Ughh, Local Pressings

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Agaton Sax

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Remember record shops? Cavernous places the size of a rugby field with concrete ceilings always painted gloss white. From the ceiling would be, seemingly, a thousand neon lights dangling from filthy chains. There would be racks and racks of records and a thousand pimply kids, just like you, rapidly paging through the covers, the shadowless neon glare painting their already sickly colour another shade of warmed-up death.

Twenty years from now a young female doctor is quickly going to get out of her chair and run to the tea room. She is excited, she is going to write it up, the fact that all old people have osteoarthritis of the first joint of the index finger. An old doctor, for there is always one, is going to shake his head sadly and with rheumy eyes looking at her he is going to say; "My dear, they simply have record buyer's fingers" For the "My Dear" he is going to be fired for being sexist.

Were you one of those spotty kids? Then you know the look: A similar facial expression of one who just grabbed a dog turd or a used condom. For the aspiring record buyer has just spotted the word "Interpak" on the record cover. Uggh, the dreaded Local pressing; no highs, no lows, no dynamics, noisy as hell and just BAD but like really yuck. Should one actually buy this filth, you would hide it, like some pornographic magazine and steel yourself for the withering look of the absolute genius at the till.

Looking through my records yesterday, I came across a misfiled one. The Waterboy's "Down by the sea" but a recent purchase. It still had the price on it, R349.99. With that, the sleeve also proclaims a free digital download. I listened. The music was fantastic but the recording was dire. It was bright and distorted. Were early ADA converters really that bad? I decided my cartridge must be at the end of its life, with serious tracking distortion. I tried another arm with a cart that would track a pepperoni pizza (as Mike would say) Nope, same harsh distorted sound.

This afternoon I went on a hunt, and I found it. The Waterboy's "Down by the sea", complete with the dreaded Interpak on the battered sleeve. I could only look at the record to know it was local. Blackish with swirls of whitish stuff-ground up labels? Anyway, I washed it and dried it: Same cart, same arm. Thunderous bass rhythms, shimmering highs with trumpet darting and stabbing. Harsh yes but harshly played. It went LOUD and as quickly went quiet. It beat my R349. 99 "Audiophile Pressing" so far into submission that that piece of junk is not even bleeding. WTF did whoever cut and made that new stuff think? Does he, she or sexless one even know how a Lathe works? Does that Ortofon cutting head even have a stylus? What the hell! No wonder the kids think this Analog revival is just a fashion fad. Bloody idiots making this stuff.
 

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