If you’re sitting alone in your office/home/coffee shop and wouldn’t mind some cool background music, click the link, hit play, and crank it up. Prince from 1977.
“…for in my radio with all its static I could hear, over and above Beethoven, the progress of a lightning storm a thousand miles away.” – from Prelude, by Mark Helprin.
Do you remember listening to the radio, late at night, and hearing that intermittent crackling?
Things have changed, of course, especially when it comes to how we listen to music.
Back in the day, my dad would occasionally tinker with our old-school television set when it would act up. Televisons used to be big consoles that sat on the floor, and you would pull on a knob to turn it on, then wait while the vacuum tubes and the cathode ray tube (the tv screen) warmed up. Radios used to be like that, too, until the invention of the transistor. The glowing tubes went away.
Well, they’re back.
So are vinyl records and turntables. Audiophiles (if you play music using a turntable, you’re an audiophile) use words like “warmer” and “richer” to describe the musical experience they claim to hear.
I grew up listening to records on turntables, ranging from the cheap turntable in a cardboard suitcase that we played Beatles 45s on, to my college turntable that I bought after extensive research at all of the high fidelity stores that used to abound. As kids, we’d play a record so much that it would start sticking. So we taped pennies to the tone arm to hold the needle down so it wouldn’t jump the grooves in the record.
Of course with my high-end Yamaha turntable, the needle was referred to as a stylus and there was great debate over the merits of direct drive versus belt drive. I chose belt drive and was surprised to learn that the belt was little more than a rubber band. I wiped each record clean before and after playing with a special record cleaning pad and record cleaning solution, allowed a suitable amount of time between playing to allow the grooves to cool, and never, ever taped a penny to the tone arm.
Then along comes the CD. Digital music. Clear and perfect every time. No scratching from an overplayed record. If I wanted to play a song repeatedly, no problem. It was just as good as the first time.
Next, we started downloading music over the internet. But in order to keep files manageable, they need to be compressed. Some music quality is lost. This is when the audiophiles start to sing the blues.
Now we’ve come full circle in the quest for the ultimate stereo experience. Records, turntables, and vacuum tubes are back. And if I weren’t so cheap, I’d jump on the bandwagon, if for no other reason, than the fun of it.
But I can’t help but think that you’ll hear some crackle and pop from the stylus rumbling over the vinyl grooves, just like we used to, no matter how much you take care of your records.
I was reminded of all of this today as I was reading Mark Helprin. His character was lamenting the bludgeoning march of progress and its effects on the simple things in life, and he says this:
“…for in my radio with all its static I could hear, over and above Beethoven, the progress of a lightning storm a thousand miles away.”
Maybe there’s truth in that.
Maybe a life is richer with a little static. And scratches. And imperfections.
Maybe perfect is too good.
photo credit: iStock Photography
another musical discovery, boze naigle, the alt hip hop artist on the west coast. this video is a low-key, black and white production to create that retro feel. and i like the casual use of the cue cards, just enough self-conscious to throw the timing off, like he really doesn’t care. that’s the essence of boze. cool urban poet.
nah. i’m just kidding about all that. it’s robert zimmerman, of course. 50 years ahead of his time.
blame this on my sister, Sarah. she introduced twenty one pilots to me via the fairly innocuous video, Stressed Out. but I’ve been exploring and I’ve discovered that they is off the wall.
so this is my weird musical obsession of the moment. i love the theatrics and all of the facial expressions in the video, but beyond all of that, there’s a tender love story.
sure joe. sure.
“You can be the best songwriter or guitar player in the world, but you have to work at positioning yourself so that you’re in a place where, if the stars line up, if the right man comes along at the right time, you’re on your way.”
Jim Avett – father of Scott and Seth Avett, aka the Avett Brothers
“I told the boys early on, play it the way you play it, and if it’s good, if it’s entertaining, then folks will come to hear you. If not, then we’ll sit here on the front porch and entertain ourselves.”
Jim Avett – father of Scott and Seth Avett, aka the Avett Brothers
Scatting across the internet tonight and came across this:
It’s the record that comes to mind whenever I open the file to work on my story, “Heather”. My mother’s cousin (also my cousin, of course, but I never know when to use second cousin, once-removed, etc.), Joey Clatworthy, was a member of the St. Albans band the Mojos, who later changed their name to the Muffetts, back in the 1960s. Fellow St. Albans writer Larry Ellis was a young DJ around the same time. I wonder if he remembers spinning their 45 at WKLC.
And hillbilly music, of course.
Two of my favorite things collided yesterday. Terry Gross, host of NPR’s Fresh Air, had as her guest Dwight Yoakam. Those who know me will remember the country music jag I went on a few years ago, spearheaded by Dwight’s breakout album, Guitars and Cadillacs. I’ve always liked his music, even though I’ve expanded my musical tastes. He’s got a new album out where he plays his old hits in bluegrass style. That’s why he was on Fresh Air. If you have a few minutes, click the link below and find the Play button for the segment. Even if you’re not a country fan, I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.
And then check out this video from the funeral of his Bakersfield mentor, Mr. Buck Owens.
Speaking of the Milk Carton Kids, I stumbled upon this little video about a little man in a little town. I can relate. The chorus:
I’m a little man in a little town
It’s a little cold, I’m a little down
I get a little angry, a little bit each day
A little while longer, we’ll dig a little grave
Joseph E Bird 