It's funny how we discover some music in unexpected, twisting ways. A friend recently sent me the real estate listing for a beautiful home in Deer Isle, Maine, about an hour from where I live. I gawked at the pictures and calculated I'd need to work for Stereophile for another 127 years before I'd have enough dough to buy it. Then I noticed something unusual on one of the walls of the place: lots of gold records. Google helped me figure out that the house had belonged to the late singer-songwriter Dan Fogelberg. I knew the name but was unfamiliar with his music. Minutes later, I was playing the studio version of "Nether Lands," seemingly named after my country of birth. A beautifully orchestrated piece with restrained woodwinds and soaring strings, it reminded me of the best of Van Dyke Parks and of some post–Pet Sounds Brian Wilson songs. I played it straight through three times.

Part of the reason I was so smitten with the recording lay in the engaging, naturalistic presentation it received from the handmade-in-Switzerland Piega Gen2 811 floorstanders ($30,000/pair) that had just made their way to my listening room.

After a wild decade in the biggest pop music group ever, John Lennon's post-Beatles years were spent in protest, in various kinds of therapy, in immigration court, and in search of a new musical identity. He had been a musician since age 16 and a superstar since his early 20s. He was only in his 30s.

By summer 1973, when Lennon's fourth album, Mind Games, was recorded at New York's Record Plant Studios, the turbulence of Lennon's life seas was at gale force. He was separating from Yoko Ono and starting a 16-month relationship (consummated at Ono's suggestion) with their shared administrative assistant, May Pang. The Nixon Administration was targeting Lennon and Ono for deportation because of their left-wing political activities, mostly focused on the Vietnam War.