Sadistic Mika Band, the first Japanese band to sign with a US record label (Harvest/EMI) and tour with a major UK rock act (Roxy Music). With Haruomi Hosono on bass, the trio formed Yellow Magic Orchestra (YMO), which became one of Japan’s all-time best-selling music acts and the first Japanese band to chart on Billboard, successfully sell records, and tour worldwide.

Yellow Magic Orchestra: Putting Original Japanese Music on the International Map

While Sakamoto’s male-model good looks made him a pop idol heartthrob in YMO, his role in the band was actually equal to, if not originally subordinate to drummer/lead vocalist Takahashi and bassist/visionary Hosono. The concept of “Yellow Magic,” the incorporation of traditional Japanese and Chinese music, and the use of Syndrums (the first commercially available electronic drums) and drum machines, as well as being one of the first groups in history to use digital sampling – came from Hosono and his previous studio work with international fusion artists such as Osamu Kitajima. In fact, YMO was originally named, Harry Hosono and the Yellow Magic Band. Hosono’s Happy End was one of the first Japanese rock bands in the late 1960s to focus on original music in Japanese. His next group, Tin Pan Alley, combined R&B and jazz with elements of traditional Hawaiian and Okinawan music. Ironically, Hosono’s initial concept of YMO was that it would be a one-off project combining disco, electronic music, and subversive takes on Western notions of Asian exotica.

Takahashi, the drummer for the groundbreaking Sadistic Mika Band, brought his rock and glam rock sensibilities to YMO, as well as versatile percussion skills and excellent vocals in both Japanese and English. He was also the most accomplished commercial pop songwriter of the trio. Hosono ultimately decided on Takahashi because he was one of the few drummers in Japan who was sufficiently skilled to play actual drums in tight sync with drum machines, something even ace drummers such as Toto’s Jeff Porcaro and the Who’s Keith Moon struggled with, due to the lack of an interactive groove in quantized electronic music of the era.

YMO’s solution to literally “program” a groove into a sequencer was groundbreaking (details below).

(Note: while playing in sync with other programmed percussion today is standard, it was still a very new phenomenon in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The legendary Al Schmitt, who engineered Toto’s hit song “Africa” has stated in interviews that the drum track recorded by Porcaro was actually a huge four-bar analog tape loop that literally was strung across mic stands to take up the slack. Porcaro’s frustration with being able to consistently match the precision required for the drum part prompted this unique workaround.)

With his extensive classical background and keen interest in world music combined with his early Moog, ARP and Buchla synthesizer experiments and research, Sakamoto brought a level of formal Western musicianship gravitas to the party. It was Sakamoto’s interest in fellow electronic music pioneers Kraftwerk that gave YMO the impetus for incorporating its synth and electronic music foundation into a dance music format, albeit with a lighter touch than the synth pioneer’s Teutonic robotic approach and with a stronger dose of Japanese pop and melody influences. Hosono realized the emphasis on instrumental music to appeal to discos and DJs would bridge the language gap, while incorporating visual and aesthetic elements from acts like Devo would help sell the YMO image abroad.

YMO’s hit song, “Computer Game/Firecracker” became a DJ favorite and broke into the Billboard UK (#17) and US (#60) charts.

 

While it is commonplace in hip-hop and rock today, the co-mingling of music, media and corporate industries is still a relatively recent phenomenon. Lacking the rebel anti-corporate attitude from the 1960s that fueled US and UK rock and pop music, the Japanese music and entertainment industries have long worked collaboratively with mainstream businesses. YMO scored early deals with Japanese corporations like Fuji (tape) for promoting electronics products, as well as creating original music for jingles and other ads – something unfathomable at the time for their contemporaries in the West.

Their 1979 single “Rydeen,” from YMO’s, Solid State Survivor LP has often been used as a video game and ringtone sample for its epic theme song feel.

