Headphone Reviews

The first headphones I owned, circa mid-1970s, were made by Pioneer. They jutted out from my ears, with small, paper-cone speakers inside. "Head-Fi" is a whole different world nowadays than it was back then. The biggest change is Bluetooth, which lets us untether ourselves from our stereo systems.

Walking through any big art museum, even at a brisk pace, it's impossible not to notice how boldly each object wears the unique stamp of its time and place of manufacture. It doesn't matter whether the artist worked in Paris or Polynesia, in the 15th or 20th century. The force of the creator's persona, united with the constraints of the cultural system that supported the making of that type of art, determines the vibe the object emits. That vibe is what I'm hoping to grasp.

Over the years, I've listened to many headphones, beginning with the Grado SR60s I bought with my first paycheck. Since then, I've been lucky enough to sample many exotic cans, but I always return to the admittedly controversial realization that I happen to prefer ... earphones.

About a dozen years ago, I found myself sitting across from a disheveled gentleman in a near-empty lounge at LAX Airport as we both waited for a delayed flight. A well-loved leather suitcase stood at his feet. To my amazement, he wore a pair of Stax SR-L700s—full-on electrostatics he powered with an unwieldy amplifier he held on his lap, a power cord snaking to the outlet near his seat. It was absurd. And magnificent. He caught me smiling, smirked, lifted one earcup, and said, "If I'm going to spend another three hours in this godforsaken place, I might as well do it with Coltrane in my skull."

There, in his defiance of convenience, was a truth: Sound matters, enough to haul an electrostatic rig through Terminal 3, to trade portability for transcendence.

I am a lucky person. I've been writing monthly audio columns since 1992, and the chief benefit of that privilege has been that each month my mind is free to visit distant shores searching for exotic artifacts that readers might never encounter at their local audio emporium. This month, my raft drifted again onto Japan's metaphorical shores.

I was cordially greeted by an international cohort: Victor Kung (VK Music in Canada), Yoshi Segoshi (the American distributor for 47 Labs), Junji Kimura (47 Labs' founder and chief engineer), and Kazutoshi Tsukahara, formerly associated with 47 Labs (in Japan) and now founder and chief engineer of Sparkler Audio, which is also based in Japan. Sparkler Audio makes modestly priced components including the model S515t "ballade II" CD transport, which I am about to describe.

Decades ago, when I was peddling million-dollar sound systems, an astute potential customer asked me: "If I buy your very expensive system, what will I get that I'm not getting with my less expensive system?" Smiling my best fatherly smile, I whispered to his ear, "Goosebumps, tears, and laughter."

With a slightly worried look, he asked, "How much did you say those silver cables cost?"

Thirty years later
Changing audio cables always changes the sound of my system, sometimes a lot but usually just a little. Typically, the sonic effects of cable changes are modest shifts in focus, tone, or transparency. But sometimes during blue moons I've seen a new set of cables turn a blah, dull, fuzzy system into a macrodynamic, microdetailed one. Or turn a cool, mechanical-sounding system into something fierce and mammalian.

I always say I can't find what I'm not looking for, which doesn't mean I always know what I'm looking for. And not knowing what I want is unsettling. Recently, I was reminded of the thoughts of French polymath-philosopher René Girard (1923–2015), who suggested that people are not actually motivated by specific things like lust or capital or power, as major philosophers have declared, but by subtle, disconcerting forces of existential desire for something outside ourselves, never actually knowing what that something is.

Girard explains how this not knowing drives history and invention. His main premise is that we feel desire but, not knowing what we desire, mimic the desires of others. These "others" we mimic constitute a third element, interrupting the lines of force between a person and the objects desired. This, according to Girard, makes desire, and by extension human evolution, a nebulous but powerful anthropological force engaged in forming human cultures.

In other words, you might like big speakers and fat speaker cables, but maybe only because people around you appear to like them. Same with cars and clothes and lovers.