Issue 164

In Issue 162, I talked about Nick Drake, the artist and musician, and the myriad of mysteries surrounding his brief lifetime here on earth. This go-around, I’d like to touch on his three catalog albums in the form of the 24-bit/96 kHz digital downloads that are currently available just about everywhere. As I mentioned in the last issue, if you were lucky enough to have purchased one of the Universal Music Back to Black series of Nick Drake reissue LPs in 2013, then you could easily have gotten the 24/96 downloads for all three albums at no charge. That was definitely an opportunity I missed out on – well, the best things in life aren’t always necessarily free!

In 1965, Joe Boyd was working as an assistant to Jac Holzman, head of Elektra Records, and Holzman had an idea that would save him money in the recording process. Many of the records Elektra was producing required strings and orchestrations, and English orchestral musicians were not only better players than their American counterparts, but they’d also work for less money. Holzman sent Boyd to London to scout not only musicians, but also potential recording locations, and his good fortune led him to engineer John Wood at Sound Techniques studio in Chelsea. The studio was perfect for his needs, and Boyd soon immersed himself in the London pop and folk music scene. In no time at all, he’d abandoned the Elektra gig, formed his own production company (Witchseason) and was working full-time producing artists like The Incredible String Band, John Martyn, Fairport Convention, and Richard Thompson. He recorded them all at Sound Techniques, and even recorded Pink Floyd’s first singles at the facility.

There are conflicting versions of how Nick Drake came to Joe Boyd’s attention in 1967. One recounts how a Cambridge friend of Drake presented Boyd with a demo tape, and another claims that Ashley Hutchings of Fairport Convention (who was apparently quite taken with Nick Drake) called to insist that Boyd meet him. Regardless, Joe Boyd offered Nick Drake a recording contract after hearing that demo tape; the songs were very well-crafted, and showed a level of maturity and sophistication that was uncommon for a folk artist of the day. Drake’s intricate fingerpicking style and complex tunings were also unlike anything Boyd had ever heard. That four-track demo tape became the basis for Drake’s first album, Five Leaves Left.

I recently added Gustard’s X26 Pro (their top-tier DAC) and C18 Constant Temperature Master Clock Generator (also top-of-the-line) to my system. The result has been a serious uptick in the realism and musicality of my digital playback, and has significantly enhanced my enjoyment of these three outstanding albums, which have never sounded better in any digital format. Nick Drake’s music could possibly be considered something of an acquired taste, and it’s not always the most upbeat or uplifting, but it’s extremely poignant and thought-provoking. And well worth a listen.

Nick Drake – Five Leaves Left

Joe Boyd’s connections with the diverse group of artists he’d been recording at Sound Techniques made getting musicians to back up Nick Drake on Five Leaves Left easy. The core group he assembled in July 1968 included bassist Danny Thompson and pianist Paul Harris, with Nick Drake’s own astonishing acoustic guitar work and vocals providing the centerpiece for all the songs. Even Richard Thompson came by, to provide the quirkily effective electric guitar on the lead track, “Time Has Told Me.” By all accounts, the studio experience was a good one for everyone involved, and Drake was easygoing and professional in his interaction with the other musicians during the sessions. The album’s title, Five Leaves Left, referred to a printed note inside the old Rizla cigarette paper pack, which stated that there were “only five leaves left” in the packet. Drake was apparently smoking a lot of weed at the time, which helped suppress his anxiety in the studio.

While most of the songs were instrumentally sparse, many featured string arrangements, and Boyd had gotten highly-regarded arranger Richard Hewson to provide the orchestrations. However, following the first rehearsal to feature strings, Nick Drake expressed his discontent, insisting that he be allowed to bring in his own arranger. Drake’s choice was an associate from Cambridge, Robert Kirby, who had no professional recording experience, but had orchestrated some engagements for Drake at school. Needless to say, both Joe Boyd and engineer John Wood were less than ecstatic about this turn of events, but after Kirby’s first day on the job, he was offered a contract for the duration of the album. Contract in hand, Robert Kirby left Cambridge forever the following day. According to John Wood, very few overdubs were employed in the recording process, and Nick Drake essentially played live with the session musicians and string ensemble in the studio. This probably helped contribute significantly to the shockingly good sound quality of Five Leaves Left. The use of strings throughout adds to the mood of the album without in any way overpowering the delicate instrumentation or Drake’s seemingly fragile voice.

The songs on Five Leaves Left are very strong, and offer a surprisingly entertaining mix of captivating tales and droll encounters, all delivered with Drake’s signature, soft-spoken, almost whispery vocal approach. The overall effect of the music is stunning to say the least, and the often uplifting nature of the songs downplays Drake’s reputation as the “patron saint of the miserable.” I’ve listened to this album literally countless times over the last couple of decades, and I can honestly say, there’s nothing else in contemporary folk-rock music from 1969 – or any other period, for that matter – that even remotely compares with it. Drake basically lays it right out there on the opening track, “Time Has Told Me,” when he sings, “Time has told me…you’re a rarer find…a trouble cure…for a troubled mind.” He’s telling us, “I have issues,” but he also seems upbeat. Whomever he’s singing to may have their own set of problems, but they’re also definitely helping him with his.

Up next is “River Man,” the song Nick Drake considered the very heart of Five Leaves Left. The mood here is almost mournful, but it’s easily the most powerful song on the entire album, despite the totally cryptic lyrics. “Gonna see the river man/gonna tell him all I can/about the plan/for lilac time” – I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve dodged questions from my teenage daughter while this tune was playing, with “What does he mean about lilac time?” That exchange has morphed a couple of decades later. Now, anytime I question her thirty-something thought process, she responds with, “You figure it out, Dad. It’s lilac time.” I have since determined that “lilac time” is a very British thing that symbolizes Spring and renewal, so maybe it was never quite as cryptic as I once thought.

That somber mood continues throughout what would have constituted side one of the LP. “Three Hours” is the album’s longest song, and recounts a particularly harrowing journey. Next up is one of Nick Drake’s most frequently-quoted songs, “Way to Blue.” “Don’t you have a word/to show what may be done/Have you never heard/a way to find the sun?” Drake is looking for that ray of light in his existence, but it obviously continues to elude him. “Day is Done” contains some of his finest fingerpicking on the entire album, but the song espouses a constant theme of Drake’s music: his inability to make any progress in his life. Side two is significantly sunnier in outlook, with uplifting tunes like “Cello Song,” “The Thoughts of Mary Jane,” and one of the album’s real highlights, “Man in a Shed,” where Drake engages in a raucous banter with a presumed love interest.

But the sunniness of that progression of songs comes to a screeching halt with perhaps the most poignant and strangely prophetic song of Drake’s entire catalog: “Fruit Tree.” The song basically outlines the tenet that many artists never receive any recognition for their work until long after their deaths. Again, this is particularly rare territory among folk singers of his generation – how many songs can you point to from that era where singers embraced the reality of their own impending doom, especially at age 20, when Nick Drake wrote the song? “Fruit Tree” really resonates with me at my current age, but I can’t imagine it would have made the same impression on my much younger self.

“Fame is but a fruit tree…so very unsound
It can never flourish…‘til its stock is in the ground
So men of fame…can never find a way
‘til time has flown…far from their dying day
Fruit tree, fruit tree…no one knows you but the rain and the air
Don’t you worry…they’ll stand and stare when you’re gone
Fruit tree, fruit tree…open your eyes to another year
They’ll all know…that you were here when you’re gone.”

The album closes with “Saturday Sun,” which includes a really nice drum and vibraphone accompaniment that differentiates the song from anything else on the record. Nick Drake contributes his only turn at the piano on the album here, and his playing is beautifully effective. The song’s relatively sunny outlook helps bring the album to a positive close and diffuses the overwhelming melancholy of the preceding “Fruit Tree.”

The 24-bit/96 kHz tracks here – in my humble opinion – present Five Leaves Left in the absolute best sound the album has ever displayed in any digital format. I’ve read that at the time of its remastering, the original analog tapes were in very poor condition, and extra care was taken to preserve them as best as possible digitally. It appears to me that Universal did indeed accomplish that here; the sound quality is absolutely superb, with virtually no tape hiss apparent in any of the tracks. That’s probably also due in part to many of the tracks being recorded essentially live in the studio. The album displays very good dynamic range for a recording that’s over fifty years old; I feel that the sound quality betters any of my CD or LP versions, whether on the Antilles label or the Universal reissues from 2013. This album comes very, very highly recommended. Many of the songs will still resonate with contemporary music audiences. If you have any appreciation at all for English folk/rock from the late 1960s/early 1970s period, it’s a must-listen.

Island Records (Universal Music), CD/LP/download from HDtracks (24/96) – Available for streaming on Qobuz, Tidal, Amazon, Pandora, Deezer, Apple Music, Spotify, YouTube

Nick Drake – Bryter Layter

Despite Nick Drake’s reportedly disastrous Royal Festival Hall appearance in late 1969 as one of the opening acts for Fairport Convention, producer Joe Boyd saw the failure of Five Leaves Left as an aberration of sorts, and was keen to get Drake back into the studio for his follow-up record, Bryter Layter. He assembled his crew at Sound Techniques Studio again, this time adding both Dave Mattacks (drums) and Dave Pegg (bass) of Fairport Convention to the proceedings. Richard Thompson again makes an appearance, adding the lead guitar to “Hazey Jane II.” Drake was reported to be a fan of the Beach Boys (!) album Pet Sounds, and two regular session musicians for the Beach Boys, Ed Carter (bass) and Mike Kowalski (drums) were recruited for Bryter Layter. None other than John Cale of the Velvet Underground adds viola, harpsichord, piano and organ to several songs. And Ray Warleigh’s sax and flute turns on many of the songs add a jazzy feel to the album, giving it a very different overall vibe to that of Five Leaves Left from just a year earlier. Robert Kirby was again called upon to provide the string arrangements, and the sessions got underway in early 1970. Bryter Layter was originally scheduled for a November, 1970 release, but disagreements over the album cover artwork delayed it hitting the record stores until March 1971.

Keith Morris’ iconic photo of Nick Drake that graces the cover of Bryter Layter has Drake almost completely shrouded in shadows. While this was eerily prophetic of Nick Drake’s personal psyche and eventual path, the album is much more polished and upbeat than its predecessor, and is easily the most well-orchestrated of Drake’s brief career. That said, it’s easy to gather from Joe Boyd’s recollections of working with Nick Drake that he was already on the downhill side of his spiral into illness that crippled him as an artist and performer.

The album opens with “Introduction,” one of three instrumentals that are scattered across the record’s duration. Joe Boyd is said to have argued against their inclusion in the recording sessions, but Nick Drake was single-mindedly adamant that they be included. “Introduction” is very thematically reminiscent of the tone of the first album, but then quickly segues into “Hazey Jane II,” which features — of all things — a complete horn section! This completely puzzled me upon first hearing it years ago, but as the album’s centerpiece “At the Chime of a City Clock” begins and you hear Ray Warleigh’s expressive tenor sax intro to the second verse, you soon realize that Drake wasn’t satisfied to be pigeonholed as strictly a folk artist. That jazzy ethos is perfectly appropriate for the more upbeat nature of the album. That’s followed by the most Beach Boy-ish of the album’s tunes, “One of These Things First,” which features the only instance of the two California session musicians together on any track. “Hazey Jane I” slows down the tone of the previous iteration to a crawl, featuring Drake’s remarkable fingerpicking on acoustic guitar. What would have been side one of the LP ends with the eponymous title track, which is a sunny instrumental that features a hippie-dippy but jazzily appropriate flute accompaniment from Lyn Dobson.

Side two opens with “Fly,” which is the most instrumentally spare tune of the entire album, and features John Cale’s viola and harpsichord, accompanied by Drake’s guitar and Dave Pegg’s bass. Drake is obviously trying to cope with his first album’s failure when he opines, “I’ve fallen far down/The first time around/Now I just sit on the ground in your way.” Dave Pegg’s bass vamp and Ray Warleigh’s alto sax turn shifts the musical course back to that jazz thing with “Poor Boy,” where Drake literally lays out his present condition: “Oh poor boy/So worried for his life/Oh poor boy/So keen to take a wife/Oh poor boy/So sorry for himself/Oh poor boy/So worried for his health.” This is also the only song on any Drake album to feature background vocalists, here showcasing the excellent work of Doris Troy — you might remember her from her Sixties hit “Just One Look.”

Following is one of Nick Drake’s most well known songs, “Northern Sky,” an atmospheric piece that has appeared in several movie and TV soundtracks, and was originally slated to be the lead single from Bryter Layter. Island Records decided against a single, further hindering the album’s chances for success. In 1985, the group the Dream Academy released their big hit “Life in a Northern Town,” which was credited in the album’s liner notes as being influenced by a Nick Drake song. In a BBC interview at the time, Dream Academy singer Nick Laird-Clowes further expounded on the Nick Drake connection with their music. The BBC was flooded with requests for Nick Drake’s song “Northern Sky,” which was really strange for BBC programmers, who essentially had no knowledge of Nick Drake and his music. So, while the Volkswagen “Pink Moon” commercial (see my article in Issue 162) might have been responsible for the subsequent worldwide awareness of Nick Drake, the Dream Academy’s 1985 song really launched the initial spark of modern interest.

The 24-bit/96 kHz FLACs for Bryter Layter aren’t too dissimilar in character to those of Five Leaves Left, and the sound quality is superb throughout. That said, producer Joe Boyd has made no efforts to hide the fact that the album was heavily multi-tracked – Nick Drake was already approaching the point where his studio interaction with the other musicians was beginning to suffer from his advancing schizophrenia. The resulting record has a slightly elevated level of tape hiss compared to the excellent-sounding debut album. That said, the 24/96 digital files still sound significantly better than either the CD copies or LPs from my personal library.

Bryter Layter is such a radical departure from the debut album; I can’t help but wonder what might have been had Nick Drake’s mental condition been such that he was able to effectively tour and support the record. While much more uplifting in nature than the previous album, hearing it compounds the sense of mystery that totally surrounds Nick Drake, the artist. After the album’s critical and commercial failure, Nick Drake retreated to Island Records head Chris Blackwell’s Spanish villa for a sabbatical to prepare for his life’s next chapter. Bryter Layter isn’t quite the sonic treat that Five Leaves Left was (and is!), but still comes very highly recommended.

Island Records (Universal Music), CD/LP/download from HDtracks (24/96) – Available for streaming on Qobuz, Tidal, Amazon, Pandora, Deezer, Apple Music, Spotify, YouTube

Nick Drake – Pink Moon

Prior to the failure of Bryter Layter, Nick Drake had already confided to Joe Boyd that he’d been working on new songs, and wanted to take a more stripped down approach on the next album, possibly using John Wood, Sound Techniques’ engineer, as the producer. Boyd expressed his disapproval, but knew that he probably wouldn’t even be there for the sessions, as he had already decided to take a new career opportunity and soon relocated to Los Angeles. When Drake did return to Sound Techniques in late October, 1971 with a new batch of songs in tow, he was then told that Joe Boyd had returned to the United States. It’s said that Nick Drake was crushed by Boyd’s decision to leave the UK, especially since Drake had already informed Boyd of his future plans. Boyd was, after all, Drake’s friend and confidant, and the closest thing he had to any kind of a “support group” in his very short life.

Drake arrived at the studio the morning of October 30, and he and John Wood began recording what would become Pink Moon. The sessions continued on the following day, and no studio musicians were required for any of the songs recorded, which only featured Drake’s guitar and vocals, although Drake added a brief piano part that was overdubbed onto the title track. The total running time of the album was under 30 minutes. When Nick Drake left with the finished tapes, it was the last time he would ever set foot in the studio where his entire catalog of albums had been recorded. Some days later, he arrived unannounced at the Island Records offices in London and was sitting in the lobby when Island press officer David Sandison returned from lunch and happened to notice him sitting there with what appeared to be a 15-inch master tape case. Sandison invited Drake up to his office, where he sat in silence for about 30 minutes, then announced that “perhaps he should be going.” About an hour or so later, the receptionist called up to Sandison’s office, telling him that someone had left a tape at the desk. He went downstairs and saw that the box was marked “NICK DRAKE: PINK MOON.” He then took it to the studio and had them run a safety copy from the master. The following day, he happened to mention to Chris Blackwell that Drake had dropped off the tape, and Blackwell then had his first listen. No one with Island Records had had any awareness that Drake was delivering his new album.

Despite its spare and stark nature, Chris Blackwell was extremely taken by the album, and contracted photographer Keith Morris to take new photos of Drake for the album cover. However, Morris was shocked by Nick Drake’s rapidly deteriorating appearance and constantly blank expression, and none of the photos were deemed appropriate for the album cover. The eventual album art was done by Michael Trevithick, who was a friend of Drake’s sister, Gabrielle, who saw to it that Drake approved of the artwork. Pink Moon streeted on February 25, 1972, and Chris Blackwell took out full-page ads in UK music magazines promoting the album. This was a significantly higher level of promotion than the previous albums had received, but the record’s critical reception was still chilly at best. No singles were released from the album, and with Drake’s refusal to tour or do interviews, it soon suffered the same commercial fate of its predecessors. Joe Boyd has stated that upon first hearing the album, he absolutely hated it, and felt that releasing it was tantamount to commercial suicide for Drake’s career.

The album opens with the eponymous title track, made famous by that 1999 Volkswagen Cabrio commercial. Of course, once the record suddenly reached a massive level of popularity as a result, the usual complaints came from the public regarding the use of popular music in advertisements. But the Volkswagen commercial was actually seen in retrospect as a watershed moment in advertising, where the ad was so well-done and aesthetically pleasing, and the music so perfectly integrated, that many popular artists then reassessed their views on allowing their music to be used to sell products.

Despite its brevity, the album features some really good songs, and due to the pared-down nature of the production, showcases Nick Drake’s fingerpicking guitar stylings to superb effect. A clear example is the song “Road,” which features some of Drake’s finest guitar work on any of his albums. I’ve hit the replay button countless times re-listening to this track, which is flat-out amazing! The song “From the Morning” is also among the very best and sunniest Drake ever wrote, and the passage “And now we rise/And we are everywhere” is engraved on the rear of Drake’s tombstone. With Pink Moon being the album that essentially brought Nick Drake to the attention of the wider world, it’s the one most people are most familiar with, and doesn’t need a blow-by-blow rundown on each song here.

If I have a complaint about the 24/96 digital remasters of Nick Drake’s three catalog albums, it’s with Pink Moon. It has a loudness level that’s about double that of the others; it’s not that it’s overly compressed, but it’s so very loud that I have to reduce the volume level of my amplifier to prevent it from distorting. I don’t hear this level discrepancy with the Universal 2013 LPs. I almost believe that this particular transfer was perhaps remastered at a later date by someone who subscribed to the loudness wars that started in the 2000s. The album essentially sounds fine once you’ve reduced the volume level, but why was this increased level even necessary in the first place? Pink Moon was probably tinkered with because it’s far and away the biggest seller of Drake’s catalog.

