What follows is an analysis of the dynamic range of various audio formats such as cassette, vinyl and digital. What will become clear is that digital is superb at handling dynamic range and analogue formats are not. However, there is a difference between this form of objective analysis which doesn’t take into account the subjective creativity of using lower fidelity mediums to create and record music.

We, as human beings, are capable of hearing a factor of a hundred thousand (100,000) difference in the amplitude of an audio signal, this equates to a factor of ten billion (10,000,000,000) in power! We use decibels, a logarithmic unit to describe this as the numbers get very large very quickly. The dynamic range of our hearing is approximately 140dB from the quietest sound we can perceive, around -9 dB SPL at 3kHz to the threshold of pain at 120-140dB SPL (every +3dB is approximately a doubling in power) . However, we cannot perceive these differences at the same time as the mechanisms of our ears adjust to different auditory stimulus. This is also why you’re more likely to damage your hearing if you work in a loud environment before going to a loud concert.

Moving on to audio delivery formats, it is easy to ignore early phonographs when discussing vinyl. These were often made of Shellac and span at approximately 78 rpm (78.26 rpm and 77.92 rpm). Due to this construction, speed and the hardness of the needle that played them, they had a dynamic range of around 40dB when new which quickly reduced to 30dB through wear.

Modern vinyl with microgrooves (33/45rpm) enjoys approximately 55-65dB with the high fidelity outer rings getting as much as 70dB dynamic range. There are also other limitation of this format such a frequency response which is handled using equalisation (RIAA) hence the need for Phono Pre-Amps.

Compact Cassette/Musicassette averages around 50-56dB depending on tape formulation. Very specialised tape head configurations, noise reduction, XDR and Type IV tape used together, in the right way, may expand that to 70dB but it was a rare and expensive set-up in the 70s, 80s and 90s and is even rarer and still expensive nowadays.

Compact Disc at 44.1kHz sample rate with a bit depth of 16 bits yields a theoretical 96dB but with dither can push to over 120dB of dynamic range. We must also remember that with a reconstruction filter (in the time domain) or anti-aliasing filter (in the frequency domain), digital does not output the stepped (quantised) waveform that many believe it does.

The beauty of the digital audio signal is that noise and distortion can be separated from the audio signal. […] The only real theoretical limitation to the accuracy of a digital signal is the quantity of numbers in the signal representation and the accuracy of those numbers. These are both known and controllable design parameters.

Grant Erickson

Compressed audio formats are where it gets more interesting. The right compression even a lossy type (data compression), especially one that employs VBR (Variable Bit Rate) can sound as good as uncompressed digital audio. This has been the subject of technical research papers and listening challenges but is beyond the scope of this particular article (although will be the subject of a future blog).

Thus in terms of dynamic range, the ability to separate noise from a signal and thus, copy fidelity, digital is superior in every technical way. However, I have also heard digital spoken about as “clinical”, “too clean”, “lifeless”, “brittle” and “crystalline”. It’s no accident that so many audio plugins have been created modelled on antiquated analogue gear.

As precise as digital audio is, I would argue that our ears often prefer the sound of analogue formats, despite their countless flaws. The noise, crackle, distortion and added harmonics are often referred to as sounding “warm”, having “character” and being “real”. Perhaps, it is these analogue limitations that define the music.

Stu Welsh

Owner & Curator here at Fiercely Indie. Stu’s background is in Sound Engineering and Education. He leads undergrad and postgrad courses at dBs Music, acts as Producer for Live in Session and, is a huge fan of vintage recording gear.

The practice of minimalism is very personal and the uninitiated may presume that the idea is to “own” as little as possible. For me, it’s about taking away the distractions so I can truly appreciate the things I love. Over the past couple of years I rediscovered Minimalism through the work of Japanese author Fumio Sasaki:

“Why do we own so many things when we don’t need them? What is their purpose? I think the answer is quite clear: We’re desperate to convey our own worth, our own value to others. We use objects to tell people just how valuable we are.”

