I have an admission to make. I am useless at games like Scrabble. I like to think I have a way with words, and I have made a career out of placing them in a pleasing order. But I’m unable to take out-of-context letters and form words from them. Wordle, Boggle, Scrabble—I just can’t make my mind work that way.
About 20 years ago, I played Scrabble with a girlfriend’s parents. The father was some kind of savant—athlete, intellectual, businessman, that sort of thing. At one point, he slammed down all his tiles in one go on a triple-word score, with a Q in there as a cherry on top. The next turn, he emptied his tile rack again. On my turn, I think I laid down “cat.”
That’s how I feel whenever I write an album review and find out that Joseph Taylor, our music historian, expert, and deep well of knowledge, has also reviewed the same record. C‑A‑T.
Yet here I am, writing a review of the latest reissue of Talk Talk’s Spirit of Eden (LP, Parlophone 1635679). As if it’s not bad enough that Joe is writing about the same record, his review will be published at the same time as mine. C‑A‑T.
I know my review won’t be anywhere near as complete and musically detailed as his, but kick me in the balls—this is one of my all-time favorite albums, and I have to tell you about it. I wanted to tell you about it in part 1 of my ten-best albums series a couple of months back. As you may have read, though, I omitted this specific album after being shamed out of it by a Pitchfork article that rated Spirit of Eden as one of the records most talked about by critics but least listened to by music fans. But I’m gonna get in my critic’s shot now.
I’ll spare you a deep dive into the history, impact, and legacy of Spirit of Eden, because Joe is undoubtedly going to deliver a much better analysis of this than I ever could. What I’d like to do is tell you, from my perspective, how the new half-speed master sounds. It’s good to have achievable goals.
I own two other versions of SoE. At least I thought I did. I can’t find my domestic pressing for the life of me—was it misfiled, lost, lent out? Who knows? Anyway, I do have four copies of Laughing Stock, Talk Talk’s last album, so maybe I’m confusing myself.
The copy of SoE that I do have on hand is the 2012 Parlophone LP reissue (PCSDX 105). I haven’t been able to find much information about the pedigree of this record, like who mastered it and where it was pressed. It just sort of appeared out of nowhere. This one I picked up when it was released, because why wouldn’t I? It was packaged with a DVD that contains a hi-rez version of the record, and I ass-u-me that this is the origin of Qobuz’s 24‑bit/96kHz version.
I have long used the 2012 Parlophone version of SoE in my reviews, as it’s a damn good-sounding record. Or at least I think it is. The music itself is so earth-shattering, so magnificent in its scope and power, that I think it’d sound great played from an 8-track. So my mind, my imagination, tends to gloss over any shortcomings in the pressing. And since the streamed versions sound so close to the LP, I’ve just had to live with the fact that this is how it is.
It sure looks like some serious care has gone into the creation of this new reissue. I’ve been unable to find any definitive information regarding the actual source of the tape/files used as inputs to the process, but the SoE sessions spanned a good long time, with many session musicians taking part. The mixdown to the stereo masters was likely performed digitally, so there’s not really any possibility of remixing this album. Still, the mastering and cutting process seems to have been about as careful and considered as it could be.
The mastering was overseen by Lee Harris, longtime drummer for Talk Talk, and by Charlie Hollis, the son of Mark Hollis, Talk Talk’s singer. The actual mastering was performed by Grammy Award winner Matt Colton at Metropolis Studios in London, UK, using a highly modified Neumann VMS‑80 cutting lathe and a fully customized amplification chain.
Prior to decanting the new half-speed-mastered version, I gave another listen right through to the 2012 version via my VPI Prime Signature turntable, with the DS Audio DS 003 cartridge feeding the superb EMM Labs DS‑EQ1 optical phono preamplifier. This combination makes for an unbelievable resolution monster. I also spun through the Qobuz version, which flew from Roon through the Meitner Audio MA3 streaming DAC-preamp. This time, I didn’t just listen for the power of the music, for the experience I’ve always enjoyed. This time, I tried to focus on the shortcomings.
