Do You Believe in Magic (in New York)?
Loft in New York. Our friends, an architectural photographer and an art educator, live in a beautiful, silent world of images. A radio broadcasts scratchy classical music softly in the background. The signal is poor since the cast iron structure is surrounded by newer, taller ones. A black metal box with the name 'Arcam' sits mutely beside a pair of silent speakers that say 'Sonus Faber.' The equipment has authority but is missing something. I think that thing is sound.
Along came a turntable upon which thin black disks of plastic spin. Once the wires are connected and the system is plugged into the juice flowing through the walls, a beautiful noise is heard. First there is Edith, then Barbara, then Judy, followed by Peter and Paul and Mary. Finally, there is a spoonful of love and isn't that the point?
Our lovely art educator has eclectic tastes it seems and now, after a decade or so of silence, these voices she has collected are heard again. The loft is full of vivid music, warmed by black vinyl. We sit and talk and listen through the years of dust and scratches to the beautiful, beautiful magic.
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