Once in a blue moon, I'm asked this question: How much should I spend on an audiophile rig? It's usually asked by someone with no real interest in buying an audiophile rig, but who's fishing, for giggles, for the exorbitant figure that is the presumed going rate for joining our hobby. Sometimes, when the mood strikes, I'll bang out a randomly absurd number—"$80,000!"—then lean back to observe the fallout. Nine times out of ten, that fallout consists of a head shake and a snicker, as if to say, "You guys are nuts!" But on those occasions when honesty seems the best policy, my short answer to the how-much question, regardless of the buyer's financial means, is the same: As little as possible.
I know—coming from an audiophile, that sounds weird, even unnatural. But it's a life lesson rooted in a technique I used, as owner of a sales company, to grant bonuses to employees in amounts that were just right: no less than they expected, and no more than was necessary to put them in their Happy Zones.
My technique was inspired by the Chinese philosophy of yin and yang, which holds that opposing forces work symbiotically to sustain the natural equilibrium of the universe. The Chinese call this natural equilibrium the Tao—literally, the Way.
I see the Happy Zone as the Tao inside us, as the unique balance of yin and yang devoid of the disruptive effects of extremes. It's where we feel most assured, content, and satisfied, lacking in nothing.
Put another way: The Happy Zone is the red circle at the center of the dartboard, from which every ring expanding outward is farther from the ideal, and thus worth less.
It was that red circle I was shooting for with my bonus technique, the success of which came down to pulling off one trick: the Smile Test. I imagined the about-to-be-bonused employee wearing the most natural and centered smile—the Happy Zone smile—for which I intuitively and empathetically found its matching cash amount. It rarely failed.
What does this have to do with audio? Everything. The concept of a sweet spot is universal; it applies to all things of which we can have too little or too much, including high-end gear and its assortment of orbiting accessories.
I suggest, for fun, trying the Smile Test on yourself and the audio upgrade you've been contemplating. (Yes, I know you've been mulling an upgrade—I'm a friggin' wizard!) Turntable? DAC? Speakers? Assuming you have to choose among different candidate components, imagine inserting them, by turns, in your audio system, and living with each until its sight and sound become commonplace. Then examine—not with your analytical brain, but with the magnetic drawing power of your heart and gut—the sort of smile evoked by each potential scenario. Sure, every one of them can evoke a smile, but of those smiles, only one will appear to us as notably more natural and centered.
This happens because the audiophile Happy Zone is all about our consciousness tapping into that part of our inner self capable of resisting the temptation to under- or overserve ourselves—our inner golden mean, there to keep us from straying too far off the Yellow Brick Road. It works, in my case, by reminding me that:
I'm not rich: In the real world of cohabiting dependents and home repairs and escalating debt, I have to budget my leisure spending like a grownup; that is, with an eye to the future, and with enough self-discipline and gratitude in my heart to appreciate what I already have and not spend money frivolously.
Technological progress doesn't stop: It may go sideways, or backward, but chances are that whatever we buy today will be replaced by a better-performing and/or lower-cost variation of the same thing tomorrow. This is especially true of digital audio, which, while having made great strides in technology and sound quality in the last couple decades, continues to be repackaged in proprietary formats that abruptly cease to be supported by those who bring them to market. As a result, I've contracted digital fatigue, one symptom of which is impotence of hope: I can't get my hopes up like I used to! DSD? DEQX? Sorry, but these latest initialisms sound a lot like yesterday's contenders; this time, I think I'll wait it out to see what comes to me, rather than the other way around.
Nothing lasts: As a human being who also happens to be an audiophile, a) I will eventually get bored. No component my conniving and pesky id kid tells me I should buy now, because it's the one, will remain the one forever after; and b) My tastes will change. As with my appetite for other consumables for which there's a selection to choose from, any audio gear I've ever owned has reflected only a temporary stage in my evolution as an audiophile.
Obviously, not all of my audio purchases have ended up winners. But none was a random or an inconsequential choice—each represented a unique moment in my development as an audiophile, suffusing my life with a maturing wisdom that has helped me segue from one Happy Zone to the next.
Isn't that what audiophilia—or any pursuit—is all about: for us to be happy? It's why, to the question of how much anyone should spend on an audiophile rig, my long answer is: As little as possible—provided it's enough to send you into your Happy Zone.—Robert Schryer
