From 78 to 24/384

When I was 11, my father brought home the voice of tenor Enrico Caruso (1873–1921) in a three-LP box set whose faux leather cover and sepia-tinted photos I admired over and over. When he put on the Sextet from Lucia di Lammermoor, I exclaimed, "Daddy, I've heard that before!"

"Yeah, you broke it when you were 2," he replied.

I was weaned on opera. With all that Italianate passion bubbling in my blood, reconnecting with the voices of Caruso and Galli-Curci felt like coming home. While Elvis, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, Little Richard, and then Donovan soon joined them—I used to blast Little Richard at a high enough volume to drive my mother out of the house—it was with Caruso, and then Joan Sutherland and Leontyne Price, that I whistled arias day after day.

When stereo arrived, my mother designed a custom cabinet for two coaxial speakers and a Garrard turntable whose arm was so heavy that it could have done double duty as a weapon. "Look, honey," my father would say as he put on Enoch Light and the Light Brigade's Provocative Percussion. "First it's in the left speaker, and now it's in the right speaker. Isn't stereo amazing!" Soundstaging? Who knew from soundstaging?

In 1961, my high school music teacher asked, "Who wants to get tickets for Joan Sutherland's debut at the Met in Lucia di Lammermoor?" It's amazing that my arm remained in its socket as my hand shot up and I screamed, "Me!" To this day, I remember how Miss Dietrich's face turned white as everyone began stomping their feet, demanding another encore in the middle of the Mad Scene, and the old Met's 5th tier began shaking up and down. For the next six years, until I dropped acid in an Amherst College fraternity house, Sutherland's debut reigned as the peak experience of my life.

Shortly after I headed to college with my father's $200 Magnavox record player, I checked out a late-career Maria Callas Rossini recital to try to find out why everyone in High Fidelity, Stereo Review, and the New York Times was talking about her. Every time Callas hit a climactic high note, her voice wobbled so badly I broke out laughing. But I sensed I was missing something. Then, in my senior year, alone in my dorm room, I put on Callas's famed 1953 recording of Tosca. I didn't know the music, so I waited and waited until, some time after tenor Giuseppe di Stefano sang Mario Cavaradossi's great aria, "Recondita armonia," a strange, muffled vocal sound emerged from the background. Before I could figure out who it was and what they were singing, the voice moved closer to the microphone, and I simultaneously discerned the name "Mario" and saw sparks fly before my eyes. "Oh my God, so that's Maria Callas!" I said to myself, as the unbridled rage and fury that defined one aspect of Callas's artistry touched me in ways I never expected opera to touch me.

As someone who has always felt emotion in music and perceived the voice as a portal to the soul, my one goal in life was to have a sound system that would bring me closer to the point of creation of the artists I love. I didn't care about a fancy car—I drive a '94 Toyota Corolla, and one of its door bolts just fell off—or a house (until I saw too many of my friends evicted by landlords trying to get around rent control), but I did want to get closer to the point of musical creation, to hear more glow in Elisabeth Schumann's golden highs and more nuance in Lotte Lehmann's expressive voice. That was heaven.

Fortunately, I had friends who worked in record shops and could give me sale prices. Wherever I journeyed, boxes filled with opera LPs followed. When I lived communally, there was a guy who, when everyone was away, would put on my recording of Beecham's La Bohème and cry his heart out. Then he'd go back to working in the auto plant. That was a time when I was convinced that the world was made of tangerine trees and marmalade skies. When I participated in psychedelic therapy sessions at the Institute Wilhelm Reich in Mexico City in the summer of 1976, I gave the institute's director a copy of an Elisabeth Schwarzkopf Seraphim LP and found myself tripping on Mozart and Bach.

I'd never heard the words "high-end" or "audiophile" back then, but when Julian Hirsch declared that fancy cabling can't make a difference, I sensed he was wrong. Then I discovered how better cabling transformed my AR speakers. When I'd stay with friends, I'd give them better speaker cables as a thank-you gift.

My taste has changed over time. Heartfelt singing, whether joyful or sad, affirmative or furious, classical or rock, touches me equally, and the visceral power of a symphony orchestra speaks as deeply as a solo instrument. As long as I can sense truth through the notes, I am fulfilled.

To me, high-end audio is not a hobby. It's an essential pathway to the emotional and spiritual truths I seek through music.

COMMENTS
Ortofan's picture

... Robert Merrill's beautiful rendition of 'Home On The Range'.
https://www.discogs.com/release/6489488-Home-On-The-Range-The-Last-Round-Up/images

Bogolu Haranath's picture

We are waiting for you to appreciate 768 kHz recordings, Ortofan ....... Just insert a 6 between 7 and 8 and you have 768 :-) .......

Charles E Flynn's picture

I forget whether Acoustic Research supplied cables with the AR-5 speakers, or sold them separately, but I recall that they were basically white zip cord with spade lugs soldered to the ends, with a short length of white insulation applied over the solder joint. They were clearly marked for polarity, and saved me a trip to the hardware store.

Jack L's picture

....... to the emotional and spiritual truths I seek through music......" quoted Jason Serinus.

For sure, I don't want to wreck my bank accounts to acquire "high-end audio".

So rather than financing the audio vendors to buy "an essential pathway to the emotional & spiritual truths". I've tried out my cheapskate way as an attempt to get on that essential pathway since day one decades back.

How? I design/build my audios for very affordably cost, thanks to my
electrical/electronic engineering background.

Technical knowledge alone can never escalate me to music nirvana. What is needed to achieve this heavenly goal is music. Electronics is only the vehicle & music is the driver to bring us there.

In only a few years, I've already collected some 1,000+ vinyl LPs, leaving my digital music players behind as my back burners. I never look back as I know it is the proper way to get closest to music paradise = live music performances.

Have I spent a fortune for acquiring this vinyl music treasure like many many vinyl lovers out there? Nope, I know very well where to pick up pre-owned stereo LPs dirt cheap. Given proper cleanse-up treatment, all my pre-owned LPs sound like brand new from the top record stores.

I got old old LPs from Caruso to the contemporary pressings of digital masters of Luciano Pavarotti etc.

What can be more rewarding than enjoying my favourite artists performances at home after a busy workday ?

Listening is believing

Jack L
Canada

PS: I got the LP of Pavarotti with him dressed up like a clown beating a large bass drum on its front cover !! So similar to what Jason showed above !

X