The audiophile's dilemma
Movie characters pondering momentous decisions are sometimes subjected to a raging debate between an imaginary angel on one shoulder and an imaginary devil on the other. Think of Larry "Pinto" Kroger deciding whether to take advantage of his passed-out-drunk date during the infamous Anma\ House toga party.
Audiophiles, too, are often pulled in opposite directions. But instead of angel's wings or devil’s horns, our imaginary duelists are decked out in T-shirts, one with a logo that says “digital,” the other with a logo that says "analog.” Or tubes and transistors. Or that old favorite, Everything Matters vs Expensive Cables are Snake Oil.
I won’t presume to adjudicate these perpetual rhubarbs, but I will confess to facing a battle of my own, waged between the Head and the Heart.
Like many audiophiles, I became interested in quality music reproduction at a fairly young age. At this point I've pursued this beautiful obsession for roughly half a century, ever since a neighbor I looked up to returned from Vietnam and played his Garrard/Dynaco/Pioneer system for me. The sounds that system produced were way better than the record-munching Kenmore portable tucked away in the corner of our living room.
My first real audio system-48 years later I still remember that it cost $726.50— consisted of a BIC turntable, a Pioneer cassette deck, a Kenwood integrated amplifier, and a pair of Electro-Voice speakers. Starting there, over the years I've taken several steps up the ladder of performance (and cost).
Today. I am fortunate to enjoy what you might coinsider a very good system: a Lyra cartridge. Origin Live turntable, Audio Research phono stage. Ayre Acoustics CD, Ayre preamplifier and power amps, and Vandesteen 5A speakers, all tied together with upper-end AudioQuest cabling. (The relevance of this inventory will soon become clear.)
This current system is a big step up from the system that preceded it and all the systems that came before that, because I never felt comfortable investing this heavily until my kids were out of the house and their last tuition checks had cleared. I didn't want to have to say, sorry girls, your lab fees will be a little tardy because Dad needs a new power conditioner.
Despite having no way to confirm this,
I imagine many Stereophile readers have taken, or are taking, similar journeys.
My system is probably similar in quality and cost to systems owned and enjoyed by many other subscribers. They’ve probably smiled, as I have, when non-audiophile friends hear their favorite tunes played through our systems and are stunned. There’s no better validation of our choices than hearing someone say, "It seems like they're right here in the room."
And yet. Despite the listening pleasure my system delivers, despite its reasonably realistic soundstage, despite the emotional connec-tion it provides to the music, I routinely suffer bouts of audiophilia nervosa. Its chief symptom, upgraditis, is chronic. It comes and goes, lurking just below the surface and flaring up when it’s least convenient.
The Heart whispers, "you know, it could all be just a little bit better."
Maybe a tube preamplifier would improve imaging and timbre. Maybe more power would make those speakers sing more beautifully. A new cartridge, a couple of subwoofers, or, dare I say, some new interconnects might prove to be the last step needed to achieve musical satori. I peruse the ads, read the reviews, and watch as friends upgrade their systems. I audition other stereos—systems many, many times more elaborate, engaging, and expensive than my own. The wheels turn. My fingers graze the plastic card.
Then, just when things are about to get exciting, the Head weighs in. Intellectually,
I know my current system is far enough up the food chain to be well across the border into the land of diminishing returns. I have no choice but to accept that my hearing, due in large part to the natural process of aging and probably in larger part to the
THIS ISSUE: The hearts wants what the heart wants.
Thee effects of a misspent youth torturing my eardrums with too much volume, isn’t what it once was. Sadly, it's not likely to improve. Those resources might be better spent on, say, travel. Or food.
Still, the Heart wants what the Heart wants.
The battle is real, and it's not limited to hardware. The same holds true for music- for me, particularly vinyl. With some 1500 records, my collection is a fraction of what other collectors own, but it's big enough to provide many more hours of listening pleasure than I realistically have. There are albums I absolutely love but must sheepishly admit I haven't played in decades.
Still, the Heart beats prestissimo when I learn of an upcoming album by a favourite band, or a treasured recording to be released (finally) on vinyl after previously being available only on CD, or when some one from my music club introduces me to an intriguing new artist. Pavlovi an glands kick into overdrive as I read a review of the new. best-ever limited-edition remaster of a jazz classic that ever so slightly improves the bass over the previous best-ever limited-edition remaster, which I bought last year. Walking by a used record store inspires visions of a pristine copy of a clas-sic first pressing hiding among the musty copies of more mundane albums. Thrift shops or yard sales beckon: My experience at those places has been comically bad, but hope springs eternal.
Am I—are we, since I know I’m not alone—doomed to accept that like Mick and Keef we can't get no satisfaction? Must we be satisfied with what we merely need? Can an audiophile ever be content?
Thai’s a first-world question we all must answer for ourselves. For my part, it’s going to take some time to ponder all the possibilities. As I do that, I might as well spin another LP. Suddenly I find myself longing to hear something by The Head and The Heart.
David Fisher is an Olympia, Washington, music lover who deals with his lack of musical talent by listening to his stereo with his wife Terri and their dog Layla.
