Recorded February 16, 1957 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released in 1957
Selection:
“Blues Without Woe” (Charles)
It’s rare that I hang on to a record in VG condition, but this record has a couple things working for it: 1. Despite the pops and ticks, it has no groove wear, 2. I got it for (the vintage jazz record collecting equivalent of) a dollar bin price, and 3. The music and performances are both spectacular. Like my copies of Saxophone Colossus and Coltrane Live at Birdland, this was a “jazz genre section” find. Unfamiliar with the music, the price tag made me walk it over to the listening station to give it a try, and I wasn’t expecting such great performances and such a sweet sound.
For several months I grappled with the choice of keeping it or selling it, and lately I decided it’s here to stay. The compositions are all top-notch, mostly written by the tag team of Teddy Charles and Mal Waldron. The sound of the recording hearkens back to the days of lo-fi recording, drums softly set back in the mix (although the bass is maybe a little too low) and the soloists are loud and clear up front, providing a unique take on late 1950s jazz recordings. And the solos are fantastic, from “leader” Thad Jones (the leader of these Prestige “jam sessions” is never clear, save their name being first on the cover) to Charles to Waldron to the most gifted Frank Wess, who plays with a breathiness undeniably reminiscent of Lester Young. Thad Jones had a unique tone and was inventive on the level of Sonny Rollins, and Frank Wess plays with unbeatable swing (this record made me realize what I miss with the avant-garde: swing). We also get to hear a young, swinging Elvin Jones on drums, a rare occasion considering the splashy, liberated rhythmic style he would develop and own in the post bop era of the ’60s. Everyone is on point when it’s their time to shine, and though these Prestige dates often get a bad rep for lacking the care and preparation that went into sessions on labels like Blue Note, one can’t help but conclude that this group knew what they were doing when they stepped into the studio that day.
The album maintains a high quality of writing and musicianship throughout. Opening with “Potpourri”, which features Frank Wess on flute, the group then shifts to “Blues Without Woe”, an uptempo hard bop masterpiece. The first side concludes with “Touché”, a lazy summer jazz walk most exemplified by the harmony of Charles’ vibes and Wess’ flute. Side two opens with “Dakar”, a Charles composition with harmonic chaos in the spirit of Thelonious Monk’s “Evidence”. From there the band slows things down with a reading of the Gershwin standard “Embraceable You”. Thad Jones is his usual ballad-sweet self, and Wess plays a resonating, breathy solo. The album’s final cut, Charles’ “Hello Frisco”, ends things without exclamation, though we still get an inspired solo from Waldron, a pianist who we hear tirelessly working out ideas record after record.
At the end of the day, a cheap original pressing that plays without groove wear or skips is a record worth listening to, especially if the music and performances are as captivating as they are here.
Side 1 recorded June 22, 1953 at WOR Studios, New York City
Side 2 recorded September 24, 1954 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released in 10″ format (BLP 5028/5057) in 1953/1954 (BLP 1505 released January 1956)
Selection: “Old Devil Moon” (Lane-Harburg)
Note: This is a guest post by Charles Strong.
As with many of these compilations of earlier Blue Note material, there are several different configurations of musicians on each track of this album. But, unlike many of those compilations of 10” and 78 RPM material, this collection of sides contains some of the finest musicians in early bebop. Led by arguably the greatest trombonist in modern jazz, J.J. Johnson, the lineups play fast and furious on the first side with the talismanic Clifford Brown trading very quick riffs with Johnson and Jimmy Heath on the opening track, “Turnpike”. If the song was named after fast traffic on a New Jersey toll road, it is very appropriate. The three horns pound out a hard-driving, repeating riff to open the song. Per usual, Clifford Brown and Jimmy Heath continue the furious pace as they often do on most of the recordings featuring them at the time.
