In the early 1990's a company I was working for offered me a departing colleague's company car. There were tax advantages to company cars then, and it was a 2.0-litre Vauxhall Cavalier with automatic transmission: a world away from the bangers I had driven previously. I said yes please, and learned how to drive an automatic on the way back from the office in Docklands. (Forget about your left foot, is the secret.)
I realised then that there were some things that I would never spend my own money on, but would happily accept if it landed in my lap without too many costs.
And not just costs. Image matters. I have streamed Nine Feet Underground from Caravan's 1971 album In The Land of Grey and Pink a few times now. It's a great piece of music. There is no way I am buying the CD. Because of the songs on the rest of it. I am not Caravan-songs-guy: I'm great-instrumentals-guy. No CD with a twee pink cover will ever be in my collection. (This doesn't have to make sense to you, just to me.)
When cassettes appeared, it became clear that there was music we would buy, first- or second-hand. We wanted the LP. Then there was music we taped from other people's LP's. We wanted to have it available, but not so much that we would pay for it. Other than the cost of the cassette.
Home taping was killing music, we were told. We knew there were some spivs out there taping everything, as there were when downloading appeared. But that wasn't us.
What was it about tape-but-not-buy music?
Sometimes the LP only had a couple of decent tracks on it. In the 1970's the good stuff was amazing, but the bad stuff was dire. Now most CDs are all decent, or all dire, depending on whether you like that kind of music. A lot of 1970's LPs were not worth full retail.
Sometimes I liked the music, but I might go off it. U2's 1983 War, 1984 Unforgettable Fire and 1987 The Joshua Tree were like that. I bought their 1991 Achtung Baby (on cassette), and still have it. I play that much more frequently than I play the earlier albums, even now though I get the awesomeness of the earlier work.
Perhaps because it isn't music that I would want to put on as the result of a lapse of attention. Damn! I put on Unforgettable Fire. Or have someone put it on and then I would have to be polite and listen to it.
There are also artists and music that we pay full price for because a new album from them is an event, it has excitement and charge. That's why there's a new-release premium over the twelve-months-after-release price. There are artists we will pay twelve-months-after-release price. There are artists we would only ever stream, there are artists we would only ever stream once, and I will never knowingly play anything by Metallica.
This discussion makes no sense to full-time streamers, who pay a monthly price, or have Android software to dodge the ads, for everything, and can hear a new release on the day if the artist makes it available. Their equivalent is music they have on their Favourites, and music they don't, but still listen to. Same thing, lower price.
Thursday, 11 March 2021
Monday, 8 March 2021
Why Do I Find Some Musicians Collectable , But Not Others?
Diamonds In The Dirt is the second album from Joanne Shaw Taylor, and it's the one I have.
If you have never heard her, try out one of her albums on Spotify. I listened to her 2012 release Almost Always Never on Spotify recently. It was good, but I didn't feel the need to learn how or why to use Favourites so I could add it. Nor did I feel the need to buy it. One of her albums is enough. I feel the same way about Chvrches, whose 2013 CD The Bones of What You Believe still deserves all the fuss it received at the time. And about Tegan and Sara, whose 2013 album Heartthrob was on train-music repeat for a while a few years ago.
You may not have heard of Maya Jane Coles either. I have her 2017 2-CD set Take Flight, the 2013 CD Comfort, her contribution to the 2012 DJ Kicks series, and the 2013 Heatwaves for mixmag magazine.
There are six CDs of Alfred Hill's String Quartets on Naxos. Just before the last lockdown, I bought volume 2. After a few listens, I wondered if there was more on Spotify and found there were, and it had the latest version by the Dominion Quartet. I think I chose volume 6, and very pleased with the result I was. I have a feeling I may buy all the others. Good string quartets are hard to find.
What is it about some artists that one CD is enough, but for others, a hundred are too few?
The essential Seven Dials CD is instrumental, has a narrow dynamic range, does not demand sustained attention, but has enough going on that when I do choose to tune in to it, there's something I can hook onto easily and be drawn in by. A good rhythm helps, as does melody, neat phrasing, strong licks and riffs, and thoughtful solo-ing and scoundscaping. I can take vocals, but neither too bland (Nora Jones) nor too guttural (every metal band ever). And no thump-drum intros. It's a balancing act, and any given artist might do it on one CD and miss it on another. Only a few do it consistently for a run of CD's.
It does explain why my collection includes medieval chant, baroque, Real Jazz (1930 - 1965), flamenco, Mozart, and chunks of trance and progressive house, and I see those as part of one continuum.
I have two more conditions.
I like each artist to have thier own distinctive sound. I should be able to recognise the composer or the artist pretty much by the end of the intro and certainly by the end of the first verse. Like Guerlin perfumes: each one smells different, but they all smell like a Guerlin.