Fumio Sasaki, Goodbye, Things.

This was an epiphany for me. I realised that for a number of reasons, I had been doing exactly that. I started to question what I owned, what was its purpose and did it bring me happiness?

In the months that followed I streamlined my collections of ‘things’ to the stuff that, to quote Marie Kondo, “sparks joy“; a move from unconscious collector to conscious curator. I also started to ask important questions when making purchases such as, “do I really need this?“. It’s a process which needs constant practice and refining. I often find myself with clutter to clear but the process is extremely therapeutic, the clarity of clearing clutter acts as a catalyst for cleansing the conscious.

I still own things, I make purchases, I collect records, cassettes, guitar pedals and microphones. I make my selections thoughtfully and when I do, I overwhelming find that I treasure these possessions more than previous purchases I’ve made with little conscious effort.

As label owner I am keen to bring this practice into my business. We inhabit a space where one could consume all things digitally and thus those ‘things’ would have no physical presence in our world. Digital streaming has replaced tangible formats such as the Musicassette, Vinyl, Video Tape and more recently, the DVD. Currently, all you need is a smart device or computer to create, mix and distribute music. If you have been reading my previous posts you’ll know why I don’t think that is necessarily a good idea for creativity.

Therefore, some thought is required into the way we create, store and distribute music. The Musicassette, although a niche market is appealing, because it’s possible to hold minimal stock and create orders in-house and on-demand. However, with vinyl releases, careful consideration the number of copies produced is required, as they will need to be stored in preparation for fulfilling orders.

We now live in a culture that is, once again, starting to appreciate experiences over things. There is still a place for the collector but, personally I find I enjoy my own collections more when I have mindfully curated them to a core of items which bring me the most joy. I often find myself suggesting to undergrads and postgrads that they “narrow down” their research and that is quite literally at the heart of my practice as a Minimalist-Collector.

Stu Welsh

Owner & Curator here at Fiercely Indie. Stu’s background is in Sound Engineering and Education. He leads undergrad and postgrad courses at dBs Music, acts as Producer for Live in Session and, is a huge fan of vintage recording gear.

The ideas surrounding ‘the beauty of decay‘ are very much entwined with analogue recording and delivery formats. The oxide layer will wear on a magnetic tape over time and the grove in a vinyl will mechanically wear out, eventually. Record covers develop marks, wear, fingerprints — patina — and although some of us try to minimise this by using plastic sleeves, entropy is inevitable. The great Japanese novelist Tanizaki discusses a ‘sheen’ that can lead to reverie and tranquility:

“Yet for better or for worse we do love things that bear the marks of grime, soot, and weather, and we love the colors and the sheen that call to mind the past that made them. Living in these old houses among these old objects is in some mysterious way a source of peace and repose.”

Tanizaki

The object itself becomes as important to the experience, as the music contained within. The ‘story’ of where it’s been and who has previously played it, means we often anthropomorphise these objects, imbuing them with a life and even a soul. That connection is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to form with a digital stream. Henry Rollins, interviewed in the book ‘Why Vinyl Matters’ proposes that there is no such thing as digital music:

Digital technology can emulate music and that technology is getting better, but there is no Led Zeppelin on a Led Zeppelin CD. There isn’t a nanosecond of music on any music streaming service.

Henry Rollins interviewed in Why Vinyl Matters

Rollins is suggesting that digital is only sampling “reality” in opposition to analogue recording where the oxide particles are so tiny and so many, that for all intents and purposes the signal can be considered continuous and infinitely changeable. However, digital audio does not produce a quantised output waveform, like many people believe it does. These are technical considerations and it is perhaps, more interesting to consider Rollins’ words from a philosophical perspective.

Jean Baudrillard, in his book ‘Simulation and Simulacra’ suggests a “precession of simulacra” where everything in society passes through four phases, the first being a faithful copy of an original and the last is a pure simulacrum bearing no relationship to reality whatsoever.