But what is most impressive about fast-paced bop numbers like “Turnpike” that feature a trombonist or tubist is each player’s ability to keep pace with the other soloists. During a short period of time in junior high school, I chose trombone as my first instrument. In those six months, the only thing I learned on the trombone was that it was extremely difficult to play anything fast. My young muscles struggled to play even quarter notes fluidly. I simply could not move the slide into the different positions fast enough to be in key. Having to do that all while breathing in sync with finger motions is very difficult. Knowing what it’s like to move that slide into the perfect position and then hearing J.J. Johnson fly through a solo, playing notes in rapid fire succession with the ease of a trumpeter or saxophonist impresses me every time I play this LP.
On the next song, the same band plays the standard “Lover Man”. Like many standards, it is a classic that has seen very creative interpretation by several musicians. But what sets this reading apart is the bottom end sound of Johnson’s trombone. The other trombonist that I (and frankly, most other collectors) revere most is Curtis Fuller. For me, Fuller always has a somber tone to his trombone sound even in songs such as the classic “Blue Train”, which is a very uptempo song. But Johnson’s tone, though low like Fuller’s, has a very swinging yet casual kind of sound. It seems to dare the audience to sway but not quite dance to the music. Also, Johnson seemed to embrace the wide use of trombones in the new and exciting latin salsa music that was emerging from New York at the time; his music can sometimes have a latin tinge that adds a unique sound to the typical bebop track.
The latin influence is most present on the song that I most enjoy on this LP. Johnson turns the Broadway standard “Old Devil Moon” into a cool, relaxing latin jam. Johnson plays his trombone with a kind of warble, like a guitarist with a wah-wah pedal for a special effect. As he plays the familiar riff, time is kept by one of the most influential drummer of the early days of bebop, Kenny Clarke. As worthy as he is of the praise he receives, for me the most exciting percussionist of the whole compilation is the conguero, Sabu Martinez. I’ve always been a fan of the conga on classic jazz sessions, whether it’s Ray Barretto on such influential recordings as Blues Walk, Manteca, and Midnight Blue, or Martinez, who is very lively on this LP. It is a rare treat to hear Sabu (who had a short life and career due to drug abuse), and he is the perfect fit to a latinized song such as this one.
Strangely enough, Charles Mingus, the biggest name on the session and one of the greatest composers, bassists, and personalities in the history of music, fails to make any kind of impression on me here. Mingus always seemed, to me, to enjoy playing and writing his own material most. Perhaps he felt restrained by playing music composed by others, and in this case maybe he had grown tired of exploring these standards. It is also documented that Mingus did not like the way that Blue Note’s house engineer, Rudy Van Gelder, recorded his sound. I notice the bass of Percy Heath far more on the record than I do Mingus.
Lastly and aside from the phenomenal music laid to tape here, the thing I enjoy most about this LP is probably the cover. The color scheme of the bright red, black, and white pops out at one’s eyes, and the neatly placed photo of J.J., looking serious and a bit menacing, is fitting. It is a perfect example of all of the things that Blue Note covers were known for at the time: an excellent photograph juxtaposed with some of the most clever, aesthetically pleasing typography of the day. The cleanliness of this record, the jacket, and most importantly, the music makes me feel fortunate to have it in my collection.
Thelonious Monk, piano (“Reflections” and “Misterioso” only)
Paul Chambers, bass
Art Blakey, drums
Recorded April 14, 1957 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released in September 1957
Selections:
“Wail March” (Rollins)
“Misterioso” (Monk)
Note: This is a guest post by Charles Strong.
As a jazz lover and record collector, I am very fortunate to live near New York and its dusty record stores, as well as fellow collectors like the namesake of this blog, Mr. Mono himself. If we can’t hunt for LPs together in person, he will sometimes send me pictures of any records I might be interested in from the stores in the city — and sometimes be so kind as to snag some for me to be mailed later. A few months ago, he was in a store that has a very serious reputation for jazz sales when he sent me a few shots of some early pressing Blue Notes at pretty fair prices. One of the pics was of a glossy early pressing of Sonny Rollins Volume 2. The copy was not the first pressing but still had all the things that make collectors warm inside: a West 63rd Street label, Rudy Van Gelder’s initials in the dead wax, and the famous cursive ‘P’ indicative of a copy made in the company’s heyday. Best of all, the dealer did not want an arm and a leg for the copy, and it was payday Friday.
