From the vaults…
Brainstorm: Lovin’ Is Really My Game (1977)
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Once a legitimate blog. Now just a collection of memes 'n menz.
Pet Shop Boys: Relentless (1993)
I love this album, mainly because it was so different from what PSB had put out up until that point.
I will forever associate this disc with a little club I happened upon called The Playground in San Francisco in August of 1993 because it seemed they were always playing it.
I discovered The Playground after I had started boxing up my life to move back to Arizona—for the first time—after nearly a decade in The City. City life—and still pining over Rory—I knew it was time for me to cut my losses and start new.
Once I’d made up my mind to leave however—going so far as to give notice at work and on my apartment—as she is wont to do, The City pulled out all the stops to get me to stay. One evening I was out in front of my apartment building washing the car, and an absolutely gorgeous man happened by, struck up a conversation, and the next thing I knew we were upstairs doing the nasty. I started meeting guys left and right. And then my friend Rick came over one evening and started singing the praises of The Playground.
I was no stranger to sex clubs, having frequented the 1808 on a regular basis just after moving to San Francisco and spending many a rainy night wandering the halls of Mike’s Night Gallery many years later, but I’d drifted away from those venues because it was easy enough to find sex pretty much anywhere in the city if you really wanted it. So why pay for it?
In any case Rick’s full-throated (pardon the pun) endorsement of The Playground let me to check it out one night.
From the description in my Journal at the time:
There ís something very primal about the place, something that ís very much linked to our deepest (and yes, darkest) sexual fantasies. The owners have a gold mine in their hands, if they know how to keep the ambiance alive.
It s a converted warehouse on 17th Street between Folsom and Harrison. The building itself is at the back of a large parking lot. It’s all gray metal with yellow painted trim. At night there are two rotating yellow beacons located on the loading dock where you go in. When you first enter, to the right is the admission area. When you pass through that, you first enter the television and refreshment area. There are several sofas clustered about a lone TV. If you proceed back, slightly to the left, the next area you come to is the glory hole space. It’s a series of black painted cubicles surrounding a raised platform. Naturally, there are more than ample holes drilled between the cubicles and the platform. Immediately to the right of this area is what I’ve come to call “the drive-in.” There’s an English taxi (vintage unknown) parked there that faces a projection television that plays the same porn videos that are playing in the television area. If you continue back toward the rear of the building from the drive-in, you get into another area dominated by separate cubicles. These cubicles surround another, smaller room, and they have small holes drilled at eye-level, allowing you to look into the smaller room and see whatís going on. When you exit the peep-hole area and head again, toward the rear of the warehouse, you pass “the dungeon” on your left, where you’ll find a sling and various other equipment I could not identify. To your right is the restroom (and yes, people do have sex in there). Continuing back, down a set of stairs, are three more spaces: the jail, the infirmary, and off the infirmary, a small room with a bed and a single lone light bulb. There’s something very eerie about these two rear rooms, although exactly what it is, I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on. The jail, which opened only recently, is very hot. It consists of a large area surrounding four cells, complete with bunks and toilets.

After visiting The Playground several more times, combined with all the men falling out of the sky, I abruptly changed my plans to leave and ended up staying in San Francisco for another nine months. By then the downpour of eligible bachelors had ended and I was at wit’s end with the same aspects of city life that had initially prompted my thoughts of moving back to Arizona months earlier. It was then that I returned to Tucson for six months before the siren call of The City prompted my return.
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Annie Lennox: Diva (1992)
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On April 25th, 1918, The Queen of Jazz, Ella Fitzgerald was born in Newport News, VA. “Mack The Knife”, “(If You Can’t Sing It) You’ll Have To Swing It”, and “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” are a few of many songs that Fitzgerald is remembered.
One of my favorite Ella compilations:
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Donna Summer: Bad Girls (1979)
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The first release from Madge’s upcoming Confessions II.
The world needs this kind of energy now.
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Disclaimer: I didn’t make this. I’m not that talented. I stole it off YouTube.
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I just can’t with this one. I love Faith, Listen Without Prejudice, and even most of Patience, but there’s nothing on this disc that reaches out and grabs me.
What say you?
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Thankfully, I can still sip and swallow coffee; other liquids, not so much.
I have to say that Mishima is probably one of Glass’ most underrated works. I’ve never seen the film, but to this day (and it’s been in my collection since the early 00’s) it gives me chills.
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…although I do have to ask who is that skinny old man, and why is he following me around in mirrors?
I’ve been overweight for most of my adult life. That’s why seeing myself like this is more than a bit of a shock. I’m currently about 5 lbs. more than I was in 1980 (22 years old) when I moved out of my parents’ house and into my first apartment. How do I know that? It’s because I bought a digital bathroom scale (it was the future, baby!) and the number that flashed on its blue fluorescent display is forever burned into my memory. Right now my goal is to simply maintain this weight and not lose any more.
Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I was listening to Forever by Flight Facilities, and the last thing I remember was the song Heavy. I was suddenly the young man above, vibrant and full of energy, dancing and twirling to the beat. I felt the wind blowing in my hair and it was wonderful.
I may be an old fart whose body is seemingly disintegrating around me now, but that young man still lives inside.
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Madonna: Like a Prayer (1989)
This anniversary also marks for me 37 years of being Pepsi free.
