High-end audio and the sad skeptics (Part 1)
One day almost thirty years ago, in search of my favorite classical record magazine Gramophone, I walked in to the local high-end audio salon where it was readily available for sale every month. In the golden age of high-end audio of the seventies and eighties, Sound Components of Coral Gables was the premier store of its type in the Southeast, if not the country. The former owner of Sound Components, Peter McGrath, became one of the most sought after recording engineers, producing amazingly neutral, detailed, exquisite recordings. (McGrath currently works for Wilson Audio, the Holy Grail of high-end loudspeakers.) I own two of his recordings that are diametrically opposed musically -- solo lute music from the German Baroque and one of the best recordings ever of a Mahler symphony (the First) with James Judd and the Florida Philharmonic -- but produced with singularly accurate and natural sound.
But I digress.
As I walked in that day, I was stopped in my tracks by a piano recording that was so lifelike, so real, that I had to sit down to listen to it through its conclusion. I was hearing the second movement of Mozart's K.545 piano sonata played by the legendary Chilean pianist Claudio Arrau, a pianist I had the privilege of hearing live in Miami playing Liszt. This was an off-the-rack imported Philips LP (a 33.3 rpm long-playing vinyl record for those too young to know) playing on what was, arguably, one of two or three super-high resolution, stratospherically expensive (for then), two-channel audio systems: the Mark Levinson HQD system with a Linn Sondek LP12 turntable as the source. The speakers used in that system to reproduce the midrange, where most music exists, were two pairs of the legendary Quad ESL-57 electrostatic loudspeakers, probably the most neutral transducer ever designed. Without boring everyone with details that will mean nothing to anyone outside of this hobby, suffice it to say that listening to that recording on that system was a revelation, not because of loudness, or the allure of the gear (which was amazing), or anything like that. What impressed me was the perfectly realized illusion that Arrau was there in the store, in the flesh, playing on his Steinway, for me and the two employees who were there having a fast-food lunch.
Being very familiar with the sound of a piano in a real hall, listening to this record on that system was paradigm-shifting in its impact. I experienced something that forever changed the way I listened to recorded music. It relates directly to why I am an audiophile today, in a constant quest to improve the sound that approaches what is heard in a live performance.
I purchased my first audio system in 1975. It consisted of a Scott 40wpc receiver -- H. H. Scott was as famous a manufacturer in its day as Marantz and Fisher -- a pair of Altec loudspeakers and a Garrard turntable. Simple for its day, about $500 total. Not expensive, but not cheap either. That system gave me enormous pleasure for many, many years. It wasn't until the advent of the compact disc in 1982 that I started to give a thought to changing my components. The CD had been touted as "perfect sound forever"; I thought they sounded like shit. Shrill, lifeless corpses containing what had once been music. Not even remotely close to a wonderful British EMI pressing or a Philips from Holland or the Tulip-clad DGs, pre-1964.
I was an analog holdout of the worst kind. I stubbornly refused to buy compact discs until 1987. As supplies of vinyl dwindled, and my LP collection stagnated due to enormous cuts in LP inventory and a lack of any new releases on LP, I gave in and bought my first CDs: Mahler's Ninth Symphony in a live performance by Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic that was recorded the same year I had heard them play the very same work at Carnegie Hall, and Bruce Springteen's Born To Run, the quintessential rock album by The Boss. I justified my betrayal of analog because that specific Mahler performance was not available on LP. Remember, these were the days before eBay and Amazon.com when you actually had to go to a "record store" to browse and buy music.
Since I was not rich, the dreams of Levinson gear, Linn Sondeks, and Audio Research remained just that, dreams. Dreams that poor audiophiles have. My first CD player, a $300 Yamaha model, was selected because it was the best sounding of the ones I heard that I could afford. And $300 was not cheap. Frankly, I was disappointed. Its drawer mechanically failed after only one year and repairs were out of the question. I went to the store I bought it at and they gave me a brand spanking new Denon CD player. I also upgraded my receiver as well, a Denon also. Not high-end, but not a system you could buy at J. C. Penneys either. The digital sound was satisfactory, not great, but I still had thousands of LPs to choose from when I wanted listen to classical music and jazz. DGs, EMIs, Philips, German Pablo and ECM pressings with some of the most remarkable jazz performances of the seventies.
The death of two of my musical icons in 1989, Herbert von Karajan and Vladimir Horowitz, whom I had been fortunate enough to hear perform live before their deaths, were in a strange way a harbinger for what the nineties became for me as a music collector. I came to the conclusion that LPs were no longer going to made or sold again. (I was very wrong about that as we shall see later.) So I decided to go full bore and replace as many of my LPs with CDs as possible. In 1992 I decided to sell a big portion of my LP collection to a collector in Melbourne, Florida. He bought the whole shebang for about $500. I could now begin collecting anew, despite my misgivings about digital sound. I even got rid of my turntable, a Technics SP12 Mk.II with a Denon DL103 cartridge that had replaced my Garrard a few years before. (Direct-drive sucks.) I sold it so that there would be no going back to analog, the digital Rubicon crossed. "He that puts his hand to the plough, and looks back, is not fit for the kingdom of heaven." (Or so I thought...)