I was very tempted. Sonny Rollins is hands down my favorite artist in the entire genre, and in my quest to own the best possible copies of his LPs that I can afford, Volume 2 is a record I did not have an original of. I did own a copy of this album on Capitol and it had never made an impression on me. Despite its critical acclaim and my liking every artist on the date, it had never caused me to want to listen to it frequently. I do not attribute this to the record I had; the purpose of this post is not to downplay or argue the fidelity of other copies of an LP, but my Capitol copy certainly didn’t do anything to elevate the music of this album higher than A Night at the Village Vanguard or Way Out West, my two favorite Sonny records. So I texted Rich back a dismissive reply: “Nah, forget it — it’s never been my favorite Rollins LP,” to which he replied, “Mine either.” This made me feel two ways: pleased because a fellow collector had validated my opinion, but upset that one of the most celebrated records by my favorite musician was somehow dismissed by two knowledgeable jazz lovers.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I had just run into a nice string of luck with my favorite saxophonist on Blue Note. Within a two-week span, I had lucked out on copies of Volume One and the LP that has eluded me most in recent years, Newk’s Time. A few days after buying Newk’s, I was browsing eBay and a seller was selling Volume 2 as a Buy It Now. I usually avoid the Buy It Now sellers for rare records. However, this was a Liberty copy with some wear on the cover, and it was a later cover with the Division of Liberty lettering on the cover. In other words, this copy was not one that a high stakes collector or dealer would value.
However, as a listener of Sonny Rollins, it had some very good things going for it. For one, it was a monaural copy, which I’m not terribly picky over, except for these very early Blue Note recordings where the focus, at least for sales purposes and sound quality, was mono over the primitive stereo of the day. Secondly, it had the initials of Rudy Van Gelder in the dead wax which, without going into too many details, usually results in a high quality sound regardless of year of issue. Lastly, this thing was cheap! Relatively so, but at less than half the price of the copy that Mr. Mono showed me. I felt that if I was ever going to enjoy this record in its somewhat original form, this was going to be the most affordable way to do so.
After a busy few days of package receiving because of the other Rollins LPs I had just purchased, Volume 2 arrived almost as if it matched my opinion of it, as an afterthought. It was the last in a string of records that I had just purchased, and the two records that preceded it (Volume 1 and Newk’s Time) were two of my favorites. Well imagine my surprise when I dropped the needle. The opening riff of “Why Don’t I?” leapt out of the speaker with great urgency. To me it could have been an outtake from Volume 1 with its loud, honking Rollins riff announcing his unmistakable tone in a similar manner to the Volume 1 jams “Decision” and “Bluesnote”. Despite the presence of a piano here, Rollins hints at the legendary style of pianoless strolling he would perfect the following year, all while trading loud, fast riffs with Art Blakey in a conversation punctuated by the drummer’s own Elvin Jones-esque grunts and patented press roll. It all makes for an exciting conclusion to the take.
Another surprising highlight of the album that mirrored my expectations is the song “Wail March”. I am not usually a fan of marches, from the traditional bop march of “Blues March” by Blakey’s Messengers to the almost avant garde style of march found on Bobby Hutcherson’s “Les Noires Marchant”, but “Wail March” changed that quickly. Normally turned off by their corny, almost antiquated style of beat, “Wail March” is a freewheeling song with the driving snare of any classic march but also wild, reckless improvisation by Rollins and trombonist J.J. Johnson and an admittedly catchy chorus. I could not picture any of the stereotypically bland members of a T.V. sitcom marching band playing such a swinging tune at all. It is one of the myriad example of Rollins taking a theme or tune that was considered ‘corny’ or ‘overdone’ and using his dominating tone and knack for off-the-cuff improvisation to make it into something fresh and revolutionary.