It is possible to map music across these four phases (sacramental, maleficence, sorcery and pure simulacrum) with the analogue recording being considered a true copy and the mobile phone speaker playing music aloud, usually a low fidelity reproduction of a (data) compressed audio file made from a digital master, approaching the fourth phase of pure simulation.

However, when examining the idea of reproduction we must also consider what makes an original piece of art, original. Walter Benjamin in his work ‘Art in the Mechanical Age of Reproduction’ suggests:

‘… what shrinks in an age where the work of art can be reproduced by technological means is its aura.’

Walter Benjamin

These ideas have stuck with me and continue to inform my thought-processes surrounding the practice of recording, producing and releasing music. The idea that a copy can develop its own unique qualities through interaction, use and wear would suggest that a copy can become an original, albeit in a new form and therefore, transcend the procession of simulacra and develop its own aura. Over its lifetime it develops a story that the original does not have.

The most important factor in all of these ideas is us. In our function as collectors, listeners and consumers, it is we who interact with these mediums, we who remember the stories surrounding them and we who recount them to our peers.

Perhaps the patina we celebrate, is not about the object itself. It is instead, a reflection of the imperfect beauty that lies in us all.

Stu Welsh

Owner & Curator here at Fiercely Indie. Stu’s background is in Sound Engineering and Education. He leads undergrad and postgrad courses at dBs Music, acts as Producer for Live in Session and, is a huge fan of vintage recording gear.

The other week we were honoured to host the excellent Dr. Jennifer Otter Bickerdike, an academic and author specialising in fan culture, the cult of dead celebrity, music and music heritage.

Jen’s guest lecture was excellent and our students are still talking about it now.  I took the opportunity to ask her to sign my copy of ‘Why Vinyl Matters’, which she graciously did, with her usual flare.

So why does vinyl matter?

Well, firstly, this isn’t going to be a book review.  The book is excellent though, go and buy a copy immediately, if you don’t own one already (I imagine a lot of people reading this already will). Perhaps a better title for this post would be ‘Why does vinyl matter, to me?’.

Why does vinyl matter, to me?

I’ve tried answering that question a few times, over a coffee, with hastily handwritten notes, discussions with academics, being cognisant when playing vinyl, and it’s a tough one to answer.   Not because there aren’t any reasons, but because there are so many and the majority of them are equally as applicable to any physical, analogue format; but I will attempt to keep this about vinyl.

For me, it has little to do with sound quality.  I am well aware of the format’s sonic limitations and will happily (academically or otherwise) debate formats, sonic perception and audio objectivity vs. subjectivity.

However, this post is not about the sonic pros and cons of the format, instead it is about interaction, experience and human nature.

Digging

There is just something more authentic about being able to flick through a big crate of vinyl albums than scrolling through Spotify.  The feeling of the record sleeves under the fingertips, the special “flick” you learn and improve at, the way the cardboard brakes on the air pressure between the sleeves as one 12″ cascades into another.  A short pause … stopping on a classic cover, or some interesting art I’ve not seen before. The role of the physical format here, one could argue, is almost as important as the music itself.

Ritual

Sliding the vinyl from the sleeve, that distinctive papery crumple.  The very-careful balance we learn, of holding the disk between the fingers and palm of the hand, before placing it on the turntable.  Placing or lowering the needle gently and precisely into the groove.  That pregnant pause before that first subtle crackle comes over the speakers, shortly followed by the sonic signature of that particular pressing.

Entropy

Listening, really listening, sitting in the ‘sweet spot’ between the speakers and actually hearing the record.  Knowing that every play will wear the needle and the groove very subtly; meaning that one play, almost indistinguishable from subsequent plays, is actually unique and will never be exactly the same ever again.  A sonic sacrifice.