Movie characters pondering momentous decisions are sometimes subjected to a raging debate between an imaginary angel on one shoulder and an imaginary devil on the other. Think of Larry "Pinto" Kroger deciding whether to take advantage of his passed-out-drunk date during the infamous Anma\ House toga party.
Audiophiles, too, are often pulled in opposite directions. But instead of angel's wings or devil’s horns, our imaginary duelists are decked out in T-shirts, one with a logo that says “digital,” the other with a logo that says "analog.” Or tubes and transistors. Or that old favorite, Everything Matters vs Expensive Cables are Snake Oil.
I won’t presume to adjudicate these perpetual rhubarbs, but I will confess to facing a battle of my own, waged between the Head and the Heart.
Like many audiophiles, I became interested in quality music reproduction at a fairly young age. At this point I've pursued this beautiful obsession for roughly half a century, ever since a neighbor I looked up to returned from Vietnam and played his Garrard/Dynaco/Pioneer system for me. The sounds that system produced were way better than the record-munching Kenmore portable tucked away in the corner of our living room.
My first real audio system-48 years later I still remember that it cost $726.50— consisted of a BIC turntable, a Pioneer cassette deck, a Kenwood integrated amplifier, and a pair of Electro-Voice speakers. Starting there, over the years I've taken several steps up the ladder of performance (and cost).
Today. I am fortunate to enjoy what you might coinsider a very good system: a Lyra cartridge. Origin Live turntable, Audio Research phono stage. Ayre Acoustics CD, Ayre preamplifier and power amps, and Vandesteen 5A speakers, all tied together with upper-end AudioQuest cabling. (The relevance of this inventory will soon become clear.)
This current system is a big step up from the system that preceded it and all the systems that came before that, because I never felt comfortable investing this heavily until my kids were out of the house and their last tuition checks had cleared. I didn't want to have to say, sorry girls, your lab fees will be a little tardy because Dad needs a new power conditioner.
Despite having no way to confirm this,
I imagine many Stereophile readers have taken, or are taking, similar journeys.
My system is probably similar in quality and cost to systems owned and enjoyed by many other subscribers. They’ve probably smiled, as I have, when non-audiophile friends hear their favorite tunes played through our systems and are stunned. There’s no better validation of our choices than hearing someone say, "It seems like they're right here in the room."
And yet. Despite the listening pleasure my system delivers, despite its reasonably realistic soundstage, despite the emotional connec-tion it provides to the music, I routinely suffer bouts of audiophilia nervosa. Its chief symptom, upgraditis, is chronic. It comes and goes, lurking just below the surface and flaring up when it’s least convenient.
The Heart whispers, "you know, it could all be just a little bit better."
Maybe a tube preamplifier would improve imaging and timbre. Maybe more power would make those speakers sing more beautifully. A new cartridge, a couple of subwoofers, or, dare I say, some new interconnects might prove to be the last step needed to achieve musical satori. I peruse the ads, read the reviews, and watch as friends upgrade their systems. I audition other stereos—systems many, many times more elaborate, engaging, and expensive than my own. The wheels turn. My fingers graze the plastic card.
Then, just when things are about to get exciting, the Head weighs in. Intellectually,
I know my current system is far enough up the food chain to be well across the border into the land of diminishing returns. I have no choice but to accept that my hearing, due in large part to the natural process of aging and probably in larger part to the
THIS ISSUE: The hearts wants what the heart wants.
Thee effects of a misspent youth torturing my eardrums with too much volume, isn’t what it once was. Sadly, it's not likely to improve. Those resources might be better spent on, say, travel. Or food.
Still, the Heart wants what the Heart wants.
The battle is real, and it's not limited to hardware. The same holds true for music- for me, particularly vinyl. With some 1500 records, my collection is a fraction of what other collectors own, but it's big enough to provide many more hours of listening pleasure than I realistically have. There are albums I absolutely love but must sheepishly admit I haven't played in decades.
Still, the Heart beats prestissimo when I learn of an upcoming album by a favourite band, or a treasured recording to be released (finally) on vinyl after previously being available only on CD, or when some one from my music club introduces me to an intriguing new artist. Pavlovi an glands kick into overdrive as I read a review of the new. best-ever limited-edition remaster of a jazz classic that ever so slightly improves the bass over the previous best-ever limited-edition remaster, which I bought last year. Walking by a used record store inspires visions of a pristine copy of a clas-sic first pressing hiding among the musty copies of more mundane albums. Thrift shops or yard sales beckon: My experience at those places has been comically bad, but hope springs eternal.
Am I—are we, since I know I’m not alone—doomed to accept that like Mick and Keef we can't get no satisfaction? Must we be satisfied with what we merely need? Can an audiophile ever be content?
Thai’s a first-world question we all must answer for ourselves. For my part, it’s going to take some time to ponder all the possibilities. As I do that, I might as well spin another LP. Suddenly I find myself longing to hear something by The Head and The Heart.
David Fisher is an Olympia, Washington, music lover who deals with his lack of musical talent by listening to his stereo with his wife Terri and their dog Layla.