After Pink Moon crashed and burned after its initial release, Nick Drake retreated to the comfort and care of his family’s countryside estate, Far Leys, where he became even more withdrawn from society. Within two years, he was dead from an accidental overdose of prescription antidepressants. Yet he did eventually rise, and now he is everywhere.

Island Records (Universal Music), CD/LP/download from HDtracks (24/96) – Available for streaming on Qobuz, Tidal, Amazon, Pandora, Deezer, Apple Music, Spotify, YouTube

Conclusion

The 24-bit/96 kHz digital download files for the three Nick Drake catalog albums are, in my book, a vast improvement over the standard CD releases that preceded them. I still feel the remastered LPs – warts and all, and which may or may not have been sourced from those same digital files – are the slightest bit more sonically pleasing than their digital counterparts. The digital files aren’t perfect (Pink Moon is the main object of my scorn), but they’re probably about as close to perfection as we’re likely to encounter in our lifetimes.

Joe Boyd talks often in interviews about his experiences with Nick Drake, and you can’t help but believe that he views his involvement as both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, he was instrumental in the development and recording of a troubled, but singular artist beyond compare – there has never been, or never will be another talent the likes of Nick Drake. That said, Boyd has constantly been bombarded over the last couple of decades – essentially, since the Volkswagen commercial that featured “Pink Moon” hit the airwaves – with demo tapes from countless wannabes with odd guitar tunings and breathy vocals, who insist to Joe Boyd that “they’re as good as Nick Drake, aren’t they?” So far, “no” is the only answer he’s ever been able to come up with.

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

“Countertenor” is one of those musical terms that has meant many different things over the centuries. These days, it normally refers to a man who uses falsetto or head voice to cover the pitch range typical of a female contralto or mezzo-soprano. There are some very gifted singers of this type, and happily they’ve been busy making new recordings.

Literally meaning “against the held part” (tenere is Latin for “to hold”), in the Middle Ages the contra-tenor was a voice that sang a separate line at the same time as, say, the notes of a Gregorian chant or the melody of a secular tune. The term had nothing to do with pitch range, and by the Renaissance composers had mostly stopped using it. It came back in vogue in the late 17th century to mean a high male voice (by which point, “tenor” referred to the vocal pitch range we’re familiar with today).

Of course, it’s important to mention castrati in this context. Castrati and countertenors have never been the same thing. A countertenor is a man with a natural baritone voice who sings in falsetto. A castrato was a man who was castrated before his voice changed so that his natural voice remained in the soprano range. This horrific practice was distressingly common in the 16th through early 18th centuries. George Frideric Handel created many of his operatic roles for castrati, and his public loved it. For much of the 20th century, women took such roles, but then countertenors started to come into vogue, thanks to the birth of the early music movement led by singers like Alfred Deller and Russell Oberlin. Nowadays, countertenors or “sopranists” (the very rare men who can sustain falsetto in a soprano range) often sing the roles Handel meant for castrati.

A recent exploration of some of those Handel roles can be found on the PentaTone label. Handel’s Unsung Heroes by the ensemble La Nuova Musica, directed by David Bates, features countertenors Iestyn Davies and Alexander Chance, along with soprano Lucy Crowe and mezzo-soprano Christine Rice.

Handel’s opera Rinaldo originally included no fewer than three “alto castrato” parts, which are now sung by women or countertenors. On this recording, Davies sings the title character’s aria “Or la tromba.” The text begins, “Now the trumpet calls me again to triumph,” and Handel has appropriately written it as a “motto” aria, or one that makes the voice mimic the sound of a musical instrument – in this case, the trumpet. Davies is rare for the purity of his falsetto, and his mastery of baroque style and expression is matchless.

Crowe’s contributions to this CD are also exceptional, particularly her moving rendition of Cleopatra’s aria “V’adoro, pupille” from Giulio Cesare in Egitto.

Handel famously worked with superstar castrato Farinelli on many occasions, but he was only one of many such singers who had hugely successful careers. If you’re interested in the height of the castrato era, you should check out The Trials of Tenducci: A Castrato in Ireland on the LINN label. Mezzo-soprano Tara Erraught “plays” Giusto Ferdinando Tenducci, a very popular singer in the mid-18th century who often performed in Dublin. In this collection of arias by Johann Christian Bach, Thomas Arne, and others, the Irish Baroque Orchestra is conducted by Peter Whelan.

But let’s get back to countertenors. Many such vocalists concertize and make albums of songs with lute accompaniment, in the great tradition of late-Renaissance and baroque “lute song.” (I wrote a Copper column on that genre in Issue 35.) There are a couple of recent examples.

Daniel Gloger has self-released Thou Single Wilt Prove None…: Music for Countertenor and Lute, accompanied by Hans-Jürgen Gerung on lute and oud (a Middle Eastern lute). It’s an interesting and unusual program, with pieces that span 400 years and utilize the high male voice in a wide variety of ways. The sound production is poor, and Gloger is not a world-class singer. Nevertheless, the recording is intriguing enough to reward the listener.

Living Japanese composer Mai Fukasaka describes her style as based on prayer sounds. Her “Thou Single Wilt Prove None” (setting text from a Shakespeare sonnet) requires the singer to use both his falsetto and his natural, or “modal,” voice. Gloger suffers from the common countertenor problem of not having as much control over his baritone range as his falsetto, but he gets high marks for courage.

He also includes some more standard fare, such as John Dowland’s “Come Again, Sweet Love” but bafflingly chooses to sing it in baritone range, a full octave below his countertenor tessitura.

A more skilled and experienced countertenor has also completed a new album of songs: Philippe Jaroussky’s À sa guitare, on Erato, is a collaboration with guitarist Thibaut García. The track list is heavily Spanish, as the album title implies, but also includes a range of British songs, from John Dowland to Benjamin Britten, plus some Italian and French pieces.

In the last category is Gabriel Fauré’s “Au bord de l’eau,” which sets a poem by Sully Prudhomme to music. This is from the Three Songs, Op. 8, originally for soprano with piano accompaniment. Jaroussky’s voice is characterized by its lightness and agility, not always true of countertenors, and García matches him with effortless grace.

García gets several chances to shine as a specialist in Spanish and Latin American guitar, with selections by Enrique Granados, Luiz Bonfá, Dilermando Reis, and Gerardo Matos Rodriguez.

As it turns out, however, Jaroussky does not share his colleague’s comfort with Latin rhythms and melodies. While his tone is intensely emotional, the singer does not seem at ease with the music’s syncopations; he is too careful and exact, as you can hear in the Ariel Ramírez song “Alfonsina y el mar.”

Being a countertenor seems to require a willingness to experiment in order to increase available repertoire (this is not a new situation, as those of you familiar with new wave pop singers/countertenors Klaus Nomi and Jimmy Somerville will know). French countertenor Théophile Alexandre teamed up with a string quartet called Quatuor Zaïde for just this purpose. Their album, No(s) Dames, on NoMadMusic, contains voice-and-strings arrangements of operatic diva arias. All the arrangements are by Eric Mouret, who deserves much praise for making the new context seem natural to the music.

This project has an extra-musical purpose. As the CD booklet says, “No(s) Dames (Our/No Ladies) were created to honour four centuries of masculine operas, in order to celebrate their beauty while deconstructing their gender roles.” Even the source material that originally included castrato or countertenor roles is turned on its head: “Che fiero momento” from Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, was written for the female role of Euridice, not for male Orfeo.

Alexandre’s most striking arrangement and performance is “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” (better known as the Habanera) from Bizet’s Carmen. If you were skeptical that any gender should be allowed to sing any vocal music, this may convince you. The women of Quatuor Zaïde contribute their percussive, miniaturized orchestral part with plenty of Seville flair.

Header image: Théophile Alexandre. From theophilealexandre.com; photo courtesy of Julien Benhamou.

In the first half of this travelogue of the 2022 Rocky Mountain Breakdown Lemons Rally (see my article in Issue 163), we passed through Colorado and New Mexico, and arrived in Flagstaff.

Most of us, anyway. A couple of cars were missing in action. The 1953 MG TD was still puttering along without issue, but the truck pulling the horse trailer (which was doing a Kentucky Derby theme) had failed early on, and dropped out. The 1978 Trans Am running the Smokey and The Bandit theme had also quit – they had encountered engine-cooling and carburetion problems, but they did show up at the finish line location in a newer Trans Am they had bought. The rest of us crossed paths several times, and the Lemons staffers skipped many of the checkpoints to arrive early at other checkpoints to get photos of the participants.

Rally Day 3: Eat, Drink and Be Merry, for Tomorrow You May Be in Utah

When we had arrived in Flagstaff, the weather had turned a bit chilly and cloudy, yet the next morning brought us clear skies and some frost. One issue we had to contend with was the Tunnel Fire just north of Flagstaff. We were headed towards Moab, Utah, and US 89 was closed off due to the fire. There were a few alternate routes available. One of them would pass through either the Hopi Reservation or Navajo Nation lands, and we were encouraged not to enter the latter. Another route would have taken us back towards the Arizona border to pick up US 191 before heading north.

That left us with the rally’s official and recommended detour – US 180 to Arizona state road 64 (AZ 64), which heads north and then turns east to rejoin US 89. Anyone who knows the area, as I do, will realize that this was the “$35 Detour” through Grand Canyon National Park. Duck Rock (on the far left) was right where I left it a few years ago.

Duck Rock, Grand Canyon National Park.

US 89 would lead us to US 160, leading us to our checkpoint alongside a coal conveyor, one end of which is pictured below. The conveyor starts 17 miles away at the Kayenta Mine, a former coal mining facility. The conveyor carried up to 240 railcars of coal daily from the mine to the pictured coal silo over the terrain, providing the Navajo Generating Station with coal.

Kayenta Mine.

At Kayenta, we turned onto US 163 North. This let us right into Utah and the heart of Monument Valley, one of a long list of locations in Utah which I have not yet visited. One of our checkpoints was to find Mexican Hat Rock, followed by an iconic photography location that was also used in the scene of a major motion picture. “Run, Forrest, run!”

Monument Valley, Utah.

Loyds Lake (or Lloyd’s Lake, depending on who spells it), a reservoir and small recreational lake, was a checkpoint in Monticello, Utah, just before we had to turn back east on US 491 into Colorado.

Loyd’s Lake, Utah.

Returning to Colorado and locating the Dove Creek Superette checkpoint, we had to also find the Uranium Drive-In, located in Naturita, Colorado. This checkpoint was one of those again requiring some research. The original drive-in sign was in decay and was removed and restored, but unable to be reinstalled at its original location due to zoning laws. Instead, the restored sign was reassembled at Blondie’s Drive-In & Café, a diner in Naturita.

Uranium Drive-In, Naturita, Colorado.

The location of the drive-in movie itself was in Nucla, Colorado, another small town just a couple of miles to the north, and from what I could tell from some research, this is about as close as I could come to the location. The two structures on the right side of the photo might have been part of the entrance to the drive-in.

Near the Uranium Drive-In, Nucla, Colorado.

I skipped the “Find It” mystery location of the day (“You visited the Trinity Site yesterday. Find the bridge leading to the mining town-turned-Superfund site that made the Trinity Site possible.”) since the coordinates I had saved were way off the map (despite it actually being nearby), and I’d had enough driving for the day.  This was the Uravan Bridge, which crosses the San Miguel River near Atkinson Creek.

The last stops of the third day were Wilson Arch (visible from US 191) and “Hole N”The Rock,” which is a house built into the side of a large outcropping of stone. That late in the day, the attraction was closed, so it was too late to tell if it was a genuine article or just a kitschy tourist trap.

Hole N”the Rock.

Once in Moab, I grabbed dinner, visited a few favorite shops, plotted my route for the next day, and got some rest.

Rally Day 4: The Long Road Home

The fourth and final day would take us from Moab back to Colorado, namely the Bandimere Speedway in Morrison, Colorado at 6:00 pm for the finish line. I had a hunch that we would take Utah state road 128 (UT 128) and sure enough, one of our checkpoints was midway through the drive back to I 70: the Dewey Bridge.

The Dewey Bridge was one of only three bridges in the state of Utah to cross the Colorado River. When it was built circa 1916, it was the longest suspension bridge in Utah. In 1988, a modern bridge was built to replace it, and the old bridge was restored in 2000 as part of the pedestrian and cyclist bridge for the Kokopelli Trail. In 2008, a young boy playing with matches in a nearby campground accidentally started a brush fire that destroyed the bridge’s wooden deck and rails. The state left the ruins of the bridge intact as a reminder to others about the danger of fire in arid parts of the desert.

Dewey Bridge, Utah.

Another checkpoint along UT 128 took us through the ghost town of Cisco. As many times as I’ve driven through Cisco, I never knew that the corner by the gas station was used for the final scene in the 1971 film Vanishing Point. Some of the rally participants took part in some shenanigans while there.

Shenanigans in Cisco, Utah!

This was the Shell station in the film:

The abandoned Shell station.

While Cisco is considered a ghost town, one business opens during the warmer months – the Buzzard’s Belly General Store, located in what used to be the Cisco Landing Store.

After passing through Fruita, Colorado to find a headless chicken statue, I stopped in Grand Junction at Mesa Mall to collect points for a Lemons Rally Feat of Dumbness. “Take your rally car X-TREME MALLCRAWLING! Whatever that means to you.” From there, I continued to a state park in Cimarron Canyon, in which restored D&RGW locomotive #278 was on display.

Denver & Rio Grande Western locomotive #278.

Further along, our next checkpoint sent us over the Continental Divide via Monarch Pass.

Monarch Pass.

It was a bit snowy…

Driving through Colorado.

The snow continued throughout the rest of the day. We had two final checkpoints to visit, one including a giant hot dog at the Coney Island Boardwalk in Bailey, Colorado (which was founded in 1966 on West Colfax Ave. in Denver, then moved to Aspen Park before being relocated to its present location in Bailey):

Coney Island Boardwalk, Bailey, Colorado.

The giant hot dog was then followed by a very small checkpoint: Tiny Town & Railroad in Morrison, Colorado, an amusement park.

Tiny Town and Railroad, Morrison, Colorado.

Not wanting to cut it too close, I skipped the day’s Find It. “Yugo to this dude’s ranch, but he doesn’t live there anymore.” The Yugo, an ill-fated car built in Yugoslavia, was introduced to the US market by Malcolm Bricklin. He owned a 4,600-acre ranch about 20 miles southeast of Meeker, Colorado, along the White River. It would have added over four hours of driving time if trying to visit all of the checkpoints or would have added an hour and 40 minutes if the three southern checkpoints were skipped. This is an example of how we could choose to skip some checkpoints in favor of others.

Our finish line was officially at 6:00 pm at Bandimere Speedway, where we would hold the impromptu awards ceremony. Although, with the raceway closed, we assembled in the gravel parking lot outside the grounds. We filtered in from about 5:00 pm onward, most of us still carrying snow and ice from the drive through the mountains, and many still sporting bits and pieces of tumbleweeds from Friday’s crossing of New Mexico and Arizona.

Everyone noticed the MG TD had not yet arrived. But at 5:59 pm, guess who was puttering down the road to the parking lot entrance?

It was a foregone conclusion that Jim and his MG had won the top points finish in the rally. Considering the conditions he drove in (the fierce winds and projectile tumbleweeds through New Mexico and Arizona, and the snow over Monarch Pass and beyond, all without a convertible top), all of us were not only relieved that he arrived intact (if somewhat frozen!), we also acknowledged that he had beaten the odds of driving a nearly 70-year-old car, not known for its reliability, over thousands of miles through varying elevations without incident.

The winner!

The final words of the rally master before I left? “Bring a sh*ttier car next time!”

One Final Observation

During the second and third days of the rally, the two longest of the event, I made an effort to hit all of the checkpoints. But by the end of the third day, I’d grown weary of trying to find everything and headed to Moab, only stopping at checkpoints directly along the route. On that third day, our detour through the Grand Canyon cost us over two hours (an hour and 50 minutes extra of straight driving time, not including stops), and we lost another hour due to the time change, Arizona being an hour behind the rest of the Mountain time zone.

The rally planners say it is up to us to choose our checkpoints — none are required, and not all can be reached in a single day. Likewise, if we can’t make it to the recommended town or city at night, no points are gained or lost for staying elsewhere. On the final rally day, I arrived at the checkpoint in Cisco to find several other cars, and the shenanigans that followed. Had I been intent on leaving before dawn and hitting all the checkpoints and challenges, I would have missed out. The delay in sticking around Cisco meant that I caught up with other rally participants at the checkpoints that followed.

Despite this being a competition, I find that taking a slightly more relaxed approach is more fun, as you get a lot more chances to interact with fellow rally participants. Traveling in groups is also recommended. Going for maximum points can turn the rally into a solitary experience, where you feel as though you are making stops for the singular purpose of collecting points.

Would I Do This Again?

The next Lemons Rally event is in July: the Rust Belt Ramble. This event travels from Detroit to Dayton, Pittsburgh, and Buffalo. I already have ideas for the theme, and only have to choose which of my driveway hoopties I will take.

As for the concept of the rally, it’s cleverly conceived. Its intention of doing a send-up of all the stuffy, high-priced road rallies works to its advantage since it is a rally anyone can participate in, no matter what they drive. Also, it’s not only about having fun with cheap and/or old cars and costumes. The rally planner for the Rocky Mountain Breakdown chose some out-of-the-way locations and attractions, taking me to parts of the “Four Corners” states I had never seen before, and learning about attractions and landmarks I had never encountered.

A Lemons Rally isn’t just about winning, it’s also about the experience – seeing new parts of the country, learning about new landmarks, making new friends, and sharing thoughts and ideas along the way. It’s also fun to do something with a car that doesn’t involve commuting, fighting traffic jams, or changing oil.

I will be doing more Lemons rallies in the future, as scheduling and funds permit.

More Lemons Rally Shenanigans

All of the checkpoints were posted (for point tallying) to Instagram using the hashtags #LemonsRally and #RockyMtnBreakdown, along with the hashtag of the checkpoint. The @lemonsrally Instagram account also features highlights of the rally.

All images courtesy of the author.

Mary Gauthier thinks the best songs are ones that contain “a little movie,” songs that don’t just have their own story but also a sense of motion. The veteran songwriter knows a thing or two about good songs – ones that hit you right in the feels while making you think. Not that songwriting is easy for this Grammy-nominated artist. As she has repeatedly said in interviews, “Sometimes it’s just not pleasant. It’s hard.” Her listeners reap the rewards of her struggle.

Gauthier was born in New Orleans – she pronounces her name “go-shay,” Cajun style – in 1962, to a single mom who dropped her baby off at a home for infants. Although Mary did get adopted, her new father was an alcoholic. She got into drugs and alcohol before she even reached her teens. For the next couple of decades, her life was a battle with substances as she went in and out of rehab, tried to finish college but dropped out, and then went to culinary school. The day that her own restaurant was slated to open in 1990, she was arrested for drunk driving. That was finally what got her clean for good.

