The Online Photographer

Charlie Haden and Hank Jones at the "Come Sunday" sessions. Photo
courtesy Emarcy Records.

I love music listening—that's all I do, by intent, listen—and I've been an "audiophile" (for some definition of that contentious term) for most of my life—all of my adult life. I'm not a nut about it. Every seven to fifteen years, finances and patience permitting, I revamp my stereo system into something a bit more tolerable than it was, then I fuggedabboudit. When I lived in Woodstock in the late '90s, I actually took out a bank loan to buy a new stereo. It's that important to me.

I've been in the midst of that periodic upgrade recently, and I'm pleased to say it's been going well. I had a great room in Woodstock (best ever) and I have a bad room now, but I've been hearing better sound recently than I've ever had before.

What touched this all off is that my previous system had two sources, one old and one new: vinyl and computer USB audio. But the bare-bones approach I used—it was based around a headphone amplifier as a preamp—was limited to CD-quality resolution for the computer audio. And I wanted to experiment with HD audio.

Surprisingly, perhaps, one of the best upgrades in this whole process has been one of the cheapest. Accordingly, I have a recommendation for you, but I have to warn you, it comes at the end of this post, and it's a bit of a trek to get there...

OT Review: The Audioengine 5+ (a.k.a. the A5+)

A year and a half ago I realized I was going to have to replace my only TV. The 26" Sony CRT we'd been using for 16 years was getting wonky. So I went shopping, and bought...nothing. Couldn't pull the trigger.

I was completely unfamiliar with the current state of the TV market, and it took me a while to understand my objection to today's TVs: they look great, but they sound bad. And, it turns out, there's a sensible reason for that: most people who buy flatscreen TVs hook them up to multi-channel receivers to create "home theater" systems. Since nobody uses the built-in speakers, naturally they're a perfect place for the manufacturers to cut costs.

So when the old TV appeared to die a number of weeks ago, off I went to the local Best Buy, where I chose a 36" LED Samsung. But there was still that problem of the sound. Sound quality is always important to me—a baseline need. Living with the harsh, bass-less sound of the built-in speakers was not making me happy, so I had to do something.

But what?

In the Great Digitization, it's become commonplace for great treasures from the vinyl age to suddenly appear naked and vulnerable to purchase by the blithest neophyte. Scratching the surface, here are just a few little-acknowledged masterpieces that once were the venerated objects of search crusades by those deep in the know but can now be downloaded for a mere few bucks by anybody.

Feel free to add to the list if you have your own candidates.

The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band: Will the Circle Be Unbroken. A seminal masterpiece of country rock, the real thing compared to the bands that merely used country to inflect their pop-rock, "May The Circle Be Unbroken" is the document of a legitimate summit—an attempt at reconciliation between younger bluegrass and country musicians soaked in the revolutionary hippie ethos and older, more traditional musicians who were conservative by nature and deeply suspecious of anyone with long hair. Originally a triple album on vinyl, the record documents a week-long meeting to make music, and most of the tracks were recorded on the first or second take on two-track, with no overdubs or splices. The two "sides" never really get over their mistrust, but they make great music together. Featuring Merle Travis, Vassar Clements, Roy Acuff, Jimmy Martin, Brother Oswald, Doc Watson, and Mother Maybelle Carter. The mountain inflections are real, and the music has an authenticity that "country" music (which now mainly means "whites-only pop") now sorely lacks. At a time when the deepest rifts in America were generational, it was the first real country music that many younger rock fans had ever heard. Just as the once-popular vinyl was becoming really rare, the album made its way on to CD in 2002. You can find it here. 

Track to sample: "Dark as a Dungeon" (Merle Travis).

Can, Tago Mago. Holger Czukay's experimental German avant-garde band Can was never easy to find "on this side of the pond" as they say. My friend Kim, a legendary late-night dj on D.C.'s once-underground WHFS, introduced to me to this as he has introduced me to so much else. "Tago Mago" is Can's third album and one of its most accessible. Uncomfortably pigeonholed as part of the "krautrock" genre exemplified by early electronica bands such as Kraftwerk and Amon Düül II, Can never really fit the slot: their music is improvisatory, hallucinatory, atmospheric, constructed, always adventurous and probing. "Tago Mago" was influential on a wide variety of bands from The Sex Pistols to Radiohead, and yet might be more listenable now than it was back when it was hard to find. Note that the 40th Anniversary Edition of the CD is a deluxe production with many extras (including, unfortunately, a poorly recorded live CD you should ignore).