 

“Rydeen” was coincidentally also the name of one of the giant robot heroes from the anime inspired cartoon series, Shogun Warriors. Rydeen was a giant robot that could change into an eagle-shaped aircraft. One of the first giant robot teams to tie in with toys (licensed by Mattel) and comics (Marvel Comics), Shogun Warriors was the historical precursor to the popular Transformers series in concept, imagery and marketing.

Another single, Behind the Mask, began as a Ryuichi Sakamoto composed jingle for a Seiko wristwatch commercial. With English lyrics by Chris Mosdell, Behind the Mask would become one of YMO’s most famously covered tunes, including versions by Michael Jackson and Eric Clapton.

 

 

 

 

By 1983, international respect for YMO’s musicianship was acknowledged from artists like Duran Duran, Thomas Dolby, the Human League, Afrika Bambaataa, Depeche Mode, Todd Rundgren, Gary Numan, Japan (whose lead singer, David Sylvian, would go on to collaborate frequently with Sakamoto on their respective solo work), and the eccentric DIY recording pioneer, guitar virtuoso and former leader of Be-Bop Deluxe, Bill Nelson. Nelson became the first non-Japanese musician to perform on a YMO record, playing lead guitar on their album Naughty Boys. Nelson’s guitar can be heard on numerous solo records from YMO members and as well as on other collaborations within their circle. His relationship with YMO culminated with his marrying Takahashi’s ex-wife, Emiko, in 1995.

Naughty Boys was YMO’s final #1 charting album in Japan, with the often covered pop hit single “Kumi ni Mune Kyun” reaching #2 in Japan.

 

 

It marked a domestically-welcome focus on Japanese lyrics after their past international releases with original lyrics usually in English and written by Mosdell or Peter Barakan. The Human League recorded a cover of “Kumi ni Mune Kyun” with English lyrics by Philip Oakey:

 

Naughty Boys also contained the breezy lounge jazz Sakamoto song, “Ongaku,” written for his then three-year-old daughter.

 

A song reminiscent of 60’s French film soundtracks from Francis Lai, “Ongaku” was one of the few YMO songs besides “Behind the Mask” that Sakamoto would regularly include in his subsequent solo live electric band performances.

YMO’s Pioneering Music Production Achievements

With Billie Eilish winning Grammy Awards from records made in DIY bedroom studios and the plethora of plug-in virtual instruments available in today’s market, it is easy to forget how far and fast music technology has come since the 1970s. In hindsight, the innovations and workarounds created by Sakamoto, Takahashi, Hosono and programmer Hideki Matsutake to conquer the limitations of early analog and primitive digital music devices of the 1970s and 80s are even more impressive – on par with Alan Parsons’ extraction of a single bad note using a razor blade and tape on the analog multi-track master for Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon.

Matsutake, originally an assistant to composer and synthesizer pioneer Isao Tomita, was an essential member of YMO’s tech team. MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface), the interface to connect instruments with sequencers and computers to make them play together in synchronization, did not yet exist. Matsutake’s groundbreaking solo electronic music work on records and TV made his relationship with YMO analogous in many ways to George Martin’s with the Beatles.

Matsutake first worked with Sakamoto on the latter’s solo recordings, using early Roland sequencers like the MC-8, which required keypad input of notes with quantized note values assigned. Matsutake worked with YMO to create a programmed groove by manually inputting data and varying note volume, timing and spacing values – a laborious and painstaking task.

Already promoting the Roland MC-8 sequencer in Japan and abroad, YMO would next become the trailblazer for one of the company’s most enduring products: The TR-808 drum machine. While it is now a hip-hop mainstay and the most recorded drum machine in history, the TR-808’s first recorded appearance was on YMO’s album BGM. Sakamoto only has two song credits on BGM and artistic clashes were starting to appear within the group. According to conflicting reports, Sakamoto either boycotted or was too ill to attend a number of recording sessions.

