Episode 259
This time I would like to start the column with a confession of not inconsiderable importance: I have very bad boxes. Worse still: My entire music listening takes place on the basis of equipment that should cause pity, even disgust, among hi-fi fans.
At least I assume so. In my imagination, the readers of the pop diary all sit in the chair
noble connoisseur boxes made of walnut, which are also based on the latest findings in the sector
of the room acoustics are exactly where they need to be in order to flatter the room, which had previously been thoroughly measured by several sound engineering teams, with perfect sound. For me, the boxes are just lying around somewhere. Sometimes one fails for a short time. I firmly believe that certain aspects of life should be kept in constant turmoil.
But sometimes I get weak. Just last week I was invited to a friend’s house who was proudly showing off his speakers and subwoofer. He did this with a piece of music that I didn’t like at all, but sounded absolutely great. Which speakers, which amp, which – I really said it: “kette” is probably best for me, I really want to finally hear my Jonathan Richman records in full regalia. Oh, that’s easy said the proud box owner. He will send me a couple of links to relevant sites on the Internet, so I can quickly find out. It’s not magic at all. He did as promised, and the very next day I started digging through the lyrics.
It was like reading about combine technology or innovations in the field of vacuum cleaner science: advanced
unfascinated, I fought my way through descriptions of different “radiation behavior”, “nickel-plated terminals” and “film capacitors”. After half an hour I broke off, my head spinning. A few years ago I was visiting an acquaintance who worked as an editor for a hi-fi magazine and wanted to persuade me to test the appropriate equipment for his magazine. You get the stuff conveniently sent to your home and only have to put everything together and wire it up there. That alone would fail me, I said. But the host persisted and pushed me into his music room. There he placed me in front of the high-end system he was testing at that time. “You’ve never heard anything like it!”, he said, put some music on and left me alone with the request to just listen for at least half an hour. It turned out to be one of the longest half hours of my life.
I heard sound. Great sound. The “Sound of Sound” to paraphrase Robyn Hitchcock. I don’t remember the music. Perhaps I should have accepted his offer to become a journalist in the field of music technology and understood my supposed cluelessness as a strength: with incompetence to tell the truth. In a way, I could have hollowed out the hi-fi market from the inside out with inadequate lyrics. After three completely insane articles full of baseless frequency and resonance analyses, I probably would have been thrown out.
Maybe I would have made the world a little better with my short-term work. Maybe not. But it’s not too late: I could, for example, gradually remodel this column into a technical glossary for high-quality music reproduction and still start in my old age to have tons of technology sent home to me. The problem with the structure and cabling would remain, but my wife understands such things. I could also test car systems; I just need a car then. Doesn’t matter. A whole new phase of life could begin.
What I actually want to say: I think I urgently need new boxes. It can not go on like this. Maybe someone has a tip for me.