When Pepsi dropped Madonna as a spokesperson, citing the “sacrilegious” imagery in the Like a Prayer (Jeez, they had no idea what was coming, did they?) video, I swore I would never drink Pepsi again. And I haven’t.
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Carrie Lucas: Dance With You (1979)
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Sade: Diamond Life (1983)
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I really need to stop watching those YouTube Japanese CD player repair videos. They keep exposing me to new (to me), really good, music!
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It’s no secret that I’ve been infected with the HiFi bug since I was originally exposed to it in the 70s (the glory days of consumer audio as they’re known) in high school by my buddy Ken. Over the years, I’ve spent thousands of dollars in pursuit of that ideal sound and the irony has not been lost on me that as I’ve gotten older and my disposable income increased, allowing me the ability to chase after this ill-defined dream, my hearing has also been steadily diminishing on probably the same scale. I painfully discovered this in the early 2000s when I blew out a pair of tweeters in my system while trying to hear an 18kHz tone.
I’ve come to accept I can’t really hear pretty much anything over about 12kHz any more. Do I know I’m missing “something” that I used to hear? Yes. Maybe some of the “sparkle” that’s clearly lodged in my memory of these performances. Does that lessen my appreciation of music in any way? Not one bit.
That’s why this post on Reddit (copied below) resonated with me. I don’t know how many of you are as HiFi obsessed as I’ve been all my life or are just casual listeners, but I know that most—if not all—of my readers fall within in the same age range as myself and I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on this.
I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’m genuinely curious whether it resonates with anyone here.
We all know age-related high-frequency hearing loss (presbycusis) is normal. Most of us could hear close to 18–20 kHz as teenagers. Over time, that upper range gradually declines. It’s subtle, but measurable.
At the same time, the people who go deepest into the hobby (high-resolution libraries, serious DACs, carefully chosen amplifiers, room treatment, premium speakers) often aren’t 20-year-olds. They tend to be older.
Of course, disposable income plays a role, but not always. I know very wealthy people in their 20s and early 30s who could afford serious systems if they wanted to.
Here’s the thought:
As our hearing changes, music doesn’t sound exactly the way it did when we were younger. Not worse, necessarily. Just different. Maybe a little less sparkle. A bit less “air.” Slightly less immediacy in the top end.
So we start refining.
We upgrade the source. Then the DAC. Then the amp. Then the speakers. We experiment with positioning, isolation, cables, power. Each change brings subtle differences. Sometimes clearly audible, sometimes more subjective, but meaningful.
What if part of that drive isn’t just about objective fidelity?
What if it’s also about chasing a memory?
Not a specific frequency response curve, but the feeling of how music hit us when our hearing was at its peak. The internal reference we formed in our late teens or early twenties.
In that sense, the audiophile journey might be partly restorative. We’re not only optimizing equipment. We’re trying to align our present experience with an earlier sensory benchmark.
Interestingly, this might also explain why some listeners gravitate toward slightly warmer presentations over time. A smoother top end, richer harmonics, a more relaxed character. Not necessarily more accurate, but more satisfying.
I’m not saying this is the whole story. Gear differences are real. Room acoustics matter. Recordings matter. Taste evolves.
But I do wonder: does the intensity of the pursuit increase as our hearing subtly shifts?
Has anyone here actually tested their high-frequency hearing recently and noticed a correlation with the sound signature they prefer?
Curious to hear thoughts, especially from people who’ve been in the hobby 20+ years.
I’m 45, by the way. Keen bass player. I keep spending money upgrading my three hi-fi systems, and yet I’m still chasing what those first CDs made me feel when I played them on our family’s very average Sony CD player through cheap earphones.
It was 1994–95, and that remains one of my most powerful “audiophile” experiences.
Addendum:
The more I read the thoughtful replies you’re taking the time to write, the more I realize that what I’m describing probably goes beyond simple EQ or frequency response.
Maybe what I’m actually chasing isn’t “more treble,” but things like staging, separation, definition, presence — that sense of space and realism that makes music feel alive.
It’s also possible that when I was younger, it wasn’t just my ears that were different, but my brain. I was more attentive, more curious, more emotionally open to discovering what music could be. I remember being genuinely overwhelmed by those songs, even through what I now recognize was a very average system.
So perhaps part of the reference point I’m trying to get back isn’t purely acoustic. It might be cognitive and emotional as well.
I hope this clarifies what I meant in the original post.
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Alan Parsons Project: Ammonia Avenue (1984)
I don’t think this was the first CD I ever bought, but it might very well have been. Surprisingly, I don’t remember where or when I got my first CD player either—other than it was sometime after I got my tax refund in the spring of 1986. I do remember I used to cue up Pipeline on my brand new Yamaha system back in the day and absolutely crank it.
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After stumbling across that Erasure video the other day, I realized that I didn’t have this in my collection—or even in iTunes. I’ve corrected that.
I remember buying this back in ’92 when it came out. At the time I was an ABBA purist at heart and absolutely hated it. But after seeing that video the other day, I realized that over the past thirty years I’ve…mellowed. Now the only thing that disappoints me about this is that this isn’t a full-length album; it’s just an EP, barely clocking in at a bit over 17 minutes total..
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Sade: Soldier Of Love (2010)
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