YMO was also one of the first groups to utilize digital sampling extensively. Matsutake introduced YMO to E-mu and Linn Drum sampling (with a customized sampler designed by Toshiba-EMI Music called the LMD-649) to incorporate triggers for sound effects and exotic instruments like Indonesian gamelans that were introduced on YMO’s Technodelic (1981), with the samples being reproducible live in concert.

Sakamoto’s primary YMO sounds were derived from popular analog synths of the day from Moog, ARP, Oberheim, Buchla and later, Sequential Circuits and Yamaha. Takahashi played a combination of Syndrums and a regular drum kit. Hosono alternated between a Fender bass and an ARP synth for bass lines. As seasoned musicians, they had the chops to play live even without the aid of sequencers and programmed parts, which often happened due to the digital units overheating, which would freeze up the tracks. The band would play on through as Matsutake would mute the sequencer instrument channels while rebooting.

While Ryuichi Sakamoto created much of his sounds on a monstrously large Moog III-C modular system akin to Keith Emerson’s, in addition to a Polymoog, ARP Odyssey and an Oberheim 8 voice, both Takahashi and Hosono played keys as well on their own demos. Sequential Circuits had released their Prophet-5 synth, which allowed for saving multiple presets in memory that could be recalled with the push of a button. This was a huge advantage over other synth manufacturers, which still required manual tweaking of knobs to change from one sound to another. The Prophet-5 appears throughout BGM on Hosono’s and Takahashi’s songs.

Inspirational: the Sequential Circuits Prophet-5 synthesizer.

With YMO at the forefront of electronic music technology in Japan, they were often called in for R&D consultation with musical instrument manufacturers. In what could easily be envisioned as a rivalry comparable to that of Sting’s devotion to the Synclavier vs. Stewart Copeland’s preference for the Fairlight CMI on the Police’s last records, YMO appeared to be in a similar contest within the new digital synthesizer realm.

Frequency Modulation, known as FM synthesis, was developed originally by John Chowning. It relies on variable algorithms for the oscillators and filters to alter sounds. As these numbers are numerical in value, they could be stored in memory in much larger capacity than with analog synthesizers from Oberheim, Moog, or Sequential Circuits. Yamaha licensed FM synthesis, and Ryuichi Sakamoto was among their highest-profile artists in Japan who would soon adopt the Yamaha DX-7 synthesizer. The bright, bell-like tones, percussion, and digital recreations of the Fender Rhodes electric piano among others were soon incorporated into Sakamoto’s equipment rig. Breaking a long-standing keyboardist tradition of carefully guarding one’s customized sound programs, Sakamoto became one of the first artists to market the exact sounds used on his recordings, with the Yamaha DX-7 Sakamoto KV-04 ROM series plug-in sound cartridges.

The sound that ruled the '80s: Yamaha's DX-7 synthesizer.

The DX-7 would become one of the most popular synthesizers in history and almost defined the sound of 1980’s pop music on countless hit songs from Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Toto, Kenny Loggins, and, of course, Sakamoto and YMO.

At the same time, Casio was developing its own digital synthesis platform, called Phase Distortion, or PD synthesis. Their main R&D artists were the renowned synth pioneer Isao Tomita, whose 1960’s classical recordings on the monophonic Moog synthesizer displayed the potential of synthesizers to emulate the timbres and parts of entire orchestras. Casio’s other resident R&D artist was Yukihiro Takahashi, who would use Casio’s CZ series of synths extensively on his subsequent YMO and early solo recordings.

While there are no reports of Sakamoto or Takahashi reaching the level of animosity of erasing each other’s parts to replace them with the synthesizers of their preference, such as in the anecdotal feuds between Sting and Copeland, conflicts of interest were emerging between band members.

Not unlike other supergroups whose members’ artistic directions diverge after initial success, YMO would take numerous hiatus breaks while Sakamoto, Hosono and Takahashi each pursued solo projects. They would regroup on occasion for tours throughout the 1990s and again in 2008 and 2012. YMO released its final studio album, Technodon, in 1993, billed as “Not YMO” due to Alfa Records in Japan retaining ownership of the YMO name. They also released two singles under the moniker ”Human Audio Sponge”/YMO, or HASYMO in 2007 and 2008.

