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Very small variations from day to day, most probably coming from me. Quality of listening depends on my ease in concentrating on the music or not.
Is it the atmosphere? The power line? Your brain? Does your system's sound quality vary from day to day?
The objective variations I experience mainly come from the power line (presence of DC, presence of frequency components other than 50Hz or 60Hz). These variations are clearly audible, but are no dealbreaker. Yes, I prefer listening at night on weekends! Subjective variations of course come from the listener's individual state at the time.
Yes, assuming "system" includes my current state (try listening after two glasses of wine, or after a heavy metal concert!), the street outside, the diswasher, the wind, the rain...I don't think the performance of the electronics and speakers changes much, if at all.
I slumped in despair at the apex of my Listening Triangle. Something wasn't right. "My system needs a subwoofer!" I cried to the heavens. "Mood swings, son, I say, mood swings," the Senator blustered as he staggered in the door. "Next you'll be wanting a Graphic Equalizer, to improve presence." "Senator?" I said, "Back from the latest bailout vote?" "Son, I say, son, your moods swing more than Lord Greystoke in the jungle." he said. Then he bellowed: "Ahheeeyah! Me Tarzan, you bi-polar!" "But, but," I stammered, "it's got no bottom octave! The thrill is gone." "Son, I say, son, you've been flim-flammed!" he shook his fist. "Why, I remember fighting on the beaches, toe-to-toe with the Hun! A drop of blood for every grain of sand! There's no crying in combat like some finochio: 'I've got no bottom octave! I've got no bottom octave!'" "Senator, you were 4-F", I point out. "2-A, son, I say, 2-A. Deferred in support of the national interest. Didn't have to be there, son, knew them that were. Mirror neurons, son, I say, mirror neurons." "What does World War II have to do with anything, Senator?" I wondered. "Son, when you look The Reaper in the eye, there's no time for petty moods." The Senator drove home his point. "Son, remember the time you were listening to Mozart's Serenade No. 10 for winds? Remember what you said?" I remembered: "It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God." I whispered. "And that was on a boombox," he reminded me. "So next time you're rapid cycling like Vincent Van Gough, son, just remember: there is nothing you can see that is not a flower." I knew he was right. If you cannot find the truth right where you are, where else do you expect to find it? Knock on the sky and listen to the sound!