It wasn’t until she was in her 30s that Gauthier got serious about songwriting. By 1997, she was ready to self-release her first album, which she named Dixie Kitchen, after her restaurant. Her sound was country leaning toward bluegrass. Her warm, personable voice was as good at delivering upbeat humor as it was with darker melodies.

But it wasn’t so much the music as the subject matter that got people’s attention. Gauthier took real life head-on, without trying to pass gritty topics off wrapped in silk. Yet she never strayed from the musical conventions of her genre. “Goddamn HIV” is emblematic of her frequent use of commonplace country tropes to sing about modern issues that defy expectations within the tradition. Then again, don’t these topics fit? After all, loss of friends from a deadly disease is just another kind of heartache, and heartache has always been a specialty of country.

“Mama Louisianna” is full of longing for Gauthier’s home state. It’s slow, march-like beat makes a framework for the fiddling of Matt Leavenworth.

Now that she had an album out in the world, Gauthier was hellbent on a music career. She sold her restaurant in 1998 and used the money to record and release another album, Drag Queens in Limousines. The critics were starting to take notice, and the title song won her the 1999 Best Country Song award at the Gay and Lesbian American Music Awards (GLAMA).

On her website Gauthier explains how that song is a coming-of-age story about growing up in the South, but it was inspired by a trip to New York City where she played a gig to an audience of two and saw plenty of limousines and drag queens. Her ability to take random life experiences and weave them into meaningful metaphors is what makes Gauthier’s songs so good – she has mastered the art of using minutiae to express universals.

Drag Queens in Limousines gave Gauthier’s career a needed bump: she landed lots of gigs nationwide and a music-publishing deal. Now she could move to Nashville and also afford an excellent producer, Gurf Morlix, who had previously worked with Lucinda Williams. The first result of this collaboration was Filth and Fire (2002).

The arrangements and sound production are several steps up from the first two albums. The songwriting remains moving and personal, focused on the South and the individuals, often downtrodden, who give it character. “Sugar Cane” recalls Gauthier’s Louisiana childhood and the annual burning of sugar cane to clear off the leaves and make it easier to harvest. The dirty, thick air comes to represent her family’s rough life.

Thanks to her growing success, Gauthier was able to sign with a record company for the first time, Universal’s subsidiary Lost Highway. Her first album with them, Mercy Now (2005), got everybody’s attention. It’s packed with songs of breathtaking power that rely on patience and efficiency of words and melody; the performance is never over the top, which somehow gives the music more emotional punch.

“Just Say She’s a Rhymer” is an old-fashioned breakup song from the point of view of the one leaving. The poignant, sliding fiddle solo is by Eamonn McLoughlin.

Between Daylight and Dark came out in 2007, followed three years later by The Foundling. Gauthier’s sales numbers started to run parallel with her critical success. The Foundling reached No. 13 on the Billboard Americana chart.

That album is Gauthier’s attempt to deal with knowing she was abandoned as an infant, and figuring out how it affected her as she developed into her own person. On this record, she called on some gifted colleagues to co-write a few of the songs, including Darrel Scott and Crit Harmon.

The choice of the Cowboy Junkies’ Michael Timmins as producer led to a scaled-back, bare-bones sound that perfectly displays the angst of self-discovery. “Sideshow,” co-written with Liz Rose, uses a trombone to harken back to New Orleans. The lyrics deal with some of life’s inherent paradoxes: “Too many songs about happiness/leave me sad and lonely and depressed.”

After 2014’s Trouble and Love, which also charted well, Gauthier’s next release was a labor of love that gave music the role of healing agent. The songs on Rifles & Rosary Beads (2018) were co-written with US veterans and their families. This was an outgrowth of a project called Songwriting with Soldiers, a music therapy effort founded by Americana songwriter Darden Smith which Gauthier had been involved in for several years.

It’s interesting to see Gauthier in a different mode. All her previous songs focus on her own experiences, but on this collection her job was to help others find their voice. The topics, understandably, can be tough and painful. “Morphine 1-2” tells the story of a pilot whose plane went down, killing seven people.

At last, Gauthier was nominated for a Grammy Award, although she lost the Best Folk Album category to the Punch Brothers’ All Ashore. (If it was any consolation, fellow nominee Joan Baez also got passed over that year.)

The release of Gauthier’s new album, Dark Enough to See the Stars, is right around the corner. Its advance singles, “Amsterdam” and “Fall Apart World,” hint that her worldview may be taking a more optimistic turn, which is a remarkable accomplishment in these troubled times.

Header image courtesy of Alexa Kinigopoulos.

Previous installments discussed various design approaches to record lathe cutter heads, the history of Neumann and Scully lathes, and more.

As a general rule, records cut on Neumann lathes using Neumann cutter heads were cut with floating systems, whereas records cut on Scully lathes using Westrex cutter heads used an advance ball system with a manual setting of groove depth. Of course, Neumann lathes could also be used in manual mode, and they sometimes were, by certain engineers. For instance, since all pitch and depth automation systems require an “advance” or “preview” signal to operate (see my article in Issue 134 for further details on preview head tape machines and why these were required), it naturally follows that recording a performance direct-to-disk does not allow any of the automation systems to be used. All analog direct-to-disk recordings, therefore, are cut with both groove depth and pitch manually, set by an experienced engineer, regardless of the type of lathe and cutter head used. However, manually setting the depth on a floating head still results in phase shift and the “mechanical crossover” effect (see my article in Issue 163), while also giving up the advantage of automation.

It should also be noted that while manual pitch and depth settings often imply that these parameters are set prior to doing the cutting, and are kept constant throughout the cut, it did not necessarily have to be that way on any but the most early and primitive disk recording lathes, where pitch was either fixed, or changed by means of change wheels as in early screw-cutting lathes. In later disk recording lathes, pitch could be electronically variable but still set manually if desired, and the same held true for groove depth, although on advance ball systems, this parameter was mechanically rather than electronically variable. An experienced operator could therefore vary these parameters during the cut, to achieve the desired results. There was no rule book for that and no exact science to it. Manually varying the parameters mid-cut takes an incredible amount of skill, self-confidence and strong nerves. A wrong move can easily destroy a side or even cause expensive equipment damage. Some of the finest sounding records ever cut, however, were done exactly like that.

Technically, any cutter head could be either floated, or used with an advance ball system. There is nothing about a certain head that would make it impossible for it to be floated or used with an advance ball. Even the large and heavy Westrex cutter heads have been successfully floated, while on the other hand, many small and lightweight heads have been used with an advance ball.

A FloKaSon Caruso Stereophonic cutter head with a custom advance ball assembly added by the author. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Typically, a cutter head that was designed to be used with an advance ball will have provisions for mounting and advance ball directly on the cutter head, or might even come with one by default; for example, the Westrex heads. In the case of Westrex, if the head was to be floated, the advance ball assembly could simply be removed. The European cutter heads of the stereophonic era (as opposed to the American-made Westrex heads) did not have any provisions for attaching an advance ball assembly, but this does not mean that it could not be done.

A FloKaSon Caruso cutter head with an advance ball assembly, chip suction tube and custom vacuum platter, retrofitted to a 19308 Fairchild lathe. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

As an example, I have successfully attached advance ball assemblies, that I designed and machined specifically for this application, to a couple of FLoKaSon Caruso heads (I think I can hear someone shouting “Nein, das ist verboten!” all the way from Switzerland). As the space for installing an advance ball assembly is limited, it was mounted behind the cutter head, rather than in front of it, a was customary with Westrex cutter heads. The knurled knob that controls the depth of cut on a FLoKaSon head is located on the side. The assembly utilized a concealed pushrod assembly and a precision- machined adjuster screw to move the advance ball arm. The design was inspired by the traditional layout used by most American V8 engines, which employed pushrods to actuate overhead valves (OHV), lifted by a single camshaft located directly above the crankshaft. These engines sound great, so why not apply the same principle to cut great-sounding records?

Top view of a heavily modified Fairchild lathe, fitted with a vacuum platter and an advance ball assembly on the FloKaSon Caruso cutter head, along with an oil dashpot on the suspension unit. The assembly right behind the cutter head, with the brass knurled knob off to the side, is the advance ball assembly. The knob is for setting the depth of cut. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Essentially, the advance ball system and the floating system are merely the two different means of setting the depth of cut in a disk recording system. They both work, and both systems have been used to cut highly-regarded records. There are not that many options available for mechanically setting the depth of cut, on any type of cutting operation, where the end result is expected to deliver a surface finish in the low nanometer range (smaller than the wavelengths associated with visible light by quite a wide margin), in a single pass, with no subsequent finishing operations possible.

The principles of mechanical engineering associated with cutting records are in no way different to cutting operations in any other manufacturing sector. The traditional way of affixing a cutting tool to a machine tool for macro-machining (the machining of features over 0.040 inches or approximately 1 millimeter in size) is by rigidly holding it and feeding it into the work. Such operations usually consist of multiple passes prior to reaching the target dimension, and often require separate finishing operations. However, record grooves are only around 0.001 inches (.025 mm) deep, and due to the sound being recorded as the groove is being cut, the groove must be cut in a single pass.

This is micromachining territory.

The “floating tool” concept (the equivalent of a floating cutter head, in other machine tool applications) is not exclusive to record cutting, and neither is the advance ball arrangement. Both concepts have been used in other types of machine tools and measurement instruments where extreme accuracy was required.

A Westrex 2B stereophonic cutter head with an advance ball assembly, viewed from below. Note the curved magnet pole pieces. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

As an example, ruling engines, remarkably accurate machines used for the manufacturing of diffraction gratings (as used in spectroscopy for applied physics research and metrology laboratories) have traditionally used a suspension unit, very similar to the ones used for cutting records, to float the grooving tool!

If the blank disks used in record cutting were totally flat, and the cutting lathe platter they are placed on would also be entirely flat, and there were no dynamic errors in the rotating system (which includes bearings, shafts, motors, the presence of structural vibrations, and so on), it might theoretically be possible to rigidly mount the cutter head, instead of suspending it or using an advance ball system, and feed the cutter head in to the blank record by means of a feedscrew, to set the depth of cut with great repeatability, while reading the depth of cut from a dial. However, blank records are very far from flat, platters do have surface errors, and the rotating system introduces a variety of dynamic motional errors, which the suspension is tasked with absorbing. It’s similar to how the suspension system in a car is meant to absorb bumps in the road and dynamic motional errors, to provide a smooth ride (with varying degrees of success, depending on the automobile manufacturer).

A Scully lathe with a Westrex 3D cutter head with an advance ball assembly. Courtesy of Jaakko Viitalähde, Virtalähde Mastering, Kuhmoinen, Finland.

In the next episode, we will investigate the effect of road bumps on the reception of vacuum tube car radios…no, we won’t, just kidding. I’ll spare you the details and get back to record cutting.

Header image: a heavily-modified Scully lathe, fitted with a vacuum platter and an A&M suspension unit, with a floated Westrex 3D cutter head. Photo courtesy of Eric Conn, Independent Mastering, Nashville, Tennessee.

Previous installments appeared in Issues 163, 162, 161, 160, 159, 158, 157, 156, 155, 154, 153, 152, and 151.

With reminisces by Paul McGowan and Frank Doris

The late Bascom H. King, who passed away last May at age 84 from complications of pneumonia, was not as well-known a designer as he deserved to be. Even while I was his editor at Audio magazine for nearly 20 years in the 1980s and 1990s, I didn’t know about his track record in engineering superior-sounding products for a variety of companies. But it was obvious from his reviews that he was very much a circuits guy, always devoting a lot of each review to how the audio signal got from here to there, what happened to it on the way, and sometimes why the designer had done what he did. And he’d not only explain his lab measurements when needed, but also tell readers how his findings related to the circuits he’d described.

About the only times he referred to his own design work was in preamplifier reviews, where he sometimes compared the product under test to the passive preamp he’d built for himself. Often, he’d find his own preamp sonically superior in some respects, which, as an editor, raised a red flag about potential bias. After a while, though, he started liking the sound of the subject preamps better than his own – a sure sign that he was really hearing what he said he heard.

Editing him wasn’t easy. Like many experts, he’d sometimes forget he was writing for people who knew a lot less than he did. While I knew enough about circuits to follow what he was saying and see when he was going off the tracks, I wasn’t enough of a circuits guy to get the article back on the tracks without his assistance. That led to many long phone calls requesting clarifications and checking that my edits hadn’t messed things up.

From a writer’s standpoint, such calls can be exasperating, but Bascom only sighed a little and otherwise took them with good grace. We’d wind up with an article that was not just Bascom, but Bascom at his best, with his technical understanding clear to most readers who applied themselves to “get it.”

Bascom understood. “I see you’ve been making my copy readable, again,” he growled one day, after he’d seen his latest review in print. But it was a good-natured growl, I think. And I’m sorry he’s no longer around to confirm or correct that.

Bascom H. King.

******

Paul McGowan notes:

Bascom was one of a kind. He was a close and dear friend.

I first met him because of Arnie Nudell, the late founder of loudspeaker company Infinity Systems. Bascom was Infinity’s chief engineer and responsible for not only most all of their electronics, but overseeing all of the speakers’ crossovers, servo electronics, and amps. This was back in the day when Infinity offered statement products like the legendary IRS III which stood over six feet tall and employed dozens of midrange and high-frequency planar-ribbon drivers, and separate woofer towers with built-in amplifiers and servo mechanisms. 108 separate speaker drivers in all! (It ultimately evolved into the IRS V.)

In later years, Bascom was the designer of our top-of-the-line BHK Series, the only PS Audio products ever to be graced with his name. Most of his other work was as a hired gun for companies like conrad-johnson and Constellation Audio. In fact, at one time or another he designed for just about everyone.

If you want to see Bascom in action there’s a video we posted of him at the time of the launch of his BHK Signature power amp. You can see it here:

We also have an interview series I recorded here:

Bascom’s final product, the BHK Signature 600 monoblock power amplifier, was completed just before his passing. It is his best work. We should be able to release it in the next few months. It will be a fitting final tribute to his extraordinary talent.

******

Frank Doris comments:

I first met Bascom King sometime in the late 1980s or early 1990s (I should have kept a diary!) when I was working at The Absolute Sound as technical director. I was new to the audio industry and it was a role I struggled to live up to at first, since I had little engineering background, but editor Harry Pearson had confidence in me. Harry’s main reference loudspeaker was the IRS III and he and Arnie Nudell were friends (and sparring partners), so it was inevitable that I would ultimately talk to Infinity engineer Bascom King.

Knowing Bascom’s reputation, I felt more than a little intimidated the first time I had a conversation with him, at the suggestion of Arnie, who insisted that Bascom brief me on all things Infinity. Bascom felt me out a little at first, but after he realized I was eager to learn, he poured out a torrent of information. I have to say I would not characterize him as unopinionated.

I first met him in person at a CES, then the premier show for high-end audio. He was very friendly, and I was excited to meet a person who I considered to be one of the guys in the industry. As before, it wasn’t a short conversation. He was a person who wanted to get his ideas across, and had no inclination to be brief about it.

I had a number of phone conversations and visits with him until 1996 when I left TAS, and lost touch with him. Decades went by – it happens all too often with people I’ve met – though I’d read of his work over the years and knew he was affiliated with PS Audio.

Then, last year, out of the blue, he sent me a manuscript of an article he was working on for possible publication. Paralleling Ivan’s experiences, the article needed some “translation” to be understandable to non-engineers (and to me). As a result, I had a few conversations with him over the past few months and it was like déjà vu and the old TAS and Infinity days, with me asking him to explain things like the “sex” of a circuit (I’m not kidding) and other esoterica. Once again, he was the teacher and I was the acolyte.

In April, I sent Bascom a follow-up e-mail since I hadn’t heard back from him in a while. The e-mail went unanswered. Then I heard from Paul that Bascom had passed. Like so many others, I was shocked.

But I’m glad I had the opportunity to talk with him those last few times – and after all those decades of having lost touch with him. Life works in mysterious ways sometimes.

Last summer rock legends Styx came to Connecticut and headlined on a bill with REO Speedwagon, and opened a brand-new venue, the Hartford HealthCare Amphitheater in Bridgeport. It was a popular pairing of bands that’ve enjoyed a shared bill for many years. But the “first” that mattered most that night was that it was the first live show many had seen since the outbreak of COVID the year prior. The show was the appropriately named “We Are Back!” tour.

In so many ways it seems like Styx has never left us. Backed by a catalog of endless hits including “Lady,” “Come Sail Away,” “Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man)”, “Mr. Roboto” and others and four consecutive multi-platinum albums, Styx has remained in front of audiences across the country for 50 years. This has been largely in amphitheater settings where they have helped define their fans’ summers, and where they have left a mark that is the result of skills that seem to only sharpen with age.

Last year they released Crash of the Crown, their 17th studio album, and it was so well-received that Styx maintained a residence in Las Vegas where they hosted shows that began with a start to finish run-through of the record, and ended with a set filled with their best-known songs. Now the band has returned, and this time they are headed to Canada. It’s been years since they have crisscrossed the provinces of our northern neighbor and Styx will begin with a summer tour with REO and Loverboy), and conclude with a series of shows this autumn with Nancy Wilson of Heart.

Styx, Crash of the Crown, album cover.

We were able to find time in this band’s fantastically busy schedule to sit down with keyboard player and lead vocalist Lawrence Gowan, who is also a solo artist, about the tour and the band’s return to his native Canada. Lawrence joined Styx almost 25 years ago, replacing founding member Dennis DeYoung, and has become a fan favorite for his spot-on vocal talents and remarkable showmanship. The rest of the current Styx lineup includes Chuck Panozzo (bass, vocals), James “J.Y.” Young (guitar, vocals, keyboards), Tommy Shaw (guitar, vocals), Todd Sucherman (drums, percussion, vocals), Ricky Phillips (bass, vocals, guitar) and Will Evankovich (guitar, vocals)

Here’s an enlightening exchange with one of rock’s genuine “good guys,” and a walk down the memory lane of one of music’s most theatrical acts.

Ray Chelstowski: So, you must be excited about having the band return to Canada, your home. (The rest of the band is from the US.) What prompted the decision to come back?

Lawrence Gowan: Well, a couple of things. One is my whining (laughs). We haven’t played in three years and we are actually coming [to Canada] on two occasions. One is on the blockbuster summer tour with Loverboy and REO Speedwagon. Then we are headed back in the fall to Western Canada for the first time in [something] like seven years with Nancy Wilson.

RC: How do you decide who you’ll appear with on any given concert bill?

LG: There are so many ways of analyzing things like demographics that really go beyond the band’s scope of knowledge. We might think it would be good to tour with Foreigner or Boston, and then we’ll float the idea. It then goes through a kind of “the wash cycle” composed of our agents and our manager, because there are so many factors that come into play when you make a decision like that. That also includes what venues we decide to play. If the tour happens in the summer that decision’s easy. We tend to play amphitheaters because they’re outdoors. Between REO and Styx, right there you have about three hours of classic rock songs that everyone knows. We always enjoy touring with REO and for this tour we have had the most advance ticket sales of any tour we’ve ever done.  And with Loverboy on the bill, that helped sell an additional couple thousand extra tickets.

