Stephen Mejias

The Oracle Paris turntable acted as the analog source in a system which also included Oracle Audio electronics (SI 1000 integrated amplifier, DAC 1000 preamplifier-D/A converter, Paris phono preamplifier), 4-way Induction Dynamics ID1.15 loudspeakers ($17,750/pair; sexy red finish adds $2500/pair), and Kimber Select cables (all-copper KS6063 speaker cable: $4400/8ft pair; copper-silver hybrid KS6065 speaker cable: $8000/8ft pair; copper-silver hybrid KS1026 interconnects: $1320/1m; Paladium power cords: around $1200).

Early on Friday morning, when I walked into the room, I heard more surface noise than I would like, but the music was nevertheless compelling, with images that just seemed to grow and grow and grow from a dark background. I heard a classical guitar rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” that managed to both rock and sway. While looking down to take notes, I could almost imagine live musicians in the room with me.

Check out the sexy Oracle Paris ($3150), available in four high-gloss finishes. This one is in red, and ladies love red.

It uses a carbon fiber Paris tonearm ($950), which begins as a Pro-Ject 9cc, but gets dressed up with Oracle’s Micro Vibration Stabiliser System, developed for the more expensive Delphi Mk.VI, and which uses a silicone damping bath and precision plunger fitted to the tonearm tube. The Paris phono cartridge ($1150), a high-output moving-magnet design, is machined from a magnesium-aluminum alloy. Fully assembled and pre-calibrated for a nearly plug-and-play installation, the Paris package costs $5000. The ‘table uses a semi-floating suspension system with Sorbothane decoupling, has a two-piece acrylic/aluminum platter system, includes adjustable Delrin feet and a Delrin record clamp, and uses the same motor and drive electronics found in the Delphi Mk.VI.

“We have a hard time compromising,” confessed Oracle’s Jacques Riendeau. “With the Paris, we pushed the limits of performance while hitting a lower price point.”

On Thursday night, I attended a fantastic dinner at a “beer bar” called The Porter, in the colorful Little Five Points section of Atlanta. As my good friend Michael Lavorgna says, any place with the words “beer” and “bar” in its name has got to be at least half great. And The Porter, as it turned out, was all great. If you’re ever in Atlanta, go!

But before you go to The Porter, you should first go to Criminal Records, a wonderful record store. I didn’t go in on Thursday night, but Michael Fremer quietly wandered away from our group and snuck inside for a bit. As we sat around our table, drinking Dog Fish Head and Victory, we made guesses as to when Mikey would finally arrive. We were all wrong: We had had two rounds and had finished almost all of the appetizers by the time Mikey finally joined us. He came in with a stack of beautiful $1 LPs, and displayed them throughout our dinner.

“Have you ever heard this?” he asked me.

“No.”

“Oh, it’s great. Here, take this. I’ve got a bunch of them.”

And that’s the story of how I got a pristine copy of As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls, by Pat Metheny & Lyle Mays. Thanks, Mikey!

Oh, damn: Record Store Day is this Saturday, April 16th, and I won’t be able to participate. I’ll be in Atlanta, covering Axpona, but, if you’re free, you should definitely make a trip to your local independent record store and enjoy the festivities. As we all know, many record stores have shut their doors in recent years&#151for proof, take a look at this collection of sad and beautiful images&#151but, as some of the larger chains have faded away, many smaller shops have opened up, catering to specific tastes and genres of music, making the experience of record shopping even more personal, friendly, and satisfying.

Dinner with Natalie and Nicole was still three hours away and, thanks to the Okki Nokki record-cleaning machine that I wrote about last month, I had a half-dozen newly cleaned LPs begging to be played. A gray and listless day had somehow blossomed into a clear, brilliant night filled with promise and anticipation. Outside, tattooed against the dark violet sky, a strange, enormous moon hovered over Jersey City, and flooded my listening room with enchanting white light. It was time to enjoy my new records and better acquaint myself with the Wharfedale Diamond 10.1 loudspeakers ($350/pair), and the only way to do that would be to compare the latter to a known quantity: the PSB Alpha B1 ($279/pair). John Atkinson had reviewed the PSBs in our May 2007 issue, and admired their naturally balanced treble and superb midrange. Soon after, the PSBs won our "Budget Product of the Year" award, and I could not resist the urge to buy a pair. I've lived happily with them ever since, most appreciating their ability to make sense of the densely arranged, sometimes poorly recorded noise- and psych-rock albums I tend to lust after. How would the Wharfedales compare?

In support of National Autism Awareness Month, McIntosh Laboratory and songwriter/producer J. Ralph have come together to create a spectacular new album, the original motion picture soundtrack to Academy Award winning director Gerardine Wurzburg’s Wretches & Jabberers. The feature-length documentary, in theaters now, follows the paths of two men with autism, Larry Bissonnette and Tracy Thresher, as they travel around the world determined to increase autism awareness and refine our ideas of intelligence.

From the film’s dedicated web site:

Growing up, Thresher and Bissonnette were presumed “retarded” and excluded from normal schooling. With limited speech, they both faced lives of social isolation in mental institutions or adult disability centers. When they learned as adults to communicate by typing, their lives changed dramatically. Their world tour message is that the same possibility exists for others like themselves.

Yesterday evening, I met with composer J. Ralph and McIntosh’s Global VP of Sales and Marketing, Linda Passaro, for an intimate listening session.

Kristen is hot. I mean, seriously: smoking, sizzling, flame-broiling, momma-said-knock-you-out, one-hundred-and-fifty-five-degrees-in-the-shade, incomprehensibly, unavoidably, uncomfortably hot. Yow! But, excuse me, that’s not what I meant to write about.

Let me start again.