The Eight Warning Signs of Audiophilism
Are you an audiophile?
It seems like a pretty stupid question, doesn't it? Of
course you're an audiophile -- otherwise, why would you be at a website called onhifi.com?
The real question is: Do you admit to being an audiophile?
Most people don't, you know. They say they're "music
lovers." Or they might have been an audiophile once, a long time ago, but
they're all better now.
I find this strange. Car lovers make no bones about being
gearheads. Motorcycle lovers are happily separated into hawgs and geese and ducks. Even
rednecks are proud of being what they are these days.
So why does the "audiophile" label still make
people blanche?
I think it's shame at all the agony they cause their loved
ones.
So how can you tell if you are an audiophile?
You might be an audiophile if you listen alone or in
secret.
You might be an audiophile if you keep buying the same demo
discs over and over without remembering you already own them with the same
label/cover/catalog number.
You might be an audiophile if you have little rituals, such
as cleaning each record or demagnetizing each CD before play, and you get upset when these
rituals are disturbed or ignored.
You might be an audiophile if you indulge in audio-related
activities to such an extent that you no longer partake of the other pastimes that used to
bring you pleasure -- if you stay up late to listen when the power grid sounds best rather
than going to bed with your wife, or if you wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday so
you can cherry-pick the yardsale records when you used to sleep until the crack of noon.
If you get irritable when your wife makes you socialize
during your regular "audition hours," you might be an audiophile.
If you've ever missed work because your system sounded
particularly good that day, you are probably an audiophile.
Buying boxed sets, ordering double CD sets of one-hit
wonders, or generally amassing more recordings than you could possibly ever listen to are
warning signs of audiophilism.
If you are spending "secret" money on your hi-fi
-- if you're keeping purchases from your wife or significant other because you know he or
she wouldn't approve the expenditure -- you're probably an audiophile.
Few of us can look at this list without finding ourselves
at least a time or two, but if you answered "yes" to four or more, you are
almost certainly an audiophile.
Don't panic. There's hope.
First, relax. Take a deep breath. Maybe even watch a movie
on TV (No, don't even think about how much better it would be with a subwoofer!
You're trying to get better, remember?)
Now think about the finest musical experience you've ever
had.
I have a small collection of them and I can never decide
which was the greatest, so I seize on whichever one seems appropriate at the time.
One of my favorites is a May evening decades long past, when I was taking a twilight
stroll behind Campbell Hall, the University of Virginia's architecture school. The air had
that Piedmont softness that precedes central Virginia's swampy summer swelter and the
school was brightly lit inside and seemed to hunker on the hill like a giant flying
saucer. As I made my way toward the railroad tracks that were the shortest route to my
house, I stopped at a concrete courtyard set into the building where two students were
playing a game of late night Frisbee with a fluorescent disc. The two players, lit from
the windows above them, drifted in the twilight like ghosts connected by the back and
forth and rise and fall of the faintly glowing Frisbee.
With his back against the glass wall at the rear of the
courtyard, another student was playing tenor sax, manipulating the sound and intensity of
his instrument by bouncing his riffs off the three walls, toying with the rapid echoes off
the glass and the slow, soft ones off the low hills surrounding us.
The sax player was obviously into 'Trane -- he was
practicing circular breathing and initiating sheets of sound that never seemed to diminish
in intensity. It was a perfect jazz moment -- and it was one of the most powerful musical
experiences of my life.
Thirty years later, I've heard Sonny Rollins on a tear.
I've heard the Art Ensemble of Chicago at their peak. I've seen the best minds of my
generation...
Sorry, that's a different rap.
My point is, I've heard musicians with technical capacities
that put that college saxophonist to shame. I've been to Carnegie Hall. I heard Talking
Heads when they were a trio. But that evening was perfect -- and no comparison can dim its
luster.
Every musical experience is unique. Eric Dolphy said,
shortly before his death, "When you hear music, after it's over -- it's gone, into
the air. You can never capture it again." I know he said it because I have it on a
record, which also brings to mind what John Cage said, "Let no one imagine that in
owning a recording he has the music. The very practice of music is a celebration that we
own nothing."
And that's the secret to conquering audiophilistinism. No
matter how much we love music, we cannot own it -- we can only experience it. When we
accept each musical experience for what it is and forget the incessant urge to compare
everything to some ideal of perfection, we can start on our way back to the company of
normal people. Oh yeah -- those people will probably turn out to be even more interesting
than your favorite shaded dog played for the 800th time.
But when you find yourself sitting on the sofa, far from
the sweet spot, smiling at your guests, saying, "What would you like to listen
to," instead of "Wait 'til you hear this," you'll know you've been cured.
...Wes Phillips
wes@onhifi.com
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