About a month ago I stumbled upon “It’s Only Rock and Roll,” a record shop just off of Main Street in my hometown. I don’t know how, but I hadn’t noticed the white-and-red sign out front in the year or so (as I came to find out) that the shop had been open. Entering the shop, I could tell that Tom Goduto, the owner, was not interested in pushy sales tactics or flashy wallet-busters: he sat at a desk at the back of the white cinder-block room, scratching away at his crossword puzzle, and letting the records – most priced under $5.00 – sell themselves. From both the atmosphere and the prices, you could tell that Tom opened this shop as a way to share his passion for music with a small and relatively backward Ohio town. To make a long story short, I bought my first record – Paul McCartney’s McCartney (1970) that day for $3.00, and I’ve been accumulating vinyl records of all types from antique shops, travelling street vendors, and (yes), Tom’s record shop ever since.
But I started wondering: other than the kitschy charm of owning and playing LP’s, what is it about music’s first mass-distribution format that has audiophiles demanding the newest releases on vinyl? Is the record really a superior format, or have hipsters simply found another way to bolster their “trendier-than-though” appeal with Indy chicks everywhere? When I realized I hadn’t the foggiest idea myself, I decided to do a bit of research. And now, I intend to pass the fruits of that research on to you.
What’s the difference?
Vinyl is analog, CD is digital. What does that mean to sound quality? Well, let’s put it this way: sound, as we know it, is analog. That means that a dog barking, your child’s voice, and Mozart’s Symphony No. 4o all come to your ear as vibrations in the air, which when they rattle your ear drum, are interpreted appropriately by your brain. An audio file (such as your typical mp3) on the other hand, is merely a series of snapshots of those sound waves – 44,ooo snapshots per second, to be exact. Here, I’ll give you two pictures and metaphor to clear things up rather nicely:
Vinyl LP’s are the original, hand-painted version of Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, while CD’s are a mosaic of the original, hand-painted version of Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. No matter how many tiny pictures you cram into the equivalent amount of space, it will never be exactly the same as the original product. Admittedly, the difference between the sound quality of an LP and a CD is not this drastic, but you get the picture…seriously, no pun intended.
What are the pros and cons?
I’ve already more-or-less stated that music imprinted on vinyl is truer to the original recording than that burned onto a CD, and many purists argue that this contributes to a warmer sound. Heck, some would even argue that LP’s are better because the larger dust jacket gives a better look at the album artwork…okay, whatever floats your boat. But what strikes do records have against them?
For starters, the audio produced by the partnership of LP’s and record players is vulnerable to distortion from an abundance of sources: dust, scratches, mold, and warping are the most frequent offenders. And, in spite of what some have tried to convince me, you can’t persuade me that the manner in which you play an LP contributes to the loss of quality. You’re dragging a needle over the surface of vinyl, for God’s sake!
On the other hand, CD’s may suffer from a slight deficiency in sound quality, but what they lack in fidelity they make up for in portability and permanency. Sure, you could scratch a CD if you really wanted to, but try scratching an audio file. Furthermore, CD’s make selecting a particular song (or creating a mixed album of your own) a snap. Forget lifting a needle and ever so carefully placing it in the grooves between tracks – push a button and stop, pause, or skip to the next song.
So, the verdict?
Each format certainly has its strengths and its weaknesses. But you could say the same thing of hot tea and coffee. Or Pepsi and Coca-Cola. Or cats and dogs. The bottom line is this: some people prefer records, and some people prefer CD’s, and while they may or may not spit reasons or figures at you to explain their preferences, they shouldn’t have to. Personally, I see listening to music in general and listening to music on LP as apples and oranges. I love the fact that I have the technology to control an entire library of music, speeches, and radio shows with my finger tips. But sometimes I enjoy basking in the raw scratchy goodness of music the way that generations heard it for the first time: on a vinyl LP.
3. Medeski, Martin & Wood: Last Chance to Trance Dance (Perhaps) (1999). Quite the departure from the last two selections. This trio of bass, percussion, and keys grooves through bar-after-bar of sheer brilliance (“Chubb Sub” features some of the most rambunctious organ solos I’ve ever heard), but can also invoke the occasional furrow of the brow (or, the “what in Hell was that?!” moment); therefore, they’re something of an acquired taste. However, I think you’ll find that MM&W is highly accessible to both casual jazz fans and urban hipster know-it-all’s.
4. The Dave Brubeck Quartet: Time Out (1959). Although jazz pianist Dave Brubeck and alto saxophonist (and fellow World War II veteran) Paul Desmond had released several albums prior to Time Out, it was this album that would see the formation of what is considered to be the “classic” Dave Brubeck Quartet, with Eugene Wright on double bass and Joe Morello on the kit. (Brubeck admitted at the time that without this unique combination of talent – particularly Morello on drums - Time Out wouldn’t have been possible). Time Out‘s overiding theme is the use of time signatures not common to jazz (mainly waltz and double waltz, but also 9/8 and, most famously, 5/4), and the album features some of the Quartet’s most recognizable numbers, as well as several tunes that have become jazz standards. For seamless transistions between waltz and common time fused with simple melodies, sample “Three to Get Ready.” To impress (or bore) your un-musical friends with the ability to count off a song in 5/4, or just to enjoy a gin-and-tonic at day’s end, put on the legendaryTake Five and jive to Morello’s tight rhythms, Desmond’s silky sax, and Brubeck’s hypnotic fielding of the ebonies and ivories.