YMO as a band notwithstanding, all three have continued to support each other’s solo recordings in the studio, just as they did in the genesis of the band’s formation.

Part Two will focus on Ryuichi Sakamoto’s solo work, his film scores, his collaborations into different types of ethnic music, and his activism.

This is the first of two articles I’ve planned on immersive sound. The second will follow in Copper #109, covering recent Grammy nominees in that category. Space permitting, I will survey recent developments in the field.

Thumbing through TAS 304 this week, I was surprised and delighted to see a pair of lengthy communications from readers who liked Anthony H. Cordesman’s paean to multichannel sound (Issue 302). Cordesman, a distinguished foreign-policy analyst, is also a fastidious listener; I’ve always admired his audio writing. But I had no idea he harbored an affection for immersive (formerly known as “surround”) sound.

AHC’s message was eminently reasonable: why not put together a good second system and use it to play multichannel audio as well as movies? He even gave a shout-out to the worthy, affordable Oppo disc players so many of us treasure. (I’ve still got a UDP-205 in my system—and another one available for spare parts someday.)

Those letter writers had a message too. As John Arango put it, “There is a ‘high end’ in multichannel reproduction comparable to that in two-channel.” There certainly is, and I’ve watched it mature over the twenty-plus years I’ve spent upgrading my own rig. Marooned happily at home these days, I got a blunt reminder of how things have changed: we celebrated Stephen Sondheim’s 90th by watching ancient DVDs of Sweeney Todd and Sunday in the Park with George. What god-awful sound! Especially in Sunday, an obvious casualty of Early Digital. Both picture and sound had been converted to DVD from an (analog) VHS master, and as a result, audio quality was on a par with the original-cast LP—harsh, tinny, painful. (Yes, the LP release was technically vinyl, but it had been recorded in 1984 using a shiny new process branded “Red Seal Digital.” Oy.)

Since then, home theater has evolved, and so has its sound. When DVD gave way to Blu-ray, I wasn’t nearly as impressed by the improved picture quality as I was by the audio. More bits, better codecs! (Not to mention engineers who had learned how to handle the signal chain.) In #109, we’ll talk about immersive’s latest developments, especially the object-oriented tools that bring new soundstage height and depth. Today I’m going to focus on what’s already available. The scene is currently in flux, and not merely because of innovations like Dolby Atmos and Auro-3D. The sad stories of SACD and DVD-Audio, neither of which caught on with most consumers, could soon be repeated with Blu-ray Pure Audio and its downloadable cousins.

We’ll start with two relatively new releases, both operas. To some extent they use multichannel audio in unexpected ways, but they also—perhaps predictably—neglect to use it in certain ways. Regardless, there’s a ton of good sound and good music hiding in plain sight on these recordings.

Verdi: Otello. Schukoff, Moore, Lynch; Gulbenkian Orchestra & Chorus, Lawrence Foster (Pentatone).

This 2017 release, a hybrid SACD, includes 5.0 high-res multichannel tracks—in other words it’s typical of the audio-only multichannel recordings still being issued by Chandos, BIS, and (now less frequently) Pentatone. I took this one down from my shrink-wrap shelf because I find the idea of an immersive Otello quite attractive. In its blockbuster opening scene, a thunderstorm rages at sea; dockside, a restive, fearful chorus waits for the arrival of Othello’s frigate. Through wind and rain, they catch glimmers of its pitched battle offshore with a Turkish marauder. At odd moments (think of them cinematically, as two-shots and closeups) we hear Cassio, Iago, and Rodrigo making cryptic remarks about their general.