It is different as well in different regions. For example, one band may have more significance in one geographical area versus another. When we play at Sweden Rock [Festival] we’re on the bill with bands that we’d never be with elsewhere, but it works. One year before Lemmy [Kilmister] died, we were on the bill with Motörhead! That wouldn’t happen here.

Lawrence Gowan, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/jim simonson.

RC: When you return home to Canada, do you tend to go deeper into the Styx catalog, or does it then give you the opportunity to tap into more of your solo material?

LG: Yes. I love that we play “A Criminal Mind” and that people get an entirely different approach to the song when Styx plays it. But my own feeling is that to wedge more of my solo material into the set makes me a little uncomfortable. Styx has such a long legacy that stretches out beyond my solo career, and the name on the marquee is “Styx.” So, I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. It’s a really tough set list to crack anyway. There’s new material that we are trying to wedge in and we do it as seamlessly as we possibly can. But when you have such an embarrassment of riches when it comes to great songs to play, it creates a problem that’s great to have.

We did an album in 2017 called The Mission. When the album came out we would only play one song from that record in concert. It was the opening track of the record and it was less than two minutes long. We’d take it directly into “Blue Collar Man.” After about a month of touring, fans started asking through social media if we were going to play more songs from The Mission. They thought that it sounded so much like our classic material (which is what we intended). So, we then decided to introduce the song “Radio Silence” and we did the same thing, segueing it into songs that fans already knew, making it almost like a medley. It worked really well.

After a year we started hearing fans ask if we would do a show where we played the album in its entirety. With that, we went to Las Vegas and did a couple of nights at the Palms where we played the record in its entirety and then did a set of hits. Because of that, we started to do more shows like this in places like Boston. Then COVID hit.

Styx (L to R): Chuck Panozzo, Ricky Phillips, Todd Sucherman, Tommy Shaw, James “JY” Young, Lawrence Gowan. Courtesy of Rick Diamond.

RC: Your first album with the band was cut in 2003. How has the process changed since then?

LG: There a few pivotal moments in the life of the band. [One] was in 1999 when they hit a brick wall and were trying to figure out how to head out on the road with the four remaining members of the band. They addressed that by adding a new guy, me. The next was in 2003. It was a difficult period because the music industry was really in disarray at that point. The major labels were really beginning to flounder, looking to find their sea legs again. And we had the feeling that we needed to sound current but still sound like Styx, and that was a very tough balancing act. As a result, we made a much longer record than what was typical for us because with digital we were able to put everything on there. There was great enthusiasm going into it and there are some great songs that really stand out. But I think we’ve found a better way to make records now than we did back then.

RC: I continue to be amazed by how close your singing voice is to the person you replaced, Dennis DeYoung.

LG: Well, thank you for saying that, but it’s so subjective. There are people I’ve spoken to who’ve expressed exactly what you’ve said, and there are others that say the exact opposite. Our ears are all so different. I think that I’m somewhere in the middle. The most important thing when I joined the band was confirming that I could hit the notes. Did I have the same range? So, I drove to a nearby record store and I got a copy of The Grand Illusion. I came home, put it on, and realized that our ranges were pretty much identical. I got back together with the band three days later, and since then it’s never been suggested that I should try to sound like Dennis or even emulate what the records with him sounded like. I think back to when Phil Collins took over lead vocals for Peter Gabriel in Genesis. At the time I thought it was amazing how similar Phil sounded to Peter. Later on, I realized that they don’t sound alike at all. I think that the spirit of the band survived the change, the seismic shift of having someone [else] in that spot.

RC: Outside of Styx, is there any new solo material that you’ve been working on?

LG: I’ve been working on a record since 2011. But Styx has been so successful and our touring schedule is so intense that I have just been piecing it together. There just hasn’t been the time to focus on putting it all together and promoting it properly. Meanwhile, I play my solo shows whenever there’s a Styx break. But when I go back to the record I think, “man this is great! It’s got to come out soon!”

Header image: Styx (L to R): Lawrence Gowan, Chuck Panozzo, Tommy Shaw, James “JY” Young, Ricky Phillips, Todd Sucherman. Courtesy of Jason Powell.

Part One and Part Two of this report appeared in Issue 162 and Issue 163. Once again, I’ll note my usual show report qualifiers: it was impossible to cover everything even in three days, and I missed getting some prices and other details. I never make definitive judgments about sound at shows. If I hear something I like, great; if not, I know it’s tough to get good, let alone optimal sound at these events.

I took a lot of photos, so this installment is going to be heavy on images. Here we go:

There’s been a lot of hand-wringing lately about how high pricing could be discouraging new customers from coming into the high-end audio fold. I certainly encountered a lot of components and speakers with stratospheric price tags. That’s why I found the Devialet Dione soundbar to be one of the most attractive products at the show. It’s not cheap at $2,400, but it looked terrific and sounded excellent. Think soundbars aren’t “audiophile” products? If you’d heard the Dione, you’d think again. It features 17 drivers powered by a total of 950 watts RMS, offers Dolby Atmos, Bluetooth, HDMI 2.1, AirPlay, ARC and eARC, a number of stereo music and virtual surround movie modes, and even built-in room calibration. I noted a lot of younger people in the room. This is the kind of product the high-end needs to attract a new generation.

Devialet Dione soundbar (under the TV) and other Devialet speakers.

The fun factor was high in the Bethesda, Maryland retailer JS Audio room, as they had the Wilson Audio WAMM system – serial number 001! – playing, in their “Hi-Fi Time Warp: 1981” exhibit. Yep, somehow they’d manage to secure the original pair. Driven by D’Agostino and other electronics, the funky, clunky-looking assemblage of dynamic drivers, electrostatic panels, huge woofer towers and a dedicated Wilson Audio equalizer looked like a disparate collection of stuff that wouldn’t work together, but it made music: you could literally hear what designer David Wilson was striving for. Maybe not state of the art by today’s standards – heck, Wilson himself outdid it over the decades – but it was just plain fun to listen to, and a system I could live with forty-one years later.

Aural history: the original Wilson Audio WAMM system.

The WAMM system equalizer. How cool is that logo?

Canadian retailer Wynn Audio had a dazzling display of high-end components from around the world, including the Karan Acoustics KA PH1 Reference phono stage ($27,000), LINEa preamplifier ($41,000) and POWERa monoblock amplifier ($106,000), a Kalista DreamPlay X transport ($68,800) and Métronome AQWO player/DAC $20,000), some extremely interesting grounding boxes and system-tuning devices from Entreq, the Thales Audio TTT Compact II turntable ($15,530) and Simplicity II tonearm ($9,450), X-Quisite Fire cartridge ($11,140), Vimberg Mino D loudspeakers ($58,000/pair), and much more. Many of the components were being shown for the first time in the US. This was one of my favorite rooms at AXPONA. The sound simply drew me in and I knew it was something special even as I entered the room, an impression that was only confirmed as I saw down in the sweet spot. Clear, detailed, inviting, spacious – this kind of sound is what high-end audio should be.

Look at that finish! Vimberg loudspeakers in the Wynn Audio room.

Also spotted at Wynn Audio: the striking Kalista DreamPlay X disc player/streamer/DAC/preamp.

I was delighted to reconnect with my old friend Matthew Bond, founder of Tara Labs and now heading up Matthew Bond Audio, sharing a room with Dynaudio, Octave Audio electronics, and others. I experienced excellent “big room” sound – not every speaker works in a large space, but the Dynaudio Confidence 60 towers certainly did – this system had that “thing” going where the line between real and reproduced sound is blurred. The sound was warm but balanced, smooth but not blunted, and, well, seductive. Rooms like this, Wynn Audio, and others, made me wish I was a “civilian” and not a show reporter, so I could just luxuriate in some of the rooms rather than feeling compelled to cover as much ground as possible.

The Dynaudio/Matthew Bond Audio room.

At the AGD Productions room I finally got to see and hear the talked-about GaNTube, which looks like a big power tube but in reality houses a gallium nitride MOSFET solid-state device. When I asked principal Alberto Guerra why it looked that way, he responded that he wanted to literally show people that his preamps and power amps were “all about innovation. I didn’t want to make a black box.” In addition to his electronics, the room featured Ocean Way Audio Eureka loudspeakers, which I’ve heard before and liked very much, and these speakers and the AGD electronics complement each other very well.

AGD Electronics’ GaNTube.

ATOHM loudspeakers and Atoll Electronique components in the Audio Excellent room. One of the tower models was playing “Fender Bender” by Chris Jones at near-pants-flapping volume, yet you could hear the subtle high-hat on the track in the midst of it all.

The mighty Avantgarde Acoustic Active Trio G3 loudspeaker system. They were in a big room, but I wasn’t able to get far enough away from them to hear the drivers integrate and make any kind of judgment, as the room was packed when I was there.

With their spherical design and organic-looking helix-shaped stands, Cabasse loudspeakers are attention-getters, (they also make conventional-looking speakers) and I’ve been hearing consistently good sound from them at shows, with AXPONA being no exception. Their larger models are exceptional, but I have to say, this time out I was equally impressed by their smaller speakers like the Pearl Akoya ($1,899 each), a coaxial design that delivered an impressive amount of sound with a rich tonal balance from a speaker less than nine inches in diameter.

Cabasse Pearl Akoya speakers.

Sometimes, $246,938 worth of gear really does sound fantastic, as evidenced in the Stillpoints room, which featured their new ESS Ultra turntable stand, Ultra 6 isolation feet, Viola Labs electronics, Rockport Technologies Atria II loudspeakers, a Wolf Audio Systems Alpha 3 SX music server and Bricasti M1 SE DAC, and cables and line conditioners by Madison Audio Labs, Telos, and Shunyata Research. I will just quote from my notes here: “Best sound so far. Sounded like music. The sax sounded real. Perfect balance, not harsh. Natural. Great.” Wolf Audio Systems had an impressive setup of their own in an exhibit that included their Alpha 3 SX music server ($9,295 – $12, 295 depending on configuration), TAD Evolution 2 speakers ($20,000/pair), T+A electronics, a VPI Avenger direct-drive turntable ($30,000) and Analog Relax EX1000 cartridge ($17,500) and other top-shelf gear.

Bruce Jacobs in the Stillpoints room.

Stillpoints Ultra 6 V2 isolator.

I know I’m starting to sound like a gushing audio fanboy at this point, but I really did encounter some really enjoyable sounds at AXPONA. The Linkwitz LX521 loudspeakers feature an open-baffle design, where the midrange and tweeter drivers are mounted on an enclosure-less front baffle, in order to eliminate cabinet resonances and colorations. This design is used successfully by Nola Speakers and even as far back as the classic Dahlquist DQ-10, and for a reason – when done right, it works. The LX521 woofer fires into a uniquely-shaped enclosure. The dynamics of this speaker were utterly spectacular. I’ve heard the Hugh Masekela audiophile chestnut “Coal Train” more times than I want to recount – it’s one of those songs like Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Tin Pan Alley” that have been played so many times at shows that your ears glaze over whenever someone demos it – but it sounded astounding on this system, with a dynamic realism that was startling, even a little scary.

Loud and clear: the Linkwitz LX521 speakers.

For those who like an old-school look, Butcher Block Acoustics offered a number of wood stands and racks, yet with modern-day isolation technology. Jim and Jim Ryan Whithorne show off their wares.

Disclaimer – I do consulting for Audio-Technica, and used to handle their consumer PR. That said, the sound in the Joseph Audio room was simply stunning, via the Joseph Audio Pearl Graphene speakers ($44,500/pair), Doshi Audio Evolution monoblock amplifiers and Doshi electronics, and a front end featuring a J. Sikora turntable and tonearm and an Audio-Technica AT-ART1000 cartridge (hence the disclaimer), along with a Studer tape deck with modified electronics. (I can’t recall the music server.) When I first entered the room, they played a Dean Martin record that sounded really good – but then the guys thought the VTA was a little off. If you have a steady hand, the J. Sikora arm allows for adjusting VTA on the fly – a dream come true for those of us who are exacting about this sort of thing – and once the VTA was lowered, the bass filled out, as well as Martin’s voice, and the sound leapt into life. So lifelike that Dean Martin was practically putting his arm around us. I didn’t want to leave.

The J. Sikora turntable.

I asked Nick Doshi his thoughts on the vacuum-tube supply situation and he informed me that the company had made a big order at the beginning of the year and had a two-year supply, so they were in good shape. He felt that tube company Electro-Harmonix was being proactive in staying on top of the situation.

Doshi Evolution amplifiers.

Harman International had a pair of rooms exhibiting Revel and JBL loudspeakers, and Mark Levinson and Arcam electronics. The Revel Performa F328Be ($8,800 each, so named because of its beryllium tweeter) sounded every bit the accurate, uncolored speakers I know them to be via Mark Levinson’s new “entry-level” 5000 Series electronics (No. 5105 turntable and cartridge, $7,700; No. 5101 streaming CD player, $6,050; No. 5205 preamp, $9,900, and No. 5302 dual-monaural power amp, $9,900). That said, I was really taken with JBL’s L52 Classic loudspeaker ($999/pair), which look like a miniature version of the company’s iconic L100 Classic. Sometimes I just have an irrational affinity for certain audio components for no real reason other than their looks, or even just the idea of them. The 2-way, 5.25-inch-woofer L52 sounded really good to me, powered by an Arcam integrated amp, even if scaled down in the size of its musical presentation – but sounding far bigger than its 13-inch-high size would indicate. And yep, it has the same sculptured-squares foam grille look as its big brother, in three different colors, but why would you want anything but orange?

On the road again: the Revel Performa F328Be speakers ship in these cases.

TigerFox had an unusual and intriguing display. Their Immerse 360 system ($479) had show goers sitting inside a circular space that could be unrolled, and facing a pair of modest JBL bookshelf speakers. It worked: I heard a wide, deep and, well, immersive sound field that was far more expansive than the speaker placement would have you think.

Alta Audio had quite a presence, with their Adam loudspeaker ($17,000 – $18,000/pair depending on finish) making its debut at the show in four separate rooms. As you can imagine, the Adam was demonstrated using a variety of equipment from Krell, Infigo Audio, Rogers High Fidelity and Mojo Audio, and showed its sonic strengths in those varying circumstances, which provided a unique opportunity to “triangulate” on its sound. The Adam employs Alta’s XTL Extended Transmission Line cabinet-tuning and a ribbon tweeter, and it sounds far “bigger” than its driver size and relatively modest dimensions would have you believe at first look, with excellent presence, dynamics, and tonal balance. I’ve always been a fan of ribbon tweeters and the Adam reminded me why, yet again.

Mike and Maryann Levy of Alta Audio with their new Adam speakers.

For whatever reason, I’d missed the chance to listen to Göbel loudspeakers, except all-too-briefly, at every show I’d attended – until now. Bending Wave USA distributes Göbel (speakers and cables) in the US and is a dealer for CH Precision (electronics), WADAX (digital audio components), and Esoteric (digital source components and electronics), all of which were on exhibit. The striking Göbel Divin Marquis loudspeakers ($90,000/pair) were complemented by the equally visually stunning Wadax Atlantis Reference server ($76,500 as configured) and Atlantis Reference DAC ($145,000), and a CH Precision L10 preamp ($76,000) and M10 mono amplifiers ($104,000/pair). Where had I been all this time? The speakers could rock out David Bowie or convey the subtlety and nuance of a piano with equal clarity, detail, nuance and spaciousness. I certainly will not be missing the Bending Wave rooms at future shows.

Göbel Divin Marquis loudspeakers and CH Precision amplification.

The awe-inspiring VAC (Valve Amplification Company) Statement 452 iQ Musicbloc power amplifiers, driving Von Schweikert Audio ULTRA 7 speakers at The Audio Company exhibit. I didn’t see anyone leaving the room looking disappointed.

Audio Industry veteran Bruce Ball (how did us young guys become veterans?) announced the formation of a new distribution company, A/V Luxury Group International. He and co-founder Thomas Kiss will be handling Brodmann Acoustics (speakers), Margules Audio (electronics, speakers and turntables), Raidho Acoustics (speakers), RSX Technologies (cables), and Scansonic HD (speakers). A wide variety of products were on exhibit, and I was particularly taken by the room featuring the Margules electronics, who have been in business since 1937 and built the first radio station in Mexico. A solo violin recording proved so captivating that a woman, attending an audio show for the first time, excitedly said to me, “that’s a solo violin? It sounds so full and real!” She had no idea that music or audio equipment could sound like that, and was wowed. In fact, a number of attendees clearly were newcomers, not long-time audiophiles, which was really heartening.

Bruce Ball of A/V Luxury Group International with some of their product offerings.

Fidelis imports and distributes products from an exceptionally broad roster of manufacturers (too many to list – check the website!), and many were exhibiting at AXPONA, including Audio Analogue, Aurender, AVID Hi-Fi, Harbeth Audio, Heretic Loudspeakers, Lab12, and Neat Acoustics. I enjoyed the sound from the latter’s Majistra speaker, a modestly-sized 2-way with a ribbon tweeter (there I again; I just like ’em!) that seemed particularly well-matched to the size of the room it was in. It was clear and smooth with, not surprisingly perhaps, great upper-midrange and highs. And, my eyebrows, and ears, were raised at the sight of the Heretic A612 loudspeaker, based on an old Altec design. Soon to be released, the Canadian-built A612 has a coaxial driver in a large, low-sitting cabinet, and offers a high 97 dB efficiency. It sounded coherent, dynamic, and I spent far too little time with these, something I hope to remedy as soon as possible.

Richard Colburn of Fidelis with the Neat Acoustics Majistra speakers and other gear.

Heretic Audio A612 loudspeakers.

This sign enticed show goers into the Alta/Rogers/Mojo Audio room.

By this time, I only had about a half-hour left, and was in near-panic mode at the thought of what I was going to miss…Martin-Logan, Mbl, Vinnie Rossi, Audio Note, Pass Labs, Bel Canto, Elac, Malbork, Hegel, Parasound, Scaena…agghh!

By sheer serendipity, though, I closed the show on a high note, in the AudioThesis room. I listened to a pair of absolutely gorgeous Rosso Fiorentino Pienza 2 stand-mounted speakers ($4,900/pair; stands, $1,300/pair) powered by a Norma SC-2B preamp ($8,000) with R2R DAC, ($2,700) and PA-160MR mono amps ($25,000/pair) with a Lumin P1 network player ($10,000) as the source, and AudioQuest cabling and power conditioning. The system also had Caprice Audio’s CA Core system-noise-reduction device installed. It’s a noise-floor controller that plugs into up to six components, in order to improve ground plane behavior during music playback.

As soon as I sat down I was transfixed by the music. Sweet, tonally rich, clear, inviting…I did not want to leave, especially after a mind-blowing song came on, “II (Suspended Variations)” by the Tomasz Stanko Quartet. I forgot where I was, and for a few transcendental moments, who I was. And that, my friends, is what this whole exciting, fun, crazy, obsessive, sometimes maddening, sometimes cosmic, audio thing is all about.

