A poet's audio obsession, from his earliest vinyl to his quest for the perfect vacuum tubes, as he strives to make both sound and sense of his life
Garrett Hongo's passion for audio dates back to the Empire 98 turntable his father paired with a tube amplifier in their modest tract home in L.A. in the early 60s. But his adult quest begins in the CD-changer era, as he seeks out speakers and amps beefy enough to honor the top notes of the great opera sopranos. And in recounting this search, he describes a journey of identity where meaning, fulfillment, and even liberation were often most available to him through music and its diverse delivery systems.
Hongo writes about being a Hawaiian-born, Japanese kid growing up in the shadow of the shameful internment of his ancestors during World War II; about picking up music tips from kids with darker skin than his own; about being a fish out of water with his white peers. Along the way, he nerds out with visits to eccentric collectors of decades-old audio components, drinks in wisdom from blues musicians and poetic elders, and turns his ear toward the memory-rich strains of the music that has shaped him: Hawaiian steel guitar and ukulele, barbershop and the Beatles, Bach, Verdi, and Duke Ellington. And in the decades-long process of perfecting his stereo setup, Hongo also discovers his own, now celebrated voice.
