As further evidence that the American empire is on the decline, I submit the 8:00 set Friday night at the Blue Note on West 3rd Street in New York City, where three front-and-center tables of Europeans—twenty young to middle-aged, professional-looking men and women, who all seemed to be part of the same tour group—made more noise at a jazz club than I think I’ve ever witnessed. Shushing and shaming, from me and others in the audience, had but short-term impact; they’d quiet down for a few minutes and listen to the trio on the bandstand (more about them, in a moment), but then got back to the main business of yakking, chuckling, and generally treating the whole proceedings as the soundtrack to their merry Manhattan vacation and us poor jazz fans as mere props in the spectacle.

Among the most hallowed of my ten or so (the number varies) personal commandments of high-end audio is the following (to be uttered in sepulchral tones with deep humility):

Among the most hallowed of my ten or so (the number varies) personal commandments of high-end audio is the following (to be uttered in sepulchral tones with deep humility):

Among the most hallowed of my ten or so (the number varies) personal commandments of high-end audio is the following (to be uttered in sepulchral tones with deep humility):

Among the most hallowed of my ten or so (the number varies) personal commandments of high-end audio is the following (to be uttered in sepulchral tones with deep humility):

Among the most hallowed of my ten or so (the number varies) personal commandments of high-end audio is the following (to be uttered in sepulchral tones with deep humility):