Verdi paints the scene vividly, with a large orchestra in the pit—including a “thunder machine” and expanded winds—plus a large onstage chorus and soloists. I held out some hope that the engineers might create a truly immersive storm, with thunderbolts, sheets of rain, howling winds coming from front, sides, and rear. (With Dolby Atmos or Auro-3D, they could even have come from above.) No such luck. In fact, I’ve heard very few “surround sound” audio-only opera recordings that actually surround you. Is that due to assumptions about what the audience expects?

This multichannel sound was used in default classical-music manner, to broaden the soundstage while suggesting a hall acoustic via the rear speakers, but it was still pretty impressive. Switching between high-res 2ch and 5ch, the latter consistently offered more air around solo vocalists, better imaging, and richer orchestral timbres. Dynamic range seemed wider—as it should have been, if only because more drivers were pumping out sound; this was especially effective for bass-drum thwacks and other transients. But a sense of greater detail came with it: I only became fully aware of the thunder machine once the 5ch track was engaged.

Turning to the remarkable love duet that ends Act I, I had similar reactions. The muted cello quartet that opens this scene sounded fuller and more expressive when spread among the three front speakers; likewise Otello (Nikolai Schukoff) and Desdemona (Melody Moore) created their alternately intimate and soaring dialogue within better-defined locations on the soundstage, their specific vocal colors more apparent throughout.

This is one of the very best-recorded Otellos I’ve ever heard; it certainly shows that state-of-the-art sound is now available to any outfit that hires Pentatone’s engineers. Nevertheless Riccardo Muti’s 2011 live performance with the Chicago SO remains my own top choice for multichannel presentation, because the performance itself is much stronger overall. Here’s a sample (more available online):

Bartók: Bluebeard’s Castle. Relyea, DeYoung; Bergen PO, Edward Gardner (Chandos).

If you prefer listening to opera with the windows shut—that is, as an audio-only experience—then Castle is your opera! It was Bartók’s only venture into the genre, written when he was 30 years old. In perceptive liner notes, Paul Griffiths lists the composer’s likely motivations: firstly, librettist Béla Balázs (1884–1949), a personal friend, shared Bartók’s interest in combining modernism with authentic folk sources. Griffiths goes on:

Secondly, the subject was psychological, so that the music could always be primary, never upstaged by action. And thirdly, this drama of two people recently married allowed the reticent Bartók to express himself to his own new wife, Márta. . . . The work was a wedding gift and a warning.

A warning? Perhaps, but by 1911, when Bartók began composing the opera, Freud and Jung had long since made psychoanalysis and its neuroses, complexes, and fantasies (most of which originated in sexual repression) the stuff of coffeehouse chatter. It may have seemed only natural that, in Balázs’s libretto, Judit seeks not to escape her husband but to understand him. By unlocking Bluebeard’s seven doors, she hopes to transform their relationship. The libretto is otherwise vague and “symbolic,” an interior drama open to personal interpretations.

This left Bartók free to create a one-act dominated not by singers or scenery but by an enormous orchestra. The action proceeds like a series of tone poems, one for each time a door opens. After discovering a blood-soaked torture chamber and armory, then a blood-stained treasure room, Judit’s desire and curiosity only increase; behind the fourth door lies a beautiful garden, its soil bloody, while behind the fifth door a radiant landscape appears. Here’s a clip from that last sequence:

(To access the libretto for this clip, click here and scroll down to p. 13, where you’ll see tr. 6 marked. The excerpt begins with Judit’s plea, “Who has bled to feed your garden?”)

These two doors offer only a brief respite from the increasingly dark narrative. Door six reveals a lake of tears; door seven, Bluebeard’s three former wives. Judit’s fate will be no different from theirs.

Edward Gardner leads a powerful performance stunningly recorded by Brian Pidgeon, Ralph Couzens, and the Chandos team. You can easily find performances that bring out more of Bluebeard’s hyper-emotionality, but for sheer audio pleasure I can’t imagine a better-realized recording. Strongly recommended.