Derek “Skip” Skipworth of AudioThesis and Luis Alberto of Caprice Audio in the AudioThesis room.

Header image: audiophiles are a dedicated bunch. Spotted in one of the Alta Audio rooms.

All images courtesy of the author.

I’m willing to bet that most of us with big speakers, bulky amps, and dedicated listening rooms rarely use headphones. I’m not talking about the sweaty loud ones you use on the treadmill, or the sound-insulating, noise-canceling cans for plane trips and office work. I’m especially not talking about portable buds, pods, and wireless sets that let you talk, stream, and tell Alexa to order groceries from your smartphone. When I say headphones, I’m talking about those large over-ear pieces of plastic, padding and metal tethered directly to an amp with a cable and whose primary function is to disconnect you from the world so you can just focus on the music.

I’ve had several sets over the years, usually for no other reason than to blast music while my parents were home. My first headphones were a pair of Realistic Nova series from RadioShack, powered by my Sony compact all-in-one receiver/turntable. For increased mobility, I bought an extension cord that uncoiled as far as my desk and bed. One Christmas, I requested the ultimate in 20th century engineering, a pair of AM/FM battery-powered headphones with tuning knobs and antennae for reception. My parents weren’t hip to that idea. They had already bought me a transistor radio, but I wanted to listen to KC and The Sunshine Band and ride my bike at the same time. They outlined a number of frightening scenarios, like not being able to hear the speeding Camaro that would run into me. Or, if it suddenly started to rain, I could be electrocuted by the batteries or struck by lightning, both causing me to ride my bike into a ditch. Then, there was the danger of other kids stealing the electronics that shouldn’t be outdoors in the first place. I’m sure it’s the thoughts of such hazards that have prevented me from ever committing fully to portable music.

In junior high school, I upgraded to a pair of chunky brown Koss with a nifty volume knob. Koss was one of the more popular brands of the 1970s, but others included Pioneer, Pickering, Sansui, Kenwood, Sony, and, of course, Tandy/Realistic from RadioShack. By the time I graduated to my NAD 7250PE receiver, I was finally ready for something a bit more refined and splurged on the Austrian-made AKG K240s. These were different than all the closed-back headphones that created a sealed listening environment around your ears. The K240s (available today as the K240 Studio and K240 MKII) are a semi open-back model that allows for some ambient sound to be heard from the outside world and gives your music a more “open” and lifelike sound. I had them for years and enjoyed their ability to provide consistently good sound, no matter what my speakers or room were like. But as my gear improved over time, my critical headphone listening nearly ceased – until we all started working from home during lockdowns. With the AKGs long gone, it was time again to get a new set of headphones so I wouldn’t bother my wife.

After researching their phono cartridges in the past, I was aware that Grado Laboratories, founded in 1953 and headquartered in Brooklyn, NY, had been making headphones for more than thirty years. (For an in-depth piece about Grado, please read John Seetoo’s Copper articles in Issue 115 and Issue 116.) Figuring that it really wasn’t worth spending too much, I decided to buy one of their more reasonable models that have been in production since the early days.

The Prestige SR80e, about $100 at the time, sounded terrific. (The current model is the SR80x.) I also got the 15-foot Grado X-Series extension cable, which cost almost as much as the headphones but allowed my wife and me to work in different rooms. When lockdowns ended and I got my listening room back, I immediately forgot about my Grados, but then a friend called on me for some headphone advice. As I explored possibilities for him, I realized how much the world had changed. There were headphones selling for nearly as much as a pair of Klipsch Cornwall floorstanding speakers. And the category had become increasingly specialized, with choices of electrostatic, planar magnetic, or dynamic drivers, and a variety of in-ear options also existed, complete with noise-cancellation and wireless features. How did we go from RadioShack Novas to the current panoply of brands, styles, and prices?

John Chen, sales manager at Grado Laboratories, reminded me that Steve Jobs and a youth-driven market have played a huge role in reinvigorating headphone technology and sales. If you’re old enough to have owned a Sony Walkman cassette player, you realize how revolutionary the Apple iPod was in portable music, followed of course by CD-quality and high-resolution streaming formats available on smartphones and other devices. Add today’s new generation of headphones, and the portable music experience is better than ever. My friend ended up getting a pair of $399 wireless over-ear Sennheiser MOMENTUM 3 headphones with active noise cancellation, which he couples with his iPhone. He really likes their convenience, comfort, and sound, but his satisfaction has not encouraged me to up my portable game.

I still have a $10 pair of earbuds for my old Android phone, and I don’t have plans to adopt Bluetooth in-ear monitors, with or without active noise-cancellation, but I’ll always have a good old-fashioned set of traditional indoor headphones.

I’ve been using the SR80e for about two years and they sound just fine to me, but there are diehard Grado users out there who spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on their sets. Grado headphones run from $100 to $1,795, and in a few months, they will release the GS3000x in their Statement Series, which will be priced at $1,995. I have never owned an expensive pair of headphones and have always wondered why someone would spend so much, until John Chen generously let me audition the Reference Series RS1x at $750 – approximately seven times the price of any headphones I’ve ever owned.

Grado Rs1x headphones.

They arrived beautifully packaged and presented in a white box. The materials are top-notch, with a heavy copper 8-conductor cable and leather headband. I plugged the phones into my Rogers High Fidelity 65-V1 tube integrated amplifier, which has a dedicated headphone output circuit with impedance matching, a convenient feature given that some onboard stages might not power your headphones properly and require you to use an additional headphone amplifier to flesh out the signal or drive headphones with impedance levels as high as 600 ohms.  For the driver housing, the RS1x phones use gorgeous wooden cups made of maple, hemp, and cocobolo. The size of the ear cushion, the materials used, and the distance from the drivers to the ears are carefully thought out for optimal sound quality because listeners are essentially wearing a listening room on their heads.

I wasn’t even sure what to expect from high-end headphones. I remember first hearing a pair of Cerwin-Vega speakers with 15-inch woofers that sounded so good to my young ears, because I reacted to them viscerally. The bass beat my chest and the horn tweeter shrieked, but that’s certainly not what I want in headphones. I shouldn’t be blown away with thumping bass and extreme volumes – which can be achieved easily with a far cheaper set of headphones. I want a balanced full spectrum of sound and ample bass but at moderate volumes so I don’t damage my hearing even further.

I started by listening to vinyl, but decided that for extended listening, I would stream hi-res and CD-quality files from Qobuz via my laptop and a Schiit Modi 3E DAC. I enjoyed selections by Norah Jones, Bill Evans, Chet Baker, Johnny Cash, Joni Mitchell, The Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, and the Tedeschi Trucks Band, but it’s when I came upon Steely Dan’s Aja (1977) that the RS1x really enchanted me.

Schiit Modi 3E DAC.

I hadn’t listened to those overplayed songs since they were on radio in the late 1970s, and hearing them fresh was a revelatory experience as Walter Becker, Donald Fagen, and something like 40 guest musicians who played on Aja, shined through the headphones. Though the vocals and instruments are layered, I always heard aural space and clarity. David Bowie, Primus, and The Police all sounded spot-on, but Steely Dan’s jazz-rock proved to be downright sublime. The RS1x were extraordinarily nuanced, precise, warm and intimate, yet sharply detailed and crisp and addictive in a way that gave me a fresh perspective on what high-end headphone listening has to offer.

First, I think most headphone enthusiasts would agree that audiophile-grade detail, dynamic range and musical engagement are possible at far lower cost than with a set of comparable speakers. That would be especially true of my Grado SR80e’s: I have yet to hear a $100 pair of speakers that sound that good. Secondly, headphones allow you to be fully immersed in great-sounding music without worrying about space requirements, room treatments, and disturbing the neighbors. Finally, integrating a pair of headphones into your existing system does not require a major investment in audio components. If you don’t already have a headphone jack on your integrated amp, preamp, or receiver, it’s as easy as adding a headphone amplifier, starting at $99. In fact, a fine speaker-less system can be built upon a DAC/integrated amp combo unit.

If there comes a time when I no longer want to maintain a scorching tube amp, floorstanding speakers, and a vinyl collection, I would get the best Grado headphones I could afford and either a Schiit Jotunheim with DAC module, PS Audio’s Sprout,  or the ultimate all-in-one player, PS Audio’s Stellar Strata. Meanwhile, I will savor the RS1x for a few more hours before I have to ship them back to Brooklyn. Maybe I’ll listen to Aja one more time.

Header image of the Grado RS1x from the Grado Labs website.

Octave Records has two new releases for your musical and audiophile enjoyment: Everlasting Dance by the “Gypsy Grass” group TIERRO Band with Bridget Law, and Audiophile Masters, Volume VI, the latest in Octave’s series of reference-quality sampler discs.

Everlasting Dance combines world music, bluegrass, country, Americana, jazz and other not-so-categorizable influences. Like Audiophile Masters, Volume VI, It’s recorded in high-resolution DSD and SACD using Octave’s proprietary recording and mastering system and new premium gold disc formulation.

The band features Tierro Lee’s dazzling acoustic and electric guitar playing, and the fiddle and vocals of Bridget Law. The other musicians include Charles Parker Mertens (acoustic bass), Jonny Jyemo (percussion) and Nabin Shrestha (tabla), along with guest vocalists Bonnie Paine, Xerephine, and Megan Letts. Together, they bring a world of experience to the making of Everlasting Dance. Tierro Lee is lead guitarist for blues legend Otis Taylor, and Bridget Law is the founder of Americana group Elephant Revival. Mertens has studied ragas in India and toured with Thievery Corporation and Rapidgrass.

(Scroll down for our interview with Tierro and Bridget.)

Everlasting Dance was recorded mostly live by GRAMMY-winning engineer Mike Yach at Animal Lane Studios in Lyons, Colorado using Octave Records’ Pure DSD process and the Sonoma multi-track DSD recording system. It features Octave’s premium gold disc formulation, and the disc is playable on any SACD, CD, DVD, or Blu-ray player. Everlasting Dance (SRP: $19 – $29 depending on format) also has a high-resolution DSD layer that is accessible by using any SACD player, a PS Audio SACD transport, or by copying the DSD tracks on the included DVD data discs. In addition, the master DSD and PCM files are available for purchase and download (including DSD64, DSDDirect Mastered 192kHz/24-bit, 96kHz/24-bit and 44.1kHz/16-bit PCM), along with Octave’s newest addition, 24-karat gold CDs at standard resolution. These CDs have been cut directly off the DSD master using BitPerfect’s state-of-the-art Zephiir filter.

From the beginning cymbal crash and Lee’s driving guitar on the opening track, “Dorset of Perception,” the album immerses listeners in a feast of worldly musical influences and varied rhythms. The musical styles range from the outlaw-country “Gypsy Weed” to the introspective violin-featured ballad, “Sitka,” and the driving beat and nylon-string acoustic guitar of “Casa Latina.”

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Audiophile Masters, Volume VI offers an eclectic selection of music, including flamenco guitarist Miguel Espinoza, the avant-jazz Seth Lewis Quintet, the classical piano and vocal group, Duo Azure, plus a strong selection of rock, pop, Americana, and other not-so-categorizable music. It’s available in the same formats as Everlasting Dance (SRP: $19 – $29) and was recorded using Octave Records’ Pure DSD process.

The album kicks off with a flourish, with Miguel Espinoza’s dazzling “Journey Home,” featuring flamenco guitar, cello, bass and percussion. The Seth Lewis Quintet navigates through harmonic twists and turns with the contemporary jazz of “Dream Theme.” There’s plenty of pop, country and Americana courtesy of Bonnie and Taylor Sims’ contemplative “Sleep,” Dylan McCarthy’s bluegrass workout “Marigold,” the piano- and vocal-driven title track from Clandestine Amigo’s Things Worth Remembering album, and the irresistible funk/rock/pop “Drug of Choice” from Dechen Hawk. Duo Azure offers “Liederkreis, Op. 39, no 6 – Schöne Fremde,” a beautiful classical piece for piano and voice. Additional selections from accordionist/vocalist Alicia Jo Straka, singer/songwriter Monica Marie LaBonte, and the marimba/handpans duo More Than Physics round out the album with the ethereal “Why We Fell In Love.”

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We interviewed Tierro Lee and Bridget Law about the making of Everlasting Dance.

Frank Doris: How did everybody in the band meet? You have quite a variety of different players and styles.

Bridget Law: We met because the singer for his band fell in love with my best friend! So, we were basically the instrumentalists who were backing them up.

Tierro Lee: We hit it off musically right away. It was a spark that everybody in the room felt. When we first jammed together, which was live on a stage, everybody in the room felt that magic. It sort of felt like Bridget and I were flirting, musically, in front of all of these people.

We’ve both known almost all of the other musicians, but we met them in a variety of different paths.

BL: By 2014 we were playing together, and this is our second studio album.

FD: You have all these disparate elements, like tablas, flamenco guitar, violin, and it doesn’t feel forced. It has all these elements, but it doesn’t sound like they’re clashing. Was that a conscious thing, or did it just happen?

BL: I think it’s the type of musicians we are. We pick the pieces that work for us and work and then kind of thread them into our own expression of music. For example, I’m really inspired by Hungarian gypsy fiddle players. I haven’t necessarily learned the entire genre, but I’ve been around it enough to know what the scales are and to feel the soul behind what they’re playing. Tierro has certainly done that with Latin and Arabian and using likes to use Hijaz scales. We can kind of speak a few musical words in this language and speak a few musical words in that language.

TL: The musicians in the band are just so good, it feels really natural. The other thing I want to say is that on the record, it does sound like everything was really easy, but it was so much work. There are compositions on that record that took years of playing them live and tweaking to get into a place where it was like, OK, this is really where it should be.

BL: During the beginning of quarantine, our son was born. When he was about nine months old, we flew to Canada and quarantined for two weeks in a lake house up in Northern Ontario. And that’s basically where we really pulled this record together. That’s where we wrote “Gypsy Weed.” That’s where we arranged “Everlasting Dance” and “Casa Latina.” That’s where the bulk of it came together, whether it was stuff that we had worked on for years or [newer songs].

FD: Which answers the question I was going to ask about how the pandemic has affected your music. The other half of the question is, what does everybody do going forward?

BL: I don’t think we let the pandemic get in the way of the music, at least the making of this album. Of course, we didn’t play shows and things like that, but we definitely made use of the quiet space in order to put down some really special material.

TL: 80 percent of that happened live and, and about 20 percent I think it’s fair to say overdubs.

I probably wouldn’t have been so motivated to make a record if it wasn’t for the DSD recording process. It’s definitely a format that I like. It’s the only format I like to record records on, now. I’ve been an audio engineer for about 15 years. And, and I got very deep into [high-resolution audio] very early on. And at the end of the day, I tell people that if I’m working in DSD, I can mix, I can record for 10, 12 hours a day. And at the end of my 12-hour day, my ears feel fine and I’d be happy to keep going. If I’m doing that at 16-bit/44.1 audio, give me four hours and I don’t want to do it anymore.

Tierro Lee.

BL: It’s like DSD captures the space between the notes more accurately, which allows you to hear so much dimension; you hear where everything [in the mix] sits in an almost physical way.

FD: I should get back to talking about the music because I’ll go totally audio geek if we don’t!

TL: “Casa Latina” is a song that was inspired because I was so in love with that flamenco sound and the Latin American culture. That song kind of came out of longing for that experience of being in a Latin American country and feeling their music and that heart and the love for the music. For years and years, I tried to capture that on my own and just failed for years and years and years. But I think I finally got it with that song.

BL: The original title of “Everlasting Dance” is actually “Gwen’s Everlasting Dance.” Gwen was my ballet teacher growing up. She was in her 70s and was really special in my life. I carried her obituary around in my fiddle case. And then one day I sat down by the river and I opened up the fiddle and I was like, all right, Gwen, let’s dance. And out comes this crazy gypsy fiddle tune, which is very unlike my classical ballet teacher.

BL: You asked before; where are we going from here? We have a whole other album that was sort of recorded with a different intention, kind of more “produced” version of a lot of these songs [and others].

TL: We’re doing some more gigs now that things are gonna open up a little bit, and we want to support the record and get out there. We’re playing the Sonic Bloom festival [at Hummingbird Ranch, Colorado June 16 – 19].

BL: We’ve got a couple of local shows, like the Niwot concert series, and then we do this kind of fun beach party in Buena Vista. We don’t have a ton of gigs. But we’re looking forward to getting back at it as things open up.

The shows have become more of a sacred experience. You never take them for granted anymore.

Header image: TIERRO band with Bridget Lee.

In my article, “My First Speakers” (Issue 158), I touched on the beginning of promoter Chuck Morris’ career as the booking agent at Tulagi. It’s now time to further develop that theme, as you can’t have a discussion of live music in Colorado without mentioning the names of the late Barry Fey, and Chuck Morris. They are synonymous with the area’s concert promotion, beginning in the 1960s through today. Fey and his company, Feyline, are responsible for over 900 concerts in the Denver metro area. Both Barry and Chuck have been inducted into the Colorado Music Hall of Fame.

This series will discuss a few of my favorite venues where I actually attended shows, and occasionally will include some tourist-guide-style information as to how we made it all possible. Although I spent much of my adult life in Colorado, I no longer live there, so this is a good place to start from a historical, sometimes hysterical, perspective.

And yes, there are newer large venues that have been added over the years, such as the Budweiser Events Center in Loveland, the Broadmoor World Arena in Colorado Springs and the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver, but I haven’t attended concerts there, so I won’t be discussing them.

In the Beginning

Barry Fey got his start in 1967 as the booking agent at The Family Dog, a bar in southwest Denver. In its brief 10-month life, Barry booked a lot of the biggest rock acts, including Janis Joplin for the bar’s opening night. The Denver Police Department was known for harassing the place. Denver wasn’t always the liberal city it is today and the DPD didn’t want hippies listening to rock and roll in their city. A bit presumptuous of them don’t you think? When the club closed, it reopened as a gentlemen’s club and then the harassment really began in earnest. Barry moved on to found Feyline.

(Click here for a link to The Family Dog Experience, “a psychedelic rock poster immersive exhibition celebrating Denver’s late ’60s The Family Dog” that will be held June 23 through July 27 at the Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Englewood, Colorado.)

Chuck Morris began his concert promotion career as a booking agent for Tulagi, a bar in Boulder’s University Hill district. In 1973, in partnership with the Feys, Chuck opened his own club, Ebbets Field, in the garden level of the Brooks Towers in downtown Denver. After being in business for only a short time, Denver-area audio dealer ListenUp got the contract for the sound system. Ebbets Field closed in 1977 after bringing many big music and comedy acts to Denver. Chuck went on to join Barry at Feyline as vice president of booking. As they say, the rest is history.

Barry was a big man. When he spoke, the world shook. Never shy, always passionate, often loud, sometimes profane, he got things done. With the arrival of Chuck, there was now someone to clean up the carnage left behind and to smooth over the waters. They made a good team and the area’s music fans benefited from it. For musicians, they turned Denver from a place you flew over to one that you wanted to play.

