My last two entries have primarily dealt with my love for old technology. I thought I might kickstart the weekend by sharing some of the old tech I have accumulated, in the form of a periodic "listening corner" feature.
When I was a small child, I hated naps. I have never been able to fall asleep easily, and as an energetic youngster, trying to force it only left me frustrated. One of the things my mother did to teach me patience and concentration, and to cope with my "nap problem," was to sit me down for half an hour or so every day, and have me concentrate on some orchestral music. She would put something on the stereo, and my job was to close my eyes, relax, and let the music generate whatever imagery it might. Once the piece was over I was free to get up, and I would then have to give a summary of whatever story the music had generated in my imagination. Think of it as "make your own Fantasia."
This practice helped instill in me a deep love of music, of all types. I spent most of elementary school begging for music lessons, and for my tenth birthday I started learning the violin. My repertoire has since expanded to several other instruments--none of which I play particularly well--but music is a lifelong passion for me, and I trace that deep appreciation back to those daily listening sessions I had as a small child.
So today, I would ask that you take ten minutes out of your busy day. Sit down, close your eyes, click Play, and clear your mind. Let the music take you where it will, and share your experience in the comments.
Information about both the piece and the machine is after the fold. I apologize in advance for the low quality; I took this footage with my cell phone camera, which really does not do this great machine justice. I am working on a better solution for next time.
What you see here is my 1926 Victor Credenza, one of the very last non-electric Victrola consoles. The turntable is spun by a four-spring hand cranked motor, which can run for about 20-30 minutes between windings. The body of the machine is basically one giant wooden horn, folded in on itself multiple times so that a six-foot mathematically engineered horn can fit into a more practical space.
There is no electricity or other power source anywhere in this device, save the spring motor; the record grooves vibrate a disposable steel needle, which is held via thumbscrew in the sound box. As the needle vibrates, these vibrations pass through a metal extension to which the needle is clamped, which in turn vibrates an aluminum diaphragm inside the sound box. The vibrations of this diaphragm pass through an airtight horn (the small end of which is the inside of the tonearm, which feeds into the larger horn section built into the body of the machine). Everything you hear is simple mechanical reproduction of the record groove, and it can actually get quite loud.
I bought this phonograph through Craigslist last summer; a fellow in the Oakland area had had it sitting neglected in his storage shed for many years, after his uncle had moved cross-country with it. When I brought it home, several pieces were missing or broken, and with the help of an expert, I spent the winter getting it back in proper working order. Since then, I have been scooping up 78 rpm records whenever I come across them.
If you would like a more in-depth explanation of how acoustic phonographs work, or about the late-model Orthophonic designs which took this technology to new heights in its dying days, Wikipedia has you covered.
As for the piece, what you are listening to is the first movement of Franz Schubert's Symphony in B Minor, also known as the "Unfinished" Symphony. Only two complete movements of this piece exist (a symphony traditionally has four), and this particular recording is of Sergei Koussevitzky conducting the Boston Symphony in 1936. Each movement is split across two 12" record sides at 78 rpm, hence the break in the middle.
When I was in my teens, I spent every summer at Arrowbear Music Camp. I met my first two girlfriends there, I made some of my best friends there, and as I got a bit older, working at the camp became my first paid job. It left a lasting impression on me in many different ways, not the least of which was introducing me to a wide variety of different music. We played this piece when I was either fifteen or sixteen, and it has always stuck with me. It has a sort of quiet intensity, a restrained urgency that somehow conveys an emotional energy that is much harder to convey in even the fastest, most raucous song.
Schubert's Unfinished Symphony is one of my all-time favorite works of art, and it has been my great privilege to share it here today.