Track to sample: "Bring Me Coffee or Tea."

Sonny Stitt with Barry Harris, Tune Up! + Constellation (okay, this one's not actually on iTunes—I just thought it was—but it's on CD, and can be purchased here. I have the Gambit / Fresh Sounds Records reissue). To be controversial, I sometimes rate Sonny Stitt higher than John Coltrane in the pantheon of jazz saxophonists. There's a glint of truth behind that. Coltrane's vaunted "sheets of sound" never particularly moved me (I know it thrills some people to the bone), and I've never been 100% convinced by his tone. Stitt has nowhere near the reputation and rates a weak flicker on the cool-O-meter by comparison, but to me he's the true heir of Charlie Parker. The two Cobblestone records, "Tune Up!" and "Constellation," recorded late in his life and career, were a refreshing blast of "roots" bebop from a time when most jazz musicians, drowning under the rock tsunami, were trying anything to accommodate. These were once so rare that aficionados would spend years tracking them down.

Track to sample: "A Ghost of a Chance."

Sviatoslav Richter in the 1950s, volume 1. The great Richter has always had an elusive, legendary numen, despite being a protean recording artist, probably because he made such an impression when his recordings first emerged into the West from behind the Iron Curtain in the 1950s—and because he disliked to travel. At his death perhaps no pianist had more artistic authority associated to his name. I can't speak for real classical collectors here, but before the rare Parnassus set came out in the 1990s, it was difficult for civilians to find an early recording of Richter playing the Seventh Sonata of Sergei Prokofiev, which Prokofiev wrote for Richter. Now? Anybody can click on it in iTunes. It's not even expensive, which seems just...wrong, somehow. The CD costs two and a half times as much.

Track to sample: the first (the Quarrel from Cinderella).

Neil Young, On the Beach. Neil Young is nothing if not quirky. For reasons that as far as I know have never been explained, for many, many years he refused to release "On the Beach"—one of the greatest albums of his early, depressive period and possibly the best single album of his career (the album is the middle of the so-called "Ditch Trilogy")—on CD. Some people have forgotten (and younger people may not know) how conventional it was in the early days of digital music, when CDs were still scarce, for people to say they wouldn't switch to CDs because "most of the music I listen to will never be available on CD." The opposite has generally been closer to the truth—CD, and now downloads, have rescued from the fathomless depths of record company vaults tens of thousands of recordings that would have gone in and out of print on vinyl only to become rare and sought after and fought over for years by the indefatigable collector. In this one case, however, the early vinylist was right. For twenty years, collectors hoped in vain to get this in digital form, and furtively traded bootlegs recorded from vinyl and encoded on homemade CD-Rs. Now? Available at a click on iTunes for eight dollars. Not even full price. You can get the CD, too. Of course, don't go looking for "Time Fades Away," another Neil Young standout from the same period that will never make it into digital form—Neil has bad memories from the tour it originated from, and, yep, refuses to rerelease it.

Track to sample: "On the Beach."

Tortoise, A Lazarus Taxon. Sometimes tiny, gem-hard kernals of criticism can be so true that you can never forget them again. Aforementioned friend Kim once said in passing that a band was essentially done by the time the first "greatest hits" album came out. I've never been able to forget that whenever I see a greatest hits package. Well, "A Lazarus Taxon" is Tortoise-speak for "greatest hits"—except it all hangs together surprisingly well; nobody does jazz-inflected experimental soundscape instrumentals more gorgeously than the Chicago-based Tortoise. So why does it belong on this list? Because it contains the entire "Rhythms, Resolutions & Clusters," the band's out-of-print and hard-to-find 1995 release. The CD box is superbly done, includes a DVD, and as a bonus features photographs by Arnold Odermatt, whose book Karambolage we featured in these pages a few years ago. Of course both of those are out of print now.

But you can still find the music on iTunes. Sort of takes the fun out of the hunt, dunnit?

Mike

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Original contents copyright 2011 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved.

Featured Comment by Martin Sharman: "Not only are these once rare albums available for purchase on CD or download—all except Tortoise and some of the Richter are available for immediate stream on Spotify U.K.

"Despite a CD collection bordering on four figures, and less numerous but physically larger racks of vinyl, as soon as I took out a Spotify subscription, my listening and purchasing habits were changed forever. I haven’t bought a CD since. I really would never have believed it, but the whole concept of buying music to keep is starting to appear very old fashioned.