After more than a decade of studying under his mentor, Chuck left Feyline to start his own company. A few buyouts later, his company became part of Live Nation, the highest-grossing promoter in the United States. In 2008, he left Live Nation to join the Anschutz Entertainment Group, as President and CEO of AEG Live Rocky Mountains. AEG is now the second-highest grossing promoter and the largest in the Rocky Mountain Region.

My love of live music began in the summer of 1970. I saw concerts by John Kay and Steppenwolf and the Kinks at the Masonic Temple in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The facility seats up to 1,190 people, so everyone had a great view of the bands and the atmosphere was cozy. Later that summer, I saw the Rolling Stones at the Spectrum in Philadelphia. Of course, the Spectrum felt enormous, seating around 15,000 at that time. It was a large sports arena through and through with matching acoustics, but a lot of concerts were held there over the years. What I remember most about the Stones concert was the six-hour-long, go-nowhere traffic jam on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

And that’s how the locus of events all came together. Barry and Chuck made magic and I was fortunate enough to be there to witness it. The timing was impeccable. You often hear it said that other, older generations were the best, and those arguments have merit, but for a music lover, it couldn’t get any better than this.

To the reader of this series: I encourage you to follow the links. Don’t assume that when you follow one with the same upper text that the link leads to the same place. Many of them lead to rabbit warrens, where you could spend an enormous amount of time. Beware that if you drill down deep enough, you might find Alice. Just don’t be late.

The Denver Coliseum

The Denver Coliseum. Photo courtesy of Arts & Venues, City and County of Denver.

When I arrived in Colorado in August of 1970, there weren’t many large venues. The Denver Coliseum was home to the National Western Stock Show and two professional sports teams. It was an entirely different animal from the Spectrum. My college dorm mates affectionately referred to it as the Cow Palace (not to be confused with the Cow Palace in San Francisco). The Coliseum was really most at home with rodeos and tractor pulls, and it had a certain smell to it, but that may also have had something to do with the Purina dog food factory down the block. The acoustics weren’t really set up for music concerts, but there wasn’t much of a choice. It wasn’t ideal, but this is one of the places where Barry Fey started his career. And, during the stock shows, there was always at least one custom boot maker with a stall and good prices. Back then, you went to a highbrow party in Denver in your best cowboy boots, a Western shirt (often white) and ironed your jeans.

Motorcycle racing at the Denver Coliseum. Photo courtesy of Arts & Venues, City and County of Denver.

Denver also had the Auditorium Arena, and a few concerts were held there in the 1960s and early 1970s. but not many. The missing link was Barry Fey. When McNichols Arena opened, the basketball and hockey teams moved there, as did the concerts, and the Auditorium Arena’s arena section was razed. After 24 years, McNichols was also razed to make way for a new football stadium, and the Pepsi Center opened with a great sound system by ListenUp. For many, tearing down McNichols Arena, named for the former mayor, was fitting punishment for his 1971 decision to ban rock concerts at Red Rocks. The Pepsi Center, now Ball Arena, became the host venue for the sports teams and for concerts. Ball Arena is the home of the Denver Nuggets, the Colorado Avalanche, and the Colorado Mammoth professional sports teams.

The Pepsi Center in 2013. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/mark6mauno.

University of Colorado Balch Fieldhouse and Folsom Field

Of course, we can’t leave the arena concerts discussion without mentioning the concerts Barry Fey helped promote at the University of Colorado. There have been many concerts held at CU, especially Folsom Field. My first exposure was a Fleetwood Mac concert in the Balch Fieldhouse. It was also my first exposure to the laws of fluid mechanics. I had arrived early and got a spot within inches of the gate that would be opened to let the fans in. When the gate finally opened, the crowd surged and pinned me against the chain link fence while they flowed right on by. My hopes of being the first one in for general admission were dashed. Instead, I was one of the last. I pitched a mighty fit, and to my great surprise, I was led to a place where I could sit on the floor directly in front of the stage.

It was 1972 and I watched new band members Christine McVie and Robert Welch begin to change the dynamics of the English blues band to a softer pop version. It was the time of the Future Games album and the sound was fantastic, despite the enormous slap-back echo of the fieldhouse, which was so strong it could come around and slap you on the back of your head. Over the years, major improvements have been made to the Fieldhouse’s acoustics and to the sound system, to the point where it’s really good now. Sound by ListenUp, of course.

As for me, I tired of the hassles of arena concerts – charges for parking, and not enough parking at that, traffic jams, small seats, and unmanageable crowds. I moved on to small club venues and outdoor concerts. It wasn’t until later in life, after much business travel, that I discovered the modern concert convenience of the hotel. Why fight the crowds? Just wait until the next day when it’s convenient to leave. Until then, take the hotel shuttle.

Red Rocks Amphitheatre

Nighttime concert at Red Rocks. Photo courtesy of Arts & Venues, City and County of Denver.

The City and County of Denver began work on Red Rocks Amphitheatre in 1936. It was dedicated in 1941. The Civilian Conservation Corps provided most of the labor. Originally scheduled to be completed in two years, the amount of rock to be removed actually required five years to complete. Red Rocks was granted National Historic Landmark status in 2015, has nearly perfect acoustics – helped by natural sandstone first-bounce sound-reflection diffusers – and ample bench style seating with legroom. It’s held concerts of all music genres, as well as hosted many other functions. One of the big events, depending on the weather, is the Easter Sunrise Service. It’s not uncommon to see an exceptional sunrise during the service.

Red Rocks wasn’t always held in high regard. During a Jethro Tull concert in 1971, fans without tickets attempted to crash the gates and get in free. The Denver Police Department dispatched 200 officers and their helicopter to quell the riot. The helicopter, known colloquially as the Whirly Pig, was used to toss tear gas into the crowd. Jethro Tull continued to play, but Bill McNichols, the mayor of Denver, and the city council immediately banned rock concerts at Red Rocks. Barry Fey is credited with saving Red Rocks after suing the city four years later and winning. Rock returned to the Rocks in 1976, and The Rocks became Barry’s favorite venue. Barry was now The Rockfather, and the famous Summer of Stars concert series was soon to be born. As for the helicopter with its incredibly bright light, it met with an untimely fate a few years later. The chopper had been used in a very offensive manner by the authorities and a tremendous number of people were glad to see it go.

More recently, neighbors as far as two miles away from Red Rocks had been complaining about the noise levels from electronic dance music concerts. One person claimed the music, heavy on bass, shook the windows of his home at that distance. A truce was negotiated in 2016 and a sound-level policy was implemented. When Red Rocks partnered with Mixhalo to provide high-resolution sound to concertgoers’ phones, where they can listen at their chosen volume level, many EDM fans thought the sound level was being lowered again and erupted in protest. They argued that damaging their hearing is a right that comes with the price of admission.

The view from near the top of the Rocks. On a day without wildfires, you can see Denver International Airport, about 38 miles away. Photo courtesy of Arts & Venues, City and County of Denver.

Despite being hit hard by the pandemic, Red Rocks was the highest-grossing concert venue in the world in 2021, hosting 177 concerts. Attendance for the 2021 season was an amazing 996,570 paid admissions. 2022 promises to be a very busy season again, but the interesting part for me is that I’ve never heard of most of the bands who will be playing. It’s as if many of the regular touring acts haven’t restarted, leaving room for newer acts to step in and fill the calendar. And everyone wants to make the ritualistic exchange. Every artist who plays Red Rocks gets a small red sandstone plaque with their name engraved on it. In return, they leave their autograph on the backstage walls with a Sharpie.

I’ve attended a lot of shows at Red Rocks, but I don’t remember any of them. I don’t think that’s related to the 1970s, but rather to our beverage of choice. It gets hot in the amphitheater in the afternoon due to the blazing Colorado sun beating down on the red sandstone, which absorbs a lot of heat, much like a sauna. So, we devised a strategy to take our own beverages in. Back then, you were allowed bring in a small cooler chest, an acknowledgement of the fact that it got so hot. One that was just big enough to hold a gallon, a brick of blue ice and a few plastic cups was perfect. Of course, security would always stop us, inspect us, select us, detect us, but never reject us. They would always ask what was in the container. Cranberry juice, just like it says on the label. eh? Not. They were Cape Codders – cranberry, lime and vodka. Not to worry, we always had a designated driver. Whomever was in the best shape at the end of the concert was designated as the driver. Life was simpler back then. This clearly wouldn’t work today. We always made it home safely and were never involved in any incident.

The Rainbow Music Hall

The Rainbow Music Hall was one of Barry Fey’s great dreams, and another collaboration with Chuck Morris. Barry boasted there wasn’t a bad seat in the house and that the acoustics were great. ListenUp had once again engineered a phenomenal sound system. Even the ceiling appeared to be full of Klipsch La Scala speakers, a reference standard for commercial sound systems at the time. Though there was limited seating of only 1,400, the venue drew many big-name acts. I had the chance to see the Pretenders, Earl Klugh, Pat Metheny, Sadao Watanabe, Spyro Gyra, and Al Jarreau during the venue’s 10-year run.

In the next part of this series, we’ll explore some of the smaller Colorado venues, both past and present, saving one of the masterpieces for last. And remember, support live music. With recording contracts being what they are today, touring is one of the few ways artists have to make a living. Find what works for you with regards to your concerns for health and safety, and patronize them, especially local talent. Coddle and foster those artists to help them thrive. Without them, we audiophiles would have nothing to play on our high-end systems.

Header photo courtesy of Arts and Venues, City and County of Denver.

For fans of bands like Talk Talk, Pink Floyd, Dire Straits, and Blur, the trio of Martin Ditcham, David Joseph, and David Mau have got a surprise in the form of their new band, Held By Trees, and their progressive/post-rock-tinged instrumental album, Solace.

Released on April 22nd, Solace’s eight tracks cover the totality of the trio’s musical inventory, ranging from ethereal ambient all the way to noisy post-rock, and making stops at various other junctures along the way.

If that sounds a touch too intimidating for you, worry not; Solace is relaxing and enjoyable, whether listening to it intently or with a good book and a glass of wine on a slow, creeping evening. Solace scratches the itch for the new and interesting, while also giving warm vibes and whimsical effervescence.

We recently caught up with the three members of Held By Trees.

Andrew Daly: Guys, I appreciate you taking the time today. What have all of you been up to?

Martin Ditcham: I’ve been doing remote recording from a studio here in Belém, Brazil, delivering drums and percussion for various artists from the UK, Germany and France.

David Joseph: Hello, and thank you for having us! Been mainly holding up very well, thank you. I caught the dreaded plague recently, but I had it mildly. I’ve been like a kid at Christmas watching Held By Trees develop!

David Mau: Great to chat with you, Andrew. As for most of us, just trying to still get on with life. We all have. The last year or so has been hard on all of us, but I feel we’ll get through this pandemic. I’ve been busy writing for television cues and songs, [and] writing and producing upcoming artists; one of which everyone shall soon know. Just, generally getting along.

AD: The three of you come from different backgrounds, and that really shows in the music you’ve created. Tell me about some of your earliest musical memories.

MD: My dad was a drummer, so drums were my destiny. I played along to music on the radio, mainly the Beatles, as we were saturated by them in those days.

DJ: My parents are musicians and our home and car were always soundtracked by either the radio or their record collection. Tapes, LPs, CDs, videos, everywhere. I am told I learned to put a record on at about four years old. I loved Genesis, Dire Straits, Sky, and Chris Rea. [My parents] recorded [the] Knebworth 1990 [concert] off the TV and my brother and sister and I watched it over and over. When I was a little bit older I got swept up in the Britpop movement that was so big in the UK. Blur became and still is my favorite-ever band.

DM: I think it all started with my parents’ love of music and how they shared that with me. They even took me to a couple of concerts in Golden Gate Park [in San Francisco] when I was very young. They were also friends with a few jazz musicians, including the members of the Modern Jazz Quartet. Then there’s Day On The Green in Oakland. (Laughs).

AD: Who are some of everyone’s musical influences?

MD: Drum-wise, Ginger Baker, Mitch Mitchell, and Ringo at the beginning, followed by Elvin Jones, Tony Williams, Jack DeJohnette then later on Steve Gadd, Harvey Mason, and Kenny Malone amongst many others. Percussion-wise, Airto, Bill Summers, Ralph McDonald, and Tata Güines amongst many others.

DJ: When I first started a band I wanted to be like Blur and write short, catchy songs with social commentary lyrics. When I was 14 I discovered Pink Floyd and from then on I always wanted to balance atmosphere with energy. I got heavily into Van Morrison when I was about 15 and that pushed my songwriting into more spiritual themes. I guess I look to bands like Floyd, Blur, Radiohead, and Talk Talk who hold a tension between an experimental edge and melodic sensibilities.

DM: Gary Wright, Genesis, Pink Floyd, the Alan Parsons Project, Al Green, Brand X, Yes, Rush, Bad Company, and Sammy Hagar, among many others.

AD: Let’s talk about recent events. How did Held By Trees, a supergroup of sorts, come together? What can you tell me about the album, Solace?

MD: Dave rang me and asked if I’d like to participate. His vision sounded exciting so I said yes.

DJ: I was honored to get to connect with Tim Renwick (touring guitarist with Pink Floyd; he’s also played with Al Stewart and others, and solo). [It was] a few years ago and we did an ambient track together in early 2020, under one of my other monikers. In April 2020, I found myself in a particularly unique head space. It was [during] the first lockdown and a glorious spring here in England. The roads were quiet and the air smelled amazing. I found myself leaning into my deep love of the later Talk Talk and Mark Hollis (co-founder and singer of Talk Talk) solo albums and wrote three demos in two days. I sent them to Tim to see if it was “up his street.” He was honest and said it wasn’t, but that his friend Phill Brown had engineered those albums. Tim introduced me to Phill. When I showed Phill the demos, he was very encouraging and positive about them, and introduced me to Martin (who plays drums and percussion), who Phill Brown had worked with on Talk Talk’s Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock albums, and with Mark Hollis.

When Martin said he would play on a studio recording of the demos, I wondered if I could reach out to the legendary Robbie McIntosh (guitar) who also worked on those albums and lives near to me in Dorset, England. We have mutual friends, who introduced us. When he agreed to play, I decided I would try and find other musicians who [had also played] on those records. I found Laurence Pendrous (piano) and Andy Panayi (flute/clarinet) through Facebook, and Simon Edwards (bass) through another website.

By then my confidence was high and I began to ask other musicians I love [to join the project]. I think once a few respected people are involved, it [becomes] easier to ask others. To my delight, Tim Renwick, Eric Bibb and David Knopfler contributed more guitar. Mike Smith, who plays with Blur, Gorillaz and [on] Damon Albarn’s solo work played sax on the album, and Gary Alesbrook, who has worked with Noel Gallagher and Super Furry Animals (one of my favorite bands) played trumpet. I was able to reach out to and include musicians I’d met online through Talk Talk fan forums, which has been very rewarding. I also have several of my good friends from my [personal] musical circles playing on the album.

Most of the guys recorded their parts [with] their own [recording] setups during various levels of lockdowns, but we were able to mix the record in [a studio in] Eastbourne with Phill Brown on a Trident desk once used by Tony Visconti to make Bowie’s albums in the ’70s! The icing on the cake was [getting] Denis Blackham, who mastered the late Talk Talk and Hollis albums, to master ours. I can’t believe the result! Crazy.

DM: A little over three years ago, I met with Ralph (Otteson) and Bruce (Gaetke) for some coffee and to learn about their band, Time Horizon, and the new direction they were pitching to me. [We also talked about the Held By Trees project.] The music and their hearts convinced me to join and contribute to this endeavor. I did mention this all took about three years, right? So, the writing and recording of this took about two years, with finishing touches, mixing, and artwork to complete the third year. But well worth it!

AD: Everyone thinks differently. With that being said, I’d love to hear your individual takes on the themes running throughout Solace.

MD: My association with Talk Talk drew Dave’s attention to me. He was looking to include elements of their music to mix with his. He felt I might be an appropriate choice.

DJ: It’s funny. Even though there are no lyrics, for me the themes I was addressing in writing the initial chord progressions and drum patterns were very real. If you put a love of nature, spiritual hope, and a sense of alienation from mainstream culture in a blender and whizzed them up – that is what the heart behind Solace is. Somehow it holds [both] melancholy and hope in tension; at least I think so.

DM: Good question! The themes are diversified. “Living For A Better Day” has the theme of all of us pulling together and living in harmony with one another. “I Hear, I See” has a similar view. “The Digital Us,” I wrote as an observation that we live with screens between us. Whether it’s a phone, computer, tablet, etc. we almost prefer to have this “screen” between [us] instead of face-to-face conversations. As for [my] musical background bringing me here, I think it’s just life experiences and maturing.

AD: Do you self-produce, or bring in outside producers?

DM: Easy one. Self! Ralph, Bruce, and I. I have a full recording studio to use, so that was the perfect place to make this album a reality.

AD: What is it about Solace that sets it apart from your collective past work?

MD: The whole mood of the album is a very Zen-like experience. A calming, musical journey that you get thoroughly immersed in.

DJ: For me, this is my first “big boy pants” record. I’ve made a lot of music under various names over the years, but this is on another level in terms of quality and the kind of foundations I’m digging for going forward. I’m getting to work with a lot of people I admire greatly and have been fans of for many years. It’s just a dream come true really.

AD: Do the three of you collect physical music media?

MD: I buy CDs. I have a very large vinyl collection, so I have no urge to join the vinyl-buying stampede. Some of my favorite albums are Miles Davis Live at Fillmore…anything by Miles Davis, actually. The Nightfly by Donald Fagen. It’s a timeless classic because of how he sings, and how he sobs. Chick Corea. I also love [the] John Mayall and Peter Green live 1967 [John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers Live in 1967 Featuring Peter Green]. Peter Green was in stunning form!

DJ: I love the convenience of streaming. I have a Tidal hi-res subscription and the quality is astonishing. I have a vast CD collection, but it’s mainly in storage since moving house. In the last few years, I’ve gone back to vinyl in a big way. I think it’s probably my favorite way to listen to music. There’s a ritual to it that I think is spiritual.

DM: We are releasing Solace in digital form, CD, and yes – vinyl! My favorite album is Genesis’ …And Then There Were Three. See! There’s a theme!

AD: Tell me about some of your other passions.

MD: Music is my passion. I always give my heart and soul.

DJ: I adore being out in nature with my family and my dog, or quite happily on my own. It has increasingly inspired my music. I just want to soundtrack the English countryside, I guess. I’m a bit of a wannabe mystic. I love reading theology and exploring big juicy existential questions.

DM: I love to read, which give me volumes of thing to write about. The nuances of characters, the overall power of emotion and its effect, and effect on mankind. But I also love to snorkel, hike, cook and hang with my lovely wife.

AD: From the outside looking in, the music industry seems an ugly place. What’s your take?