The track on this record that most critics laud is the rendition of the Thelonious Monk standard “Misterioso”, instantly memorable because of a repeating, haunting piano riff played by Monk with a sporadic stabbing motion. It has been recorded on many other albums, but this version instantly became my favorite. Every member of the band plays to their strengths on this song. J.J. Johnson has a memorable solo where he fluidly recreates the opening riff while Rollins finds yet another way to insert “Camptown Races” into a song. Horace Silver and Monk appear on the track — a rarity — and they do a remarkable job of playing their own styles. So many musicians have tried to play Monk’s songs just like he did and failed. These guys all knew how to play with Monk. They all retain their own unique sounds all while paying respect to the song’s original theme.
A few weeks ago, Rich and I had one of our many conversations about our respective collections. We discussed what we believed in our opinion to be the best pressings of Blue Note records in terms of collectability, sound quality, condition, lack of wear, and value. The Division of Liberty Blue Notes, especially reissues of earlier Blue Note material in mono, continued to come up in our talks. When I mentioned to Rich that I had quite a few of these, he asked me to review and write about them for his blog, and in the next few posts I hope to demonstrate that these pressings are not just a mere runner-up to original pressings. They have the potential to provide collectors with a high-quality, affordable listening experience while maintaining many of the hallmarks that make originals so collectable.
Many people think that there is a mystique to the Blue Note sound captured by engineer Rudy Van Gelder. That, of course, is an unscientific way of saying that there is an unexplainable and unique sound to these records. The fact that a Liberty pressing purchased at a discount price can project the classic Blue Note sound so well speaks volumes. It essentially changed my opinion of the recording and also provides evidence that Blue Note’s new parent label was capable of preserving the sound of the original LPs to a tee.
Recorded November 25, 1956 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released January 1957
Selection: “Touch and Go” (Mobley)
Selection: “Double Whammy” (Mobley)
It’s been a while since I first discovered this album but I’m pretty sure I first heard it on Spotify back when they had that cool Blue Note app that allowed you to sift through the albums like actual records. This album mesmerized me instantly; the thunderous chorus of horns that introduces the album alerts the listener to the arrival of jazz royalty.
There was something different about this sound, though. The horns had a tremendous sonic impact. The unique arrangement of two trumpets and one tenor saxophone was certainly playing a role, but recording engineer Rudy Van Gelder had clearly found a rare synergy with his equipment that day and I have yet to hear this horn sound topped by any other jazz recording. It is intense, smooth, and cohesive all at once. Van Gelder was getting a similar sound on other albums in late 1956 but perhaps the particular combination of Mobley, Byrd, and Morgan sets this album apart. The engineer’s choices regarding microphone positioning, preamplifier gain, compression, and instrument balance certainly played a role in the creation of this monumental sound as well.
The album’s compositions, all written by leader Hank Mobley, are consistently menacing. The haunting harmonies of “Touch and Go” and “Double Whammy” carry a sense of foreboding, and while “Barrel of Funk” has a rather upbeat “A” section, the tune ultimately transforms into an intriguing progression of minor-key origins at its bridge. Even the album’s most upbeat tune, “Mobleymania”, manages to keep listeners on the edge of their seats with harmonic tension.
Blue Note catalog number 1540 features Mobley’s characteristic sweet, smooth tone throughout. As a youthful pair of trumpeters, Donald Byrd and Lee Morgan are difficult to tell apart. Horace Silver does little to detract from this star-studded frontline, and the forefather of bop humbly yet tastefully blends into the background for much of the program. Silver’s comping is never boastful here, but at the same time it falls short of embodying the pianist’s big musical personality and signature funk (it wouldn’t be long before Silver would ditch sideman work for good and become the leader of his own legendary quintet). To round things out, drummer Charlie Persip sits at the throne behind his drum kit in the far corner of Rudy Van Gelder’s living room studio. I cannot get enough of the beautiful simplicity of Van Gelder’s mono drum sound at Hackensack in the late ’50s. Persip sounds just as good as anyone in that room and his straight-ahead timekeeping compliments Van Gelder’s technique exceedingly well.
