Jana Dagdagan

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Elton? The Man Wrote A Hit Song For Me For Christ's Sake

I'm sitting on a dark leather sofa, legs crossed, lips pursed, brow furrowed.

Glenn Gould playing Bach's Goldberg Variations can be faintly heard through a tape recorder in another room. To be more specific, a Realistic CTR-68 Model 14-808B.

"Jana, you're such a strong woman. I don't understand why you so desperately rely on Elton John for emotional support and inspiration."

My own. My love. My precious.

Photo: Kelsey Ohira

May 12, 2014. The day it all began. Three major events happened in my life on May the 12th:

1. My violent hatred towards the USPS was born.
2. I spent the most I ever have, till this very day, on a yellow cab.
3. A divine pair of Technics SL1200 Mk.II turntables entered my life.

Well, they didn't exactly enter my life, per se. They were left on my (then) doorstep in West Harlem, which may give you some insight on #1. More on that later. I need to calm myself. (Sips Earl Grey vehemently in straightjacket.)

Manufacturer Meets Audio Reviewer: Not your Average Love Story

Boy meets girl.
Boy and girl fall in love.
Boy and girl live happily ever after.

This is the traditional fairytale romance we've all been spoon-fed from birth. You know, Disney, unicorns, white picket fences, medieval castles, Ryan Gosling, etc, etc. There are many variations, but each one essentially tells the same story.

Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is, reality often falls quite short of fairytale, and very rarely is one story identical to the next. Modern romance is often more like this...

Last Trip To Other Music

Photos: Brian Li

It's half past seven on a drizzly Friday night in New York City. I'm a little bit of a mess; soggy from the sporadic downpour, weakened by a full day's work, and still regretting the sub-par pork and chive dumplings I wolfed down earlier. All day long I've been fighting off the urge to inject myself with cold beers (preferably Guinness) and binge watch Wong Kar Wai films. It's one of those days.

David Binney: On Bowie and Not Being an Audiophile but Subscribing to Stereophile

"Are you an audiophile?" I find myself yelling into my semi-functional smart phone, sitting in my dimly lit cubicle in Stereophile's New York office.

On the other end of the line is my close friend and long-time mentor, David Binney. We're FaceTiming in slow, fragmented motions as he eats his dinner in a lively restaurant before a gig in central Belgrade.

"No, definitely not." He says quite matter-of-factly. "I subscribe to Stereophile but I don't consider myself an audiophile. I wish I was, but it's too expensive.

Dear Non-Audiophile

It's me, Jana. I know you're probably not reading this because you most likely don't spend your down time on Stereophile.com, but I feel compelled to write to you nevertheless on the off chance that you might. If I've managed to catch your attention so far, please don't go away.
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