In order to get the most out of CDs, I started experimenting with different options I would read about in Stereophile and The Abso!ute Sound. In 1993 I swapped out my venerable Altecs for a pair of PSB Alphas, good bookshelf speakers that were very inexpensive and that sounded far superior to the Altecs in just about every way. Two years later I decided to buy a little device called a DAC-in-the-Box from a highly-praised company by the name of Audio Alchemy: a digital-to-analog converter (DAC) that would convert the digital stream from the CD player before reaching the receiver. It ended up being the best money I'd spent since moving over to the dark, er..., digital side: My CDs finally started sounding better. The harshness was almost, but not quite, gone. I could actually listen to an entire CD without that "digital fatigue" that so plagued the early discs and machines. I found that a good disc transport (my Denon) and a good DAC were the way to go to actually begin to approach improving digital sound.
Then, in 1998, I swapped my pair of PSBs for a new pair of loudspeakers that had been very highly reviewed by almost everyone. Since they were inexpensive (about $260 for the pair), I decided to switch. I bought a pair of B&W DM302s. Bowers & Wilkins are renowned for their superb speakers. These small masterpieces of loudspeaker design, even though they don't go comfortably below 60Hz, were superb in their ability to resolve music in the midrange. Just by changing my loudspeakers, albeit inexpensively, an amazing thing happened: these little speakers were so revealing that CDs I had thought sounded OK, started sounding like crap. What I once thought were good recordings and/or digital transfers, weren't so hot after all; great recordings (Harmonia Mundis, Audiofons, MFSLs) were amazingly good, better in fact, than I had heard them before. The staging opened up, the instruments were clearer, and that damned digital harshness was almost gone -- closer to analog, but no cigar. This proved to me that digital had enormous potential if done properly. I had made another vast improvement in my system for a small amount of money.
(As a side note, I still own the 302s and use them very successfully after almost ten years as my left and right front speakers in my 3.1 home theater. With a good subwoofer like my B&W ASW-650, these are killer loudspeakers.)
My purchase of the B&Ws led me to conclude that I needed to examine every single link in the chain to find out what could be improved upon. Did I need a sub? Was my Denon CD player pushing all of those ones and zeroes out properly? Should I upgrade my cables? Thus, I began the first leg of the quest I'm on today.
So here I was, with a wife, a kid, a mortgage, one car payment, an old house that sucked money out of us occasionally like an Oreck vacuum cleaner, and very little discretionary funding to satisfy my hobby -- a hobby, I might add, that if taken to its extreme can cost in the (very) high hundreds of thousands of dollars. I kid you not.
I decided that I would start buying excellent gear, as needed, but used (or as the salesmen say, "pre-owned"). Perusing the listings on eBay in 2001, I came across a DAC made by California Audio Labs: the GAMMA. A highly regarded piece of gear that, for the price it was being sold for, would be a bargain addition to my system. Once again, despite what what the naysayers spout, the DAC made another improvement in my system, not earth-shattering but tangible. CDs that I considered references sounded very, very good, in fact, they sounded better than they had before. I retired the DAC-in-the-Box after many years of service.
Then, like someone who had once been suddenly afflicted with a rare, debilitating, recurring tropical disease, I a bad case of analog fever. It was bad. It weighed on me and weighed on me. Like Galileo who had recanted his findings to the Pope, I had recanted on my love of analog, and I was desperate to say, "but it does move!" So, going on ten years in 2002 that I had not had an analog source in my system, I decided to buy a new turntable. A Rega Planar 2 with an RB250 tonearm and a Grado cartridge. It was cheap, and it sounded it. (More on that later.) I still had a few of the precious LPs I had refused to part with (about 200 of them), but the new addition also meant I would have start to buying vinyl again...
My next foray into improving my system was a serendipitous conversation I had with one of the guys that worked in the classical and jazz departments at main local record store I'd been haunting since the seventies. He made a passing comment to me that he wanted me sell some of his LPs on eBay for him and asked me if I would interested in buying his (spare) CD player. (Yes, some of us have more than one player.) The CD player was a California Audio Labs DX-2, not one of the vacuum tube players CAL Audio made; nevertheless it was a one thousand dollar CD player he was selling for $300. Needless to say I jumped at the opportunity to see what a highly-rated, highly reviewed player would do (and I could compare the DX-2's built-in DAC with my Gamma).
Folks, I cannot overstate the difference this one component (purchased for $300) made in my system. This player proved to me that digital was not the devilish invention I once thought it was. Every one of the reference CDs I played sounded so fresh and so good -- sounded closer to analog than I had ever thought possible out of a compact disc.
To be continued...