Beyond a repress in the late ’60s after Blue Note had been sold to Liberty Records (the proof of which lies in the existence of copies with “RVG” etchings but no “ear”), this album has never been reissued in the United States, not even on compact disc (it has, however, appeared on numerous compilations including Mosaic’s box set of Mobley’s ’50s Blue Note recordings). The Japanese almost never left a Blue Note stone unturned though and this album is no exception, having been reissued by Toshiba-EMI five times in various formats. I was also considering the King reissue from the same year when I bought this 1983 Toshiba copy on eBay from a Japanese seller but ultimately chose the Toshiba not only because it was cheaper but I also noticed that the fonts used on the Toshiba cover more accurately portrayed those of the original artwork (King album covers also often admit an unnaturally high level of contrast). This was my first Japanese Blue Note vinyl reissue venture and I remember being stunned by how dead-quiet this pressing was.
My dream is to someday own a vintage copy of this album with RVG etchings. Until then, this Toshiba reissue is sure to get lots of turntable time in my house.
Original Jazz Classics reissue circa 1983 (OJC-063)
“GH” etched in dead wax (side 2 only)
Personnel:
Steve Lacy, soprano saxophone
Mal Waldron, piano
Buell Neidlinger, bass
Elvin Jones, drums
Recorded October 17, 1958 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released in 1959
Selection:
“Reflections” (Monk)
My discovery of this album came as a pleasant surprise. A record-dealing friend had recently pulled a mammoth score including a dozen or so cardboard boxes packed with jazz reissues. Sifting through the boxes, the bold lime green of this cover caught my eye as most modern, mid-century cover designs do. I knew nothing about Steve Lacy, and even though I had seen the album cover once or twice online, for the first time I noticed the words “plays Thelonious Monk” (unbeknownst to me at the time, “Reflections” is the title of a lesser-known Monk composition). I turned the cover over to glance at the arrangement. It was then that I realized that Steve Lacy was not one to follow trends. An album of Monk compositions played with soprano sax? I had long been a fan of John Coltrane’s work with the then-out-of-fashion instrument so I was intrigued.
On this expedition I had the luxury of being able to preview records as I dug, and when I put this record on I was surprised by how much I liked what I was hearing. I quickly realized that Lacy had chosen more obscure, challenging Monk tunes for the album. Wynton Marsalis did something similar when I saw the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra pay tribute to Monk at Town Hall in New York City in 2016 and I admire the bravery that goes into making this kind of choice.
Not to discredit Lacy’s chops (of which he has plenty), just the combination of Monk’s music being played with soprano sax is a treat in and of itself. Lacy and session pianist Mal Waldron are clearly big fans of Monk’s, each having recorded Monk tunes numerous times throughout their careers. Considering how much I enjoy this album on top of its condition and the price I paid, this has become one of my favorite records in my collection.
Recorded April 21-22, 1961 at the Blackhawk, San Francisco, California
Originally released September 1961
1
Walkin’
2
Bye Bye Blackbird
3
All Of You
4
No Blues
5
Bye Bye (Theme)
6
Love I’ve Found You
7
Well You Needn’t
8
Fran-Dance
9
So What
10
Oleo
11
If I Were a Bell
12
Neo
Selections:
“Walkin'” (Carpenter)
“So What” (Davis)
My Friday Night copy is considered an original pressing by most collectors but my Saturday Night copy is not due to the “CBS” marking on the labels. This is where I diverge from the record collecting consensus. I would agree that the CBS copy is not a first pressing but I would argue that there’s nothing wrong with referring to it as an “original pressing”. Being as specific as possible seems the honorable thing to do when it comes to selling, but my feeling is that in everyday conversation any copy of an album that would have been released in the era the album was originally released can rightfully be called an original (certainly, “in the era” is open to interpretation). Seeing that my CBS copy of Saturday Night was in all likelihood pressed in either the same year or the year after a first pressing, I don’t hesitate to think of this as an “original pressing”.
