Herb Reichert

Delta flight 2820: At 497mph the ambient noise in the cabin averaged 94dB and registered 101dB peaks. That is at least 40dB louder than a candlelit night in my listening room. Artur Schnabel brings it up to (at most) 90dB and the loudest I have ever played Led Zep on the Magnepan .7s is 102dB. Now, I can't wait to rinse that crazy engine noise from my ears and hear some clean clear beautifully toned hi-fidelity music at maybe 103dB—or more! But these clear-sounding components must be moderately priced—because I am a cub reporter and new products that cost less than $5k is the assignment I volunteered for.

I listen carefully as Michiko Ogawa—former Technics engineer, renowned classical and jazz pianist, and current director of Panasonic's Technics division—speaks these words: "In honor of our 50th anniversary, we at Technics are determined to blaze a new audio path and deliver new and emotionally engaging musical experiences for another 50 years." (my emphasis)

The golden rays pouring in through the left oculus transport a tiny child carrying a cross: ". . . the devil was vanquished, as if he had just swallowed the bait in the mousetrap." In his essay "'Muscipula Diaboli,' The Symbolism of the Mérode Altarpiece," the late art historian Meyer Schapiro explains how every object, every surface—even the smoke, light, and volume of space—depicted in the famous triptych by Robert Campin (ca 1375–1444) is a coded symbol explicating the mystical underpinnings of Netherlandish Protestantism.

Like baking bread or watering my garden, playing records in my monk's cell is an expression of my devotion to living mindfully. It is part of my search for identity and comfort. It shows me how my thoughts, feelings, and poetic imagination fit in with yours, Keith Jarrett's, and everyone else's. The only problem: Often, the stereo components that most enhance my experiences of devotion and identity are not those that I can sincerely declare to be the most accurate or neutral.

I used to get invited to these highly secret audio soirées, held in a basement workshop at the end of a dark, garbage-filled alley in Manhattan's Chinatown. There was no street address—only a wire-glass window in a metal door—and if you didn't know the password (ie, if you weren't carrying some type of audio amplification), you weren't allowed to enter. That said, sometimes nonmembers were allowed to attend, but only when a member needed help carrying monoblocks: There was no parking nearby.

During these shows, I tend to move through the halls like an invisible force is pushing me. For each room I take a picture of the sign, walk in and do a fast calculation about where to get the best photo of the setup. Then I introduce myself to the proprietor and ask for a sheet with prices and the names of the gear being demonstrated. Then I listen, collect more data, and ask a few questions. After about the second or third question I say, "Thank you. Bye . . . gotta go! I have 50 more rooms to cover." Rolling, rolling, and rolling . . . keep them doggies rolling. But always I try to make time for people in the halls who say they read my writings. Two of those readers I chatted with asked if I had heard the new Spatial Hologram M4 loudspeakers ($1295/pair). They thought the Spatial room had the best sound at the show. I admitted I hadn't. Promised I would. And, I am glad I did.