A poet’s audio obsession, from collecting his earliest vinyl to his quest for the ideal vacuum tubes. A captivating book that “ingeniously mixes personal memoir with cultural history and offers us an indispensable guide for the search of acoustic truth” (Yunte Huang, author of Charlie Chan).Garrett Hongo’s passion for audio dates back to the Empire 398 turntable his father paired with a Dynakit tube amplifier in their modest tract home in Los Angeles in the early 1960s. But his adult quest begins in the CD-changer era, as he seeks out speakers and amps both powerful and refined enough to honor the top notes of the greatest opera sopranos. In recounting this search, he describes a journey of identity where meaning, fulfillment, and even liberation were often most available to him through music and its astonishingly varied delivery systems. Hongo writes about the sound of surf being his first music as a kid in Hawai‘i, about doo-wop and soul reaching out to him while growing up among Black and Asian classmates in L.A., about Rilke and Joni Mitchell as the twin poets of his adolescence, and about feeling the pulse of John Coltrane’s jazz and the rhythmic chords of Billy Joel’s piano from his car radio while driving the freeways as a young man trying to become a poet. Journeying further, he visits devoted collectors of decades-old audio gear as well as designers of the latest tube equipment, listens to sublime arias performed at La Scala, hears a ghostly lute at the grave of English Romantic poet John Keats in Rome, drinks in wisdom from blues musicians and a diversity of poetic elders while turning his ear toward the memory-rich strains of the music that has shaped Hawaiian steel guitar and canefield songs; Bach and the Band; Mingus, Puccini, and Duke Ellington. And in the decades-long process of perfecting his stereo setup, Hongo also discovers his own now-celebrated poetic voice.
This is actually several books. It's the relating by the author of his obsessive search for the "perfect" audio system. It's also a memoir of the author's family and his life as a Japanese-Hawaiian growing up on the west coast. And, to some extent, it's a recounting of the author's musical interests.
The memoir portion of the book is fairly mundane. In general, I'm not a fan of memoirs, but this one seems like it's nothing out of the ordinary.
I doubt that Mr. Hongo is interested in any of my opinions. That said, I would advise him to end his neurotic (my term - I doubt that he'd agree) search for audio perfection. He'll never get there and the search isn't worth the time, money, and psychological torment. On the other hand, I realize that audiophiles tend to enjoy the negative things I've mentioned and don't consider them as negatives. It's part of their psychological make-up. While I wouldn't want to deny audiophiles whatever pleasures they might derive from their searching, I would advise them to spend more of their time and energy, as well as their income, searching out beautiful and interesting music, rather than searching for "perfect" sound. Basically, find an audio system that pleases you and seek out and enjoy the music.
As to the author's music interests, they're not terrible - just somewhat middle of the road. But. what really got me was when, after writing about or making reference to musicians like Son House, Bukka White, and Memphis Minnie, among others, he wrote in total admiration about Taj Mahal and Keb' Mo', even visiting the latter at his home. (I will admit that in my misguided youth, about 50 years ago, I owned a couple of Taj Mahal albums. They're long gone.) Anyway, after reading his praise for them, I found myself listening to King Oliver, John Hurt, Elmore James, and Joseph Spence to get the thought of Mahal's and Mo's music out of my head.
What I love the most is Hongo's ability to describe sound. Sound as music, first, because he does mini-reviews of albums that were the soundtrack to my musical reckoning. Although his palate is wider than mine. Sound as a natural phenomenal, second, because he is an audiophile in quest of the perfect sound. If I learned much more than I thought possible about the history and technology of sound reproduction, I also was energized by this poet's skill at providing the textures and meanings of sounds through his words.
But I also loved other parts. The family history, the sociology, the coming of age, the anthropology of difference, and the meaning of life. There is a full story here that is both his particular life and the life of (parts) of the planet. He makes me care about his characters and his travels towards the sonic utopia.
I could never have imagined that such a book could be materialized. It is a gift to us all.
A book that covers a lot of ground on family history, poetry, and audiophilia, and I can't believe that the author pulls it off. I enjoyed his recollections, but some of the audiophile stuff (which I can actually relate to, though I'm not nearly as obsessed nor do I have the author's bank account) began to wear thin as I got further and further into the book.
My thanks to NetGalley and the publisher Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group for an advanced copy of this personal and musical memoir.
Sound has always been important to the poet Garrett Hongo, starting with the surf that he would hear outside his house in his native Hawai'i, to his father's early experiments in Hi-FI, and to Italian Opera that he came to late in life, and on his poetry. The Perfect Sound: A Memoir in Stereo is an amalgamation of all these loves and sounds, a mix of memoir and biography, profiles of mentors and friends, a how- to on developing a music collection, and a audiophile's dreamlist.
Starting with trying to replace a broken CD player, one that was mass produced and given a limited life and sound fidelity, Mr. Hongo soon enters the world of high end audio, replacing a plastic component with a metal piece of furniture, and finding that once one enters the world of perfect sound, one can never be satisfied. At first frugally, then more audibly equipment is switched out, vaccum tubes are discovered, high end and low ends are discussed, and a new world is discovered.
However this is much more than a buyer's guide, more of a study, in how sound links to our past, in remembering his father playing with his own Hi-Fi while listening to Arthur Lyman and other lounge music. And how his own taste in music grew, and in many made him that poet that he became. The profiles and conversations he has with other poets are very interesting and reveal quite a bit about the author.
One of the more interesting memoirs that I have read in awhile, mainly because it didn't seem like a memoir. The discussions of vaccum tubes and Dutch designed audio equipment give way to personal stories and introspection about himself, his family and friends, and where Mr. Hongo finds himself today, with a great soundtrack for his trip. A very well written book, with a lot o levels , sort of like hearing opera on Mr. Hongo's sound system.
If you had told me before I picked it up that I would enjoy reading the life story of an elderly Hawaiian-born poet, told in the context of stereo systems he's obsessively assembled over the years, I would have laughed. But it was actually an enjoyable read. I'll admit there were stretches towards the end where I skimmed rather than read, but overall I found Hongo's prose lively, and I could definitely relate to many of his life experiences, as we grew up in roughly similar times, but very different places.
It claims to be a memoir but I assume it's fiction, the plot revolves around the author's fixation with his father and race identity. The rest is audiophile magic crystal nonsense you have to be huffing glue to relate to.
Good read, but man is this dense. I kept reading and reading and reading...and reading. Also, I'm so not this obsessive with my audio gear. I respect people who are, but it's never been me.
Mr. Hongo might be a little wrapped up in himself. I scurried thru the last hundred pages or so gasping for air. That said, I am familiar with and respect his musical tastes and must note, with soul wrenching honesty, he has some serious skills as a writer. Envy makes such fools of us.