When I was growing up, calling Dad to dinner required a trip down carpeted stairs to the basement, an audiophile man cave in a time before the term had been invented. I’d open the door from the kitchen, and a great wall of sound would emerge—and nearly blow me back before I descended the stairs.
Next, I’d gauge how best to make contact, which depended upon his degree of musical immersion. I hated to jolt him out of the experience. Most times he’d be relaxed, eyes closed, head gently nodding or fingers or a foot tapping to the beat. Or he might be reading LP liner notes. Once in a while, he’d be fully under the musical spell, and I’d have no choice but to tap him on the shoulder or yell, “Dad! Dinner!” It felt like such a banal chore to interrupt the thrilling strains of a spectacular Wagnerian aria from Das Rheingold, for instance. Once, I found him standing and conducting an orchestral piece, which left him startled and embarrassed. Sorry, Dad.
Sometimes after dinner we’d listen together. He’d introduce me to Robert Johnson, or a particularly dynamic operatic passage. When CDs came out, he’d have me stand in the sweet spot and close my eyes, and he’d play a song on both vinyl and CD to see if I could tell one from the other. The differences were clear (footnote 1).
Housed in the main room, his floor-to-ceiling, nearly wall-to-wall classical and opera LP collection was meticulously organized by recording label in a system that was lost on me. Why would anyone need or want to have the same opera or ballet or classical piece of music on Decca and EMI and Deutsche Grammophon? Years later, my father told me about RCA Living Stereo recordings, how some of these classics were incredibly well recorded, but it took decades for analog gear and technology to “catch up” to where a recording’s playback potential could be fully realized. Take the Fritz Reiner/CSO recording of Respighi’s Pines of Rome (RCA LSC-2436), which famously, or infamously, caused vintage systems to crumble under its weighty dynamic demands. Even today I still find it amazing what one can extract from a record’s tiny grooves (but I do love streaming, too!).
My dad taught me how and in what order to switch on the components. I was curious to gain at least a rudimentary understanding of how they worked their magic. Even in my earliest memories as a wide-eyed, chubby-faced innocent, I was intrigued by the fact that those majestically glowing tubes had plenty to do with the gorgeous, exciting sounds coming through the speakers. I knew not to touch them but was fascinated by the apparent energy in the tubes. I’d stare at them, transfixed, and marvel at the electricity I could see—and hear. I handled each step—each flip of a switch, each turn of a knob—with care and reverence. Placing the stylus into the record groove—that final moment always made me a little nervous: I’d hold my breath as the tonearm made its slow, delicate descent. Maybe a pop or tick, then silence, superseded by glorious sound.
When I was 10, at Christmas, my father gave me a system of my own: Advent 300 receiver, Audio-Technica turntable, and Infinity two-way bookshelf speakers. Before we were old enough to drive, my best friend and I would take two buses from the ‘burbs to shop at record stores near the University of Cincinnati, known for its College-Conservatory of Music. Day and night, we’d listen to records and watch MTV. My father and I would go to record shows together, and when my family took vacations to larger cities, he and I split off and hit Wax Trax in Chicago, Bleecker Bob’s in NYC, and Recycled Records in San Fran’s Haight-Ashbury. He’d hunt for vintage R&B and classic film soundtracks while I crate-dug for ’80s whatnot, particularly 12″ British pop singles (New Order, the Smiths, too much Duran Duran) and what would later be dubbed Alternative, New Wave, or Post-Punk: the Pixies, Talking Heads, Blondie, etc.
As adolescence shifted into full-blown teenagerhood, more pressing matters were at hand—rigorous ballet and oboe lessons, academic team, and, yeah, boys—and my time spent with dad sharing music waned. But I still listened to LPs in my room constantly, with certain records in heavy rotation.
Time marches on. My dad—yes, he’s still around—has started going to audio shows again, and once in a while, usually on a holiday, we find time to listen together.
Today, ensconced in my own listening room, which is also my main living space, I’m grateful for the adventures I’ve had so far in music and audio, and I’m looking forward to more. Stay tuned.
Footnote 1: Back then, he had Rogers LS3/5a speakers atop Rogers’s chunky subwoofers, driven by an Audio Research SP8 preamp and a Dynaco ST-70 amp. Records spun on a Linn Sondek LP12. Today, the BBC speakers have been replaced by Magnepans, the Linn by a VPI. Newer ARC and McIntosh amplification.
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