And the musician needs to be changing and developing, in however nuanced a manner within their genre. I think Sohn's 2014 CD Tremours is a masterpiece. The 2017 follow-up Rennen is more of the same. Christopher Hogwood's 2010 release of Mozart's complete symphonies shows how Mozart's composing became more complex and experimental through the years: it's always Wolfie, but it's a Wolfie who is growing and learning all the time.
Needle, meet haystack (aka Amazon CD store, aka Spotify).
There are dozens of records and artists from my past phases of listening I still play now and again, thanks to Spotify. Many of them meet my conditions, but for some reason, they are now from-the-past. But that's something else to write about.
If you have never heard her, try out one of her albums on Spotify. I listened to her 2012 release Almost Always Never on Spotify recently. It was good, but I didn't feel the need to learn how or why to use Favourites so I could add it. Nor did I feel the need to buy it. One of her albums is enough. I feel the same way about Chvrches, whose 2013 CD The Bones of What You Believe still deserves all the fuss it received at the time. And about Tegan and Sara, whose 2013 album Heartthrob was on train-music repeat for a while a few years ago.
You may not have heard of Maya Jane Coles either. I have her 2017 2-CD set Take Flight, the 2013 CD Comfort, her contribution to the 2012 DJ Kicks series, and the 2013 Heatwaves for mixmag magazine.
There are six CDs of Alfred Hill's String Quartets on Naxos. Just before the last lockdown, I bought volume 2. After a few listens, I wondered if there was more on Spotify and found there were, and it had the latest version by the Dominion Quartet. I think I chose volume 6, and very pleased with the result I was. I have a feeling I may buy all the others. Good string quartets are hard to find.
What is it about some artists that one CD is enough, but for others, a hundred are too few?
The essential Seven Dials CD is instrumental, has a narrow dynamic range, does not demand sustained attention, but has enough going on that when I do choose to tune in to it, there's something I can hook onto easily and be drawn in by. A good rhythm helps, as does melody, neat phrasing, strong licks and riffs, and thoughtful solo-ing and scoundscaping. I can take vocals, but neither too bland (Nora Jones) nor too guttural (every metal band ever). And no thump-drum intros. It's a balancing act, and any given artist might do it on one CD and miss it on another. Only a few do it consistently for a run of CD's.
It does explain why my collection includes medieval chant, baroque, Real Jazz (1930 - 1965), flamenco, Mozart, and chunks of trance and progressive house, and I see those as part of one continuum.
I have two more conditions.
I like each artist to have thier own distinctive sound. I should be able to recognise the composer or the artist pretty much by the end of the intro and certainly by the end of the first verse. Like Guerlin perfumes: each one smells different, but they all smell like a Guerlin.
And the musician needs to be changing and developing, in however nuanced a manner within their genre. I think Sohn's 2014 CD Tremours is a masterpiece. The 2017 follow-up Rennen is more of the same. Christopher Hogwood's 2010 release of Mozart's complete symphonies shows how Mozart's composing became more complex and experimental through the years: it's always Wolfie, but it's a Wolfie who is growing and learning all the time.
Needle, meet haystack (aka Amazon CD store, aka Spotify).
There are dozens of records and artists from my past phases of listening I still play now and again, thanks to Spotify. Many of them meet my conditions, but for some reason, they are now from-the-past. But that's something else to write about.
Thursday, 4 March 2021
Can We Always Be Listening To New Music?
Some people find out what they like quite early on, and stick with it. Nothing wrong with that. If they chance across something else they like, they will add it to the list. What they won't do is go looking for new stuff. Maybe they have other priorities, like, oh I don't know, raising children? Or running a business?
Some people, and I am one, need a certain amount of novelty. New. Different. Just because why not? It's not in everything: novelty-seeking in some areas is balanced by stability in others, and of course, there's always money as a restriction. My diet is healthy but fairly plain, but my music collection, the books I read? All over the place. I can spend the time looking at new art, or listening to new music, that I may decide I don't like so much, because I don't have children to socialise and a partner to keep entertained. If you have ever thought that people who do a lot of culture, or people who do a lot of gym, are slightly odd, I'm not going to disagree.
How do you do novelty? One rule is: try anything once. If you have a strong pro-reaction, try it again. Otherwise you can leave it. It's a good rule, but does not give us a chance to acquire a taste. Some things need a little getting used to: Irish Guinness, cold fish on rice, swimming, Mozart.
There are three ways something can fail to connect with me: a) I just can't get it: try as I may, metal just sounds like a noise to me; b) I do get it, but it leaves me cold: almost everything on the ECM label; c) I get it, and it does occasionally touch me , but it just doesn't fit into how I'm living at the moment: the nineteenth century Romantic symphony.
The question is: how long should we try to acquire the taste? Through the early eighties I watched each Rohmer movie as it came out, intellectually getting what was happening but nothing else, before I finally connected with one (My Boyfriend's Girlfriend in 1987). Classical ballet leaves me un-moved for all I appreciate the technique, and it took about four seasons of Flamenco at Sadlers Wells before I got the singing (otherwise I was there for the dancing and the instrumental music) through an Eva Yerbabuena piece I cannot find even on You Tube.
