Recorded Music: Facts and Feelings—Part 2

So what are some facts about the quality of sound from vinyl versus digital? LP adherents claim that something is “lost” in digital recordings that degrades their sound quality. While technically a wee bit true, the fact is that the human ear cannot tell the difference. First, the sampling rates of most all digital recordings are sufficiently fast to provide sound to the ear that cannot be distinguished from a fully analog LP. There is, in fact, nothing lost that the human ear can detect. In other words, the actual frequency range that the ears deliver to the brain from each source of sound is indistinguishable. Now, how the brain perceives different forms of recorded music is another matter—especially if one allows one's biases to creep in. But that's a feeling issue—not a fact.

Second fact: the qualities and capabilities of different types of recording and playback equipment matters... and are crucial. There is often a significant difference in how well one recording is made, compared to another—regardless of what medium is used to listen. Modern recording equipment and procedures are very different from a few decades ago, in several ways. Older recordings will thus sound different from new ones. There is a factual quality issue here (new techniques are more sophisticated and realistic), but there's also a feeling issue. Some people simply like the retro sound of an analog LP—regardless of its relative quality.

Then there's the playback equipment. A good recording will never sound great on an inferior sound system, just as a high-priced system will never be able to make a poor recording sound good.

Third fact: the acoustics of the listening environment plays a central role. Is one listening through headphones or maybe earbuds? If so, the room acoustics are irrelevant. But the acoustic qualities of the listening space will strongly influence the quality of the sound from speakers, and thus the listening experience. Some people listen primarily through earbuds or headphones or from speakers in their car. Their experience will be very different from someone who has a superb sound system set up in a room with excellent acoustics. Finally, any interfering background noise will alter the experience. Listening to earbuds in traffic is not the same as sitting before good speakers in a quiet room.

Fourth fact: the quality of a recorded music session depends heavily on the skill and quality of the engineer who did the recording. The number, capability, and placement of microphones is also crucial. The number of recorded tracks and how they are later electronically altered and mixed is critical. The skills of these engineers can be even more important than the talent of the musicians or the quality of the playback equipment. An engineer/mixer today has dozens of options to play with and enhance the signal, that did not exist a decade or so ago.

The bottom line—what causes a listener to prefer one form of recorded music over another—is very much a personal matter. One's idiosyncrasies, biases, and past experiences play as much a role as the factual quality of the music. And our personal listening experience is what it all comes down to. I think it would help make controversies and disagreements less contentious if there wasn't so much misinformation floating around. 

It's tough enough to make a decision of what you feel is best (and the end feeling is what matters), even when you know the facts. We have access to many kinds of listening experiences. Most of us will make a choice and pick what we think is best for us. That choice can be negatively impacted when the advice we get is in error.

Recorded Music: Facts and Feelings—Part 1

There are various debates raging in recent years over which provides a better listening experience: (1) vinyl records or CDs, (2) different sampling rates for digital sound, and (3) streaming or recorded music. I have weighed in on this debate in a previous blog (“Authentic Audio,” January 2014), in which I reviewed the technical facts of vinyl vs digital recording. There is a lot of misinformation floating in the air and on the internet—most of it not intentionally wrong (unlike the deliberate spread of false news and information that is a current problem).

The debate that becomes most strident is about which is superior, LP records or CDs; but also between various forms of digitally-recorded music. Vinyl is currently enjoying a retro popularity. Record companies are scrambling to provide the public the number of LPs they want. Old machines that press vinyl LPs—that were mothballed when CDs came along—are being rescued and refurbished. Old engineers and technicians who once operated these machines suddenly find themselves being coaxed out of retirement with bundles of money. Old jukeboxes are also in demand. The price of old LPs mushrooms. Is this an example of retro fetishism?

How much of this demand is driven by facts and how much by feelings? That's a difficult question to answer. Nostalgia and retro beliefs play a strong—if not dominant—role in people's opinions. Sentimentality and beliefs both lead to feelings about the best sound, and those who are influenced by the LP trend tend to think, “Damn the facts, I go with my feelings.” Like global warming, there is a strong tendency to be suspicious of engineers or technicians who purport to present the facts—particularly when they conflict with one's beliefs and sentiments.

So what is the truth about the best sound? Which of the options—LPs or various digital alternatives—offers the best listening experience? Well, since one's experience is relative, there is no straightforward answer. Let me address the issue by making a distinction between facts and feelings. Unlike when judging some forms of art—the resolution of this issue is not just a case of “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Preferring one painting to another, for example, is very much a subjective process. Who's to say which painter is better? 
 
But there are some facts about the quality of a music recording; facts that refute what some proponents of LP music are saying. Next time I'll cover a few of them.

More on recorded music next time...

Habitability Havoc

Anyone who is paying attention to our environment or is not supportive of the fossil fuel industry has to be concerned with climate change, and may even be inclined to use the term “global warming,” without being concerned that they may be targeted by the powers that be. It is amazing that the fact of human-caused climate change remains off the political agenda on the part of most politicians—especially in the US.

