letter from the editor
Put the Needle on the Record The first time I heard the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive,” I was standing in the back of a Sam Goody’s record store, in their stereo equipment department. You may remember this black-lit back room: floor-to-ceiling black carpet, a domed ceiling (for acoustic purposes) and shelves of the most up-to-date merchandise, mostly from Japan. The salesman, a young groover, was playing the record for a customer who was interested in purchasing a turntable. Me, I was an impoverished tenth grader, and the dream of owning a magnificent piece of stereo equipment was as far away from reality for me as owning a penthouse. Nevertheless, the universe does not revolve around me, and the needle dropped on the spinning LP and the determined salesperson turned up the volume and the bass and the treble and whatever else that sucker had (and I didn’t). This was shortly before the music bullies dictated that we were not allowed to like or listen to “Stayin’ Alive,” but, long before that backlash became law, at that very first virgin listen, I was blown away by the song. Perhaps it was the bass line thumping the room, or the honest lyrics, or the urgency of the message, but at that moment I felt the power of stereo, and the joy of sophisticated sound devices. I was hooked, but without money, it was an addiction that could not be satisfied or fulfilled. At home, in my rec room, I settled (and I do mean settled) for my JC Penney “compact” stereo. That means that it was an all-in-one appliance: a turntable, an eight-track-tape player, and an AM/FM radio, all sloppily welded together and residing in a heap of cheap imitation brown wood and black plastic casing. (Hello, Seventies!). The good news: the eight-track actually recorded music (this was almost unheard of). However, to this day, even when I hear a digital version of “Monday, Monday” by The Mamas and the Papas, I can still remember the eight-track channel changing in the middle of the song. Monday — Ker-plunk-cha! — Monday. The bad news: the turntable played every record just a little too fast. No song ever sounded quite right, even after I put a folded handkerchief on the side of the spinning record to try to slow it down slightly. There were no belts to adjust it. It was essentially a spinning tin plate. Still, it was a step up from our Korvettes portable record player that we had owned since the Sixties, with the automatic record changer (that did not work – the needle always landed two inches away from the record) and its ripped left speaker that made every vocalist sound like a buzzing bee with bronchitis. In contrast to my family’s lack of interest in high-fidelity, my friend Eric’s father was a serious stereophile. Unlike my sad situation, his rec-room set up was sweet, and there was nothing “compact” about it: a top-end Sansui receiver in solid-state silver chrome, with a calming light-blue illuminated radio dial; a Panasonic turntable with a mountain of adjustable belts that you could fuss with (delicately) to your heart’s content; and wooden stereo speaker cabinets that would rise as high as your nipples and blow you into the garage. It was in this rec room, standing humbly before this magnificent operation, that I first learned the true meaning of the word “covet.” Of course, today, that sophisticated mission control would be considered practically worthless. And now that I’m gunning for some real rich, expensive, top-quality sound, I have been robbed and branded a two-time loser. Thanks a lot, iPhone. Way to go, mp3s. Today, it’s all about content and not so much about rich sound quality. Sure, they offer this here and that there to enhance the intensity of a digital copy, but something’s missing. Oh, something’s missing, all right. I mean, what am I supposed to do with ear buds. Really? We often hear of people who announce to the world that they have turned their back on digital and have returned to the rich reality of vinyl and turntables. And there are always the good old DJs in the clubs to stand next to so that you can feel the vibrations. Nice work if you can get it, but to satisfy my sound jones would be quite a calling; it would be difficult for me to schlep all of that equipment into a subway car on the way to work. Still, the unresolved sound satisfaction of my life dictates that I have to make it right. I am seriously considering a chance to rebuild a vintage component system, the ones that were considered top of the world back in the day. Passé, yes. Antiquated, you bet. But, for once in my life, I want the sound to blow me away. I may have to stay in one room and sit still for it, but I would be making up for lost time. Better late than never.
Ron Sklar Editor
m dern the
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C o n t a c t
Editor • Ron Sklar | Art Director • Jennifer Barlow | Copy Editor • Patty Wall Contributing Writers: Richard Bey • Barrie Creedon • Desiree Dymond Mitch Gainsburg • Jay S. Jacobs • Lionel • Mark Mussari • Ron Passaro Jack Rotoli • Vikas Sapra • Jacob Schirmer • William Shultz • Art Wilson
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