5. Stan Getz & João Gilberto: Getz/Gilberto (1964). In the same year that Ed Sullivan introduced The Beatles to the American public from CBS Studio 50, American saxophonist Stan Getz and Brazilian guitarist João Gilberto (affectionately called “O Rei da Bossa”) introduced bossa nova to these United States. Not only does this album prominently feature the piano and compositions of renowned Antonio Carlos Jobim, but also the internationally-alluring “Girl from Ipanema,” sung by the inspiration herself, Astrud Gilberto. This sensual music is like a steamy night downtown or a lilac-scented grasp of the loins. If you can’t clear the bases with this seminal record playing in the bedroom, repeat triple-A before returning to the majors.
6. Bill Evans: Further Conversations with Myself (1967). Miles Davis once said of Bill Evans: “Bill had this quiet fire that I loved on piano. The way he approached it, the sound he got, was like crystal notes or sparkling water cascading down from some clear waterfall. He plays the piano the way it should be played.” Using a (then controversial) technique he developed during production of Conversations with Myself (1963), Evans overdubbed three different but corresponding piano tracks for each song, producing a solo-piano album richer and fuller than anyone had ever heard before. Revel in this technique used to full effect in the rambling call-and-answer solos of the haunting “The Shadow of Your Smile.”
7. Charles Mingus: Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus (1963). This barrel-chested bassist/composer played with all the big names and had an indomitable, fiery spirit. He took his impeccable musical acumen and short temper to excess in the studio, storming out of sessions if bandmates flubbed a single note. Distrustful of whites, he was married four times (thrice to white women). His headstrong behavior was legendary, and in his heydey, he busted more nay-saying onlookers than Sean Penn. Mingus said that his music was “angry, yet it’s real, because it knows it’s angry.” Listen to a stand-up bass press the band into intensity on “II B.S.” or sit slyly in the foreground as horns belt sexy heartache and minor keys in “IX Love.”
8. Django Reinhardt: Jazz in Paris: Nuages (2003). This pioneer is often considered the finest jazz guitarist. A revered European icon, Reinhardt was born a Belgian Gypsy and developed his style in Parisian bals-musettes (smoky, underground cafés). Embracing his Gypsy roots, Reinhardt could neither read nor write music, but had boundless innate talent and was comfortable rearranging to the Jazz idiom the various genres that influenced his work. While sleeping in a caravan as a young man, he accidentally knocked over a candle and suffered serious injuries to his left hand. Undeterred, Reinhardt patented a two-fingered playing style, using his injured ring and pinky fingers only sparingly to bar chords. This 1953 recording marks Reinhardt’s departure from the acoustic guitar of his youth and his experimentation with a new Gibson that allowed him further flights of fancy not only on the fretboard but tonally. Feel the damp coolness of the bals-musettes in “Nuages,” or tap your foot to the unbelievably infectious “Brazil,” which I guarantee you’ll catch yourself whistling on occasion for the rest of your life.
9. Marc Ribot y Los Cubanos Postizos: The Prosthetic Cubans (1998). I’ll admit, this list is thusfar full of phenomenal band leaders, pianists, trumpeteers, saxophonists, and guitarists. But perhaps you’re looking for something a bit…shall we say, spicier? Well, Marc Ribot intends to give it to you with swirling guitar that meshes with congas, percussion, and organ to sweep you out of the Jazz clubs of Harlem and into the steamy cabanas of Cuba. Pulsing with Afro-Cuban grooves and Latin rhythms, Ribot’s arrangements sound like a sprawling urban fiesta, complete with the occasional enthusiastic shout from a chorus of party-goers. Siesta with “Aurora en Pekín” (“Dawn in Beijing”) playing softly in the background to dream of a cool island night spent in a hammock, or cut a rug to the festive “Como Se Goza En El Barrio” (“As is Enjoyed in the Neighborhood”).
10. John Coltrane: Coltrane (1962). In his twelve-year long career as leader and tenor saxophonist, Coltrance produced around 50 albums and acted as sideman to some of the genre’s most well-known performers, notably Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk. Starting in bebop and swing, Coltrane later helped pioneer free Jazz. As his career progressed, Coltrane explored Islam, Hinduism, the Kaballah, Jiddu Krishnamurti, African religions, and even the teachings of Plato and Aristotle – he is, in fact, considered a saint by the African Orthodox Church – and as a result, his work took on a much more spirtual dimension. Coltrane, released in 1962 by Impulse! Records (and not to be confused with the 1957 Prestige Records release of the same name), is the first to solely feature Coltrane’s “classic” quartet, composed of himself, McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones, and Jimmy Garrison. Coltrane hints at the saxophonist’s early years (refer to “Out of This World”), but balances out the bebop with balmy rhythms and deeply-introspective solos (see “Tunji”).
11. Duke Ellington & Coleman Hawkins: Duke Ellington Meets Coleman Hawkins (1962). I couldn’t think of anyone better than Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington to draw this canon to a close. This extraordinary 1962 session was the realization of a promise made thirty years earlier between the maestro, Duke Ellington, and the father of the tenor saxophone, Coleman Hawkins, that they would some day make a record together. Already a vaunted bandleader for thirty years, Ellington opens an arena in which Hawkins can shine, in tandem with Lawrence Brown on trombone. Besides their superb taste in fine hats, this album memorializes a juicy collaboration. After hearing the infectious melody, scatting, and piano-anchored solos of “Limbo Jazz,” you’ll be humming it until day’s end.
In one of my fits of insomnia, I stumbled upon this list of “beliefs and techniques” for the modern writer as outlined by Jack Kerouac. While you may not be the biggest fan of Kerouac, in general, at least scan through the list and see if anything piques your interest. Some of the tidbits are miraculous (no. 19 is a personal favorite), while others leave you scratching your head (for example, what in Hell is a “dumbsaint”?). Some of these pieces of advice, I think, may be as well applied to one’s own life as to one’s writing.