I guess we’d better get to the 800-pound Yeti in the room, namely video. Isn’t the best recorded opera experience these days not only multichannel but also (high-res) visual? Two nights ago I sat spellbound in our home theater watching the most fabulous Nozze di Figaro I’d ever seen. Great singing, great acting, great staging, great sound, great video. Opéra de Paris, Philippe Jordan conducting a revival of the unequalled 1980 Giorgio Strehler production. I had purchased the video three, maybe four years ago and never got around to watching it.

Folks, life is short! Don’t leave the shrink-wrap on.

Want another quick history lesson? If you’ve got a DVD of the Glyndebourne 1973 Figaro, with Cotrubas, Te Kanawa, and von Stade, take it out, put it on. Wonderful performances, but Standard Definition, 4:3 screen ratio, PCM stereo transferred from VHS, brown sets and brown costumes. Be glad you lived to see HD video and dts-MA sound. More bits, better codecs.

There’s tons more out there, of course. One example: Buñuel fans may want to sample The Exterminating Angel in Thomas Adès’ new operatic version. If you missed the Met performances, there’s still a Warner Home Video available:

Header image by Adrien Marie, restored by Adam Cuerden, cropped to fit format. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Roger Eno/Brian Eno – Mixing Colours

Everyone knows Brian Eno; who could have missed the stylish glam he brought to the early work of Roxy Music? And his string of ambient albums from the late seventies on very nearly defined the genre. Roger Eno has never quite garnered the same level of attention, despite being a very talented pianist in his own right. Although the two Eno brothers have guested on each other’s albums, Mixing Colours marks the very first time they’ve released an album where they actually collaborated on the entire album. And shared the billing for the release.

A lot of comparisons will no doubt be made between Mixing Colours and Brian Eno’s groundbreaking 1978 release Ambient One: Music for Airports; the sparseness of the arrangements here definitely recalls the monochromatic character of that seminal release. Even Brian Eno, at the time of Ambient One’s release, referred to the music as “almost as ignorable as it is interesting.” And that monochromatic character is, essentially, probably the principle failing of Mixing Colors; while at points impressively beautiful, with no shortage of melodicism, it can be—for the lack of another word—in places, a rather tiresome listen. There just isn’t enough variety to capture the imagination of the typical listener.

And the album’s title, Mixing Colours, is really a bit of a misnomer of sorts; the record is about as lacking in color as is possible, and across its eighteen tracks, only occasionally breaks free of the monotonous. Roger Eno laid down all the piano and MIDI keyboard parts, then sent the files to Brian, who says he composed almost all of his electronic and MIDI embellishments while riding on trains around England. And that the music was perfect for riding on trains. I guess calling the album Ambient [XX]: Music for Trains would have been a little too derivative, huh? Anyway, all my listening was done through Qobuz’s 24/44.1 stream, and despite my reservations about the record in general, the sound was pretty close to perfection. That said, YMMV.

DG (Deutsche Grammophon), CD/2LPs (download/streaming from Amazon, Tidal, Qobuz, YouTube)

Al Di Meola – Across the Universe

I know, I know, an album of Beatles’ covers, and of all the people stooping to such a low level to record such schmaltz—Al Di Meola, for god’s sake? Di Meola had always loved the music of the Beatles; they were one of his prime inspirations for picking up a guitar in the first place. In 2012, he had the opportunity to record a Beatles’ tribute album, All Your Life, at the legendary Abbey Road Studios; that record went on to become one of the best selling guitar albums the following year when it was released (who knew?). Recording the album was an itch that he just had to scratch, and by all accounts, was an undeniable success on all levels. I’ll have to check it out!

