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So, what's "this thing of ours"? I'm only half-kidding. High-end audio is deadly serious for many passionate audiophiles. Some measurement types defend their turf without thought—without mercy—and often deride subjectivists, like me, who believe if you like what you hear, then that's what counts, enjoy. Objectivists say if you can't measure it, then it doesn't exist. Well, goes the retort, you don't know what to measure, your instruments aren't refined enough, and on and on.

The struggle continues to this day for some reason, and boy-howdy is it ferocious, especially regarding cables.

I never collected baseball cards, played Cops & Robbers, or was a Boy Scout. From the moment I heard the opening guitar riff of Blondie's "One Way or Another," at age 6, it was clear that music would be central to everything I was going to do. It was my first important big thing, and my last.

Legendary Stax guitarist/producer Steve Cropper hated when deejays talked over song intros. He decided to do something about it for the countless hit singles cut at the label's Memphis studio in the 1960s. As a result of his efforts, Cropper—who passed away on December 3, 2025, at age 84—became known as "The Intro Guy," a sobriquet he was proud to honor.

Movie characters pondering momentous decisions are sometimes subjected to a raging debate between an imaginary angel on one shoulder and an imaginary devil on the other. Think of Larry "Pinto" Kroger deciding whether to take advantage of his passed-out-drunk date during the infamous Animal House toga party.

Audiophiles, too, are often pulled in opposite directions. But instead of angel's wings or devil's horns, our imaginary duelists are decked out in T-shirts, one with a logo that says "digital," the other with a logo that says "analog." Or tubes and transistors. Or that old favorite, Everything Matters vs Expensive Cables are Snake Oil.

I won't presume to adjudicate these perpetual rhubarbs, but I will confess to facing a battle of my own, waged between the Head and the Heart.

Last week, I had a puzzling dream. When I woke, the vision remaining from the dreamscape was of a single thread of conversation, almost oracular, with no context. Ringo was telling me, "That was actually John singing on that one, mate."

I searched for a hidden message. Maybe it was one of those naked-in-public dreams, the Beatles drummer chastising me for misidentifying the singer in some review I wrote. I soon forgot about it.

I remember the exact moment I became an audiophile. It was 1954. I was 12 years old. My father's friend, Mitch Rose, wanted to buy a "hi-fi set," which was what they called them in those days. Mitch asked my father to go with him to help pick one out. My father asked if I wanted to go along for the ride.

I did, and we went to Emmons Audio in Studio City, California, for what turned out to be one of the formative moments of my life.

Recently I've been thinking a lot about the late Art Dudley and how Art worked humbly and relentlessly to get me to appreciate contemporary bluegrass, especially the work of renowned flat-picker Tony Rice. Back then, my contempt for contemporary bluegrass was equal to my contempt for contemporary country. Both seemed faux and shallow.