"The utter delight of being able to read a superbly-written article recommending great music (such as this one, or any quality printed music magazine), and be able to instantly stream it into my consciousness, even as I read, is unquantifiable. My listening has become far broader and my musical knowledge has never been increasing at such a rate.

"Given that one has access to a reasonably comprehensive streaming library, why would I wait a few days for my CD order from Amazon to ship when I can listen immediately? And paying for permanent downloads makes even less sense, given the inherently time-limited nature of digital formats and storage media.

"(The only format still worth bothering with is vinyl, especially now all switched-on labels offer free digital downloads with each vinyl purchase. A carefully-manufactured vinyl record can deliver a genuinely valuable ownership experience, and can increase in value in a way digital never will. It has to be admitted that the fact that entry into the vinyl-owning and -playing world is relatively inconvenient and expensive only increases its cachet as the format of choice for the serious collector.)

"However, I do sometimes worry about the transience of digital and its effect on my music consumption.

"Never again will I experience that thrill of Saturday afternoon record shopping; of having awaited a release from a favourite band and queueing to purchase; of having a shortlist of potential buying material in mind and browsing the racks, examining the cover, reading the liner notes, sometimes even asking for a sneak preview on the shop CD player before deciding, there and then in the shop, which to buy. How less romantic it seems to be able instantly to play each album in the comfort of one’s home; and when the decision has been made which of the shortlisted albums is the best—what then? No purchase necessary, just press play again.

"There is something about investing in a band with one’s own money that gives a psychological link; a virtual piece of ownership that a streaming service will never provide. And I do have qualms that my money isn’t being fairly distributed to the artists I listen to: the royalties per play are simply too small. But I won’t give it up. How else could I have drifted off to sleep last night with the dulcet tone of Stitt washing over me?"

For all those who say all my off-topic posts are about cars and horse racing, take this.

Today's subject: classical music. A subject I know nothing about. I went through a "classical period" that lasted well over ten years, but I mainly experienced the music rather than learning much about it. That period began in the '80s, preceding, just slightly, the introduction of the CD.

First item of business, the world's best music book title—I saw this last night in the bookstore and had to stifle a laugh. They nailed that.

Following the advice of wise friends, I am saving both Alaska and opera for my old age. (In case you're just skimming casually, that's another way of saying I've never been to Alaska and don't listen to opera.)

Control and perfection
Anybody have a favorite quartet? ("Quartet" as in the group, I mean.) Like I said, I don't have any knowledge of, or training in, classical music or stringed instruments, so I don't know where I get off pretending I can tell the difference. But I've always had favorites anyway. My latest infatuation is for the Verdi Quartet (Susanne Rabenschlag and Peter Stein, violins; Karin Wolf, viola; and Didier Poskin, 'cello). Apparently they've been around for a good long while, not that I knew. They have a light hand, a singing tone, and a gentle way in Schubert. Try their Quintet in C on Hänssler Classics—Martin Lovett joining in on the second 'cello. The music is a great masterpiece that everyone knows, or should. I suppose the Verdi's is not as good a version as the wonderful (and far more famous) older version on EMI by the Alban Berg Quartet and Heinrich Schiff, notable for its rapt control and almost otherwordly perfection. I made many great prints to that disc in darkrooms in years gone by. (I found I needed music without words to print by.) Nothing like it on headphones, either, when you can really concentrate on listening.

(As an aside, anyone who loves Schubert will get a kick out of Too Beautiful for You [Trop Belle Pour Toi ], the Bertrand Blier comedy with Gérard Depardieu.)

Of course the big problem with bowed stringed instruments is that they never sound quite as good in recordings as they do in real life. It's the opposite of what they lately call "classic rock," where the recording is typically articulate and communicative and the live performances thrashy and dinny and too loud to hear. Hearing a live string quartet is an experience worth seeking out.

Hungarian violinist Vilmos Tátrai, of the eponymous quartet

Papa Haydn
Of course you can't listen live to the ones that are gone. By far my favorite quartet of all time is the Tatrai, from Hungary. I love the Haydn string quartets above all others, and have ever since I started listening to classical in 1982 or so. I've got two complete sets, neither of which I've listened to completely. The versions I've listened to most intently (and repeatedly) are by the Tatrai. But I've never bought more than the odd disk here and there of the Tatrai's traversal, because it was always too expensive—these recordings have never not been expensive, virtually since they came out on vinyl. The personnel changed with the music, but as far as I know the Haydn band typically included Vilmos Tátrai and István Várkonyi, violins; György Konrád, viola; and Ede Banda on 'cello.

