For the Records

Peter Burwasser on Classical

Records sound better than CDs. I was going to say they sound different, but that would be wishy-washy. CDs are more convenient in almost every respect, and cover a wider frequency range, but in terms of musicality, they are inferior to their vinyl forefathers. The difference is in the ability to reproduce true instrumental timbres — that is, getting an oboe to sound like an oboe, instead of some electronic semblance of an oboe. It is the space around the instruments. It is the smack of saliva at the back of the throat in the human voice. It is, in short, the kinds of unmeasurable aspects of music that any true music lover can appreciate.

Vinyl also has a kind of iconic presence in music that CDs will never achieve, and the CD era is already effectively over. The future — no, the present — is all about computer files. The short-lived era of the compact disc, once heralded as a perfect medium, has nothing of the historical and emotional import of the LP epoch.

Here's the best part of being a vinyl fan — the stuff is everywhere, and if it isn't free, it's damn near close to it. Remember the Twilight Zone episode where the nerdy book lover survives a nuclear attack, and ends up in the wrecked library surrounded by more books than he can ever possibly read? That's what it's like being a record collector these days. (I'm counting on my needle not shattering like Burgess Meredith's glasses.) Thrift shops are full of vinyl, usually at a buck or two per disc. Sidewalk sales can barely give them away. Or, simply pass the word around that you have a working turntable, especially to older folks whose collections are gathering dust, and you will shortly be inundated with piles of lovely platters.

So there's the great music, great sound, funky large-format cover art, and the sheer tactile pleasure of the vinyl discs themselves. Then there's the excitement of finding out-of-print LPs that might contain amazing music-making. I just listened to a set of early LPs of Chopin played by Claudio Arrau that show a strength, nimbleness and poetry that his late-in-life recordings, the ones still in print, often lack. Actually, I've had the set for more than year and just got around to hearing it. And the piles are still growing.

(p_burwasser@citypaper.net)