I have been listening to music in one form or another for a very long time. It has brought tremendous comfort in times of sorrow or pain, fueled ecstatic feelings of joy, provided background noise during tedious tasks and timestamped periods or even moments in my life. It has been a passion for me since I was a little over a year old and I received, as a Christmas present, my first record player.
Over the span of 50 plus years I have experienced most transports such as the Edison wax cylinder, transistor radio, reel to reel, 8 track, cassette, CD as well as the more recent digital generation from MP3 to lossless audio conveyed by $20 MP3 players to some audiophile grade hardware and of course our beloved vinyl on a platter. Speakers are also familiar to me, from the paper cone to ribbon to horn, all performing the same function but in their own way. I have run the gamut as well on headphones and earbuds both for the sanity of my family and my personal indulgence into the beauty of sonic artistry.
In the past few years I have reached a point in my life where I can enjoy high grade consumer gear as well as some mid-range audiophile gear without breaking the bank and eating mac & cheese for a month. It has been, up to the past year, a most joyous and frustrating journey with room treatments, precise speaker positioning, upgraded cables, monoblocks and a menagerie of tweaks for esthetics and purity that I am proud of.
But now I am at a precipice of despising what I have once loved so dearly. In my quest for audiophile nirvana I have lost my way and wandered down a path I once read about. I have become a critical listener. I have, at least for now, lost the ability to enjoy a single movement in a concerto, feel an artist’s inspiration in their vocals or find a beat that carries me away even for a moment. Instead, all I hear is an unrealistic sound stage, a bad mix, track doubling or over produced confusion. This is not exclusive to any format, device, genre or artist. It is everything I listen to. New or old, live or studio, I just can’t get past this cursed skill that I once so desired. It has been, as I mention earlier, a little over a year now that this has been getting worse. I no longer retreat to my listening room for an hour or two, or take my PLD to the gym, or anticipate the re-release of a long forgotten album on vinyl. I find disappointment at most every attempt to find more than a fleeting moment of being immersed into the music.
Please, don’t mis-interpret this as I no longer listen to music. I do listen on a daily basis, but it brings no joy like it once did. The music appears to have lost its once hypnotic effect on me. I miss it so.
Any words of inspiration would be greatly appreciated.
I have been listening to music in one form or another for a very long time. It has brought tremendous comfort in times of sorrow or pain, fueled ecstatic feelings of joy, provided background noise during tedious tasks and timestamped periods or even moments in my life. It has been a passion for me since I was a little over a year old and I received, as a Christmas present, my first record player.
Over the span of 50 plus years I have experienced most transports such as the Edison wax cylinder, transistor radio, reel to reel, 8 track, cassette, CD as well as the more recent digital generation from MP3 to lossless audio conveyed by $20 MP3 players to some audiophile grade hardware and of course our beloved vinyl on a platter. Speakers are also familiar to me, from the paper cone to ribbon to horn, all performing the same function but in their own way. I have run the gamut as well on headphones and earbuds both for the sanity of my family and my personal indulgence into the beauty of sonic artistry.
In the past few years I have reached a point in my life where I can enjoy high grade consumer gear as well as some mid-range audiophile gear without breaking the bank and eating mac & cheese for a month. It has been, up to the past year, a most joyous and frustrating journey with room treatments, precise speaker positioning, upgraded cables, monoblocks and a menagerie of tweaks for esthetics and purity that I am proud of.
But now I am at a precipice of despising what I have once loved so dearly. In my quest for audiophile nirvana I have lost my way and wandered down a path I once read about. I have become a critical listener. I have, at least for now, lost the ability to enjoy a single movement in a concerto, feel an artist’s inspiration in their vocals or find a beat that carries me away even for a moment. Instead, all I hear is an unrealistic sound stage, a bad mix, track doubling or over produced confusion. This is not exclusive to any format, device, genre or artist. It is everything I listen to. New or old, live or studio, I just can’t get past this cursed skill that I once so desired. It has been, as I mention earlier, a little over a year now that this has been getting worse. I no longer retreat to my listening room for an hour or two, or take my PLD to the gym, or anticipate the re-release of a long forgotten album on vinyl. I find disappointment at most every attempt to find more than a fleeting moment of being immersed into the music.
Please, don’t mis-interpret this as I no longer listen to music. I do listen on a daily basis, but it brings no joy like it once did. The music appears to have lost its once hypnotic effect on me. I miss it so.
Any words of inspiration would be greatly appreciated.