The quartets are available on iTunes now, for what seem like the most reasonable prices I've ever seen—generally $19.99 for six quartets. Try the "Erdody" Quartets Opus 76 if you want a place to start. I've been immersed in the Op. 54/55, amazed all over again at the brilliance and beauty of this nearly ideal matching of music and musicians. And don't make the mistake of hitting the go button and letting it run; I'd recommend listening to one quartet by itself several times before moving on to the next one. It's not actually background music.

Music of the thunderstorm
And lastly, a plug for what I think is one of the greatest classical music pieces ever: Bach's BWV 1052. I have a deathless love for this piece, and (despite buying yet another version last week) have never found a better rendition than Trevor Pinnock's. Roiling skies and the thunder of the gods. One of the greatest of the great masterpieces; Robert Schumann, who was a music critic as well as a composer, thought so. If you don't know it yet, a download will be the best $2.97 you'll spend this week.

So much to enjoy.

Mike

"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts that appear on Sundays.

UPDATE: Pak Wan sent along this link to a video of the Alban Berg. Terrific. Gives a fine sense of what seeing a live quartet can be like.

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Original contents copyright 2011 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved.

Featured [partial] Comment by patrick: "Very Funny—I just spent a month in Alaska while my wife sang with the opera company there...."

Featured Comment by Erlik: "The best summation of opera ever:

'"Well, basically there are two sorts of opera,' said Nanny, who also had the true witch's ability to be confidently expert on the basis of no experience whatsoever. 'There's your heavy opera, where basically people sing foreign and it goes like "Oh oh oh, I am dyin', oh, I am dyin', oh, oh, oh, that's what I'm doin," and there's your light opera, where they sing in foreign and it basically goes "Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer! I like to drink lots of beer!," although sometimes they drink champagne instead. That's basically all of opera, reely.' (Terry Pratchett, Maskerade.)"

Featured [partial] Comment by Hugh Crawford: "You don't listen to the opera , you go to the opera. It's like the difference between sushi and fishsticks. Attending the opera is transcendent, listening to recordings of opera is kind of annoying. A soprano friend of my wife had to take martial arts training for one of her roles where she literally got thrown across the stage while singing, and last year at the Met the chorus was performing a cavalry battle while rappelling down a stage filling video screen showing the battle field from overhead. A couple years before that I saw Placido Domingo in "Girl of the Golden West" staged with real horses one of which he was riding while singing.

"Opera is a lot closer to say Iggy Pop than you might imagine."

Everybody loves jazz. It's just that nobody listens to it.

For months—okay, years—I've been threatening to write an "Introduction to Jazz" post. This is a little worse than quixotic: I'm not a musician, not a music critic, certainly not any kind of an expert on any kind of music. I'm a member of "Generation Jones" (Google it—post or very late Baby Boom generation) who grew up with what's now called "Classic Rock" in the air. My brother Scott turned me on to jazz in the late '80s—dragged me along rather unwillingly at first—and I've been getting more and more into it ever since—especially over the last four or five years, during which time I've been on a "jazz kick" that doesn't seem to want to end.

But I'm just a Listener. Capital "L," though. When I was a teenager, courtesy of my father, I took a fascinating three-day battery of aptitude tests at the Johnson O'Connor Research Foundation in Washington, D.C. I scored in the 90–95 percentile range on all the musical aptitudes*, which by their reckoning was very high—but, critically, not as high as musicians score. According to them, people who score in the 95–100 percentile range for the musical aptitudes literally must be musicans, or they won't be happy—that is, they have so much musical ability they won't be satisfied in life if they're not putting their musical abilities to use in some way. I was told that I don't quite have the aptitude to succeed in a music-related career, but that I have enough aptitude for music that it would always be a very important part of my life. But I was advised to be an appreciator of music—part of the audience, an active listener. And so I have always been. It was great advice, because they were right. Being a committed listener is just the right situation for me, and I'm happy with where I stand. I don't regret not being a musician. Neither could I imagine my life without music.

This is written for people who don't listen to jazz, but are curious about it, or who would like to try it. And it's just one guy's suggestions, nothing more. There might, however, be a sort of hidden benefit in my lack of expertise: being just an average person makes it easy for me to know what other average people go through when trying to expand their musical horizons. That's my story, anyway, and I think I'll stick with it.

So let's get going here. Deep breath and....