
The re-do. The reissue, the remaster, the hi-res, the immersive, the Better.
Nietzsche posed a question in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, at least according to my paraphrasing—if a spirit appeared before you and said you would live your life over and over just as you’ve lived it for all of eternity, would you bless or curse her. A blessing being the sign of a life worth living.
Harsh, I know but in thinking about re-buying Kind of Blue for the umpteenth time, I have to wonder—do the benefits of going down this road of supposed better sound quality again and again necessarily equate to renewed excitement for the music? Isn’t my old excitement for the music good enough?
Sure. I can reminisce with the best of ’em so there’s nothing like replaying our formative years over and over accompanied by the soundtrack of our youth to make us feel somehow still vital. And when that vitality starts to fade, there’s nothing better than a new improved version to re-light that old flame. But I think we have to ask ourselves an important question—when is it time to move on? If I had to live my life over and over for eternity do I really want Kind of Blue to be on endless repeat?
When tech tries to supersede art (and experience), things can go awry. Even horribly wrong because recordings capture a moment in time and that moment is not about some ever evolving notion of sound quality. What it is about is all of the people and processes involved in capturing that moment. A message in a bottle, a Golden Record, and our experience of it—in time. I remember reading a comment by a multichannel recording engineer who lamented that Led Zeppelin’s classic albums were only released in stereo and how much greater their records would have been if he had mixed ‘em in multichannel. That’s like putting your ego before the cart and throwing the cart away along with the horse, the baby, and the bathwater.

So I have to wonder, how many times should we be re-excited about a classic record because of some new tech? The music business’ answer, along with the tech-driven portion of our hifi industry seems to be. . .forever. The Stereo, the Quadrophonic, the CD, the SACD, the Surround, the DSD, the DXD, the new Quadrophonic!, the Atmos, and so on. Or to ask the same question another way—how much should we discount our experiences/memories because some new tech comes along that claims to make the thing we experienced better? It seems to me that new tech applied to old stuff is like Viagra for men who can no longer get it up for the familiar.
OK, that was kinda harsh and a reissue may serve to introduce something old to a new audience which is always a good thing and I do value the idea of better sounding versions of records I love. At least in theory because we all know, especially if you’re old enough to have lived through absolute shit new versions of once great sounding records that were summarily ruined by new tech whether that be CD’s ‘perfect sound forever’, MP3’s claims of ‘really you won’t miss it’, or shite remasters that smashed music to death for loudness’ sake, that new doesn’t always mean better. Oh, but this time it’ll be different. I promise. You just have re-buy this and that and these other things and ideally build a custom room to take full advantage of this latest greatest thing.
Do you remember Zenph? They were a software company who thought it wise to offer “re-performances” of classic records like Glenn Gould’s 1955 recording of Bach’s Goldberg Variations. It was called a “re-performance” because Zenph and their tech didn’t remaster the original, they employed a Yamaha Disklavier Pro to play like Glen Gould playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations. Why? Because Zenph thought their player piano sounded better and, as a supposed additional benefit, their version got rid of Gould’s humming along, which is among my favorite things about his playing.
Full Disclosure: I value, I love, the original. First editions, original pressings, original art. I am attached to the original thing as a vessel, a container, a relic that represents a moment of creation at a specific point in time. I also value memories and am hesitant to wash over them for the sake of supposedly improved technology. Take colorization, among the silliest bits of tech ever invented, meant to appeal to people who can’t watch a black and white movie because they lack a colorful imagination.
Some of my most cherished experiences took place in the very place art was made. One tippy top example is Fra Angelico’s frescos at the Convent of San Marco in Florence because you see what he created, more or less, in the place they were created. No need for tech, just a little light and your time and attention. And while some may pine for a more immersive version (see Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience), this art was painted on a wall so take it in for what it is in the moment. And here’s a tip: a painting on a flat surface doesn’t appear flat just like a mono or stereo recording doesn’t sound flat. Just how un-flat your experience is is completely up to you, your level of engagement, and your imagination.
I know what some of you are thinking about this art analogy. What about restorations like the Sistine Chapel? The conservators removed layers of centuries old grime to re-reveal Michaelangelo’s original creation so isn’t that cleaned up version better? It’s certainly cleaner but what I’m getting at is this—the experience and what we do with it matter more.
I first visited the Sistine Chapel before the restoration so is my experience, and memory of it, somehow tarnished? Does what each of us bring to the experience and how that experience affect us somehow change, somehow get diminished, when new tech comes along and changes the thing? Was Miles Davis handicapped because he listened to a mono LP of the Concierto de Aranjuez and does anyone really believe that if he only had an opportunity to hear the new 45RPM super quiet stereo LP or surround mix or Atmos version on a proper hifi in an acoustically treated room he would have composed something much better than Sketches of Spain?
A focus on means over ends, on qualities of the thing over the experience of it, is certainly less demanding—a problem that can be solved—than the appreciation of art that offers no solutions, no right or wrong answers, just possibilities that exist within each of us.
After all is said and done, we listeners have but one simple and humble job to do and that job is appreciation, ideally of the enjoyable variety, whose sole impetus is music. I am tired to the point of repulsion by men who believe their arm chair interest in process or qualities of reproduction elevate their pronouncements to scripture while music and its enjoyment are relegated to playing a supporting role in their flaccid war games.
Of course we come at things in our own time and place (and tech) so we all have a favorite not to mention affordable version, format, or mix of our favorite music and there’s no better copy of a record (or book or work of art) than the one we own and love. Just make sure some shiny new tech doesn’t come along to become your guiding light, subordinating experiences, memories, and art to supporting roles.