As We See It

I recently experienced an alarming audiophile episode. John Atkinson wanted to send me BorderPatrol's Digital to Analogue Converter SE, so that I could write the Follow-Up published in the November issue. But he wouldn't tell me anything about Herb Reichert's original review of the product, which had not yet been published. Instead, he said, cryptically, "If this is a 'great' DAC, I'll have to hang up my measurements." I took this to mean Herb liked it, but JA's test rig did not.

Sure, why not? Go ahead and send me the DAC, I thought. I'd love to hear what something covered in audio fur sounds like.

One of the conversations I often have with audiophiles is about what they mean by good when talking about equipment. The meaning of the word can go two ways: good as in measuring well, or good as in pleasing sound.

"I thought those amps sounded quite good," an audiophile will say.

I then have to ask, "Do you mean accurate good, or pleasing good?"

"Both," they usually reply, implying that accuracy is always pleasing.

The BorderPatrol DAC SE was something else entirely. I gathered from JA's hints that it hadn't measured well. When it arrived, I tested it with some familiar and challenging recordings, which quickly revealed that, in terms of neutrality, it was far short of accurate good.

Yet when the Central Coast Audio Club of San Luis Obispo County came over, they loved the BorderPatrol's sound. Some even suggested that the DAC SE's departures from neutrality enhanced the realism of some of the recordings we listened to, adding life back in that was missing when compared directly to a DAC that measured better on the test bench. In that way, it was suggested, the BorderPatrol, with its measurably greater distortions, should be seen as more accurately reproducing the sounds of real instruments in space.

Good grief! The BorderPatrol DAC was turning into a textbook example of the old saw "If it sounds good and measures bad, then you're measuring the wrong thing." (footnote 1)

In fact, there were several recordings that I, too, thought benefited from the BorderPatrol's thickened sound. It was as if I were looking over the mastering engineer's shoulder, urging her to add a bit more tube compression to a mix that, to me, sounded thin. "Ah, that's better."

But I was troubled by the implication that added grunge meant better, even more realistic, sound. I often catch myself mistakenly assuming that we audiophiles are all striving to hear as perfect a reproduction of the master recording as possible, and will gladly accept any warts and deficiencies that might come along for the ride, without wanting to unduly re-edit that sound.

What was I thinking?

And what is "realistic" sound, anyway? One of my favorite ways to verify the truthfulness of a recording's sound is to, if possible, compare a microphone feed of musicians performing live to a component that has been looped into that live feed. Does the sound change when the component is switched in? If so, does it sound "better" in the pleasing-good sense? (It obviously can't sound more accurate.) You'd be surprised how often an added tweak can sound appealing.

A side note: I've had respected engineers tell me that when they loop a DSD encode/decode signal into a live mike feed, for example, it indeed sounds different from the mike feed, and that they "wish the mike feed would sound more like the DSD version." In other words, adding DSD processing to the pristine signal can make it more satisfying. Which might explain the format's appeal to many people.

Bearing all that in mind, when we buy a recording, we don't hear the actual mike feed anyway. The artists, and the mix and mastering engineers, all finesse the signal after its emergence from the mike preamps, elevating the sound and performance until they're happy, then present us with the result. Even purist recordings are subject to such artistic shadings: the choice and placement of microphones, even the design of the mike preamps, can greatly alter the captured sound.

And so, out of a sense of wanting to hear the artists' intent—out of respect for those intentions—I don't want to second-guess and further alter their final sonic creation. If at all possible, I want to hear something as close as possible to the master tape. I realize that my room and speakers add unavoidably huge variables to this, but why pile even more variables on top of that?

It reminds me of the old Zen joke. On the Master's birthday, his followers present him with a large, ornately wrapped box. He opens it, looks inside, finds it empty, and happily exclaims, "Just what I wanted—nothing!"

When I get a new product to listen to, I'm usually looking for that "nothing": nothing getting in the way of what the artists and engineers created, nothing adding extra pizzazz or color, nothing but the sound of their final mix. I've found that others strongly differ with this point of view, and might even say that in many cases they're fixing what the original recording got wrong. Or they're looking for that elusive emotional connection. Or they simply want to enjoy music through a bit of rose-colored tint. So be it. They like what they like.

But when I go to a fine restaurant, I don't pull out a bottle of Sriracha sauce. I'm more curious to taste precisely what the chef has prepared. And when I hear a new audio component, I'm not looking for added aural flavors. Nothing is what I want.—Jon Iverson

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Footnote 1: John Atkinson, "If it sounds good . . ." Stereophile, December 1992, p.15.