MD: There’s always room for greatness and originality. Every true artist and band is filled with hope.

DJ: I think [being] hopeful is the best attitude. The power is very much in the artist’s hands to create their own career. There’s no point moaning too much about the lack of revenue from music. We just have to get on with it and try and make great music. Being negative and frustrated is understandable but ultimately a waste of energy.

DM: Another insightful question! Honestly, it depends on the genre, and the talent level. The world is always looking for the next big thing, and there are a lot of avenues. Self-promotion, and self-production to begin with are everything. Because the lines of genres have become blurred, it only helps new and fresh talent to enter. It’s a time to be hopeful and scared, for all the same reasons.

AD: Last question. What’s next for the three of you?

MD: I am looking forward to making more music. I’ve got tours planned, COVID permitting, of course.

DJ: We just had our first Held By Trees rehearsal in London. I’m excited to try and get out and play live. That’s the main thing from my perspective. It’s too early to think about another record, other than that I have every intention of doing one.

DM: The grand opening of my new recording studio, MauMan Studios, later this year. We have some great talent already booked to bring new and fresh music to the world. Can’t wait! As for a post-COVID world, I am waiting. Looking forward to a large rock and roll concert, for sure!

Have you ever wondered, just how does a vinyl record even sound good at all? Well, how does it in reality? The PVC vinyl that records are made from, and the record-manufacturing process, aren’t exactly free from factors that can ruin the chances of cutting a good record. In fact, the odds are heavily stacked against it.

In this series we will examine and demystify the many contributing factors which each have a critically essential part to play in making an outstanding-sounding record, as compared to the average offerings that are out there en masse.

Back to the question. How does a record even sound good at all? I asked Lewis Hopkin, vinyl mastering engineer and owner of Stardelta Audio Mastering, located in Dartmoor National Park in Devon, England. Stardelta offers a wide range of services including vinyl mastering and cutting, digital mastering, and mastering from stems or analog tape sources. He has formed a career spanning everything from GRAMMY award-winning records and worldwide number one hits to underground albums from independent artists in pretty much every genre of music. He has some strong opinions of which we include his thoughts here and in an upcoming Part Two, to appear in Issue 165.

Lewis Hopkin: Initially, I think the thing to say about a record is that I have always viewed [creating one] as a very honest and reasonably direct energy transfer, or at least [during] the cutting stage. After the cut, things get…interesting. What type of energy transfer are we referring to? Vibrations. Vibrations which are etched physically into the carrier [the vinyl record]. These grooves are then played back by a stylus that retraces the grooves. So, in essence, vibrations go in and those vibrations [ultimately] go [back] out to the speaker.

Although this is a gross oversimplification of the process, I have always felt that at least some of the lifelike qualities of a record, are just this. I feel that the emotional connection and realism we hear from records has a lot to do with the natural process of the reproduction of the vibrations. However, it would be hard to claim that making a high-quality record is a simple process, or indeed one that hasn’t undergone an enormous amount of processing.

I want to address the differences between a proper vinyl mastering engineer and a machine operator cutting at a pressing plant.

On the one hand you have an engineer who is dedicated to the technical pursuit and the audio pursuit of producing a profoundly impressive result. On the other hand, you have a machine operator who will do [simply] that, and will take the easiest and most efficient route to [producing a] product. And, of course, the [less-skilled or less-involved] machine operator will ruin the end result. Without fail, pressing plant cuts are compromised by being obligated to fit a directive: [be] quick and safe. The two approaches are at loggerheads with each other – day and night, chalk and cheese; yes, worlds apart.

You could produce a technically-perfect vinyl cut that ticks all the boxes of every desired technical mandate, but quite likely will sound terrible, because nearly all of the stereo [width], bass and top end has been removed from it to make it easy and safe to cut! This is habitual and indeed normal behavior at the cutting stage at [all too many] pressing plants. There are significant and insightful choices the professional vinyl mastering engineer has to make to preserve and optimize the great qualities which can result in an audio listening experience that sounds like no other. This is what we do here at Stardelta. It is an extremely involved and highly evolved skill set, which is required to produce such results, and takes years of experience to perfect. That is why when you have a record cut at a pressing plant [that might not be a specialist facility], it’s not the same as what we produce here at Stardelta, or with another vinyl mastering engineer who is a craftsman, not a machine operator. It has to be said though that some [more]-evolved pressing plants do use us to cut records for their direct clients. It goes without saying these are done with care like any other job we undertake and sound significantly better than the “operator” cuts.

Another important distinction, and something I come across in my work, is [that] some mastering engineers will sometimes offer masters to make vinyl records from, yet these engineers have never even been in the same room as a cutting lathe, let alone have any experience of actually cutting records or mastering for vinyl. They simply guess at what might work for vinyl. These best-guess masters are then given to operators at pressing plants to cut. The engineers remove anything that they think might cause problems. Often this is based on misunderstandings of what the vinyl may or may not do.

Record-cutting lathe at Stardelta Audio Mastering. From the Hutchinson Homes & Gardens website.

I take [a] big issue with this approach, as these engineers offer a digital file of a wild stab at what may work for a cut, which is truly at best a guess at what might work on the cut. In all [of these] cases they have compromised the original master by manipulating the parameters of what originally existed.

I want to say categorically that unless you are the vinyl mastering engineer who actually masters the record, including cutting the record, you are taking people’s money dishonestly. Vinyl mastering can only be carried out by the engineer who cuts the record.

Test cutting and listening and microscope inspection are intrinsically part of vinyl mastering. It’s not possible to do that without a cutting lathe, [or with] any claim you somehow can do this digitally and predict the future of how something will sound without [really] knowing.

The prominence or recent re-emergence and popularity of the vinyl medium has meant a proliferation of bad-sounding records, often cut from 16-bit CD or even just MP3 masters. The common denominator of most reissues is that they are made to very poor standards of quality and this is sadly true of most major label’s reissues. Lots of these are cut with no respect for the music. The [corporate] mandate is an easy-to-cut record with all the difficult-to-deal-with areas of the original mixes simply removed. A narrative I hear a lot is, “vinyl can’t do that,” or “vinyl can’t do this.” It’s rubbish.

The new listening audience is missing out on the potential of what can be heard, so we are continually seeking to address this. It is true that vinyl is not automatically better than digital, but it must be acknowledged that there is categorically no problem in reproducing a completely perfect rendition on vinyl of anything than can be done digitally. When done right, vinyl provides a high-end listening experience that is every bit that is good [as] high-resolution digital.

There is a qualifying caveat to that statement: Making a record the way it should be done may affect the playing time of a record side. But it is perfectly possible to do it with no reduction of stereo, and no reduction in bass, or high frequencies. It’s also entirely untrue that heavily-compressed music doesn’t work on vinyl. It works fine and sounds just as bad or good as it did before. It’s a creative choice. A good vinyl mastering engineer will work with compressed music with high average levels and still get a great-sounding result.

You can cut brick-wall, limited masters if that is what is required; however, [cutting music with] high average levels will use much more disc space, so in the end the record ends up quieter, with a lower dynamic range.

******

We’ll continue Lewis’s discussion in Part Two. For now, we’ll leave with this thought: sound reproduction on vinyl can also be like a distortion amplifier. Something distorted on the way in could sound more distorted on the way out. So, how do we address the problems faced by this quest to get the perfect sound, as well as the perfect technical rendition?

We will break this down in Part Two, which will cover mastering and cutting, achieving proper cutting levels, and avoiding sibilance. Lewis and Russ will collaborate to also discuss the question of cutting with stereo versus mono bass, dealing with out-of-phase content, the problem of hysteresis in metering, decisions made regarding the use of the record’s inner diameter, and much more.

A slight departure this time, as a wonderful event – directly related to tape pursuits – took place on May 29^th. After two years and three months, the Tonbridge AudioJumble (https://www.audiojumble.co.uk/) is back. A few main vendors were absent, but it still hosted more than you could possibly check out in detail in the time allotted. Of course, there was the flood of early arrivals, eager to clean out the choice pickings before regular admission began at 9:00 AM.

Just as I had heard of the Munich High-End Show the week before, attendance was excellent because of all the pent-up cravings as a result of lockdown. I don’t know yet if the AudioJumble will finally deliver unto me a case of COVID-19, but as I had my fourth jab the week before, I hope I am OK. Hellfire, brimstone, COVID – nothing could detract from the sheer fun of it.

As expected, given trends before and during the pandemic, turntables and cartridges were in huge demand, but the most obvious upswing was – yay! – in open-reel tape decks. The place wasn’t exactly awash with them, but plentiful were units from Revox, Ferrograph, TEAC, Akai, Sony, and TASCAM, especially a plethora of Revox G36s of various flavors, as well as a rare E36. Suffice it to say, if you wanted to embark on an open-reel adventure, there were enough decks to get anyone started, as well as numerous cassette decks in great condition.

Indeed, I couldn’t resist collecting another deck myself. I picked up another open-reel machine (my ninth!) from a colleague, which I had arranged prior to the event. It’s a fine, boxed Revox A77 Mk IV, and I swear this will be the last of my deck purchases unless I suddenly come into money and can afford a Studer or two, a Ballfinger, or my dream of a Crown 800 Series. Instead, for me, the show was mainly about selling my surplus pre-recorded and blank tapes, and that yielded some pleasant surprises.

A stall-holder since 2002 – yes, it was my 20^th anniversary attending this event – I arrived with around 80 curated tapes of which 20 were soundtracks, plus a similar number of cleaned-up blanks. While I thought it would be the 7-inch blank tapes that would go quickly, it was the 10-inch tapes which seemed to fly off the table – the demand for them was incredible. Of that diameter, I had around 15 Maxell and TDK tapes and a half-dozen empty metal spools, and they shifted for good reason: I had the blank metal spools priced at half of what you’d pay on eBay, ditto for the blank tapes. All had been erased in real-time on a two-track machine, and had fresh leader and tail tape. And I suffered not one haggler nor complainer because new blanks cost a bundle.

My table, with graded pre-recorded open-reel tapes.

But the most heart-warming episode came from my first customer of the day, who returned a couple of times and even bought my QUAD book. The reason I’m so pleased in that he’s only around 20 and is as fascinated by hi-fi as I was 50 years ago, a rare case of a member of Generation Z looking beyond streaming and earbuds. Clearly inspired and encouraged by his dad, young David is a glimmer of hope. Check out his passion on Instagram at hifi.david.

See you there in October!

A gorgeous Denon DP59 direct-drive turntable.

As-new classic Leak Stereo 20 amplifiers for £1,000/$1,260 – real gems.

Early Rogers Baby DeLuxe monoblock amps.

A fabulous built-like-a-tank mono Ferrograph Series 3 tape recorder for £90/$114.

The event was well-attended.

Needing work, but these TASCAM 32 and Revox A77 decks were ideal for a savvy enthusiast.

For horn fetishists, rare made-in-England Western Electric KS-6368 and 30150-A receiver.

I was tempted…a refurbished Audio Research D115.

How to set up a vintage system on a budget.

An immaculate Leak Delta 75 receiver.

New tubes were popular because of the drought caused by the invasion of Ukraine.

Pre-1970s US gear is impossible to find in the UK, this Scott 310F FM tuner and 335 Multiplex Adapter came as a surprise.

A TEAC A-4010 for £225/$285.

A Thorens TD166 Mk II with spare arm wands and Grace cartridge for £250/$315.

You gotta look under the tables also! Here’s a funky Ferrograph Series 4 for £95/$120.

All images courtesy of the author.

Arcade Fire: WE

Jon Batiste: WE ARE

If you asked me up until a few months ago what my favorite band of the 21st century is, I’d say “Arcade Fire.” But after two albums of misdirection and underachieving, Reflektor (2013) and Everything Now (2017), that was in doubt. But I kept the faith, certain that the recently released WE (May 6) would straighten things out. The first single, “The Lightning I-II” was released in March and was very promising, full of apocalyptic visions and self-examination one rarely finds in the Big Rock anthems that Arcade Fire has now mastered:

“I heard the thunder and I thought it was the answer
But I find I got the question wrong
I was trying to run away, but a voice told me to stay
And put the feeling in a song”

But WE relies on Arcade Fire’s well-trod templates rather than feeling. Or it’s too much feeling, and not enough thought. But let’s backtrack.

Win Butler and the Montreal based multi-instrumentalist and singer Régine Chassagne, the daughter of Haitian emigrés, married in 2003. With Win’s brother Will in the band, they became deserved alternative darlings with their earliest albums, Funeral (2004) and Neon Bible (2007). Each touched something special, personal to each listener, yet universal in appeal. In my life, these albums, songs of childhood nostalgia mixed with anxiety, wild abandon, and the subsequent fear, were mesmerizing and evocative. My younger brother David was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme, brain cancer, in 2004, and died in 2007: These albums were bookends to that reality. When music does that, it’s miraculous, isn’t it?

(Will Butler left the group after WE was recorded; he’s released some very good solo material during the last seven years for Merge Records, and will have a new album in September.)

Arcade Fire, WE, album cover.

The last excellent Arcade Fire album was The Suburbs, in 2010, which won the Album of the Year GRAMMY in 2011, to the pleasant shock of their fans and the bewilderment of a large segment of the already fragmented mainstream music audience, who wondered: Who is Arcade Fire?

Now, it seems, Arcade Fire are rock stars, perform like rock stars, and Win Butler, all six feet, four Texas-raised inches of him, is a rock star.

But Arcade Fire’s music contains utopian ideals of community, which comes into friction with the idea and purpose of rock stardom. Hence WE. It follows the now familiar Arcade Fire framework of songs named with multiple parts.

One of the problems is this template of multiple sections marked by roman numerals. Song titles in meme structure. How many songs are there on WE? Are there nine, or are there five? They stand distinct on Spotify, for example, but what you have is “Age of Anxiety I” and “Age of Anxiety II (Rabbit Hole)”; a 30 second “Prelude,” then “End of the Empire I-III” and “End of the Empire IV (Sagittarius A*)”; “The Lightning I” and “The Lightning II,” with no parenthetical title/subtitle; and “Unconditional I (Lookout Kid)” and “Unconditional II (Race and Religion)” (featuring Peter Gabriel). The final title song, track 10, stands alone.

The subtitled parts seemed designed for radio programmers and fans to identify: The two singular songs worth noting and appreciating here boil down to “Rabbit Hole” and “Lookout Kid.”

Otherwise, the precious titles effort seems to befuddle rather than illuminate. Too much math for a band that has followed U2 and R.E.M., carrying what’s left of intelligent, ambitious rock bands that started out as “alternative” but entered the rock mainstream. There is too little of that for Arcade Fire to be flailing for its third consecutive album.

The album was produced was Nigel Godrich, known for his work with Radiohead, and Win Butler and Ms. Chassagne. Recording took place in New Orleans, El Paso, Texas, and Mount Desert Island, Maine, but there’s nothing to signify that any local music or culture was absorbed in these expeditions.

Butler has been studying poetry, apparently, with the phrase “Age of Anxiety” summoning T.S. Eliot, and the introduction to Arcade Fire’s video concert, which was supported by Amazon UK and Twitch, features a recitation of Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s beat retort to Eliot in his “I Am Waiting,” which includes the emphatic line, “I am waiting for the Age of Anxiety to drop dead.” It is a centerpiece of Ferlinghetti’s Coney Island of the Mind (1958), which changed the way a new generation of beatniks and hippies and beat-curious identified with poetry. It made American poets part of the resistance to Cold War conformity represented by Little Richard and Gene Vincent, Rebel Without a Cause, and Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

But rock stardom is so hard to navigate these days. So what if “Rabbit Hole” is so catchy: What’s wrong with that? There are almost no guitars audible during the instrumental breaks where the ear craves some electric rock guitar. Instead, it is electric keyboard at the heart of the arrangement, as if the arena in which Arcade Fire wants to compete is dominated by Depeche Mode rather than Springsteen or Radiohead.

The ballads are distillations of early 1970s John Lennon and Neil Young. The Big Rock moments in WE are football chants, singalong moments, shouts designed to sound good. They bring the crowd along in concerts and at festivals, where the real music business is.

Jon Batiste. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/David Becker.

Jon Batiste doesn’t share a lot with Arcade Fire, although there are some odd coincidences: They are both artists whose latest albums contain “WE” all in capital letters; Batiste’s is WE ARE. Batiste is perhaps the most surprising Grammy Album of the Year artist since . . .Arcade Fire.

Until WE ARE won the big prize earlier this year, Batiste was best known as the leader of Stephen Colbert’s late-night band. Grammy awards have always been kind to late-night show bandleaders since Doc Severinsen was nominated for, and once won, a big band category for the recordings made while he was Johnny Carson’s musical friend and foil on The Tonight Show. Times are different now; the people we let into our late-night bedrooms (Kimmel, Colbert) can be a little edgier than Carson, Leno and even Letterman were. Like Letterman’s musical director Paul Shaffer and “The World’s Most Dangerous Band,” Batiste and his confreres are astute and outstanding musicians who can play anything except music that might give you nightmares.

Jon Batiste, WE ARE, album cover.

And so, WE ARE is safe and expertly played. This afternoon I heard Batiste’s breakout song from the album, “Freedom,” playing while I was sitting in the backyard. In the yard, on the radio, it’s very pleasant for a protest song. It’s catchy, but without any bite.

WE ARE is like this all the way through. Every lick is precise down to the bar; Batiste’s mastery at assimilating styles is unquestionable. The music of the Black church (“I Need You”), rap (“Whatchutalkinbout”), dance funk (“Tell the Truth”), jazz, are all seamlessly absorbed. But more is never enough: the title song, with the St. Augustine High School Marching 100, the Gospel Soul Children Choir, and others, is over the top, albeit in a very polite way.

You can listen to this album anytime, anywhere. I expect it will be the playlist of choice at backyard barbecues, family reunions, and friendly gatherings all over the land. As I was listening attentively in my backyard and taking notes, my most music-savvy daughter came over. “It’s perfect background music,” she said. I turned the volume down just a little as we chatted, and chatted, and the music kept on playing, in the background, without ever insisting that we stop talking and turn it up a notch.

Header image: Arcade Fire.

Are there two Americas? Are they red versus blue, conservative vs. liberal, conspiracy-minded vs. reality-based? The answer is yes, but the divide is not along these lines. The two Americas are populated by people who like Lawrence Welk and people who don’t.

Lawrence Welk specialized in a whipped-potatoes version of popular music. From the early 1950s until his retirement in 1982, Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers and accordion superstar Myron Floren and Norma Zimmer the Champagne Lady and the whole crew of singing-and-dancing homies produced music that was clean and bright, with all the corners sanded off.

Welk died in 1992, but death couldn’t stop this juggernaut, no more than it could stop Elvis, Marilyn, Jimi, etc. Public television stations continue to run old episodes of The Lawrence Welk Show, with new performances and interviews with surviving cast members. Welk’s audience continues to be replenished by new generations of easy-listening old people.

