Little did I know I'd be predicting the future. That very morning, a very short time after the e-mail left my computer on its way to California, I got an e-mail of my own from none other than The Beatles. 'Cause, you know, we're just that close.
It seems the folks at Apple Corps. thought I should know about the long-awaited remasters of the band's catalog, which will be released on Sept. 9, 2009 (09-09-09). There will be complete remixes, in both stereo and mono versions, of all of the original releases, along with the singles collection Past Masters. There will be a full stereo boxed set of all the albums, including a DVD about the recording of each album, as well as boxed set of mono releases. The Beatles actually preferred to work in mono, and, according to my research, weren't involved in the stereo mixes. So not only is the mono version what the artist preferred, my readings also tell me that the next mono mixes reveal things that listeners may not have noticed before.
In addition to being a Beatles freak, I'm also a latent audio snob. If there's a chance that I can wring something new from a recording of a band I really, desperately love — in my case Rush and The Beatles — then I'm there. The CDs that we have now were released in 1987 (the year I got married), and represent state of the art digital remastering for that time. Problem is, it's been almost 22 years since "that time" — less than the time it took the 8-Track tape format to be introduced, become popular, and die a richly deserved death. I'm thinking that maybe they've learned a few things since then.
So the fact that I have to have these new recordings is a given.
For most people, this would mean buying the individual discs, especially if you don't have an oil well in your backyard generating a steady supply of disposable cash. And, in fact, I'm still slowly replacing my Rush CDs with remasters, and have about 9 to go. Those came out at least four years ago. So, any normal person would be content to buy one or two new discs a week, getting to know each new recording before moving on to the next.
Like I said, any normal person. But this is me we're talking about.
For some reason, I have it in my makeup that when it comes to something I truly love, I have to have the ultimate version of it. You say the boxed set has a few extra features you can't get elsewhere? I'm there. You say the mono set is being created for collectors, and will only be available for a limited time? Who do I make the check out to?
If I have my way, on September 9, or shortly thereafter, I will be the proud owner of both the stereo and mono boxed sets. Realistically, it may be after Christmas before I achieve both. Either way, economically, this is going to hurt — I don't spend such sums on myself lightly, and we are talking something that is going to cost hundreds of dollars. Since I've been off work for so long, we'll just be getting back to normal when this hits. So why am I doing this?
Because, for me, it's the right thing to do.
One of the things I have learned from my wife is that sometimes, doing the smart thing with money isn't necessarily always the right thing. My wife and I are far from millionaires. Heck, we're not even middle middle class. Yet we have taken two trips to Disney World — an enormously expensive place to hang out — in the past five years. Why? Because to us, the memories are more important than the money. Because our quadrennial pilgrimage to The Happiest Place on Earth gives us all something to look forward to, and to get excited about planning together. And because, long after my daughter has moved on to a life of her own, we will all three share the bond of what good times we had as guests of the Mouse.
I could, and probably will, devote an entire post to the subject of why I think Disney World is important, both personally and in general. Here, it serves to illustrate the point that sometimes you have to suck it up, and sink large sums of money into things that will only serve to make you and your family happy. Because, let's face it, few retired couples sit on the front porch having conversations like this:
HE: "Say, you remember all the groceries and household items that we bought instead of taking the kids to Disney World?"
SHE: "Do I ever! It took me five years to use all of the laundry detergent we were able to buy."
HE: "Yep. We had the cleanest sheets in three counties. And how about all that diet soda we bought? We were burping for a year!"
SHE: "Those were sure some good times."
HE: "How are the kids, anyway?"
SHE: "Now you know they haven't spoken to us since they moved out after high school."
HE: "Oh, how could I forget. Hey, pass the diet soda!"
I'm being extremely flip, obviously (a character flaw), so please forgive the sarcasm. And I'm not suggesting for a moment that money should not be used wisely and prudently; babyfood should always take precedence over a remastered copy of "The Essential Jimi Hendrix." But part of that prudence is occasionally using it for the simple task of making yourself and your family happy. My master, C.S. Lewis, was sharply critical of the puritan concept of denial for denial's sake, and wrote glowingly of the need to foster those things that give you honest pleasure. And who am I to argue with my master?
I do not covet this for the sake of that most elusive of goals — a "complete collection." Since I want these new sets for the genuine pleasure of listening to it, and the joy of rediscovering something that is of immense importance to me, then I am content that my motives are pure.
Of course, it's equally possible that six months from now, I'll be found locked away in a dark room, clutching both sets to my chest and whispering "my preciousss" to myself over and over. But that's a chance I'm willing to take.
I could, and probably will, devote an entire post to the subject of why I think Disney World is important, both personally and in general. Here, it serves to illustrate the point that sometimes you have to suck it up, and sink large sums of money into things that will only serve to make you and your family happy. Because, let's face it, few retired couples sit on the front porch having conversations like this:
HE: "Say, you remember all the groceries and household items that we bought instead of taking the kids to Disney World?"
SHE: "Do I ever! It took me five years to use all of the laundry detergent we were able to buy."
HE: "Yep. We had the cleanest sheets in three counties. And how about all that diet soda we bought? We were burping for a year!"
SHE: "Those were sure some good times."
HE: "How are the kids, anyway?"
SHE: "Now you know they haven't spoken to us since they moved out after high school."
HE: "Oh, how could I forget. Hey, pass the diet soda!"
I'm being extremely flip, obviously (a character flaw), so please forgive the sarcasm. And I'm not suggesting for a moment that money should not be used wisely and prudently; babyfood should always take precedence over a remastered copy of "The Essential Jimi Hendrix." But part of that prudence is occasionally using it for the simple task of making yourself and your family happy. My master, C.S. Lewis, was sharply critical of the puritan concept of denial for denial's sake, and wrote glowingly of the need to foster those things that give you honest pleasure. And who am I to argue with my master?
I do not covet this for the sake of that most elusive of goals — a "complete collection." Since I want these new sets for the genuine pleasure of listening to it, and the joy of rediscovering something that is of immense importance to me, then I am content that my motives are pure.
Of course, it's equally possible that six months from now, I'll be found locked away in a dark room, clutching both sets to my chest and whispering "my preciousss" to myself over and over. But that's a chance I'm willing to take.
