How to Make Dandelion Wine

Long Before Deceit and Lust

I left Autumn in the kitchen with the double-sided tape. I went back into the living room, stopped the Sexsmith album, and replaced it with Christian's mix CD. I sat down on my orange couch, wrapped my shivering bones in a warm wool blanket, and skipped to track 6, Sexsmith's delicate "Dandelion Wine."

Now that I was finally paying attention, I noticed immediately that the song sounded faster — even a little more rocking — than I'd remembered. This was unusual. I thought I knew this song fairly well. Was the version on Christian's CD-R different from the version on the actual Sexsmith album? I wondered.

When the song reached its final string strokes, I stopped the Exposure CD player, opened the drawer, and replaced the CD-R with the actual album disc. Expecting to hear a slower version of the song on Sexsmith's Retriever, I instead found that, while the song played at the same pace, the album disc sounded much louder. And that wasn't all. Images seemed larger and fleshier — more human — and details, such as the sound of Sexsmith's fingers sliding against his acoustic guitar's brass strings, were more life-like. Live-like.

Such Sweet and Simple Days

Was I losing it? I shivered. Had the cold gotten to me? I made a list:

1. I'm cold.
2. CD-R version of "Dandelion Wine" sounds faster than usual.
3. Album version of "Dandelion Wine" sounds just as fast as CD-R version.
4. Album version of "Dandelion Wine" sounds louder and better than CD-R version.
5. I'm cold.
6. Call landlord.

I told myself, "I shouldn't be so surprised that the album version sounds better than the CD-R. After all, I'm losing some of the bits from the pits, as Sam Tellig might say. Heh heh heh." I laughed his evil laugh.

7. Stop talking to yourself. It's not polite.

Then I remembered something very important: Though I love this song dearly, the last time I really listened to it was pre-hifi, back in the days of the Magnavox boombox. Maybe what I was remembering was the slowness of the Magnavox. Maybe I never really heard this song the way it was meant to be heard. Maybe I was in love with a lie! Could it be?

I supposed it could be. I shrugged my shoulders.

Oh, I Believe in Us

I was warming up. I listened again to the album version of "Dandelion Wine," this time taking notes. There was a constant and consistent tapping in the background, something like the sound of two wooden blocks being knocked together. It's hypnotic and lulling until, at around 0:56, the bass bursts in, deep and heavy and overwhelming. And, at about 2:33, when the hi-hat and snare take over, the song builds momentum.

These were all things that had previously escaped me. Now, I was really curious. Really? Really.

It's With the Warmest Thoughts

I leapt from the comfort of my orange couch, and disconnected the Arros. I wanted to hear what the DeVores had to say. I lifted the Arros from their small black Sharpie marks on my wood floor and replaced the slim floorstanders with the little Gibbons.

Have I mentioned that I love the DeVores' binding posts? I do. They just work so well; they're simple, smart, strong, and good.

I sat down, wrapped myself up in the wool, and pressed Play. This time, what I heard was no surprise. The sound of the DeVores was similar, but different. It's a sound I've become accustomed to. There's gentleness to the DeVore's voice, a gentleness that can't be called laidback. It's a sound that's certainly neither lazy nor soft. And perhaps "gentle" is the rightest word only in comparison to the Arros. Nevertheless. Though the Arros seem to play louder, making details more obvious, those same details are given more body, more blood, when communicated through the DeVores. That sound of fingers sliding against strings, for instance, sounds truer when presented through the DeVores. I know what that noise is supposed to sound like — I've made it a million times myself, my own fingers sliding against brass strings when making music — and the little Gibbons get it right.

They get it righter. And not only that, but the DeVores know how to bring all these great details together to make one beautiful whole in a way that the Arros just sometimes miss, I think. That overwhelming bass sound that comes in at 0:56, for example, isn't so overwhelming when played back by the DeVores. It's still there, indeed, but it doesn't jump up and down or pull itself away from the rest of the song like it does when played back by the Arros.

For Love Had Made it Fine

I got to the end of the song, feeling tired and good. I left the DeVores in place, and went to bed, hoping to stay warm through the night.

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