Spend too long listening to too many new-or-different bands, or reading too many what's-this-like books, and I find I can forget what it's like to wallow in what I really like. Music, or reading, or movie-watching, stops being fun.
The Romantic symphony has been my bugbear. This is anything after Beethoven and not including Mahler and Bruckner. I get what it's doing, and I like a lot of them. But they just don't work for me. It's taken me an age and a decent pair of speakers to sort out why.
Dynamic range. Way too much dynamic range. Around 100dbA for triple-forte or above and 30dbA for triple-piano or below. It is not suitable for how I use music. I need a much smaller dynamic range. Mazart is fine. So are Bach, Haydn, Handel, Clementi and almost everyone who composed before abut 1800.
A lack of tunes, riffs, and assorted hooks. It's all a bit wander-y and abstract. Hence the exceptions for Mahler (lots of tunes) and Bruckner (riffs).
I feel much happier playing the weirdness of Godspeed You! Black Emperor rather than the weirdness of Schumann.
Why do I keep on giving the Romantic Symphony a chance? Because I know I am supposed to like it. And in the right mood, a bit of Sibelius or Respighi is just fine. Mostly, I'm not in that mood.
The thing is: I think I should be in that mood more often.
But that's just not me. And I feel like I'm forcing myself if I try to be.
I have been playing music I like recently. Familiar - though high-quality music or literature always has some surprises. I feel more at home when I do.
Some people, and I am one, need a certain amount of novelty. New. Different. Just because why not? It's not in everything: novelty-seeking in some areas is balanced by stability in others, and of course, there's always money as a restriction. My diet is healthy but fairly plain, but my music collection, the books I read? All over the place. I can spend the time looking at new art, or listening to new music, that I may decide I don't like so much, because I don't have children to socialise and a partner to keep entertained. If you have ever thought that people who do a lot of culture, or people who do a lot of gym, are slightly odd, I'm not going to disagree.
How do you do novelty? One rule is: try anything once. If you have a strong pro-reaction, try it again. Otherwise you can leave it. It's a good rule, but does not give us a chance to acquire a taste. Some things need a little getting used to: Irish Guinness, cold fish on rice, swimming, Mozart.
There are three ways something can fail to connect with me: a) I just can't get it: try as I may, metal just sounds like a noise to me; b) I do get it, but it leaves me cold: almost everything on the ECM label; c) I get it, and it does occasionally touch me , but it just doesn't fit into how I'm living at the moment: the nineteenth century Romantic symphony.
The question is: how long should we try to acquire the taste? Through the early eighties I watched each Rohmer movie as it came out, intellectually getting what was happening but nothing else, before I finally connected with one (My Boyfriend's Girlfriend in 1987). Classical ballet leaves me un-moved for all I appreciate the technique, and it took about four seasons of Flamenco at Sadlers Wells before I got the singing (otherwise I was there for the dancing and the instrumental music) through an Eva Yerbabuena piece I cannot find even on You Tube.
Spend too long listening to too many new-or-different bands, or reading too many what's-this-like books, and I find I can forget what it's like to wallow in what I really like. Music, or reading, or movie-watching, stops being fun.
The Romantic symphony has been my bugbear. This is anything after Beethoven and not including Mahler and Bruckner. I get what it's doing, and I like a lot of them. But they just don't work for me. It's taken me an age and a decent pair of speakers to sort out why.
Dynamic range. Way too much dynamic range. Around 100dbA for triple-forte or above and 30dbA for triple-piano or below. It is not suitable for how I use music. I need a much smaller dynamic range. Mazart is fine. So are Bach, Haydn, Handel, Clementi and almost everyone who composed before abut 1800.
A lack of tunes, riffs, and assorted hooks. It's all a bit wander-y and abstract. Hence the exceptions for Mahler (lots of tunes) and Bruckner (riffs).
I feel much happier playing the weirdness of Godspeed You! Black Emperor rather than the weirdness of Schumann.
Why do I keep on giving the Romantic Symphony a chance? Because I know I am supposed to like it. And in the right mood, a bit of Sibelius or Respighi is just fine. Mostly, I'm not in that mood.
The thing is: I think I should be in that mood more often.
But that's just not me. And I feel like I'm forcing myself if I try to be.
I have been playing music I like recently. Familiar - though high-quality music or literature always has some surprises. I feel more at home when I do.
Monday, 1 March 2021
Why Do You Listen To Music?
Why do you listen to music?
Or perhaps I should ask: why do you play music on a hi-fi, on headphones, on ear-phones, on the car radio?
For a long time, music was for something. Singing along, or dancing, or hauling up sails, or providing a rhythm for working or walking. Gregorian chant and later vocal church music was for instilling a mood in its listeners. Opera was entertainment, and the crowd used to turn up at all times, and talk. Wagner put an end to that. He turned the lights down so the ladies could not see each other's hats and lovers. At least that's the story.
