The first compact disc was a Billy Joel album released in 1982. Well before that, studios had been making recordings digitally and releasing them on analog LPs. From the moment the compact disc was released, long-playing albums were headed for extinction. I note that Edo de Waart's recordings with the San Francisco Symphony were all made digitally and released in both LP and CD format while successor Herbert Blomstedt's recordings were CD only. That's how fast it was: CDs were released in 1982, and by 1986 they had pretty much taken over the whole shebang.
CDs had advantages in spades over LPs, first and foremost their immunity from surface noise. Pops, clicks, sticks, and skips were a thing of the past. CDs required less careful handling than LPs; if the surface became too dirty for the disc to play accurately, a wipe with a sponge would do the trick. CDs offered quick access to individual tracks. They played a lot longer. They didn't require being flipped over. The players themselves were closed-box affairs that required little to no maintenance and inevitably came with full-function remotes. Without question the CD marked a major technological shift forward, possibly the most significant change in recordings since the move from acoustic to electric recording back in 1925-26.
CDs and digital recording weren't perfect. Some subtle information was being lost in the process, not due to any actual shortcomings of digital recording per se but in the inevitable growing pains that comes with adjusting to a new technology. Older listeners could probably remember the shrillness of the earlier "hi-fi" long playing records of 1950 vintage, or the ridiculous all-left and all-right soundstages of the early stereo LPs starting in 1958. I have some revealing specimens of 1926 electric experimentations in my collection; one in particular continues to add tubas to the bass section, a common enough practice in the acoustic era but resulting in Colonel Blimp thumps once microphones came along.
While some audiophiles decried the thinness and shrillness of early CDs, just about everybody else jumped on the bandwagon with glad little cries of joy. The LP began folding up its tents and the end seemed nigh.
Despite all indications of impending disappearance, the LP never quite vanished altogether. Of late the format has been undergoing a small-scale renaissance as regular folks (as opposed to trendy audiophiles) have begun to explore the undeniable charms of analog audio and its signature medium, the vinyl microgroove record. With that has come an equally potent renaissance in turntable, tone arm, cartridge, and phonostage design. Even if analog records are by and large a "finished" technology, like bicycles, refinement can bring about startling results. Even relatively inexpensive turntables are miles ahead of their 1960s counterparts, and as for the higher-end stuff—well, there's just no comparison.
Just how much is possible these days was brought home to me the other day as I sat down to listen to a newly-pressed 180 gram vinyl LP of Ernest Ansermet conducting L'Orchestre de la Suisse Romande in the second and third symphonies of Borodin, a Decca/London album from fifty years ago that set enviably high standards for sonic excellence. I remember enjoying the bargain London Stereo Treasury reprint of the Second Symphony no end on my el-cheapo RCA Victor record player, its detachable speakers bright with red fabric grills. Now here was a chance to hear the album in unprecedented glory in a brand-new pressing from a company that specializes in spiffy analog records.
A bit of background info is in order here: although microgroove long-playing discs are at their best only if the vinyl is high quality and thick enough to resist vibrating in sympathy with the stylus in the groove, back in the day LPs were often released on second-rate vinyl, recycled stuff, carelessly pressed and often ridiculously thin. Surface noise, distortion, and a host of other ills resulted. Most people assume that such problems are endemic to the medium itself, but a high-quality and well-maintained LP will play beautifully, albeit with the occasional snap or pop here and there from a bit of dust or even a static charge. The problem is that the crappy pressings outnumbered the good ones by a substantial margin.
Nowadays companies are responding to the resurgent interest in vinyl LPs by producing discs made of virgin heavyweight vinyl, meticulously pressed and subjected to rigorous quality control. Obviously such records don't come cheap: $35.00 is the average. Prices might come down with increased volume, but maybe not: if quality starts to slip in the interest of lowering prices, then we're right back to where we were in the 1970s and those crappy RCAs and Angels that started wearing out after only a few playings. Fine vinyl LPs, like fine audio equipment in general, cannot be manufactured in bulk; they require ample gestation time and the combined skills of experienced craftsmen. A vinyl LP from Speaker's Corner is a posh product designed for a discerning clientele. As such, it can't be acquired on the cheap.
We'll allow from the onset that LPs don't measure anywhere near as well as CDs. Their frequency range is narrower, their signal-to-noise ratio poorer. What is it about the Ansermet LP that is so extraordinary? The record required careful cleaning, even brand-new, and I have to ensure that my stylus is clean as well. Furthermore, I hear this album on posh playback equipment—VPI turntable and tonearm, Grado cartridge, part of an overall system that cost about the same as a well-equipped Honda Accord. It damn well ought to sound good. But so do CDs. Hell, even TV commercials sound good on this sytem.
Yet certain details stand out—the thereness of the tambourines in the finale of the Borodin, all those jillions of pesky transients perfectly preserved. (Transients have a tough time of it in poor-quality digital recordings, although they can be captured perfectly digitally.) The spread and depth of the orchestra, a strong sense of presence and transparency. All that, together with the underlying subtle sound of a needle running down a groove complementing the hiss of the master tapes. The whole together is marvelously pleasing, perhaps not true in the strictest sense of the word, but compelling nonetheless. The strengths of analog audio counteract the weaknesses. Maybe analog doesn't get absolutely everything, but what it gets is the part we humans respond to the most readily.
I'll also allow that the incantations and ritual of playing a vinyl LP have something to do with the perceived refinement of the experience. If you have just spent a few minutes cleaning an LP and stylus and then carefully lower the tone arm onto the groove of a spinning album, you're likely to be more focused on the listening than you might have been otherwise. A placebo effect, in other words—but that doesn't make it imaginary. After all, there's nothing cut and dried about perception; how we respond to any sensory input is shaped by a myriad of influences.
Are vinyl LPs going to take the market back from digital? Oh, please. No way. The future is clear before us, and that future is my preferred method of listening: via my home network that streams my selections from over two terabytes of lossless audio. My living room stereo sports a Mac Mini that sends its digital audio output to a Bryston BDA-1 digital-to-analog converter, thence to the amplifier and speakers. I can control the Mini either by the living room TV set—which can double as the computer monitor—or better yet, with my iPad running remote-control software. A tap of the finger is all I need to pull up anything from my vast digital collection. No cleaning needed, no stylus management, no hunting around for records. There's no way that vinyl LPs can compete with the Oz-like magic of modern-day digital audio. Sonically modern digital audio is fully capable of subtlety and warmth and magic. You don't give up anything sonically with digital audio, not if you exercise discernment with your digital components. Cheap audio sounds like cheap audio, no matter whether its digital or analog. Give fine audio equipment a chance, and enchantment will follow.
But LPs do have their delights, their charms, their own special contribution. They aren't just scratchy poppy reminders of a bygone and unmourned tech era. There's gold in them thar grooves, if you're willing to seek it out.