The Absolute Sound was a catchphrase of the late Harry Pearson, guru-par-excellence of the modern audiophile movement. Harry’s dictum was that the absolute sound was the sound of acoustic music played in a natural space and therefore the goal of audio equipment. In a way it was a rewording of the old promo “Is it live, or is it Memorex?”
Such ideals go back almost as far as recorded sound. Edison concocted a dog-and-pony show in which a singer traipsed around the country together with Edison’s latest-and-greatest cylinder gramophone. Sometimes she was singing, sometimes the gramophone was playing, and the audience was challenged to figure out which was which. Amazingly enough, quite a few people had difficulty making the distinction despite the glaring (to us) shortcomings of audio in those far-off non-electric days.
Edison was a canny showman and knew better than to trust serendipity for anything so important as publicity. So the singers he used had been carefully coached to mimic the sound of a singer heard through an Edison player—colorless, thin. I doubt those singers could mask the upper overtones that they were producing and the record player was not, but given the hype, the careful setup before the demonstration, and the willingness to believe, it all worked after a fashion.
As it still does. Pre-conditioning is a critical part of the audio experience, as any good salesman is likely to know. That’s why any high-end store worth beans sports well-furnished listening rooms with discreet lighting, usually on the darkish side, so as to avoid the eyes playing tricks on our ears (such as encouraging us to hear what’s actually there.) It doesn’t take much in the way of planting for seeds to take root and sprout: this is one of the most regarded of audio marques, these are the speakers they use at Abbey Road Studios, note the depth of the soundstage and the air around the instruments.
Some of it might even be true. Good sound equipment does provide a deeper soundstage and provides a heightened sense of the acoustic environment. But so does a lot of middling sound equipment.
That absolute sound is no more valid in our time than it was back in Edison’s day. There are just too many variables: the original recording quality, the acoustics of the studio, the acoustics of one’s listening room, and umpty-million more considerations. In a lot of cases, the absolute sound is kind of disappointing compared to what a fine sound system can do.
More to the point, it’s not really about total accuracy. It’s more about creating an attractive and welcoming listening space. In my opinion, a system that sounds good is much more desirable than one that is more accurate—again, allowing that I’m not altogether sure what that last word even means in terms of audio. (It’s kind of like authentic in performance practice; popular buzzword, but ultimately meaningless.) And good is very matter a matter of individual taste.
My own living room system provides a case in point. To begin with, my living room is just that—a room for living—and not a space specifically designed for listening. It’s a rectangular space, and rather “thick” in the sense that it is filled with well-upholstered furniture, wall hangings, carpet, and draperies. It’s a lovely room, kinda of fussy-ish with flower motives and lots of rose colors, but that fits the overall gestalt of a mostly unmolested 1903 Victorian house. But sound in such a room is likely to be cushioned given all that sound-absorbing material. Even the walls are textured.
I could have compensated by going for a bright sound system, but I don’t really like such things. I’ve gone for warmth. My speakers, Bowers & Wilkins 803D models, are quite large for the room (probably too large, but I don’t care) and are noted for their full-bodied and rich tone, albeit also their startling accuracy. (There I go with that word again.) My primary electronics are a Bryston digital-to-analog converter and a Luxman integrated amplifier. Bryston is also known for its accuracy, but also for a big, all-embrasive tonal quality. (Nobody buys Bryston because they’re into lightly transparent sound.) And Luxman? They’re known for a sound ethos similar to Bryston’s; big, rich, what the audio folk like to call “musical.”
In other words, its overall sound signature is vocal, lyrical, and “human”, but capable of any amount of brutality if necessary, and also clear despite all that richness. There’s no way it’s going to be muddy with those incredible B&W synthetic-diamond tweeters perched there atop the 4-foot-tall enclosure.
It makes sense that I would chose such components for my “show” system. I prefer Hamburg Steinways to American, and the more middle-voiced the better. My pianists of choice are folks like Arthur Rubinstein, Emanuel Ax, Murray Perahia, and András Schiff. My violinists are guys like Nathan Milstein. I love the Dresden Staatskapelle and the Budapest Festival Orchestra. Colorists all. It’s all of a piece; the living room with its flower motifs in rose, mauve, and salmon tints, the stereo system with the emphasis on the vocal midrange.
And that’s the absolutely nice sound, in my opinion far preferable to some Walhalla of imaginary perfection.