Sly Stone said we should dance to the music. Some music is for dancing to, from Baroque bourees to Viennese waltzes, though Trance seems to be for standing in a packed space and making vertical gestures with your upraised arm. Rock and roll was for dancing, and virtuoso stuff some of that dancing could be.
For years, the BBC Light Programme (aka Radio 2) used to broadcast a thirty-minute programme called Music While You Work. It was on at 10:30 and 15:00, these being times when people were held to flag at the production lines, spinning jennies and account-book-filling. It was live, and consisted of upbeat dance music, but nothing too exciting. The myth says that productivity went up when it was on.
Music can enhance a mood. Next time you're on the Zandvoort - Amsterdam train, play Milestones soon after you leave Zaandvoort. As long as it's sunny.
Some music was to provide a background to a dinner or social occasion, so there would be no awkward silences. Telemann wrote four books of Tafelmusik and jolly pleasant stuff it is too.
Bach thought Telemann was pretty good, and they shared quite a few licks. Music stops the French saying un ange passe. It can also ease the sound of a noisy eater.
There isn't one experience that is listening to music. There are many.
Listening to orchestral music is about hearing all its nuances, the interactions between the various instruments, the way a theme is developed, varied, moved around... all that music analysis stuff. And then the end of Mahler's Second reaches inside you and brings out tears and profound astonishment.
Listening to Above and Beyond is about being absorbed in the music and the mood it creates. It's almost a kind of surrender: here I am, take care of my soul for the next couple of hours. Their 2019 Prague gig worked out like that.
Listening to jazz is about feeling the groove and the tunes and the solos. A lot like listening to Baroque: different groove, and there isn't as much soloing in Baroque. Dig the violin interplay on the D Minor Double Concerto. Listening to flamenco guitar is the same: feel the groove, hear the tunes and harmonies, marvel at the technique: all at once.
Listening to pop songs of whatever genre is about impact: the tune, the beat, the lyrics, the attitude. Later on, it's about the memories of the time we heard that music: where we were, how we were feeling, who we were with, what we were doing.
Professionals can listen in a very different way. They are listening for what the performers, or maybe the producer or the mixer or the composer, are doing. What's that sound and how did they get it? We should use that bap-ba-cha effect on one of our tunes. Darn, another drop-D tuning. Yeah, it's all being played on the upstroke, that's why it sounds like that. They missed the increase in volume on that sixteenth note that Fernyhough asks for. What about that D/F-diminished after the A minor 9? Oh no, the rest between those final chords is way too long. Professional listen because that's their business.
One reason to listen to music is to decide if we want to listen to it again. Because some music is closer to us. There is the music that we listen to often, and music that we listen to once and never again, and then music we may listen to once in a couple of years. We're looking for more music that we want to listen to again. I was always on the lookout for "train music", and when I found a good one, it stayed on the phone for months. I go through a month or so when I play Doo-Bop three or four times, and another month when it's Bob Dylan, or Corelli, that gets played.
I have music to get me going in the morning, and to fall asleep to at night. I write these with music playing, and sometimes when I need to focus on something tedious at work I will put on the headphones and play something that distracts the fifty per cent of my brain that isn't getting used by work. Train music is for blotting out the sound of the train and of people talking and coughing. It helped me concentrate on reading or whatever I was doing.
Every now and then, I will stop what I'm doing and listen to the music, wallow in it, and then go back to doing whatever I was doing. When I put the headphones on and play a track or an album over again, that's because I want the emotions it brings.
Music makes living easier. That's why I have it playing. And when it doesn't, I don't.
Or perhaps I should ask: why do you play music on a hi-fi, on headphones, on ear-phones, on the car radio?
For a long time, music was for something. Singing along, or dancing, or hauling up sails, or providing a rhythm for working or walking. Gregorian chant and later vocal church music was for instilling a mood in its listeners. Opera was entertainment, and the crowd used to turn up at all times, and talk. Wagner put an end to that. He turned the lights down so the ladies could not see each other's hats and lovers. At least that's the story.
Sly Stone said we should dance to the music. Some music is for dancing to, from Baroque bourees to Viennese waltzes, though Trance seems to be for standing in a packed space and making vertical gestures with your upraised arm. Rock and roll was for dancing, and virtuoso stuff some of that dancing could be.
For years, the BBC Light Programme (aka Radio 2) used to broadcast a thirty-minute programme called Music While You Work. It was on at 10:30 and 15:00, these being times when people were held to flag at the production lines, spinning jennies and account-book-filling. It was live, and consisted of upbeat dance music, but nothing too exciting. The myth says that productivity went up when it was on.
Music can enhance a mood. Next time you're on the Zandvoort - Amsterdam train, play Milestones soon after you leave Zaandvoort. As long as it's sunny.
Some music was to provide a background to a dinner or social occasion, so there would be no awkward silences. Telemann wrote four books of Tafelmusik and jolly pleasant stuff it is too.
Bach thought Telemann was pretty good, and they shared quite a few licks. Music stops the French saying un ange passe. It can also ease the sound of a noisy eater.
