Jim Merod's recounts with "Fear and Loathing" how the Granada met the VRE-1
My trips to CES in Las Vegas are increasingly agog with dilapidated dreams turned
nightmares by the sheer deja vu of erstwhile "beauties" strolling, more than half-nude
through the Venetian Hotel and high roller ports north and south, seeking notice and
(thus) advertisement for the coincidentally scheduled "porn" showcase that graces Sin City
each January. This exclusive and unlimited public viewing of "babes gone naked and senile"
can be yours, too, if you have the jizz to flirt with Nevada's nonsensical discomfort in search
of free pulchritude . . . but then as I told my pal, Howdy, you gotta to see it to believe it and,
when you do, you'll flee like a parachute loaded with rocks. All this is background to the mania
of CES's so called HIGH END AUDIO confabulation, whereupon virtually the only thing worth
going for is the nostalgia and warmth of hanging out with old friends.
Let me recount a highlight here so you don't think my curmudgeonly wrath ill-placed.
First, I love great music and equally great sound . . . when (for example) the great music I carry into Nevada's sinful territory encounters truly great sonic reproduction. That is not a given. No slam dunk awaiting one's mercurial serendipity. Even if you have a gaggle of recorded musical magnificence tucked in your satchel, ain't no cause for smug certitude. You gotta plow through Venetian corridors
in search of Who Got What when it comes to "sonic sexuality" -- the only one, in public, I'm
interested in exploring ... you dig? Please let me avoid cellulite mounds of retarded boob-plasticity:
an expensive insult to women with genuine endowments and, equally, to men with good taste
and good luck.
Second: my high-end audio "highlight" : one of only four [at best five] I encountered in Las Vegas in
January 2010 -- my sober self lusting for more, but appreciating what I found. I stumbled (literally) into Joe Cohen's room on the Venetian's 30th floor. Thank the divine principle of chaos for such fortune!
Here's what occurred (I could not make this up: it's too absurd).
Part One. I stumble into the GRANADA SPEAKER SUITE on my first of thee (truncated) days in Ciudad Diablo. Sound is intriguing but slightly aggressive. I ask someone (not Joe) what tubes are inhabiting the not here to be mentioned quite expensive preamplifier driving the Granadas. "Sovtek," I'm told. "A ha," I mutter, and leave . . . but somewhat unwillingly because I'm abandoning a Speaker-with-pedigree-to-burn. You can hear its champion's heart beating inside the nail hard sonic envelope.
Part Two, next day, by unconscious design [read 'accident'], I float back into Joe Cohen's Sonic Parlor with not all that many humans stuffed inside. So I plop my derriere in the middle front seat of an inferior Venetian couch. Joe indulges my request to put one or maybe seven of my BluePort Jazz recordings into his superior music transport. I listen. Speaker pedigree still intact despite an utterly opposed sonic footprint to the one I heard the day before. "What the hell's going on here?" I demand of the elegant and completely gracious Joseph Cohen . . . he looks at me without a trace of irritation or pique (for which I know I like him a great deal already). "What are you hearing?" he asks, with the calm assurance of an Oxford Don. "Softness .... wussification, you dig?" I belch forth, my stupidly candid confusion regarding how superior speakers could go from Yan to Ying in the mere blink of twenty four hours somewhat perplexing my protocols.
Long pause. Joe responds. "You don't like it?" I respond, "Worse than yesterday." Joe turns and looks at me: What was it like yesterday?" I know this guy is not stupid because that question is too Socratic. "Aggressive. Like finger nails on Ms. Granger's chalk board. Horrible . . . but this limp thing-a-ma-dong sound is underwhelming." Joe smiles. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Yup," I gurgle, "since the sound stage got small and the trumpets in the back row @ BIRDLAND receded and did you notice how Arturo O'Farrill's piano seemed about twelve feet distant when, in fact, it is truly right near your left knee or shoe-top?"
Joe is either thinking I'm the most arrogant, over-confident sonofabitch he's dealt with in three days or more. Or he's trying to decide which guy in the small suite he'll ask to help toss my ass out the door, now stuffed with interested High End Audio Gapers waiting their turn at his transport. I'm not sure how Joe processed alternative possibilities but I think he voted somewhere in the middle.
I'm told the tubes got swapped out, from Sovtek to Chinese hand warmers (from hard to soft .. great!). The conversation that followed prompted my precise recommendation that Joe or one of his pals head down one floor to the GENESIS room where Steve McCormack -- once famous for inventing tip toes in his Intentional Madness Audio Invention Laboratory in Leucadia, California (a five minute walk to one of the world's best surfing beaches) -- held an uncommitted McCormack VRE-1 preamp, one of the essential pieces of audio gear yet created to my knowledge and not so accidental ongoing benefit.
How good is the VRE-1? Ask Joe Cohen. What transpired after Joe's crew snagged and mounted the VRE-1 to their under-driven (abusively neglected) world class GRANADA speakers is likely to be one of my all time "Data Points in High End Audio History" . . . namely, a completely revived pair of speakers (and, remember, I HATE speakers) once gargling superior musical information choked in the pipe line, now offering audio glory despite former strangulation. Alas and hooray for musical reality !
You had to be there with me to witness an absolutely amazing set of speakers, recently throttled, NOW SINGING WITH LUCIANO PAVORITI'S thrilling glory.
Did I mention how much I like and respect the GRANADA SPEAKERS ? Did I mention how thoroughly pissed off that a dumb bloke like me can't afford them because a very nice small bank is owed significant bread so I can own a not so small hacienda not far from where McCormack did his infamous mischief with tip toes and the now not easily out-classed VRE-1 preamp?
I'll let Maestro Cohen tell the rest of this story because, for me, the fun was hearing a truly beautiful lady trying to escape confinement. The naked broads all over Vegas are pigs with lipstick. The GRANADAs, driven by the improbable VRE-1 preamp, are all lipstick, no pig : Marilyn Monroe's lipstick applied where you want it. Sophia Loren's gorgeous face whispering in your ear. How come I get to taste the wine, just like Ol' Blue Eyes once crooned, but don't get the dance? Damn. I want these GRANADAs (see) and maybe, when Joe's Gang ain't looking someday, my guys can slip their gorgeous bulk out the casino side door to my waiting cab.
JIM MEROD / POSITIVE FEEDBACK