Live recording is by and large a more challenging endeavor when compared to the higher degree of control typically obtained in a recording studio. That being said, this Miles Davis album is an exceptional example of a live recording. Every instrument has its own space, even in mono, and the level of detail and accuracy here is a welcome break from the smeared, distorted sound of many live albums. Not only does Jimmy Cobb’s drum kit sound incredible here, his playing has a captivating and energetic sense of forward motion that seems to predict Tony Williams’ inclusion in Davis’ lineup shortly after. These albums also present a rare opportunity to hear how tenor saxophonist Hank Mobley, a mainstay of Blue Note records, holds up under the intense scrutiny of the date’s superstar bandleader.
“A DIVISION OF UNITED ARTISTS RECORDS, INC.” on both labels
Personnel:
Lee Morgan, trumpet
Curtis Fuller, trombone
John Jenkins, alto saxophone
Cliff Jordan, tenor saxophone
Ray Bryant, piano
Paul Chambers, bass
Art Taylor, drums
Recorded June 2, 1957 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released October 1957
Selection:
“Blue Shoes” (Fuller)
Truth be told, these United Artists mono pressings from the early to mid ’70s are hit and miss, having heard more than one that suffered from significant non-fill problems. But this particular copy made it through that inconsistent manufacturing process unscathed. United Artists pressings also seem to have a gentler top end than a lot of modern audiophile reissues, which to some collectors makes them worth seeking out despite the difficulty in finding a quality copy.
This particular Cliff Jordan album also seems difficult to find in any format, which is why I jumped at the chance to buy it when it popped up on eBay. Discogs indicates that it has only been issued in the US twice on vinyl (originally in 1957 and this copy in the early ’70s) and never on CD. Though it has been reissued by Toshiba EMI in Japan once as an LP in 1984 (undocumented by Discogs) and three more times on compact disc there, these copies are hard to find in the states. And try you may, but you will not find these sides in any shape or form on iTunes or Spotify, making this a rare and special listen indeed.
Since its introduction in the 1950s, the stereo audio format has become an inseparable part of listening to recorded music. This two-channel standard has been implemented on such a universal scale, the terms “stereo” and “audio system” are virtually interchangeable today in everyday language. The original theory of sound recording was a little different though. Mono, short for monaural, is the single-channel format fundamentally connected to the invention of recorded sound. Mono enjoyed an unchallenged half-century reign in the music industry until stereo came along to dominate and drive the senior format to the point of commercial extinction.
For someone who grew up in the stereo age, mono recordings can sound primitive and cramped when compared to the wider, more spacious aspects of stereo sound, and this heightened sense of realism is what ultimately won over the music-buying public back in the 1960s. But not only are some of history’s greatest music performances only available to us as mono recordings today, time has proven that the antiquated format possesses an allure that continues to charm music lovers of all ages. When done right, mono recordings demonstrate a great sense of cohesion and power, and the best of them also do an ample job of establishing a sense of depth and space. Though creating a mono recording that checks all of these boxes is no small technological feat, the great audio engineers of yesteryear have managed to hand down to us a treasure trove of work in mono that is both breathtaking and timeless.
If you’re a vintage jazz record collector, you’re probably aware of the fact that all mono LPs are compatible with today’s stereo audio equipment. While this is true, playing a mono record on a stereo audio system without making the proper adjustments leaves room for improvement. This article is designed to help you get the most out of playing your mono LPs in a modern stereo world.
What Exactly Is a Mono Record?
The answer to this question is potentially quite complicated. The difference between mono recordings and mono masterings of recordings needs clarifying, as does the difference between mono records cut before and after the death of the mono format in the late 1960s. For the purpose of this article though we can settle for a simpler definition of a mono record being a record that is intended to produce the same exact audio signal in both the left and right channels of a stereo audio chain. True, without any fuss a listener will hear roughly the same thing coming from both speakers when they play a clean mono record on a stereo audio system (think reissues), but our goal is to hear the exact same thing from both speakers and in the process lower distortion and improve the signal-to-noise ratio of the overall listening experience. This goal becomes especially important when dealing with original pressings made in the 1950s and 1960s that have accumulated a significant amount of wear from usage.
