Sonny Rollins: Freedom Weaver; Isaiah Collier & The Chosen Few: The Almighty; Arild Andersen/Daniel Sommer/Rob Luft: As Time Passes.

Gabriel Fauré: La Bonne Chanson, L'horizon chimérique; Mozart: Symphonies 35, 40, 36; Martinů, Dvořák, Krása, and Klein: Czech Songs; Charles Ives: Piano Sonata No. 2 (Concord, Mass, 1840–1860).

Various Artists: Jem Records Celebrates Jagger & Richards; Kerry King: From Hell I Rise; Liam Gallagher and John Squire: Liam Gallagher and John Squire; Bob Schneider: The Human Torch; Marcus King: Mood Swings.

Stereo is the most successful audio gimmick of all time. While dashboard record players, quadraphonic LPs, and MQA have gone the way of Ron Popeil's hair-in-a-spray-can infomercials, stereo remains king. And I am guilty of loving it.

That old expression "men love with their eyes" applies to listening, too. Enabled by the advent of a second channel, the fanning out of musicians across a soundstage fills the room and gives the eyes—and not only the ears—something to do. And I happen to enjoy the soundstage. It may be an utterly artificial delight, but who doesn't love hearing a tambourine coming from 10' to the left of the left speaker? So when I came across an article in which someone likened mono to listening to music through a hole in a wall, the metaphor made sense. Why would anyone want their music congealed in a blob directly in front of them when they could hear it separated out in space?

As always, though, it turns out that things aren't quite so simple...

The best Christmas gift in history was George Bailey being shown what the world would be like without his being born, courtesy of Angel Second Class Clarence, in the classic 1946 film It's a Wonderful Life. More recently, and in the real world, the best gift ever was the release of pianist Les McCann's Never a Dull Moment! (Live from Coast to Coast 1966–1967) a few weeks before Christmas 2023 and less than a month before his death at 88, on three vinyl LPs.

As one of the first live albums to be recorded in the hallowed space that is New York City's Village Vanguard, Sonny Rollins's A Night at the Village Vanguard (recorded November 3, 1957, released in 1958) set the template, proving that recording in the odd, triangular club could not only work but could also produce distinctive, satisfying sound. Soon after the recording of the Rollins album, Bill Evans and John Coltrane added live Vanguard albums to their recording catalogs.

Now reissued by Blue Note Records as part of its Tone Poet Series, this three-LP edition, which comes from a different source than previous releases, is that rare audiophile reissue where the sonic differences are immediately audible.

The death of KMET in Los Angeles was a turning point in my young father's life. I was 6 years old when it signed off permanently, ending commercial viability of the progressive, freeform rock format on L.A.'s FM dial.

It's also one of my earliest memories: Windows down and heater up on a cloudy February morning, sitting backseat in an Arby's parking lot before kindergarten, the sound of heresy on the airwaves. Its replacement was Smooth Jazz. We—my father and my 6-year-old self—hated it.