Robin Holloway

Always a Luddite

I have just inherited my College’s collection of long-playing records, now redundant, with permission to retain, give away, otherwise dispose of if and as possible.

issue 31 October 2009

I have just inherited my College’s collection of long-playing records, now redundant, with permission to retain, give away, otherwise dispose of if and as possible.

I have just inherited my College’s collection of long-playing records, now redundant, with permission to retain, give away, otherwise dispose of if and as possible. The cumbrous piles, gradually easing into categories, have littered my rooms all summer; their dispersal is piecemeal and slow.

Put together with love and knowledge from the late-Sixties on, the collection eventually totalled some 300 records. But are they so redundant? Though the universal triumph of the CD has swept away the LP as surely as the LP superseded the 78 rpm, the jury has crept back to reconsider questions of quality and fidelity.

The new technology’s advantages remain obvious — compactness for a start; then the longer duration, the imperviousness to dust or scratch. The (so far) non-degeneration; and then the extraordinary, bright sonic clarity, apparently limitless in its ability to capture and reproduce a vast range of dynamics and textures without strain. The medium’s success encouraged in its heyday a fantastic extension of availability, covering an ever broader repertoire as well as rescuing enormous amounts of archival material, sometimes of the utmost value — not least, by transferring classic recordings from the LP era (a few of which had in turn been remastered from 78s).

It’s here, however, that I first began to entertain doubts. One seized eagerly upon such treasures as the Flagstad/Furtwängler Tristan or Schwarzkopf/Ludwig/Hotter/ Fischer-Dieskau in Strauss’s Capriccio — no crackles or splotts, no distortion at climaxes, no (or rather fewer) side breaks — only to be disconcerted by a diminution of calibre in the new sound; the velvet/silk/satin of the orchestra gone scrawny, of the voices tending towards sour or shrill; and quite soon reverted to the familiar hard-worn originals purchased so long before.

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