It started as a joke. I told my uncle, also a huge Mets fan, that if the Mets didn't make it to the playoffs, I'd get rid of my television. What would I need a television for anyway? All I ever watch are Mets games, and I can get my news from the internet or the radio. The idea became more attractive as I thought of how much easier it would be to swap audio components without an enormous, old 27" Sharp television set getting in the way. I might even be able to hock the television for a sweet pair of bongos, or something similarly musical and pretty. They've got some nice rhythm sticks over there at Jemma Loan on Newark Avenue. A trumpet? A few harmonicas? Who knows? Plus, without the easy distraction of television, I'd inevitably read and write more, listen to more music, maybe even exercise a bit. All good things.
I never cared much for Santana. (The band, not Johan. Johan, I love.) You know, there was always "Evil Ways" and "Oye Como Va"—fine songs for a stretch of highway when there's nothing else on the radio, but, eh: So what? I shrug my shoulders.
Because John is visiting manufacturers in Montreal, he missed this morning's rock awakening. We're gathered in my office, huddled round the sound, listening. "I'm glad John isn't here," says Elizabeth. "I need to break this in slowly."
I received a very kind note from Owen McCafferty, who, along with Ben Meadors, hopes to travel to Portland, San Francisco, Chicago, Cleveland, and New York City, meeting vinyl collectors, record store owners, and other vinyl enthusiasts, to discuss why vinyl is important. The duo will document their journey and publish a book detailing their experiences.
1. My system, with the Moscode in it, seems to achieve greater soundstage width. In Ryan Adams' "Mockingbird," a tambourine rattles away far in the righthand corner of my room. It startles and impresses me every time.
The sky over Madison Avenue is a sliver of summer blue. Steam sighs and whirls up and out from the old street like a thin white curtain in the wind. A few things, quickly, then:
I’m so much more impressed by good, affordable systems than I am by those costing tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. I find it difficult to concentrate on music when I’m overwhelmed by the high prices of the gear delivering it. Price should never be the most impressive aspect of hi-fi.
It's funny because:
Just as Wes suggested — though I so earnestly try to never hold expectations of any sort, and I talk a lot of smack about never expecting anything from this life, I'm really full of it: I have great expectations, and often scold myself for expecting too much — I figured I must have simply been expecting the magic to come. Or "looking for it," as my mom might say. And you can't go looking for it, she tells me. Because, if you do, you'll never find it. Whatever, ma.
I have a full-length commute. It lasts just about as long as an album. For instance, if I plug in the iPod and press play on Dinosaur Jr.'s Beyond just as I leave my apartment, the album comes to a glorious end exactly as I enter our office's elevators. This was a great discovery.
Stephen Mejias
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