
LATEST ADDITIONS
To Save a Soul Like Mine: the Blind Willie Johnson Project
Who's Right? Accuracy or Musicality

Everything we do or think or know is based upon assumptions, some of which are rather more justified than others. When we set the alarm clock, we assume there will be a tomorrow. When we reach for the car's brake pedal without glancing at it, we assume it will be where it was yesterday, and that it will stop the car. When we scorn a phono cartridge because it is too bright, we assume the brightness is in the cartridge, not in the rest of our system. We have to trust our toothpicks or live in a world totally devoid of securitya world where 2+2 can equal anything from 3 to 11, all the laws change unannounced every few days, and Greenwich Mean Time is determined by a roulette wheel.
Computer Audio Seminars in Canada This Weekend
Doug Sax: From Direct-Cut to Compact Disc
Coincidentally, we had just posted J. Gordon Holt's October 1982 review of the Sheffield Track Record, which Doug had cut direct-to-disc. This reminded me that Robert Harley had interviewed Doug in the October 1989 issue of Stereophile; rereading that interview reminded me that in September 1984, I had published an interview with Doug in the magazine Hi-Fi News, which I edited at that time.
So, in tribute to Doug, here is my 1984 interview, reprinted with the kind permission of Hi-Fi News editor Paul Miller.John Atkinson
Katz's Corner: The Great Headphone Shootout Part 2
The Headphone Slutz group meeting was fast approaching, and the demo cans would soon arrive from the Cable Company. I was excited! In a few weeks I would be able to hear and compare four of the world's best headphones, in my own room with the finest associated gear and music sources, and share that experience with seven friends.
AVI's Grand Opening in Marin
Music Matters in Denver Tomorrow & Wednesday
Thöress 300B monoblock power amplifier
In 1978, after enduring four or five years of wretched music made by men with long hair and beards and tendencies toward eonic guitar solos, I suddenly discovered that the only music worth hearing was made by clean-shaven men of limited musical proficiency. I embraced the Clash, the Pistols, the New York Dolls, the Ramones, and the Buzzcocks. I cut my hair and gave away some of my old records. I even threw out my copy of Jethro Tull's A Passion Playwhich, now that I think about it, wasn't that bad an idea.
Then I woke up and remembered: I'd left the baby in the bathwater.