Seven years later, Di Meola decided to return to the studio to record a follow-up; among the acoustic guitars he’d be playing were the Al Di Meola Conde Hermanos Signature Model, a Martin D-18, an Ovation, and Guild 12-string and 12-string harp guitars. But he wanted the electric guitar he’d play to have a very special tone for this record; he started digging through his collection of guitars, and buried deeply behind them was the very first Gibson Les Paul he owned, from 1971. The black one that he played on the first three Return to Forever albums, and on his first two solo albums, Land of the Midnight Sun and Elegant Gypsy. For whatever reason, he hadn’t played it since 1978! And the amp that’s used throughout the new recording was a 50-watt Marshall head and cabinet that he dug through a literal warehouse of equipment to find. And found himself equally amazed when he plugged everything in, and it all worked—and with perfect tone, after sitting untouched for over forty years. I can attest that Di Meola’s electric guitar playing on this album sounds astonishingly superb, and his technique is still flawless.

There was definitely some studio trickery employed; for example, on the “Golden Slumbers Medley,” Di Meola’s guitars are multi-tracked, so you’re hearing him play all the guitar parts on varying acoustic guitars and the Les Paul simultaneously. It presents the familiar in a way that’s new, and it’s pretty darn exciting to hear Di Meola playing so many different guitars at the same time! Di Meola wasn’t afraid to mix it up a little elsewhere; the intro to “Dear Prudence” comes from more of a flamenco approach, and while oddly strange, at the same time, it sounds very right. “Strawberry Fields Forever” samples the original’s intro, then segues into an acoustic guitar vamp before eventually blending into an mind-blowing Les Paul solo that’s interspersed with the horns from the original that have also been sampled to great effect. “Yesterday” is intro’d with a very tender acoustic guitar solo; about the point of the bridge in the original, a second multi-tracked acoustic guitar appears to provide counterpoint to the first guitar’s continuing solo, and the effect is simply stunning. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before!

For an album I was expecting to be absolutely cheesy, I thoroughly enjoyed Across the Universe; it was beautifully played and was a joy to listen to, and Al Di Meola was in top form. All my listening was with the 24/96 Qobuz stream, and the sound quality was absolutely superb. Very highly recommended!

earMUSIC, CD/Vinyl (download/streaming from Qobuz, Tidal, Amazon, Google Play Music, Deezer, iTunes, Apple Music, Spotify, YouTube)

The Boomtown Rats – Citizens of Boomtown

The Irish band Boomtown Rats first surfaced in the late seventies, gaining a following for their quirky, but sophisticated and melodic songs that were often infused with punk authenticity. Their eponymous first album made a bit of a splash in the UK, but they really started getting people listening with their sophomore effort, A Tonic for the Troops, which in 1978 peaked at No. 8 on the UK charts. But the album’s single, “Rat Trap,” made a bigger impression, pushing all the way to No. 1! While knocking Grease’s Olivia Newton John and John Travolta out of the top spot—no small feat, there! But the real knockout came with the following year’s The Fine Art of Surfacing, with its epic song “I Don’t Like Mondays,” which became a No. 1 hit in the UK and many other countries worldwide. It only made it to No. 73 on the US Billboard chart, but gained the band a strong following in the states. A good friend of mine thought these guys were absolute gods.

And then it pretty much fizzled for the Rats; principal writer and lead singer Bob Geldof was rapidly gaining a reputation in the press more for shooting off his mouth with outrageously provocative remarks than for continuing to crank out pop hits. When once asked about his view on the music industry, he stated unequivocally that “All I want out of pop music is to get rich, get famous, and get laid.” And there was his star turn in 1982 as Pink in the film version of Pink Floyd’s The Wall. On top of that, he’d suddenly developed this humanitarian conscience; not that that’s a bad thing, but his work on the Band Aid Christmas song “Do They Know It’s Christmastime” and 1985’s Live Aid concert greatly overshadowed anything being recorded by the Boomtown Rats. The Rats disbanded, and anything other than “I Don’t Like Mondays” was pretty much an afterthought—especially in the US.