My grandma Bella was your typical Lawrence Welk customer. Bella, who was born in 1904, loved nice music played by nice people. “Wasn’t that ah-wunnerful?” Welk, a native German speaker, would comment after another duet from his immaculately dressed and hair-styled players. “You can tell they have ah-wunnerful home life.” Bella loved Welk’s music, plus his show was a respite from her soap operas with their nonstop adulteries, divorces, and bouts of amnesia.

“Stevie,” Bella said to me more than once in the 1970s when I looked like the undercover cop on every show from Starsky and Hutch to Serpico, “why can’t you cut your hair like the beautiful boys on Lawrence Welk?”

Did Lawrence Welk perform a valuable service by introducing millions of people to their musical heritage, or did he commit an unforgiveable crime by turning that heritage into zero-calorie Coke? We were a house divided: Bella took the first position. I always took the second. But I’ve since realized that I had one thing completely wrong about Welk. He launched the phenomenon we know today as the tribute album.

Once Is Not Enough

“And now a salute to Gershwin with ah-Bobby and ah-Sissy,” the maestro would announce, before the happy couple puréed one of the Gershwins. Welk saluted many artists in his 30 years on the air, from Stephen Foster to the Beatles and on into the 1970s, a decade fraught with musical traps (such as punk, drugs, and disco) for the bandleader who went to Number 1 on the charts in 1961 with a song that featured a harpsichord.

The result of Welk’s unceasing efforts to pay homage to the gods of pop have led us to the situation we’re in today. Check the Wikipedia page that lists tribute albums. There are hundreds of these things. There are so many salutes to Iron Maiden that they occupy their own page.

Tribute albums have evolved far beyond Welk’s idea of a lone song or a brief medley. They generally fall into two categories, which, in honor of the man, I will call Ah-One and Ah-Two.

Ah-One is a salute to an entire album. The Beatles’ Abbey Road was the first album to be honored with a tribute, and it happened twice within a month of its release in 1970: George Benson’s The Other Side of Abbey Road and Booker T. & the M.G.’s’ McLemore Avenue. These weren’t track-by-track salutes, but 16 artists gave us just that in 2005 on This Bird Has Flown: 40th Anniversary Tribute to Rubber Soul.

Does waiting 40 years give you deeper insights than waiting a couple of weeks? Based on these three records, that answer is no.

Ah-Two is a salute to an artist’s body of work. Once again, the Beatles were the first subject of this kind of salute with The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles Hits (1964). On this immortal disc, which may also be the first tribute album ever recorded, Alvin and The Chipmunks covered 12 songs from the Beatles’ first two years. Which is more frightening: that The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles Hits spent five months on the Billboard 200, or that the Beatles loved the idea of being chipmunked?

The biggest tribute album of them all was Chimes of Freedom: The Songs of Bob Dylan, released in 2012 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Amnesty International. 76 artists performed 76 songs on four CDs, with an abridged two-CD follow-up from Starbucks. (I don’t know what Dylan thought of an abridged version of his music available at a very nice and always clean coffee shop, but Welk would’ve loved it!)

A tribute album should show you an old band in a new light; a really good reinvention should punch you in the head or chase your dog up a tree. The artists on Chimes of Freedom, like the artists on so many tribute albums, are too reverential. If you’re going to salute someone, cut loose. Own the song you’ve been assigned. No one on Chimes of Freedom goes head-to-head with Dylan à la Jimi Hendrix on “All Along the Watchtower” – just as none of the 21 artists on Cinnamon Girl: Women Artists Cover Neil Young for Charity push Neil against the wall or even ruffle his hair. They sand the corners off – another legacy of Lawrence Welk.

You can find examples of artists who own it on the Depeche Mode tribute For the Masses (1998), which taught me how good Depeche Mode’s songs were if you could just get somebody else to play them. The highlights came from Failure (“Enjoy the Silence,” an ironic choice for a moody but extremely noisy band) and Rammstein (who pumped some Armageddon-level hysteria into “Stripped”).

Bella Has the Last Word

One Sunday night when I was six, my parents dressed up and fled their responsibilities for the evening, leaving me and my toddler brother in Bella’s care. I wanted to watch Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color. Bella wanted to watch The Lawrence Welk Show. We stood in front of the one TV, me the Baby Boomer in my Daniel Boone frontiersman outfit, Bella the short, no-nonsense European immigrant who survived World War I, turning the TV dial back and forth between the two channels. There were only three channels available at the time. Bella won that battle by putting me to bed, where I remained while champagne music wafted down the hall.

It’s been years since I’ve had Bella to argue with, but while I was lucky enough to have her in my life I should’ve admitted that her America still has something to teach me.

Part One (Issue 163) covered singer/songwriter Shelby Lynne’s career from her first release with George Jones in 1988 to her 2007 landmark, Just a Little Lovin’.

Tears, Lies and Alibis (2010) was the first release on Shelby Lynne’s independent label, Everso Records. The bottled-up rancor and cynicism of her new songs and the short-cropped-hair, black leather and heavy mascara cover photo defiantly proclaimed a Shelby Lynne of no more compromise. The outspokenness of some of her past interviews, which had given image consultants and PR managers sleepless nights over unbleeped f-bombs and barbs aimed at industry executives, had morphed into a full dose of ornery invective when she was provoked. She was in her early 40s.

Heavy on acoustic guitar and dobro, with stripped-down arrangements easily replicated in concert, the song topics of Tears, Lies and Alibis explored themes of betrayal, longing, searching, and introspection, with song titles like, “Like a Fool,” “Alibi,” and “Loser Dreamer.” Musically, the songs showed a greater leaning towards Americana, bluegrass, and gospel R&B, with Ben Peeler and John Jackson supplying mandolin, banjo, Weissenborn slide, and dobro guitar, while Muscle Shoals keyboard legend Spooner Oldham played electric piano.

One of the hardest-rocking tracks on Tears Lies and Alibis is “Old Dog,” which consists almost entirely of two acoustic guitars and overdubbed voices.

Shelby Lynne’s next Everso release was Merry Christmas (2010), which contained a mix of holiday favorites as well as a pair of Lynne originals: “Xmas” and “Ain’t Nothin’ Like Christmas.” Al Schmitt once again handled the mixing of the album.

By now well-regarded by her music industry peers in spite of her rejection by record labels, Shelby Lynne later reprised the bluesy “Xmas” with fan Daryl Hall for a soulful duet on his TV show Live From Daryl’s House in 2013.

All of the elements of Shelby Lynne’s musical artistry crystalized with the masterful Revelation Road (2011; expanded edition released 2012). She played all of the instruments, and combined the slow-burn country-soul from her recent records with a finer lyrical command of subtlety and transcendence that revealed more of her personal tragedies and her trials in career and relationships. Revelation Road contains many of Shelby Lynne’s finest compositions. “Woebegone,” “I’ll Hold Your Head,” “Even Angels,” “Heaven’s Only Days Down the Road,” “I Don’t Need a Reason to Cry,” and the title track all highlight the emotional range of her singing, while the arrangements and instrumental performances are all top-notch and on par with her earlier releases that are replete with Nashville and L.A. session musicians. Amazingly, some of the instruments (such as mandolin and drums), she had never even touched before, yet she demonstrates an almost Brian Jones-like ability to get the sounds that she hears in her head from each instrument onto the record.

Here is Shelby Lynne performing “I’ll Hold Your Head” backed by a band featuring Don Was and Buddy Miller:

“Heaven’s Only Days Down The Road” had lines like, “never was the cryin’ but the fightin’ kind,” and referenced her parents’ murder-suicide with the lines:

Hundred so miles from the Mobile River,
Lord, I can’t have her so I’ve got to kill her,
Heaven’s only days down the road…
…can’t blame the whiskey or my mammy’s ways,
Two little girls are better off this way…

Live at McCabe’s (2012) featured a solo Shelby Lynne accompanied just with her acoustic guitar, and showcased numerous songs from Revelation Road – demonstrating the power of her then-new material standing on its own without a need for a band. The album also includes some past favorites, like “Jesus On a Greyhound” from Love Shelby, “Your Lies,” and “Johnny Met June.”

In an interview with country music online publication The Boot, she explained her troubadour M.O.: “It’s hard,” she noted. “But it’s kind of the challenge that makes it all worth getting out of bed. I’ve got a new way of sharing that same old thing. I always take a big breath when I go out there and say, ‘I’ve got a new song,’ but the cool thing is without having any hit records, nobody expects to hear a particular thing. I mean, I’ve got my diehards who know the words to things that I don’t know! [laughs]”

I Can’t Imagine (2016) continued to mine the veins of Shelby Lynne’s emotional reserves. She told Rolling Stone about the song “Following You,” which simultaneously harkens back to her childhood memories of her father along with a chilling adult perspective of his alcoholism and personal troubles:

“I would always walk behind him,” she says of those treks through the woods, a shotgun hoisted on her shoulder. “[The song is] like me following him and reading his thoughts and doing everything that I know he wants me to. I’m following him even though he doesn’t know where he’s going. I’m gonna let him know that I’m gonna be his little girl. I’m gonna do everything I’m supposed to do. But I really know that he’s a dumbass [laughs]. When you’re the kid that I was and you know that Daddy has his demons…once you get to be 11 or 12 and .22 rifle-totin’ size, you realize that you’re dealing with a human being that has a lot of facets. So, you start figuring out this person you admire. That’s me thinking about him…when I think about him.”

I Can’t Imagine also features songwriting and performance collaborations with Ben Peeler (who had been a stalwart Shelby Lynne Band member since Tears, Lies and Alibis), Citizen Cope, Pete Donnelly of The Figgs, and Ron Sexsmith.

The painfully honest and uncensored Shelby Lynne that had begun to emerge in earlier interviews had by now become an unfiltered stream of consciousness when speaking with journalists. One interview mentioned her disdain for Nashville polish versus her raw emotion-laden performances, and an abhorrence of doing multiple takes of a song, a trait shared by Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Frank Sinatra and other artists:

“I have dreadful memories from my early Nashville days of record producers telling me to sing a song over and over and over. So, before the f*cking record came out, I hated the song. I don’t sing the songs any more than one or two times. If I ain’t got it then, then f*ck it, I ain’t puttin’ it on there. I will not be told what to do. I will not be told what to sing, unless [it’s someone] I really, really, really trust. In Nashville, they didn’t really give a f*ck whether I trusted them or not. It was like, ‘Here, sing this.’ Those times are way gone.”

I Can’t Imagine was distributed under a one-off deal with folk label Rounder Records (reaching Number 5 on Billboard’s folk music chart), and for the most part, stays in that vein with the Americana and soul stylings that defined Revelation Road. However, there is one stark exception: “Down Here,” a scathing indictment of discriminatory attitudes in the South towards people who are “different” and subject to being bullied, finds Shelby Lynne channeling Neil Young with a Crazy Horse-inspired groove and extended, distortion laden guitar solos.

Although she was able to attend and graduate college, Allison Moorer quickly moved to Nashville to sing backup in sister Shelby’s band, and develop her own songwriting skills. Her elegant vocals caught the attention of producer Tony Brown, which launched her solo career with a number of moderately successful albums. She married controversial singer-songwriter Steve Earle and they had a son, John Henry, before divorcing in 2015. Her musical collaborations extended to include documentary film soundtracks, and working with noted instrumental virtuosos like Buddy Miller and Jerry Douglas.

Although they had been singing together since childhood, it took nearly 30 years for Shelby Lynne and Allison Moorer to record a duet album together. Produced by Teddy Thompson, son of Celtic folk-rock legend Richard Thompson and a singer/songwriter of note in his own right, Not Dark Yet received a slew of critical accolades, with Rolling Stone citing the Dylan-penned title track as “the crown jewel, showing the river-deep musicality of a latter-day Dylan croaker when it’s parsed by immaculate, blood-kin harmony.”

Shelby Lynne and Allison Moorer. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Raph_PH.

The eclectic list of covers included a diversity of writers and genres, rearranged by Lynne, Moorer and Thompson into a listening experience that combined their gorgeous vocals supported by the Americana-soul instrumentation of I Can’t Imagine with a dose of Daniel Lanois-inspired ambiance. Standout tracks included renditions of Nick Cave’s “Into My Arms,” Nirvana’s “Lithium,” The Killers’ “My List,” and the haunting title track. Allison Moorer’s piano playing, as well as that of the Heartbreakers’ Benmont Tench and organist Erik Deutsch, also give a different sonic flavor to the otherwise guitar-focused sound on most of Shelby Lynne’s self-produced albums.

Allison Moorer’s lilting soprano blends effortlessly with Shelby Lynne’s contralto, and their harmonies are simply irresistible. Not Dark Yet reached Number 8 on US folk/Americana charts, Number 39 on the country charts and Number 3 and 2 respectively in the UK. The sisters are currently on tour again ((The SISSY Tour) at the time of this writing, selling out the City Winery in New York and other venues across the country in anticipation of their next duet album.

2020’s Shelby Lynne saw a return to the one-woman-production M.O. that was so successful on Revelation Road. Befriending filmmaker Cynthia Mort, who co-wrote several of the songs on Shelby Lynne, was an outgrowth of their collaboration on the award-winning independent film, We Kill The Creators (previously titled Here I Am) in which the aptly cast Lynne had her first starring role as “Tommy, a singer challenged by the difficulties of realizing her artistic vision as well as the perils of success of that vision.” Containing several allegorical and fantasy sequences, the film also featured old Lynne compadre Tony Joe White as an angel with whom Lynne’s Tommy sings a duet on the their co-authored “Can’t Go Home Again,” which they recorded together in 2004 for White’s LP, The Heroines. White passed away at the age of 75 soon after filming.

With a leaning more towards her Dusty Springfield soul influences, Shelby Lynne also made her alto sax recording debut on “My Mind’s Riot.” Inspired by Mort’s lyrics, Lynne told Rolling Stone that she hadn’t played the sax since ninth grade, but she went to the attic and retrieved it with the realization that “it had to be kept simple.” She drew upon influences such as the solo from the original “The Look of Love” by Dusty Springfield, and John Coltrane’s “Naima” – trying to make her playing as “low and silky as she could.”

Lynne gives a nod to her Southern Gospel roots on the piano-driven “Here I Am,” and offers a touch of jazzy ambience with some Santana-ish lead guitar on “The Equation,” reminiscent of Cassandra Wilson, another Southern singer who has created her own amalgam of jazz, blues, gospel and pop.

The Philly soul grooves and stacked harmony vocals on “Don’t Ever Believe in Love,” “Lovefear,” and “Off My Mind” recall classic Hall and Oates, complete with Curtis Mayfield-style rhythm guitar fills and a tremolo guitar solo fade out.

With her turtleneck sweater pulled over her face on the cover photo in a prophetically mask-like fashion that eerily presaged the pandemic, Shelby Lynne revisits, in some ways, the genre experimentation of Identity Crisis, but with greater confidence and refined instrumental skills to balance out her phenomenal vocal talents.

2020 also saw the streaming-only release of The Healing for A-Tone Recording. With no credits or promotional information available, The Healing nevertheless continues the Southern soul stylings for which Shelby Lynne is unparalleled, and leaves the Americana acoustic elements aside. Starting with the title track, the album continues the ’70s retro Philly soul sound, drenched with wah-wah’d and envelope-filtered rhythm guitars, phase-shifted lead guitars, pulsing vibrato electric pianos, and background “oohs” and “aahs” from a Memphis Muscle Shoals-styled rhythm section. Lynne’s pristine vocals are in top form.

The Healing:

https://www.extrememusic.com/albums/3621?item=59104&ver=264836&sharedTrack=dHJ1ZQ==

“Sugarcane” has a swampy Southern blues groove with hints of Little Feat and slide guitar. “I Forgot My Heart” is a passion-filled R&B duet that could have been performed by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. The menacing bass of “We Can Be” gives way to sustained Fender Rhodes piano chords and a soul fusion of harmonized vocals against flute and a clavinet that could have come out of Stevie Wonder’s “Innervisions.”

“Wasting Away in LA” debuts Shelby Lynne as a credible rapper (!) against a drum loop with ’70s-appropriate instrumentation: jazzy flute, electric piano, a Chuck Rainey-styled bass, brittle rhythm guitar, and a catchy chorus.

Throughout the course of her career, Shelby Lynne has hinted of her personal faith, in some of her songs and in interviews, such as confessing that she felt her main reason for participating in the film We Kill The Creators was that God wanted her to work one last time with Tony Joe White before he died. On her website, she explains further:

“IT’S JUST KIND OF CRAZY HOW THINGS HAPPEN WHEN THE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD. I THINK IT REALLY MATTERS IN YOUR SOUL AND TO THE WORLD’S SOUL WHEN YOU RECOGNIZE THOSE THINGS IN THE MOMENT. IF WE RECOGNIZE THOSE SITUATIONS IN THE MOMENT THAT MARRY AND CREATE THAT FEELING OF BLISS INSIDE OF US, I THINK THAT’S THE ONLY WAY WE CAN COMMUNICATE WITH GOD.”

As of this writing, Shelby Lynne’s latest release is an all-gospel record, perhaps the result of an epiphany, or, as she cites above, a way to “communicate with God.” Drawing upon the music of her childhood in Southern churches, she has stated in interviews that The Servant is “one of my proudest achievements” and “making it saved my soul.”

Turning the glitzy sex-kitten image of the “Killin’ Kind” music video on its head, the cover photo of The Servant is a grainy, stark, black & white photo of a topless Shelby Lynne, older and wiser, without makeup and with scars and wounds (including a bandaged finger) all displayed in honest reality, a far cry from the fantasy Playboy pinup image of 20 years ago. The only visible color is the gold cross around her neck.

Musically, The Servant consists entirely of Southern gospel hymns, along with the folk standard “Wayfaring Stranger.” Classics such as “Amazing Grace,” “Go Tell It On the Mountain,” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” were recorded with drummer James Gadson and guitarist George Doering, along with her own guitar playing. Vocal arrangements are reminiscent of The Jordanaires, and favorable comparisons were made by a number of critics between The Servant and Elvis Presley’s gospel recordings.

There is a breadth of emotional and musical range from dark to light, an element that is also always included in the records of Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives, who have mined this same canon. (See Anne E. Johnson’s article in Issue 160.)

The standout “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” channels Mavis Staples and the Staples Singers, complete with the signature Pops Staples’ tremolo guitar and bass accompaniment. The eerie riff and Lynne’s moans recall Blind Willie Johnson and other gospel blues icons from the Depression era.

On the upbeat bright side is “Didn’t It Rain,” a song which borrows heavily from Elvis Presley’s gospel recordings, from the slap-back echo, to the call and response vocals, to the sparse instrumentation and quick fadeout at the end.

Truly an American original, Shelby Lynne’s path has, in some ways, paralleled that of Aimee Mann, another brilliant singer-songwriter who has faced her own personal traumas and written about them. However, whereas Mann’s concerns over emotional and mental demons might bring comparisons to Sylvia Plath, Shelby Lynne is clearly a Dixie-bred storytelling descendant (albeit through song) of William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor and Eudora Welty.

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Justin Higuchi.