There isn't one experience that is listening to music. There are many.
Listening to orchestral music is about hearing all its nuances, the interactions between the various instruments, the way a theme is developed, varied, moved around... all that music analysis stuff. And then the end of Mahler's Second reaches inside you and brings out tears and profound astonishment.
Listening to Above and Beyond is about being absorbed in the music and the mood it creates. It's almost a kind of surrender: here I am, take care of my soul for the next couple of hours. Their 2019 Prague gig worked out like that.
Listening to jazz is about feeling the groove and the tunes and the solos. A lot like listening to Baroque: different groove, and there isn't as much soloing in Baroque. Dig the violin interplay on the D Minor Double Concerto. Listening to flamenco guitar is the same: feel the groove, hear the tunes and harmonies, marvel at the technique: all at once.
Listening to pop songs of whatever genre is about impact: the tune, the beat, the lyrics, the attitude. Later on, it's about the memories of the time we heard that music: where we were, how we were feeling, who we were with, what we were doing.
Professionals can listen in a very different way. They are listening for what the performers, or maybe the producer or the mixer or the composer, are doing. What's that sound and how did they get it? We should use that bap-ba-cha effect on one of our tunes. Darn, another drop-D tuning. Yeah, it's all being played on the upstroke, that's why it sounds like that. They missed the increase in volume on that sixteenth note that Fernyhough asks for. What about that D/F-diminished after the A minor 9? Oh no, the rest between those final chords is way too long. Professional listen because that's their business.
One reason to listen to music is to decide if we want to listen to it again. Because some music is closer to us. There is the music that we listen to often, and music that we listen to once and never again, and then music we may listen to once in a couple of years. We're looking for more music that we want to listen to again. I was always on the lookout for "train music", and when I found a good one, it stayed on the phone for months. I go through a month or so when I play Doo-Bop three or four times, and another month when it's Bob Dylan, or Corelli, that gets played.
I have music to get me going in the morning, and to fall asleep to at night. I write these with music playing, and sometimes when I need to focus on something tedious at work I will put on the headphones and play something that distracts the fifty per cent of my brain that isn't getting used by work. Train music is for blotting out the sound of the train and of people talking and coughing. It helped me concentrate on reading or whatever I was doing.
Every now and then, I will stop what I'm doing and listen to the music, wallow in it, and then go back to doing whatever I was doing. When I put the headphones on and play a track or an album over again, that's because I want the emotions it brings.
Music makes living easier. That's why I have it playing. And when it doesn't, I don't.
Thursday, 25 February 2021
Hi-Fi Alternatives: The More The Merrier
CD? Streaming? Vinyl? FM / AM Radio? Internet Radio? Lossy rips? Losless rips? Live? Which is best? Can CDs be replaced by streaming? Do real audiophiles collect vinyl? Apples, oranges, tangerines or bananas?
Radio and streaming are methods of data transport. CDs, vinyl and music files on hard drives are methods of data storage. Smart phones, CD players, streaming devices, DACs, amplifiers, loudspeakers, headphones and in-ears are ways of converting the data and delivering the sound to your ears. The streaming service and the radio station holds the storage media and the right to broadcast it. You pay them for access to that broadcast. Or put up with adverts in the case of radio. You own the CD, vinyl or music files and the equipment to transport, convert and deliver the data it holds. You get a perpetual right to listen to it. The other extreme is a live concert, where you own nothing and get a one-time right to listen to it. Streaming is somewhere between those two: you have a renewable right to access what the streaming company itself has a renewable right from the artists and record companies to make available.
A live concert is more than someone delivering sound to you. It's an event. You can see the performers. It may be a one-off, with a legendary figure on the stage. Streaming is just data delivery. The experience is how you are listening to the music: on the train, in front of your speakers, from a Sonos One as you fall asleep. Only a small part of that experience is down to the quality of the streaming service. Playing a CD is a more restricted experience than streaming, since you have to be in the room with the speakers or headphones. A part of that experience may be the higher quality of the sound from the CD transport and the DAC, than can be had from the streaming service. Vinyl is its own sound experience: literally a different sound from the CD of the same album, less dynamic range and a bunch of other compromises.
Each service has its own purpose. It's not either/or but both/and.
Live music is a win for the experience: you had to be there, and you were. Streaming gives you a replacement for radio and gets rid of the adverts, though the curation may not be as good. Streaming works in your house, your friend's house, on the train, in the car, wherever there is enough broadband or cellular. It's a definite addition to the technological mix. CD and vinyl is for when you want a specific experience of listening and the sense of ownership: you chose that CD / album, you paid for it, and you decided to keep it rather than bin it in embarrassment.
