I took the old tape recorder out of the bottom file cabinet drawer and was surprised there was not much dust on it. It was residing under a few old political posters and boxes of slides; right where I hoped it would be. The true test of time would come when I plugged in the AC cord.
In went a cassette and down went the button marked "Play." Out came the voice of Kate Wolf, the late darling of the Bay Area folk music community. Shock and awe. The old machine was not dead, in fact, it was full of life. The recording made in 1977 sounded as good as I could ever expect.
These old Sony cassette recorders were always well made, but I never expected one to pop to life after sitting dormant for the last 12 years. Shock turned quickly to delight.
When you try to play a tape cassette that hasn't been used for years, it's quite dicey. It helps to rewind and fast forward the tape a few times to stretch it out a bit. This old machine was able to play some tapes I hadn't heard in 20 years without any pre-stretching. Marvel of marvels. There went the afternoon. I listened to bits and pieces of live recordings I'd made many years ago with such pleasure that it felt like a new world opening for the first time. Even a cassette copy of one of the radio shows I'd produced back in the 80s came back to life. The voices from the interviews and the music that interspersed those conversations sounded fresh and vital.
Before I closed up my makeshift recording studio for the day I took a long look at that old Sony machine. I wondered how many times it had played the recording of Death of a Salesman with the original cast for high school juniors. At least 50 times, I'll bet. Never missed a year. I thought of the radio shows I'd done as well as some smaller efforts done by my seniors one year on the Vietnam War. This particular class, somewhere between 1985-1990 had really wanted to learn about the war which had affected so many of their fathers and uncles. We don't know very much and nobody really wants to talk about it, they said. That Sony recorded their segments in my classroom and played it all back beautifully.
When I became a working journalist for The Bloodhorse magazine, I lugged that machine on my shoulder at many a backstretch looking for and finding interviews with old timers and young guns alike. I recorded the sound of 12 thoroughbreds thundering down the stretch and the call to the post. Crowd roars and the sudden drop of emotion that follows crossing the finish line were all taken in my that recorder.
The technology has changed so fast that cassette tapes are more of a burden. I know I've got to downsize and thin out what I lug around these days, but now, at least I may be able to give some of the tapes I accumulated one last listen. As long as the old stand-by machine still lasts. I'm glad I did not take it for dead. If I can revive some of the old tapes they just might be in good enough condition to convert to MP-3 files and pass on share again. If not, I tried. Too bad the microphone I used to use has died. Maybe I can find another, but what for?
In went a cassette and down went the button marked "Play." Out came the voice of Kate Wolf, the late darling of the Bay Area folk music community. Shock and awe. The old machine was not dead, in fact, it was full of life. The recording made in 1977 sounded as good as I could ever expect.
These old Sony cassette recorders were always well made, but I never expected one to pop to life after sitting dormant for the last 12 years. Shock turned quickly to delight.
When you try to play a tape cassette that hasn't been used for years, it's quite dicey. It helps to rewind and fast forward the tape a few times to stretch it out a bit. This old machine was able to play some tapes I hadn't heard in 20 years without any pre-stretching. Marvel of marvels. There went the afternoon. I listened to bits and pieces of live recordings I'd made many years ago with such pleasure that it felt like a new world opening for the first time. Even a cassette copy of one of the radio shows I'd produced back in the 80s came back to life. The voices from the interviews and the music that interspersed those conversations sounded fresh and vital.
Before I closed up my makeshift recording studio for the day I took a long look at that old Sony machine. I wondered how many times it had played the recording of Death of a Salesman with the original cast for high school juniors. At least 50 times, I'll bet. Never missed a year. I thought of the radio shows I'd done as well as some smaller efforts done by my seniors one year on the Vietnam War. This particular class, somewhere between 1985-1990 had really wanted to learn about the war which had affected so many of their fathers and uncles. We don't know very much and nobody really wants to talk about it, they said. That Sony recorded their segments in my classroom and played it all back beautifully.
When I became a working journalist for The Bloodhorse magazine, I lugged that machine on my shoulder at many a backstretch looking for and finding interviews with old timers and young guns alike. I recorded the sound of 12 thoroughbreds thundering down the stretch and the call to the post. Crowd roars and the sudden drop of emotion that follows crossing the finish line were all taken in my that recorder.
The technology has changed so fast that cassette tapes are more of a burden. I know I've got to downsize and thin out what I lug around these days, but now, at least I may be able to give some of the tapes I accumulated one last listen. As long as the old stand-by machine still lasts. I'm glad I did not take it for dead. If I can revive some of the old tapes they just might be in good enough condition to convert to MP-3 files and pass on share again. If not, I tried. Too bad the microphone I used to use has died. Maybe I can find another, but what for?
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