So here we are, 36 years later, Geldof somehow or another managed to get the band back together, and we have a new album by the Boomtown Rats! And it’s all original members, minus keyboardist Johnny Fingers and early original guitarist Gerry Cott. Geldof and crew, however, do a surprisingly good job of acting as though they’ve never been gone the entire time! The songs are interesting and eclectic, and perhaps a bit more drivingly rock and roll than Boomtown Rats Mk. I in places. The album starts off strong with “Trash Glam Baby,” which is a definite nod to the bands’ early roots and the Bowie and New York Dolls’ sound that so inspired them in the first place. The next track, “Sweet Thing,” really kicks it into gear—just listen to the drum sound they managed to capture in the studio, it’s a real blast from what seems like a not too distant past. “Monster Monkeys” has a kind of Lou Reed vibe, and “She Said No” is another slam-bang rock and roller. “Passing Through” is about the most thought-provoking and poignant song on the album, but it doesn’t slow down much from there. “Get A Grip” has a classic rap/R&B eighties kinda groove, and “The Boomtown Rats” (really?) is a classic rock and roll, self-aggrandizing call-to-arms, but it works surprisingly well—I hit the replay button a couple of times!

All my listening was from the 24/96 stream via Qobuz—the sound had plenty of punch, with crunching guitars and pounding drums. And it’s a great listen, even if not quite as quirkily interesting as the Rats of old. Nonetheless, I find Citizens of Boomtown very enjoyable, and highly recommended!

BMG, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Qobuz, Tidal, YouTube, Google Play Music, Spotify, Pandora, Apple Music, Deezer)

Mandy Moore – Silver Landings

If you’d told me twenty years ago I’d be reviewing a Mandy Moore album—and giving it anything other than a cursory dismissal—I’d probably just as quickly have shoved a pistol to my temple and squeezed the trigger! What makes it even worse is that she’s the star of the currently popular feel-good/feel-bad NBC television series This Is Us—which I absolutely abhor, but my wife looooooves and darn near forces me to watch every week. I find Moore’s weekly transformation from older woman to younger wife and mother unbelievable and almost unwatchable—I just can’t suspend my disbelief. And that’s compounded by the fact that twenty years ago, she was totally posturing herself to be America’s pop princess—locked in a near-death match with Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. Needless to say, I haven’t followed her career since the late nineties very closely!

It’s been ten years since Mandy Moore’s last album. Her current husband Taylor Goldsmith (of the band Dawes) is one of the principal songwriters on Silver Landings, and he’s a multi-instrumentalist who plays and sings along with Moore on many of the tracks. His contribution gives her a newfound indie-street cred that her music and songs were previously severely lacking in, and Mandy Moore really seems to have found her voice as an artist on this record. The songs are very confessional in nature, and she does a shockingly good job of pulling this album off—especially surprising, since her music and songs didn’t show anything near this level of cohesion and maturity during seven years of marriage and musical association with Ryan Adams.

My listening was all done with the 24/96 stream from Qobuz, and the sound quality was quite exceptional. I hate to say it people, but this is a surprisingly good album of mature pop music, if not suitable for everyone’s tastes. Am I suffering from a collapse of the majority of my cerebral function since my near-death medical episode in January? Maybe, but Silver Landings is surprisingly easy to listen to, even if it isn’t the most creatively cerebral album out there and I relegate it to strictly background listening. And regardless of the fact that it doesn’t occupy, for me, anywhere nearly the same echelon as any number of other records by SoCal singers I hold dear—say, anything by Linda Ronstadt, for example—Silver Landings is recommended, although, as usual, YMMV.

Verve Forecast, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Qobuz, Tidal, Google Play Music, YouTube, Spotify, Deezer)

Header photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/chascar (cropped to fit format).

When the Admiral speaks, they listen!

They went all out on props for this photo shoot. From Audio magazine, January 1963.

Just don't touch any of my records, thinks dad! From Audio magazine, March 1955.

Left behind by an alien spaceship. How to Use Test Probes, published 1954.

"Superior...compared with competitive widely publicized high compliance small-space speaker systems." I was going to buy an AR but consider me sold! From Audio magazine, October 1958.