What makes sense to get depends on where you live and who you live with. Hi-fi gear takes up space and needs to be played around 60-70 dbA at point of listening - the volume of the human voice or my steel-string acoustic guitar. CDs take up space. This is fine for someone in their own house, but if you are sharing with your family or three other people in a large flat, you may want to go for streaming through your iDevice and a decent DAC into some head-fi, or noise-cancellers. How easily small feet can snag fat power cables: young children and £2,000 of Kef LS50 II's on stands are an accident waiting for an insurance company to decline. I have a small terraced house, and even speakers with only 85 db/watt-metre are way too loud with one watt going through them. Any more that 40 watts / channel is just silly. If I lived in a larger house a few yards from my neighbours, I could crank up the volume and an 80 watt / channel amp might be an idea. The WAF is a real thing: only single men can rejoice in stacks of blank boxes joined with gnarly cable, leading to a pair of speaker towers that look like some weird bird.
My core listening is CD. I already had a lot of CDs before streaming became worth having. I like certain eras of classical music that are not well-represented on Spotify, and might not be on Naxos. The same can be said for a number of EDM / House / Trance artists. Maybe if Spotify had every Bedrock and Digweed CD, I would think again. CDs are bought by browsing, which is something I will write about, that simply cannot be done online yet. While 320kps is perfectly acceptable, there's nothing quite like a CD for quality. And CDs will work even when Talk-Talk decides to not supply broadband.
Every now and then I buy a CD of some contemporary composer's music. If I picked their name and listened to something on Spotify, I would navigate away briskly. If I buy it, I have to put in some time listening to justify the expense. Kalevi Aho is never going to be on repeat, but I like what I bought of his more than I did a while ago. I would never have gone back to it if I had streamed a sample. I find, and you may differ, that the price of a CD gives me a little skin in the game of musical exploration.
I do not have an AM/FM tuner anymore, since all radio stations also stream. I have streaming because it offers what is in effect an advert-free range of radio stations: 80's, folk, jazz, classical, 60's, whatever. I can hear new releases, and I can use it on the train. (Spotify seems to cache an album, since it goes on playing even when I'm in the London Underground.) I can also play different music in different rooms over my Sonos gear. Sometimes I buy downloads from Amazon, but not the CD, and that's why I also rip my CDs (to AAC) so I have all 'my' music, that I've paid for, in one place. I have CDs because that is my preferred listening experience. Above all, it lets me play songs and artists that I used to have in my collection, still like to hear now and again, but are not part of how I listen now.
I have hi-fi speakers for the main room, Sonos Ones for the rooms where music is a background, and a Beam for the TV. I have Bose noise-cancellers I used to use in the office, Sony XM3 in-ears, and Sennheiser HD650 as head-fi. It's all about flexibility, the right technology for the circumstances. The more the merrier.
And sometime in 2023 when all this is over and I don't have to be in bed at 21:30, I will go to concerts again.
Radio and streaming are methods of data transport. CDs, vinyl and music files on hard drives are methods of data storage. Smart phones, CD players, streaming devices, DACs, amplifiers, loudspeakers, headphones and in-ears are ways of converting the data and delivering the sound to your ears. The streaming service and the radio station holds the storage media and the right to broadcast it. You pay them for access to that broadcast. Or put up with adverts in the case of radio. You own the CD, vinyl or music files and the equipment to transport, convert and deliver the data it holds. You get a perpetual right to listen to it. The other extreme is a live concert, where you own nothing and get a one-time right to listen to it. Streaming is somewhere between those two: you have a renewable right to access what the streaming company itself has a renewable right from the artists and record companies to make available.
A live concert is more than someone delivering sound to you. It's an event. You can see the performers. It may be a one-off, with a legendary figure on the stage. Streaming is just data delivery. The experience is how you are listening to the music: on the train, in front of your speakers, from a Sonos One as you fall asleep. Only a small part of that experience is down to the quality of the streaming service. Playing a CD is a more restricted experience than streaming, since you have to be in the room with the speakers or headphones. A part of that experience may be the higher quality of the sound from the CD transport and the DAC, than can be had from the streaming service. Vinyl is its own sound experience: literally a different sound from the CD of the same album, less dynamic range and a bunch of other compromises.
Each service has its own purpose. It's not either/or but both/and.
Live music is a win for the experience: you had to be there, and you were. Streaming gives you a replacement for radio and gets rid of the adverts, though the curation may not be as good. Streaming works in your house, your friend's house, on the train, in the car, wherever there is enough broadband or cellular. It's a definite addition to the technological mix. CD and vinyl is for when you want a specific experience of listening and the sense of ownership: you chose that CD / album, you paid for it, and you decided to keep it rather than bin it in embarrassment.
What makes sense to get depends on where you live and who you live with. Hi-fi gear takes up space and needs to be played around 60-70 dbA at point of listening - the volume of the human voice or my steel-string acoustic guitar. CDs take up space. This is fine for someone in their own house, but if you are sharing with your family or three other people in a large flat, you may want to go for streaming through your iDevice and a decent DAC into some head-fi, or noise-cancellers. How easily small feet can snag fat power cables: young children and £2,000 of Kef LS50 II's on stands are an accident waiting for an insurance company to decline. I have a small terraced house, and even speakers with only 85 db/watt-metre are way too loud with one watt going through them. Any more that 40 watts / channel is just silly. If I lived in a larger house a few yards from my neighbours, I could crank up the volume and an 80 watt / channel amp might be an idea. The WAF is a real thing: only single men can rejoice in stacks of blank boxes joined with gnarly cable, leading to a pair of speaker towers that look like some weird bird.