Knowledge

Reading the liner notes; before the days of the Internet, so much information came from those notes.  Who played what and on which track, who wrote each song, where it was recorded, who engineering it, who the producer was,  where it was pressed …

The artwork, often full of glorious studio or tour photos.  I still study all the studio pictures closely, occasionally I find a piece of studio or music gear I am not familiar with and that leads me on a new mission to learn about it.

Artwork

Then there’s the artwork, presented as either a 12″ square or a 24″ x 12″ rectangle if it’s a gatefold. Die-cuts (ELP – Brain Salad Surgery), embellishments (Rolling Stones – Sticky Fingers features a zip on some pressings), coloured vinyl (which is making a comeback), picture disks (Tool – Lateralus features the art of Alex Grey), shaped disks, inlays, inserts, posters …  I fear we have lost the art of the record.

Experience

During the last century and, to some extent, the start of this one, we lived in a world of collections, where the idea of owning and currating physical objects was celebrated.  Storing them, maintaining them, interacting with the medium itself. 

However, this process has been largely supplanted by streaming media. Spotify and Apple Music means we can listen to any album, at any time without having to own or store that physical copy. Therefore, it could be argued that, the idea of a tangible format become less about access to the music we love and more about having a authentic experience.

Social

I find this ritual highly social too.  It’s great to have friends and family over to hang out and play records.  It’s fun to teach people, who have never had the pleasure of placing the disk on the turntable, or the needle in the grove, how to go about it.  It’s a memorable experience which adds ‘weight’ to the music. That interaction is almost impossible to replicate with modern digital platforms.

That is why I love vinyl.

And, then, all too soon, the last record of the night spins out and the needle sits in the dead wax at the centre of the beautiful black circle …

“Click!“

Stu Welsh

Owner & Curator here at Fiercely Indie. Stu’s background is in Sound Engineering and Education. He leads undergrad and postgrad courses at dBs Music, acts as Producer for Live in Session and, is a huge fan of vintage recording gear.

On August 22^nd, 2016‪, Fiercely Independent Records released Ancient Race of Techno-Voyagers, the new album from elusive analog technicians Thee Koukouvaya, in vinyl and digital formats.

Ancient Race of Techno-Voyagers is the second full-length album from collaborators John O’Hara and Brian Wenckebach, following their debut LP This is the Mythology of Modern Death (Saint Marie Records) and their ambient EP Witches’ Jelly (soundinsilence). Magnet Magazine described This is the Mythology of Modern Death as “dark and claustrophobic electronica,” while Penny Black Music hailed the album as “an atmospheric masterpiece” and Stereo Embers Magazine found themselves “mesmerized, ecstatic, and chilled out down to our very marrow” by “an absolute mind-fuck of seductive electronic imagination.”

The nine electronic experiments on Ancient Race of Techno-Voyagers build on the sound established on that first LP, crafting expansive, cinematic narratives out of dense layers of synthesizer melodies and complex electronic percussion, this time around producing even darker, more esoteric results. Though on the whole moodier in tone than the previous album, Ancient Race of Techno-Voyagers still expresses a range of emotions, like the anxious jitter of “Limbic Crisis for Sparkle and Foam” and the cathartic longing of “Margaritas by the Pool,” which includes a vocoder performance by Ulrich Schnauss, one of electronic music’s most forward-thinking artists.

Products

Thee Koukouvaya / Ancient Race of Techno Voyagers
[vinyl] [very limited stock]

About Thee Koukouvaya

Thee Koukouvaya is the conceptual aural sister city to Vilandredo, Rethymno, on the island of Crete. The group’s architects, based on the East Coast, approach post-rock inflected techno, ambient, and IDM with an eye for depth and structure, assembling crystalline lattices of meticulously programmed drum patterns, frenetically sequenced analog synthesizer rhythms, and luxuriant glacial drones.

Both ominous and celebratory, Thee Koukouvaya engineers inhuman otherworldliness steeped in sci-fi paranoia. The result is a deliberately damaged music, generating a sonic liminal space between the organic and the mechanical.