Vintage Radio
A site dedicated to the BBC's Old Radio Broadcasting Equipment an Memories. Lots of microphone porn—and lots of other audio-related goodness.
A site dedicated to the BBC's Old Radio Broadcasting Equipment an Memories. Lots of microphone porn—and lots of other audio-related goodness.
I grew up in the South and I cannot pronounce "pen" and "pin" so they are distinguishable. I showed Ms Ph.D. in Linguistics this article and said, "See, my dialect isn't weird after all."
Stereo is now just one option in setting up a system. But is it the option you prefer, or does multichannel do it better for you? If you listen to SACD, which do you prefer (assuming both are available on the disc): the stereo mix or the multichannel mix?
Speaking at the Music 2.0 conference in Los Angeles on February 23, Yahoo Music's general manager Dave Goldberg startled listeners with a statement probably never previously heard from the head of a for-pay digital music service: Lay off the DRM.
<I>Signal savings:</I> Signals SuperFi, LLC did something you don't see every day: It actually <I>lowered</I> its price for Stereovox Reference level SEI-600 interconnects. The SEI-600 is a line-level, single-ended, single-jacket "stereo" cable. Signals has dropped the price of a 1m pair from $999.99 to $749.99 (each extra 0.5m adds $250).
As much as I'm tempted by the impressive sweep and scale with which some of the large, full-range loudspeakers endow music, for some reason I find myself more at home with more compact examples of the breed. This is not through lack of familiarity with large speakers, a pair of <A HREF="http://www.stereophile.com/floorloudspeakers/506">B&W Matrix 801</A>s occupying pride of place in our living room (which also serves as my wife's listening room). Yet I find myself hankering after that ultimate soundstage precision that only minimonitors seem capable of producing: the loudspeakers totally disappearing, vocal and instrumental images hanging in space, truly solid—the prefix "stereo-" is derived from the Greek word <I>stereos</I>, which means solid—so that a rectangular, totally transparent window into the concert hall opens at the rear of your room. In addition, the necessarily limited low-frequency extension offered by small speakers makes it much easier to get the optimum integration with the room acoustics below 100Hz.
Even to a nontechnical observer, someone without a deep grasp of the germane technical issues, the Amazing Loudspeaker should indeed prove a source of amazement. First of all, there's no box. Don't mistake the back grille for an enclosure—if you pass your hand along the Amazing's behind, you'll realize that the grille is merely a cosmetic cover; you can actually stroke the woofer magnets if you're so inclined. Yet without an enclosure or electronic trickery, this speaker boasts excellent dynamic headroom and true flat bass extension almost to 20Hz. Just think of the woodworking costs inherent in trying to coax such low-end performance from a conventional box speaker. The savings in carpentry have been put toward one heavy-duty ribbon design. The Amazing begins to sound like an incredible bargain at its modest (by high-end standards) asking price. What's the catch? Fundamentally, the answer lies in superior engineering. And, as Bob Carver will readily admit, good engineering isn't inherently any more costly than bad engineering.
Years ago, I uncovered a piece of my father's secret soul. Hidden in the back of a closet was a treasure trove I'd give anything to possess today. It was my father's stash of mementos from his service in the Eighth Air Force during WWII: his A-2 leather and lamb's-wool flight jacket, a silk scarf with a detailed topographic map of his Theater of Operations imprinted on it, his "50 mission hat" (an Air Corps-lid with the shaping frame removed, carefully crumpled through the middle so that every mother's son would know he was no FNG), his ruptured duck, and, thrust in one pocket, his old headsets—a pair of Bakelite earpieces held together with a leather-covered steel strap. They were funky-looking cans, but to me, they spoke of all of the nobility and courage displayed by the boys who flew over Fortress Europe. I don't actually remember ever plugging them <I>into</I> anything, but I sure wore them for years in every fantasy situation, from plucky French underground guerrilla to Wes Phillips <I>Space Raaaangerrr!</I>
For a subjective equipment reviewer, whose writings are based as much on impressions as on observations, it is very important to approach a product without personal bias. Of course, all of us lay claim to this ideal, and some of us even manage to maintain the appearance of impartiality most of the time. But just under the reviewer's veneer of urbane professionalism and deliberative restraint lies a darker force—a leering hobgoblin of anarchy and mischief which scoops usually forbidden adjectives from a well of calumny and offers them for the writer's consideration as the perfect word to describe what he is trying to express. It's an ever-present temptation to accept the suggestion, because every critic harbors a secret urge to be another Dorothy Parker, trashing mankind's most earnest endeavors with devastating <I>bon mots</I> that will endure long after the writer has ceased to. Most of the time, the reviewer is able to resist the temptation to broadside a product, but some products, and the people they represent, make this very difficult. In fact, sometimes it is impossible.
While Buddha keeps asking me about hands, and Wonko wanted to know more about the glove, Christian had some more practical questions. First, he asked, "What are you running through the Moscode now? Are you still using the Arcam as your source, and are you running it through the Arros or the DeVores?"