My core listening is CD. I already had a lot of CDs before streaming became worth having. I like certain eras of classical music that are not well-represented on Spotify, and might not be on Naxos. The same can be said for a number of EDM / House / Trance artists. Maybe if Spotify had every Bedrock and Digweed CD, I would think again. CDs are bought by browsing, which is something I will write about, that simply cannot be done online yet. While 320kps is perfectly acceptable, there's nothing quite like a CD for quality. And CDs will work even when Talk-Talk decides to not supply broadband.
Every now and then I buy a CD of some contemporary composer's music. If I picked their name and listened to something on Spotify, I would navigate away briskly. If I buy it, I have to put in some time listening to justify the expense. Kalevi Aho is never going to be on repeat, but I like what I bought of his more than I did a while ago. I would never have gone back to it if I had streamed a sample. I find, and you may differ, that the price of a CD gives me a little skin in the game of musical exploration.
I do not have an AM/FM tuner anymore, since all radio stations also stream. I have streaming because it offers what is in effect an advert-free range of radio stations: 80's, folk, jazz, classical, 60's, whatever. I can hear new releases, and I can use it on the train. (Spotify seems to cache an album, since it goes on playing even when I'm in the London Underground.) I can also play different music in different rooms over my Sonos gear. Sometimes I buy downloads from Amazon, but not the CD, and that's why I also rip my CDs (to AAC) so I have all 'my' music, that I've paid for, in one place. I have CDs because that is my preferred listening experience. Above all, it lets me play songs and artists that I used to have in my collection, still like to hear now and again, but are not part of how I listen now.
I have hi-fi speakers for the main room, Sonos Ones for the rooms where music is a background, and a Beam for the TV. I have Bose noise-cancellers I used to use in the office, Sony XM3 in-ears, and Sennheiser HD650 as head-fi. It's all about flexibility, the right technology for the circumstances. The more the merrier.
And sometime in 2023 when all this is over and I don't have to be in bed at 21:30, I will go to concerts again.
Monday, 22 February 2021
Editorial Policy
My posting has been erratic of late. If I was doing this seriously, that would matter, but I'm not, so it doesn't. Anyway, nobody reads blogs now, they listen to long rants in You Tube, interrupted by adverts (unless you use the Brave browser).
This is because I keep circling back to the same thing, and I've said my final word on it. I don't want to say any more about it.
I've been trying to find something else to talk about.
This blog has always been a diary, written knowing that other people might read it. That imposes a certain discipline on the way I say things. The language and sentiments are... allowed to mellow from time to time. As such, it gives me an opportunity to examine ideas I'm reading or things that I'm feeling. Or just plain rant. The conclusion is not so important, it is, as they say, all about the process. That is because I'm a philosopher, and philosophy is about examining ideas, rather than stating conclusions.
I write about the things I am doing, or discovering, because that helps clarify my thoughts and actions. I write about things that catch my attention. Too often that is politics. For a long time, I wrote far too much about the murky inner workings of my psyche, and as meaningless as that would be to others, it helped me. How often did I write something and soon afterwards think, well, that's nonsense. Jumping from one subject to another is not going to bring a consistent audience: what, after all, is this guy writing about?
Several things have been a big part of my life for a long time. Fiction, and later on, non-fiction. Listening to music, and playing it for personal satisfaction. Exercise. Photography. I've been sober for over a third of my life.
What can I bring to writing about any of that? There are enough hi-fi channels, music magazines and radio stations around, and some of those people do actually know what they are talking about. Some, but far from all. And even if they do believe in `burn-in', their views on other things might still be sensible. Book reviews, movie reviews... there are plenty by people who know what they are talking about and have inside knowledge of the industry and the people. Why review movies when, until recently, there was Roger Ebert? There are photography channels and magazines run by all sorts of talented hard-working people. What do I have?
I have read thousands of books, and seen seen thousands of movies, but forgotten most of them. That may be the clue: maybe I should talk about the ones I remember, not only what's in them, but why I remember them.
Well, maybe I can share the stuff I liked. Why I like it, why it felt important to me at the time. Some of the things I've learned as well.
That feels like a plan.
This is because I keep circling back to the same thing, and I've said my final word on it. I don't want to say any more about it.
I've been trying to find something else to talk about.
This blog has always been a diary, written knowing that other people might read it. That imposes a certain discipline on the way I say things. The language and sentiments are... allowed to mellow from time to time. As such, it gives me an opportunity to examine ideas I'm reading or things that I'm feeling. Or just plain rant. The conclusion is not so important, it is, as they say, all about the process. That is because I'm a philosopher, and philosophy is about examining ideas, rather than stating conclusions.
