Good Morning, Everyone
While I was not at RMAF, this thread has inspired me to comment. Each of you has contributed to this discussion's vitality and I have learned a great deal. Thank you.
I want to address aspects of Atmasphere's, Dertonarm's and Thom's entries, first via the Gladius metaphor, and then in a discussion of inherent quality.
We, interested in audio, exist in a [tiny (and some would say insignificant)] moment of time. The gladius was developed --I use this term because that sword was the result of accumulated learning applied to technology-- in a moment of time as limited in knowledge as is our own. *In its time* the gladius was a tool of the highest sophistication, bettered by none.
Throughout history there have been such devices, and they are the consequence of fortuitous factors coalescing at a peak of development. They are the product of their context, and could not have evolved earlier. And they fall prey to the progress of time, as we ourselves do.
Dertonarm's use of the gladius metaphor was most insightful, clearly illustrating the superiority of *a device that was applied to enforce a belief system*. The Romans' intention was conquest, like many before them. The gladius was not their only superior war tool, but the single-minded focus on exporting their way of life was the driving force of their success. In a synchronic sense (during the same time or era) the gladius was an indispensable tool for implementing a culture-wide intention. Underlying the Roman's enforced cultural imperative --do it our way, or the 'gladius way'-- was their assumption that they were right.
Skip forward a millennium or so. Much of what the Romans discovered has remained, eg. the "Roman" calendar. Is the gladius still a viable tool of "cultural enforcement"? That is, did the gladius' superiority survive diachronically (outside its era)? Clearly not, but the metallurgy that created it has greatly evolved. What was extraneous or outdated in the Roman cultural model was discarded, leaving a distilled essence of the rest. At this time, however, the tonearm was still Fred Flintstone's proverbial 'beak of the Pterodactyl'.
Flash forward another six centuries, noting that the interval has diminished. There are people discussing the merits of material selection for building devices of peace --tonearms. (and parrying in words about its best design implementation)
Today's technology offers new materials that mitigates if not solving inherent limitations of the old. For the modern era, substitute carbon fiber for gladius iron. Yet some of the lessons learned in creating that iron remain in the [updated] lexicon of metallurgy. We continue to build upon our cumulative knowledge base.
New materials are irrelevant unless their properties are marshaled toward a goal with *intention*. The tonearm will not improve in perceived value --the value to the designer and to the end user-- without the intention of improved performance. The goal, for many of us, is an increased authenticity, a greater simulacrum to music as we perceive it in live performance.
As to value and how it is determined: something is worth what a person is willing to pay. We could digress into a discussion of currency value, what sweat equity means today, etc. however all of us who have time and money to aspire to audio delight are privileged --simply admit it.
Let's take authenticity to live music as the premise upon which we select our audio components, though there are certainly other premises at work. Perceived value is highly individualized, no less than a preference for John Coltrane over Zoot Sims.
Now we're down to what you and I prefer. Even if our tastes are currently similar (synchronic), they will likely develop and change over time (diachronic), just as the pool of materials available to audio designers. So is value, too, a moving target?
The noted photographer Ansel Adams was challenged for the price of his photographs, the critic claiming he could make the same photograph in the same sixtieth of a second. 'A sixtieth of a second and forty-two years,' Adams responded.
Ansel suffered from his own success [in marketing as well as photography]. His prices went up so fast in the 1970s that he lost money:by the time he caught up on past orders, the value of his prints had risen. The point here is the speed with which perception can, in a 'good market', change its valuation of an esthetic experience. So, again, time is a factor in determining value, just as those forty-two years seasoned the soul behind Ansel Adams' eye, enriching his product. Parenthetically, Edward Weston never sold a photograph for more than $25, and one of his was the first to bring a million dollars at auction.
Now to the 'if a little is good, then more must be better' approach. I'm a fan of complete truth. By this I mean not leaving out *essential* details. 'Moderation in all things' is a common but incomplete saying, in my estimation. Though not as absolute or pithy, 'Moderation in all things, including Moderation' is more truthful. All work and no play makes Jack [worse than] a dull geek. If one doesn't occasionally go a little mad, then moderation is merely a diet of deprivation. So 'if a little is good', then it's likely to take more time to make less be more effective.
Mies van der Rohe, the Bauhaus architect who flourished in the US, proclaimed 'Less is More'. While *he* knew what he was saying, taken out of context his aphorism is food for dischord [!]. To reach the point in design that 'there is nothing inessential remaining' takes a combination of experience (however it's accumulated), very hard work, patience and persistence. Most often More [work] leads to [what appears to be] Less, hence my comment about complete truth.
This More/Less diatribe applies to authenticity in the reproduction of music. When there is Less [artifice from an electronic component], there is More [music that can survive the process of reproduction]. This is at the heart of our present endeavor. As the history and present state of our hobby attests, it takes time to get the Sound Absolute: we're not there yet and Edison patented the first recording and playback 'system' in 1878.
Some time ago, we named ourselves homo sapiens, or in loose translation man who knows or is wise --by extension, man-who-is-right. I think part of our problem lies in the assumptions behind this, our first self-designation. We *don't* know, clearly, because we are still learning. What leads us to know what little we do, is curiosity. For that reason, I submit that we rename ourselves audio homo curioso in the interest of putting aside the incomplete truth, the assumption that we know something, or that what we know is right.
If we approach things from a point of view that we do not 'know' but have *some* knowledge upon which we seek to build as we learn, then we stand first, to better cooperate, as we have in this forum, and second, not to be afraid of our ignorance, but to see it as a positive force guiding us in our inquiries.
In retrospect, perhaps Dertonarm's gladius metaphor was prescient in our evolving definition of audio, its terminology, and knowledge in general: just when we think we know something, like the meaning of the gladius as it pertains to audio, we realize the need to acknowledge the *contemporary* meaning of 'moving iron'.
Stepping on the shoulders of learning from the past we can reach higher in our quest to understand our present with the humility that inevitably comes from knowing that there is yet more to learn.
Best,
David (Audio Homo Curioso)