Okay, then—music lover’s hat off, hi‑fi critic’s hat on. The highs at the top of the slashing guitar parts on “Desire” could easily be described as glassy or shouty. I’ve never really felt that this was an issue, as the mood of SoE relies on the buildup of tension, followed by its release. The shrill highs were a part of what endeared this album to me, so I’ve always been cool with this aspect. Beyond that, I couldn’t find anything to complain about.
So I decanted the new half-speed master. It’s well-packaged, but utterly without frills. The cover and inner sleeve are made from honest cardboard and are well printed. The record itself arrived ruler-flat, without the slightest wave, and the hole appeared to be dead-centered. The label mirrors the Parlophone imagery that’s on my 2012 version. Given that this album is reasonably priced, that’s all well and good.
Upon my lowering the needle, this record was utterly silent. Black, even, although that metaphor has been so overused in writing about audio that it’s pretty much useless. But I persist. SoE is all about spaciousness, about the space between the notes, the silences interspersed with occasional, intentional fury. Even the drumming operates via a sense of sparsity in the midst of vast emptiness. There’s not a single drum fill on the entire album. Lee Harris works with the snare and a cymbal, it seems, and each whack of that snare is perfectly timed so as to pack it full of meaning. A silent pressing, with essentially zero surface noise, dramatically increases the presence and impact of this music.
The DS Audio optical cartridge, combined with the EMM Labs DS‑EQ1 phono stage, is also key to how hard this remaster hit me. The optical technology dramatically reduces surface noise, far beyond the capabilities of even the best moving-coil cartridges. But that’s a different story. Suffice it to say that this is an exceptionally well-pressed record.
“Inheritance” is one of my all-time favorite tracks. It’s a piece of music that I can sink into, immerse myself in. Those first few deep piano notes build a scene, a musical labyrinth that’s populated by all manner of instruments. There’s an oboe, a bassoon, violins—all layered up with Mark Hollis’s haunting vocals and Lee Harris’s expressive muted snare. In fact, the entirety of side 2 is a masterpiece that flows from song to song, raising goosebumps and evoking a rich, spiritual tapestry. This is moody music that meanders along, without a single hummable tune. It’s the heart, the root of post-rock, which—for the most part—uses traditional rock instruments to build a mood, to create an atmosphere, without resorting to traditional melodies or structures.
I wrote that paragraph while listening through side 2 in its entirety, the new half-speed master drawing me in and making me ramble. After listening to both sides, and to side 2 once more, it was clear that this new version is significantly, noticeably, better in just about every way. That abrasive guitar in “Desire”? Still abrasive, jangling, and cutting, but now it was missing the hash feel on the very top, replaced by clarity, a feeling of being able to almost see into the distortion effects that make it so disturbing.
There was also more depth to the placement of instruments. There are innumerable baroque flourishes within SoE—little jangles, notes popping in from the sides—so many and so well placed that it’s clear they were chosen with care, with anguish, even, given how long this album took to record and produce. Often those musical accents are layered over each other, and this new reissue really highlighted the spatial placement and depth of images. In the 2012 version, there’s far less sense of depth, with those little details glommed together in some instances or smeared over a wider area in others.
About six years ago I was browsing through a now-closed record store near my house. I make a point at record stores of flipping through the first part of the “T” crates, and here I discovered a UK first-pressing of SoE, an original Parlophone version. I was really, really tempted by this record, but it was priced out of my league—$120 was just too much for a record I already owned, especially considering I had no way of knowing if it sounded any better than my 2012 version. That said, I picked that record up and then put it back down about five times that day. When I next returned to the store, a couple of weeks later, it wasn’t there; it had been sold. I was saddened, but at the same time, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Given the sound quality of this half-speed-mastered version, I’m glad I waited.
. . . Jason Thorpe
jasont@soundstagenetwork.com