I write about the things I am doing, or discovering, because that helps clarify my thoughts and actions. I write about things that catch my attention. Too often that is politics. For a long time, I wrote far too much about the murky inner workings of my psyche, and as meaningless as that would be to others, it helped me. How often did I write something and soon afterwards think, well, that's nonsense. Jumping from one subject to another is not going to bring a consistent audience: what, after all, is this guy writing about?
Several things have been a big part of my life for a long time. Fiction, and later on, non-fiction. Listening to music, and playing it for personal satisfaction. Exercise. Photography. I've been sober for over a third of my life.
What can I bring to writing about any of that? There are enough hi-fi channels, music magazines and radio stations around, and some of those people do actually know what they are talking about. Some, but far from all. And even if they do believe in `burn-in', their views on other things might still be sensible. Book reviews, movie reviews... there are plenty by people who know what they are talking about and have inside knowledge of the industry and the people. Why review movies when, until recently, there was Roger Ebert? There are photography channels and magazines run by all sorts of talented hard-working people. What do I have?
I have read thousands of books, and seen seen thousands of movies, but forgotten most of them. That may be the clue: maybe I should talk about the ones I remember, not only what's in them, but why I remember them.
Well, maybe I can share the stuff I liked. Why I like it, why it felt important to me at the time. Some of the things I've learned as well.
That feels like a plan.
Monday, 8 February 2021
At Last! The Speaker Upgrade (KEF LS50)
First, sort out your speaker set-up.
Second, sort out the room, at least a bit. You may want to hold off on thousand-pound acoustic panels and bass-traps.
Third, get to know the sound of your new, improved music collection.
Fourth, work out what's missing or wrong with the new, improved sound. That will take a month or so.
Now you can think about upgrading.
UPGRADE THE SPEAKERS FIRST. (Says everyone.) Assuming your amp and sources are at least a decent mid-fi.
Look at what the professionals have in the background of their YT sets.
Almost all of them have had a pair of KEF LS50's on display at one time or another. Paul McGowan has a pair.
John Darko said that if you can get a pair of the originals (not the Meta) at a decent discount, that would be the deal of the year.
Guess what? Sevenoaks Hi-Fi are or were selling them at a 33% discount, with an effective 28-day trial period.
(Pauses to read debit card details over the phone.)
Two days later they arrived (and I still can't get anyone to look at double-glazing after a month).
I already know where to put them, so I swap out the B&W 686's.
Select Bruckner 5. Press play.
Holy ****.
The violins are on the left. The cellos are on the right. The horns are on the left and to the centre. There are instruments I hadn't heard before. I can play it louder without it being painful. And nobody in the orchestra gets up and wanders over to the corner of the room.
These things are so clear they even make sense, okay, almost makes sense, of Shoreline (7/4), which I swear was especially mixed to defeat the best stereo systems ever made. I could actually play that Broken Social Scene CD without wincing.
Bedrock's Signals became a shimmering, echoing delight.
I have Schoenberg's Chamber Symphony 1 playing now. Each instrument is distinct, each note has a beginning, a middle and an end. In that order.
The difference is about the same as the difference between a three year-old Ford Mondeo and a Jaguar XF.
Some things really are better than others.
Second, sort out the room, at least a bit. You may want to hold off on thousand-pound acoustic panels and bass-traps.
Third, get to know the sound of your new, improved music collection.
Fourth, work out what's missing or wrong with the new, improved sound. That will take a month or so.
Now you can think about upgrading.
UPGRADE THE SPEAKERS FIRST. (Says everyone.) Assuming your amp and sources are at least a decent mid-fi.
Look at what the professionals have in the background of their YT sets.
Almost all of them have had a pair of KEF LS50's on display at one time or another. Paul McGowan has a pair.
John Darko said that if you can get a pair of the originals (not the Meta) at a decent discount, that would be the deal of the year.
Guess what? Sevenoaks Hi-Fi are or were selling them at a 33% discount, with an effective 28-day trial period.
(Pauses to read debit card details over the phone.)
Two days later they arrived (and I still can't get anyone to look at double-glazing after a month).
I already know where to put them, so I swap out the B&W 686's.
Select Bruckner 5. Press play.
Holy ****.
The violins are on the left. The cellos are on the right. The horns are on the left and to the centre. There are instruments I hadn't heard before. I can play it louder without it being painful. And nobody in the orchestra gets up and wanders over to the corner of the room.
These things are so clear they even make sense, okay, almost makes sense, of Shoreline (7/4), which I swear was especially mixed to defeat the best stereo systems ever made. I could actually play that Broken Social Scene CD without wincing.
Bedrock's Signals became a shimmering, echoing delight.
I have Schoenberg's Chamber Symphony 1 playing now. Each instrument is distinct, each note has a beginning, a middle and an end. In that order.
The difference is about the same as the difference between a three year-old Ford Mondeo and a Jaguar XF.
Some things really are better than others.
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