Timber

I’ve been through a number of cheap record players in my life, and they’ve all had some kind of problem — buzzing sounds, low level rumbling sounds, etc. I thought I had found the perfect record player some years back, and indeed it fit all my requirements, which are:

1) Not suck, sound wise. (I’m no audiophile, but I don’t want the record player to make rumbling sounds at me, either.)

2) Have a simple user interface. This means no adjusting belts or anything to switch between 33.3 and 45, because I do that a lot. And no touch interface or anything like that. Just nice buttons.

3) I think that’s it?

The problem is that that record player failed in a way I don’t think I can recall a record player failing: It required adjusting the speed every couple of months. I’d be listening to a record, and then I’m thinking “was his voice always that high pitched?” and then I’d measure, and sure enough, it’d be running 5% too fast. So I’d have to get out a screwdriver and adjust the speed, and that’s just … annoying.

So I spent another few months trying to find a record player that satisfies 1) and 2), and I ended up with a record player that’s basically the big brother of the one I bought last time.

And… it sounds good? And I measured the speed: It’s absolutely spot on, and it’s supposed to stay that way:

With Clearaudio’s optical speed control (OSC) and ceramic magnetic bearing (CMB), the Ovation achieves supreme speed stability and redefines the standards in its class.

I’m crossing my fingers and my toesies.

This new record player is physically larger (deeper, that is) than my old one, which means that it doesn’t fit on top of my stereo stack.

It’s lumber time!

Oak!

Saw!

I measured correctly! It fits! This never happens to me!

Then I painted it black, because I think that’s the law?

Look! It’s totally stable! It’s not teetering or anything!

It’s about 14kg. I should probably rearrange this to be less vertical at some point, but it’s kinda nice working height. The old floors here are so sway-ey that things skip around anyway when walking around, so perhaps I should bolt it to the wall? Meh.

Anyway, I was talking about UX? This has excellent UX: It’s just four physical buttons, and they even light up. Excellent!

Now where did I put that 7″ picture disc of Be My Wife…

Mmm… sounds excellent; the crackling, hissing and popping really comes through.

Eclipse 1967: Warrendale

Wow. This is Canadian? I thought the Eclipse series was just Japanese and French movies.

These kids are very sleepy.

Oh, this is a documentary!?

These are really the sleepiest kids ever!

Uhm.

Autism?

So this is a documentary about some emotionally disturbed children at an institution where they have a thing about … holding the kids when they’re acting out. It’s kinda hard to watch. I mean, they seem really well intentioned and good people, but…

It just feels exploitative. I mean, these kids are being exposed to an extent that’s just way beyond any… ethics…

I know the 60s were a different universe, but I don’t think there should have been a camera crew inside this institution.

Well, King is obviously a talented filmmaker (fortunately, because there’s four more of his movies to go). But I just totally disapprove of the entire project here.

So:

Warrendale. Allan King. 1967.

This blog post is part of the Eclipse series.

Eclipse 1968: 帰って来たヨッパライ

Wow. Ôshima’s gone all late nouvelle vague? This starts off like a Godard movie from 1968…

But more Japanese, I guess.

I think this movie is about Japanese racism? Towards Koreans? But it’s … very odd.

And it’s also about Vietnam.

So… now it’s the entire movie all over again? Or… did this DVD skip?

No, this is different. So it’s the same movie all over again, but differently?

So it’s indeed very Nouvelle, but I’m not sure this actually works at all? There’s scenes that are quite interesting, but it all feels… kinda… undigested?

Oh, these Eclipse DVDs come with short essays inside the front cover… this one basically just recaps the plot (I hate that so much), but it’s got some interesting stuff nevertheless.

I love that quote.

I mean, I think this a really interesting movie, and I’m glad I’m watching it, but I don’t think it quite works? It’s very close to being a Godard movie, but … not.

The funny bits are quite amusing.

So:

Three Resurrected Drunkards. Nagisa Ôshima. 1968.

This blog post is part of the Eclipse series.

Eclipse 1967: 無理心中日本の夏

This reminds me of… Tarkovsky. But a horny, lighthearted Tarkovsky. I know, it’s a contradiction in terms, but it’s got the same sort of flow.

But… Tarkovsky a decade later than this.

I was absolutely riveted by this movie until we landed in this room, and now it’s just… wilfully odd instead of fascinating.

OK, now it’s back to being excellent.

So, I’m not quite sure that this movie actually works as a whole, but there’s scenes of pure genius here, so:

Japanese Summer: Double Suicide. Nagisa Ôshima. 1967.

This blog post is part of the Eclipse series.

Eclipse 1967: 日本春歌考

This is the most Summer of 1968 movie ever, and it’s from 1967. It’s all about student rebellion and protest and sex and stuff.

Oh! These guys are high school students… I thought this was supposed to be about university graduates or something. I guess those uniforms would be a stronger signal about their age if… they’re something that signal that they’re in high school…

I’m still kinda guessing.

I thought the first like half an hour of this movie was really interesting and arresting, but… it’s kinda lost all tension now? It’s just… I don’t even know what this movie is doing now? I mean, that could be good, but I don’t have any confidence that it knows what it’s doing.

Wow. The extended rape fantasy scene is pretty… er… unique? I guess it reminds me of something from Cronenberg a few years later. Is it possible that he’d seen this movie?

I kinda lost faith in this movie, but then it returned with a vengeance. The scenes around that pool are absolutely magical. I’m not sure I understand why the guys feel compelled to tell that woman about their shameful fantasies about her — that’s nothing to do with her, after all — but it … makes sense on an associative level, perhaps?

Hoi, hoi.

OK, the final scene is… a lot.

But still:

Sing a Song of Sex. Nagisa Ôshima. 1967.

This blog post is part of the Eclipse series.