Audio salesmen run the gamut from Andrew Singer types (“redefining condescension“) to guys like Galen Carol who totally get it - responsive, respectful, pleasant, etc. You know, someone who acts like they actually want to do business with you.
Weirdest retail store visit for me was “The Analog Room” in San Jose. If you’re near the Bay Area and you want to see some truly excellent gear, check this place out… but be forewarned - it’s trippy-weird there.
First off, no signage whatsoever. I drove by it three times with my friend Bill… both of us scanning buildings and address numbers like a pair of Terminators… and that was with GPS! We actually found it by process of elimination… couldn’t be the apartment complex just prior, and couldn’t be the convenience store just after. It had to be the curiously nondescript, dirt brown, one story building at the far end of a long narrow “parking lot”. If it weren’t for confirming the address number on the side of the building, you’d think you were walking into a meth lab or something (not that I have a lot of experience walking into meth labs). A poorly maintained structure, about as ambiguous and unwelcoming as any establishment ever, um, established.
However, if the brow-furrowing exterior wasn’t perplexing enough, walking into the joint was just plain bizarre. To start, it almost feels like you should knock on the door first because there are zero cues that this is a business… you feel like you’re about to unlawfully enter a private premises. But, stalwart and determined as we were, we pressed on… turning the knob, stepping across the threshold, and finding ourselves in the “lobby” - an oppressive, dim, smallish room. The first of the five overt senses to be thoroughly and unrelentingly assaulted was the sense of smell. The place WREAKED of stale smoke. And, as if the owner was terrified by the thought that it might somehow diminish in it‘s intensity, he and a half-dozen of his closest sanitarium-escapee buddies were issuing forth plenty of “fresh” smoke as well. A heady mix of cigarette, cigar, and pipe, and maybe even shisha as well (though I didn’t see any hookahs in plain site). Like an olfactory hit-squad, these guys seemed almost gleeful as they contributed to this semi-opaque cloud of stagnant toxicity hovering at just about head level, actually impacting visibility. Blech!
Bill and I reverted to Terminator scan mode, cutting through the particulate haze to try and identify the owner. And by the way, no one said a word. No “Hello”. No “Welcome”. No “Uh guys, can you wait till we wrap up this smuggled uranium auction before you start drooling over all the ultra-high end gear that’s haphazardly strewn around the joint?“. Seriously, it was as if we’d walked into the middle of an arms/drug/slave-trafficking deal and were immediately considered hostile (though Bill and I looked about as hostile as a couple of double-Es on a yogurt run). Finally, I spoke up: “Hey Guys, we’re just here to look at your audio equipment and maybe do a little listening, is that cool?”. The single syllable, artfully calculated for minimal SPL expenditure, in retort from the owner (I guess): “yep”. And that was it… so Bill and I, like wary deer in late November, lightly padded into one of the adjoining dungeons. Immediately, the rather stark unpleasantness of the place melted away as we found ourselves staring at Harbeth, Prima Luna, Linn, Voce Audio, Quad, Whest, Nottingham and more. Not to mention the immense vinyl collection. Wow… truly impressive. I think there were three rooms in total, though hard to tell in all that limited visibility.
While the effing stench of that place never really subsided, we did bull through long enough to convince our vocally efficient host to spin some wax for us. The TT was nice, maybe Nottingham, I don’t recall, nor do I recall the phono pre. The speakers were Quad 2905s, there was a sub in the room, but it wasn’t active. The amps were Wavestream tubes - amps that remain a bit of a mystery and were certainly not described in depth by the semi-mute proprietor, nor were the described at all. That said (by me, certainly not by him), the tonearm was lowered, the lights were dimmed (or maybe my vision was just dimming), the first telltale popping signs of life issued forth the strains of Sonny Rollins. The sound was quite forward like first row center. Excellent transients, great soundstage, the sax was etched, but in a pleasing way… very well defined. I could have listened for a very long time if it weren’t for the near-trauma respiratory situation. As it was, we listened for maybe 10min. I really wanted to hear the Harbeths in the other room, but one look at Bill’s rapidly waning life-signs and I knew we needed to plan our escape post haste. Of course there were no “thank yous” or “goodbyes” or God forbid “Come agains”… and none were expected. What was entirely unexpected though was the entering-into-Valhalla effect of just leaving that place. That’s right, standing in a sketchy parking lot in downtown San Jose was akin to being raptured into heaven… compared to being inside “The Analog Room” (insert twilight zone theme music here).
Let me know if any of you Bay Areans have either been there or plan to go… love to hear other impressions