In the September issue of Stereophile, in this space, I proposed a way to attract more young people to hi-fi. To reach younger people with your products, I argued, speaking mainly to manufacturers, create products that have integrity about them and that also tell a story. Products with a message, products endowed with meaning. Use good materials, classic designs, historically important circuits. To improve value and performance, keep the parts count low and assembly simple. These products need to be reasonably affordable, but it's okay to ask young people to stretch for something fine.
I used the analogy of my favorite kind of restaurant, all too rare here in New York City, the kind that acquires the freshest ingredients and prepares them very simply, freshly caught fish on the grill over wood with salt and a squeeze of lime. Put the money into ingredients, not fancy chefs, and prepare each meal with care. Serve on newsprint.
After that article hit newsstands, I got feedback, much of it of the "get off my lawn" variety. "Kids today! ... Young people don't care about music ... They're so deep into their phones and social media that they'll never be able to appreciate good music well produced. Our hobby will die with us." No it won't.
We should all be suspicious of that kind of cynicism. That kind of thinking is usually about us, not them, and it always leads us astray. It takes no more than a few minutes of careful thinking—or of simply paying attention—to recognize that it's almost certainly wrong.
Good music is worthwhile. Of course it is. We know it, as others have at least for centuries, probably longer. Music has been enjoyed in the home, reproduced by electronic or mechanical means, for more than a hundred years. Given the hobby's attractions, some small fraction of music enthusiasts will become perfectionists, what we call audiophiles. It's the height of arrogance to think it will end with us. Our pursuit is not that fragile.
Another thing, just look around. Spotify, which is, at long last, about to launch its lossless hi-fi tier, is kicking butt, because young people listen to music constantly.
A few nights ago, I had dinner with a rep from a major hi-fi manufacturer. When visitors are in town, I usually take them to jazz clubs, but it was a Tuesday, and Tuesday isn't a good night for live music, even here in the Big City. So instead we went to a place called The Listening Room at Tokyo Record Bar, in Greenwich Village.
As we waited a few minutes for our table, we took in the scene. I was relieved to see that this was the kind of place where you could listen or talk, listen and talk. As much as I like the idea of the Tokyo-style jazz kissa, where talking isn't allowed while a record is playing, that's not what I was looking for that Tuesday night.
Looking around, I saw vintage McIntosh tube amplifiers, a pair of Tannoys over the Bar. A bit farther out, one on each side, was a pair of early Klipsch Heresy speakers. The turntables behind the bar were not vintage, just a pair of decent deejay decks.
The music was from the 1970s, largely funk and soul, all played from vinyl. The deejay kept up a steady groove, and the volume was loud enough to get into your soul and make your head bop, but you could carry on a conversation without yelling. The Japanese-themed food was good, too.
We were seated with drinks and the first round of food—some popcorn with Japanese spices—when my companion pointed out something I hadn't noticed: This was a very young crowd. My companion and I may have been the only ones over 35.
It was around that time I had this new insight: Looking around, it was clear that we don't need to attract young people to hi-fi. We just need to stay out of their way.
As we grow older, it's tempting to put ourselves at the center of things, to believe it can't go on without us. But the world looks very different to these younger folks. We hardly factor in to their worldview. If we try to insinuate ourselves—to show them the right way to do things—at best they'll ignore us and at worst they'll go off and find a different hobby. So let them find their own way in. There is no need to worry about the future of our hobby. It will be around a lot longer than we will.
It's not that I think my September advice was wrong. It was, as I already wrote, intended for a different audience. Manufacturers surely want to be ready when the next wave of folks goes shopping. But even for them, I think my advice missed the mark at least a little. Better advice, probably, is to presume nothing. Get ready to be flexible. With changes in technology and intergenerational sensibilities, the form our hobby takes may be scarcely recognizable in the next generation. Watch them, see if you can figure out what they want, then figure out how to give it to them.
My thinking here, in this column, is intended for a wider audience, for all of us already in this hobby. It's almost cheating, because it's advice that's almost never not correct, or at least useful, in any situation: Relax. Be humble. Give them space to reinvent things by their own lights, in their own image. We've certainly left room for improvement. Twenty years from now, or 50, plenty of people will still be listening to good music through good home systems, though I cannot predict what those systems will look or sound like. Just sit back and enjoy the music.
Speaking of sitting back: I expect to be doing a lot of that over the next few weeks, as I recover from a medical procedure. In my absence, the magazine will be run by the very capable team of Managing Editor Mark Henninger, Editorial Director Paul Miller, and Technical Editor (and erstwhile Editor) John Atkinson.
Speaking of sitting back: I expect to be doing a lot of that over the next few weeks, as I recover from a medical procedure. In my absence, the magazine will be run by the very capable team of Managing Editor Mark Henninger, Editorial Director Paul Miller, and Technical Editor (and erstwhile Editor) John Atkinson.
