I treated myself to my Christmas present early this year.
Not one word, you hear me, not a peep. You're a Buddhist, you don't do Christmas. I know, I know, I know. Shaddup.
But I gave myself my Christmas present early this year. If that's inconsistent, well…remember what Alexander Pope had to say about foolish consistencies, hobgoblins, and little minds.
My Christmas Present to Me is a VPI 16.5 record cleaning machine. Big momma, the 16.5. Heavy torque motor with a powerful vacuum thingamajig. A record cleaning machine needs to be stout and studly, and VPI has a jim-dandy track record in the build-em-for-eternity department. There are no second-rate VPI products. I own a Scout II turntable, and I can attest to its peerless fit and finish, its tanklike construction, its utter reliability, and its sterling musicianship. VPI is a class act, an all-American company that absolutely knows how. We need a lot more VPIs in this world of ours.
My 16.5 has met every expectation I have for a VPI product. It's heavy, immaculately made, obviously built to last for a lifetime. There's nothing remotely slipshod about it, nothing second-rate, no corners cut, no hints of haste. No doubt it will outlive me.
The VPI 16.5 Record-Cleaning Machine
But the $64,000 question yet remains: what the blazes does a record cleaning machine do? Well, it cleans records—LPs, 45s, even 78s. Yes, you can clean records by hand. However, a machine like the 16.5 does hand-cleaning one better by employing a powerful vacuum that sucks all the dirty water right out of the grooves before the stirred-up goop has a chance to sink back down in there. That's the advantage to a machine over hand-cleaning and drying with soft cotton or gauze cloths.
Put the record on the platter and secure it down with the spindle clamp. Start the motor to spin up the turntable, then squirt some cleaning fluid over the surface of the record while applying a fine but sturdy brush that can really get inside the grooves. Let 'er rip for a few revolutions until you're sure you've loosened the crud. Then position the vacuum wand over the record and turn the vacuum on. It sucks the goo right off the record in jig time. That's a good thing because it makes enough noise to wake the dead.
The completed record is as clean as it's possible for a record to be. The result is a dramatic lessening of pops and clicks and an overall brightening of the sound as any lingering crud (including mold-release compound on new records) is eradicated. Not only does an ultra-clean record play better, but it also lasts a lot longer given that there aren't any wacky explosions going on inside the grooves as the stylus goes plowing into some piece of whatnot at the speed of a bullet train slamming down a narrow trench.
And despite its being a big heavy machine that needs to be hauled out, set up, plugged in, and cleaned after use, the 16.5 is overall less trouble than using other cleaning tools, given that you don't need to scatter drying towels around and the like.
I suppose my 16.5 is a Christmas present that only a music-mad geek would love. But I am a music-mad geek. Been one for as long as I can remember. Back in my salad days it was just me and my cheap RCA record player with its red-fabric speakers and my LPs of the Cleveland and Boston and Chicago and New York and Berlin and Vienna and San Francisco orchestras. Back then cleaning meant using a Discwasher type thingamabob or just a simple brush. It couldn't have mattered all that much given my RCA's limited frequency response. Nowadays I have gear that picks up every itty-bitty detail. Nevertheless, I haven't really changed all that much. I'm still happy as a clam when cuddled up with my records (most are digital now and stream from a server), listening to this and that and t'other, always collecting, always exploring, insatiably curious about music and performances and ensembles and conductors. My ear is happily flexible where reproduced audio is concerned; I can find a lot to love in the narrow-aperture audio of a 78 rpm record, just as I can exult in a deeply detailed mono LP or the latest crystal-clear hi-def digital job. I'm a pushover for recorded sound, always have been, always will be.
But I really prefer it without pops and clicks and whacks and bips and bobbles and sandpapery distortion from trashed grooves. So out comes the 16.5, ready to do its considerable all for my lifelong hobby, a.k.a. addiction, a.k.a. passion.