A Legacy of Ecstacy
Harvey Rosenberg died July 19 of an apparent heart attack.
I wasn't a close friend -- I "knew" Harvey the way most people in the audio
realm knew him, by reputation. First, as Julius Futterman's disciple of the Output
Transformerless (OTL) creed and later as owner of New York Audio Labs, a manufacturer of
hybrid tube/solid-state components (and most famously of the It and Super-It tubed phono
sections). And also, of course, as an inveterate attendee of the audio world's various
tribal functions, where he stood out resplendent in his kilt, various distinctive hats (my
favorite was the Sioux-style head-dress festooned with tubes) and a wide variety of
T-shirts emblazoned with flamboyant aphorisms.
Harvey was one of the first triode missionaries and
enthusiastically sang the praises of low output amplifiers combined with high-efficiency
loudspeakers. Above all, he preached the gospel of musical ecstasy in the pages of Listener,
in his book, The Search For Musical Ecstasy, and on his website, www.meta-gizmo.com.
I didn't know Harvey well, but you didn't have to know him
well to see that he attacked life with gusto. He enjoyed what he did -- and I suspect he
didn't do much that he didn't enjoy. His biggest contribution to the audio scene, as I saw
it, was his core belief that we are each of us responsible for our own happiness.
Maybe that seems self-evident, but contemplate the current
audio scene. We live in an era when it's hard to buy a crappy sounding loudspeaker. (Oh,
you can still do it, but they sure ain't as thick on the ground as they used to be.) In
fact, the overall quality of audio products is higher than it's ever been. Yet, how many
people do you know that are happy with their stereos?
Exactly -- everybody except the audiophiles. And
that's pretty strange, isn't it? You'd think that the non-experts would be the unhappy
ones and that the informed consumers would have bought exactly what they needed.
Stereophile's website recently ran a rant that goes
to the crux of this question. Which is more important to you, the question went, the
sound or the music? That's a surprisingly subtle question. At first blush, who
wouldn't sputter angrily and maintain it's the music? But like the famous Beecham quote,
"The English may not like music, but they absolutely love the sound it makes,"
there's a fine critical distinction at play.
I know audiophiles who have huge record collections, but
never seem to play most of their discs -- at least not when I visit; I can't speak for
when they're at home by themselves. I went to one audiophile's house not all that long ago
with a composer friend who maintains an ironic distance from audiophile antics. During a
two-hour visit, we heard lots of bad British music ("Listen to the dynamics!"),
two comedy records and bleeding chunks of several warhorses that just happened to be
recorded on the "approved" labels. "Geez," said my composer friend as
we left. "Doesn't he ever listen to music?"
I once had an audiophile acquaintance who belonged to the
preamp-of-the-month club -- he came into some money and he literally seemed to keep
preamps for about four weeks before finding them fatally flawed and discarding them. I
didn't see him for about four years, but then ran into him one day at Tower Records. His
first words to me were "So what are you listening to these days?" Not
"Hi," not "Where have you been?" but what's your system? I
think he was disappointed that it was the same as the last time we'd spoken.
And I get letters all the time, over in the "Ask
Wes" section, that describe what I would guess to be great stereo systems. The
authors' question? Why don't I enjoy my stereo system?
Part of the problem, I suppose, is people like me.
Reviewers. Every time I have a deadline, I have to come up with some sort of insight into
a component or system. And one of the easiest ways to discharge that need to fill the
blank spaces between ads is write as though audio design is some sort of continuum,
ranging from crude sounding early attempts up to the newest and greatest.
This, of course, is not necessarily the case. Have you ever
heard an acoustically recorded 78 of solo voice played on a well set-up Victrola with a
high quality horn? It's spooky. Several of my friends would argue that for voice, CDs
don't even come close.
Or have you ever heard one of Rudy Van Gelder's mono jazz
classics played back on a high-quality mono system (and I mean with a mono cartridge on
the turntable and a single loudspeaker such as the original Quad)? No? Well, you haven't
really heard any of those discs until you do.
These older systems don't sound the same as live music --
and they certainly don't sound the same as a contemporary high-end hi-fi -- but they have
their own rewards. The trick lies in recognizing them.
The truth is, there's no Holy Grail. I've been in studios
with literally millions of dollars invested in their systems, and I've spent an inordinate
amount of time with my fanny parked in the sweet spots of hi-fi reviewers' systems filled
with what my friend Rubén calls OPS (Other People's Stereos). None of it sounds the same
as live music -- even live music played on inferior instruments in a crappy room.
(A friend of man -- an intelligent man, a Quad owner --
once startled me by sneering about Avery Fisher Hall, "I wouldn't go there if
Furtwängler himself was conducting." I don't think he was drunk.)
Here's the secret that ordinary people all know and that
audiophiles seem to overlook: Hi-fi is different from live music. It is what it is -- and
it's when people try to make it something else that they are doomed to disappointment.
I know people who would argue that hi-fi is better -- no
coughing, no talking during the quiet passages, no waiting for the 8:00 curtain -- and no missing
the 8:00 curtain either -- and you get a comfortable seat and your choice of refreshments,
too.
On the other hand -- for me, at least -- nothing matches
the excitement of that moment just before the conductor's baton comes down or the
guitarist strikes the first power chord or the pianist counts off four. As much as I love
my hi-fi, I don't get the same butterflies in my stomach when I cue up a disc as I do
waiting for the band to play.
That doesn't mean I don't reach musical ecstasy through my
stereo, though. It's kind of like sex -- the worst I've had was still better than none at
all. In fact, one of my favorite recordings is one that sounds so bad, it's my poster
child for how bad engineering can bollix up a great performance. I'd never listen to it
with anyone else in the room, but every once in a while I pull it out and, yes, I enjoy it
even though the sound sucks.
But that's just me. Audio, as a hobby, is a big house -- it
has rooms enough for all the folks who want to listen to sound effects records or SETs
with horns or solid-state amps or even 78s. Harvey was right -- we are all responsible for
our own pleasure and if we stop experiencing that pleasure, it's time to
contemplate what it is we really want.
Life, even a long, full one, is simply too short to do
anything else.
...Wes Phillips
wes@onhifi.com
|
