It's about the people
While I had attended other audio shows before, this was to be my first CES. I suppose I'd come with an agenda. However, more than that, I'd come with a certain conceptual framework, one borne from years of attending the car shows in New York City, first with my father, then with my sons. Whatever else it may be, the auto show is a family event. I learned to appreciate cars and to remain connected to my father -- no matter how far apart we had drifted otherwise -- at and through the car show. So when it came to CES, I arrived with the auto show concept in mind. For as I had suggested in another piece, a love for music and its modes of reproduction are acquired, much as is a love of art or sport. The seed must be planted and nurtured. Frankly, the long term health of the industry depends on the capacity and willingness of those of us who appreciate and love music reproduction, to convey our passion and joy to others - especially our children. It depends moreover on our ability to do so in a way that draws others in by education and emotion rather than by indoctrination and intimidation. |
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Sadly, there were few families attending the CES; maybe there is nothing about the show itself conducive to being otherwise. Perhaps, it cannot be otherwise. To be sure, nothing about the show is appropriate for young children. It requires quiet listening, patience and a willingness to look but not to touch - unlike, dare I say, the rest of Las Vegas whose telos is to induce looking and touching and then some. Even so, there is no reason why teenagers who love music wouldn't enjoy at least a day's worth of what our community/industry has to offer. Where were the teenagers and the young adults? Where were the families? I may have come with one conceptual framework in mind, but it took less than a day for another to completely replace it. I found myself recalling what it was like for me and 1400-or-so other freshly minted Ph.Ds in Philosophy to be hitting the so-called "meat market" in the early 1970s. The American Philosophical Association annual Eastern meetings are held between Christmas and New Year's. The year I was "on the market", it took place in New York City. I went to the meetings bathed in anticipation and fully prepared to display my wares. I had my speech down. I had answers. The problem? I had no control over the questions I might be asked. |
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And so I was as nervous as I was anxious. I believed in me, but I was not confident. This was a process I had no power to control, however much I might have wanted to. I wandered and I wondered. Would the departments with jobs find me an interesting candidate? Would I be quick on my feet? Would I make a good first impression? Would anyone choose me? Would they be put off by the unconventional topic of my dissertation? (I wrote it on no-fault automobile insurance, not your typical topic for a philosophy dissertation then or now.) |
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Of the 120 or so advertised jobs, a third were tentative, anticipated openings that might well never materialize; others would be funded but not as permanent positions on the tenure track. They would become one year jobs - placeholders until a tenure track position could be fully funded. Those fortunate enough to score one of these would be back at this again almost immediately upon arriving at their new temporary home, moving to a new place often with family, preparing new classes and preparing to look for work all over again, all simultaneously. |
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And so it would go for the 1400 or so academics who, in a sense, had spent all their lives preparing for this very moment. Did the people in this room with the jobs to dole out care at all? Did they stop for a moment to appreciate the level of work or commitment that each of these candidates had taken in an effort to put their best foot forward? Were they looking for solid ground to base honest appreciation upon? Or were they instead looking for a way to say "no", some justification for not feeling too bad about moving on to the next candidate? |
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Do you want another meat popsicle?
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If you want to understand the CES, you have to know it from all sides. This particular one is just one of them - but one to which we attend far too infrequently. Showgoers who casually walk in and out of rooms all within the course of thirty seconds -- passing cavalier judgment like "That preamp sucks; those speakers sound like garbage" -- are entering not just a room but the lives, dreams and aspiration of others. These aren't just rooms and gear. These presentations represent lifetime commitments and passions, often thousands of hours of labor. And, at the end of the day, every manufacturer or designer, every sales rep and importer, is hostage to luck, some good, some bad. You don't know if your equipment will arrive on time or in one piece. You don't know what your room will sound like. You don't know what music will be playing on your system when a reviewer or prospective buyer happens to walk into your room. Despite all your hard work; regardless of how deep your passion and commitment run; no matter how talented you are - you are hostage to fate and fortune. |
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On the other hand, we all benefit from the efforts that the manufacturers, designers, sales reps and others make. We all benefit from the risks they take, their willingness to create and display, to make themselves vulnerable to us. And their vulnerability requires that we appreciate and respect them. Maybe we can stop for a minute and think about what these few days feel like from their point of view? In the long run, we'll be better people for having done so. |
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