I have been taking an online course offered by Sweden's Stockholm University, titled “Planetary Boundaries.” The term refers to an exhaustive study being conducted by a consortium of university researchers around the world. Their goal is to define the various kinds of environmental boundaries beyond which we might go, with the result that a tipping point happens, which flips the environment into a new realm, from which we cannot return. 

An example is the level of ocean acidification that will kill off all the world's coral reefs and the refuge they provide for many kinds of marine life. Another example is the triggering of glacier melting to the point that they cannot be re-formed. Each of these trigger points leads to a runaway situation that will tip the planet into a new era that has not been seen for millions of years.

These teams of scientists are quantifying the climate change process, so as to be able to describe accurately the ramifications of increased carbon dioxide, or air pollution, or water pollution, etc. Two recent remarkable results of their analyses struck me as particularly telling. Let me see if I can explain them adequately.

Currently the proportion of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere is a little over 400 parts per million (ppm). Many environmental groups maintain that a safe limit is 350 ppm—a boundary we've already crossed. Analyses by the Stockholm scientists show that if we can stay below 450 ppm, for example, we have a 1.8% chance of exceeding a 6^o C (11^o F) rise in world temperature. To put this in perspective, a 6^o C rise in temperature would definitely create an uninhabitable planet for most of today's creatures—including us. Massive extinctions would occur—maybe even including humans.

But some people might look at the other side of this CO₂ analysis and say, “but wait, we also have a 98.2% chance of staying below a 6^o C rise. Isn't that an acceptable risk?” No. If we accepted that kind of risk in another area—say a 1.8% chance of airplane crashes—we'd be experiencing some 1500 crashes a day! We'd never accept that level of risk for air travel. Why do we seem to be so complacent about the planet's habitability?

Another example of a tipping point that we narrowly and blithely have already missed: In the 1960s the refrigeration industry chose chlorine as its coolant material. It could have just as easily chosen bromine, rather than chlorine; their chemical refrigerant properties are quite similar. In the 1980s scientists noted a huge hole in the ozone layer over Antarctica, caused by the escaped chlorine compounds. Had the refrigeration industry 20 years earlier selected bromine instead, it would have caused the complete collapse of the planet's ozone layer, crossing a tipping point that would have made the Earth uninhabitable for most species. We'd all have fried under the high levels of ultraviolet radiation, from which the upper atmospheric ozone layer protects us.

These atmospheric scientists have defined nine different kinds of planetary threats—three of which have already crossed their safe boundaries. Humanity seems headed towards some frightening consequences, as we carry on with business as usual, because the polluting industries have much sway over politicians.

Scarab Beetle

Also known as a dung beetle. Click to enlarge.

Distant or Dear?

We recently had our dog—in the prime of his life—suddenly die. He was only eight years old, and the model of health. We found his body in the woods, with no signs of harm, so we have no idea of the cause of his death. That mystery leaves a huge question hovering in the air—a question that is not likely ever to be answered. That nameless cause is unsettling, if not disturbing, and at times even haunting.

Over the last couple of weeks since his death, I have gradually come to accept the loss—now only having periodic moments of deep sadness come over me, rather than the shock and mourning I struggled with during the first few days. There are many moments in each day when my wife and I sorely miss his presence. In numerous ways he was truly a family member—despite being nonhuman. His absence hurts.

I have spent much time in contemplation and meditation, working through the experience and attempting to understand my various emotions and how appropriate they may be. How long does one mourn? When does dwelling on one's loss become an unhealthy obsession? What's the difference between grieving and feeling sorry for yourself? How soon can you expect to get over the death—whatever that means? How do you put into perspective the shock of the death of a beloved dog, compared to other losses you've had? Why does the pain persist, and when will it slip below some threshold that goes unnoticed for several days or more?

In the last few days I have come to realize that my dog's death has hit me harder than the death of some family members. How is it that I miss a canine friend more than a human who is related to me by blood? Am I being callous towards kinfolk, when I struggle more over the loss of a “mere” dog? These questions sit at the back of my mind, gnawing at my conscience at times.

There are two factors involved here, I believe: the affection and the care we feel for another being, due either to blood or proximity (or sometimes both). Some people would add another factor or settle the question easily: a human being is always worth more than an animal. That may be generally correct, but I long ago discarded such simplistic and hierarchical (if not racist) beliefs. Why should I care more about the death of a person I hardly know, than my beloved dog? Why should I care more about the death of my dog than a bird who crashes into my window and breaks its neck? Where do you draw the line?

It seems to me that proximity plays a significant role in how much I care. My dog was an integral part of my daily life. I interacted with him many times a day and our lives closely intertwined. How does that compare to when a cousin dies, who lives at a great distance and with whom I lost contact 20 years ago? Yes, I feel sympathy and sadness when I hear of the death of a migrant who perishes at sea, attempting to reach the relative safety of Europe. I feel a similar sadness when I hear about the death of that distant cousin. How do those levels of sadness compare? How should they? And why does the death of my dog hit me harder than either of these examples?

Each of us will respond differently to these questions. I don't believe there is a “right” answer that could apply for all of us. The feelings of loss and grief are very personal and situation dependent. Rather than seek answers, I believe it's more important to dwell with the questions and use them to probe our motivations and values.