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Topic: Air Force Zero turntable (Read 884 times) previous topic - next topic - Topic derived from Help me spend my mone...
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Air Force Zero turntable

I have long been amused by the obsessive excesses of hi-fi fanatics.

As of a couple of decades ago, when I paid any attention to this stuff, I found it fascinating that hi-fi freaks would spend 10 or $20,000 on a two-foot length of cable to connect their components.  They would go on and on about how pure the copper was, or the material used to shield it, or some such nonsense.

About 20 years ago a friend sent me an item about a turntable made by a company called Caliburn, that was selling for $99,000 — tonearm not included.  At the time, I believe it was the most extravagant such a device on the market.

I sent him the reply pasted below. Little did I know that decades later there would in fact be a turntable marketed for about a half-million dollars, which I discovered yesterday — the Stereophile review pasted below has some eerie parallels to my own parody reply to my friend:

Re: Caliburn turntable: $99,000, cartridge not included
Thanks.  I already have one of these, although the manufacturer, who is a friend, modified it to meet my specifications.   We are currently drilling into the Earth's crust to sink the pilings on which to mount the stand, which will then be floated on a reverse-magnetic plane, calibrated to neutralize the drifting of the planet's magnetic field.

This may seem extreme, but it is essential to remove any possible vibration, which introduces unacceptable coloration into the sound, and ruins any sort of 'staging' or 'presence' in the music.

Properly configured, once you've listened to this baby, you can never go back.

Any vinyl that's placed on the platter must undergo a two-week scrubbing and bacterial disinfection in the BioLevel IV clean room I've installed.  Nano-robots equipped with lasers burrow into the grooves, blasting any imperfections from the walls of the vinyl canyons, and, where necessary, 're-sculpting' the vinyl to restore it to the original contours.

Once I climb into the moon suit and get my hands on the robotic-glove controls, the record can be placed onto the platter and the multi-step protocol can begin of moving the tonearm into place for lowering onto the vinyl surface.  A system of solenoid-controlled pulleys and gears is employed, using only components manufactured from gold and silver extracted from the Tomb of Ramses II.  (Precious metals from that era are uncontaminated by modern pollutants.)

These steps are followed by additional processes that I won't bore you with, (for example the knobs of the pre-amp can only be touched by hands wearing special gloves spun from the silk of rare Japanese moths from the top of Mt. Fuji.  Since the species is endangered, one must purchase the gloves on the black market in Khartoum, after getting the secret password from the supplier, who can only be seen in person in Pyongyang.)

All of this takes place in my listening room, a seismically reinforced salt mine that will not vibrate more than .0000001 mm./nanosecond when impacted by a 50-megaton direct nuclear hit.  The anechoic characteristics of the space also insure that such an impact will only result in .001 db sound levels inside the chamber -- about the same volume level as that of a gnat kneeling on the down of a sparrow's chin.

Dick Cheney uses the place for meetings and assignations when I'm not there listening to my stereo.

Once the tonearm is lowered, and the volume and other settings have been properly adjusted, I just sit back and enjoy the music.