Knowing If a Record Is Mono
Before we get started, let’s be sure that our records are even mono in the first place (by all means, if this is a no-brainer for you, feel free to skip this section). The easiest way to tell if a record is mono is if there is some indicator on either the front or back of the album jacket. For vintage records (we’re still talking ’50s and ’60s), the absence of the word “stereo” will usually suggest that a record is mono. The next easiest way to tell is simply by listening, and the best way to achieve this goal is with headphones. If the music sounds mono (like it’s in the center of the stereo field) but the surface noise sounds stereo (wider in the stereo field), your record is mono. Note that the loudest parts of a mono record are where you will hear the first signs of distortion from wear, and at those moments the music may sound like it’s stereo (though it shouldn’t), so focus on quieter parts of the music. Finally, to state the obvious, if there are instruments or sounds distinctly positioned to either the left or right side of the stereo spread, your record is stereo. In cases where the stereo positioning of instruments is more extreme — common in our era of the ’50s and ’60s — you can also easily identify a stereo record by turning the panning knob on your amplifier all the way left then all the way right and back again. If some instruments sound very present at one turn then very distant or completely absent at another, then your record is stereo.
What’s Wrong with Listening to a Mono Record in Stereo?
If you’ve been listening to mono records in stereo your whole life, there are two significant ways in which your listening experience can be improved by effectively listening in mono on a stereo system. First, surface noise can be reduced and made less noticeable. Many marks on the surface of a vinyl record manifest as out-of-phase noise on the far left and right of the stereo field. When listening to a mono record on a stereo audio system, these pops and ticks are heard in a very different position than the actual music, which lies directly in the center of the stereo field. By listening in mono though, not only does the out-of-phase nature of this noise lead to its reduction in relation to the volume level of the music, much of whatever surface noise remains will be masked by the music in the center of the would-be stereo field.
Presented here are two audio clips. The first is of a mono record being played in stereo, the second being the same record played in mono. In the second clip, notice how the surface noise has collapsed to the center of the “stereo field” and is more difficult to discern once the music kicks in:
Horace Silver, “Finger Poppin'” (Original 1959 mono pressing of Finger Poppin’ with the Horace Silver Quintet)
Stereo Playback:
Mono Playback:
Second and similar to surface noise, groove wear on vintage mono records also often manifests as out-of-phase (stereo) noise. This distortion can also be reduced by listening in mono, and the fuzzy, smeared sound that would be heard listening in stereo becomes a tighter, more focused central image. The following audio clips emphasize this type of improvement:
Lou Donaldson, “Avalon” (Original 1962 mono pressing of Gravy Train)
Stereo Playback:
Mono Playback:
For a visual account of these improvements, the following two diagrams illustrate how listening to mono records in mono can provide an improved listening experience (the circles represent music and the curved lines represent surface noise):
Stereo playback of a mono vinyl LP
Mono playback of a mono vinyl LP
How Do I Play My Mono Records in Mono on a Stereo System?
Now that we’ve identified the ways in which playback of your mono LPs can be improved, how do we achieve this? Everyone has different equipment situations so there is no one-size-fits-all solution, but surely there is a sensible option for everyone.
If you use a turntable with a tonearm that accepts removable headshells, the most obvious hassle-free solution is to acquire a mono cartridge. Luckily, getting a mono cartridge doesn’t mean you need to hunt down a vintage one. Cartridge manufacturers like Ortofon, Grado, Audio-Technica, and Miyajima all currently provide quality mono cartridge solutions that are compatible with modern stereo turntables.* You may need to adjust your counterweight each time you switch, but when you want to play a mono record, simply swap cartridges. (Click here to visit the Deep Groove Mono Cartridge Database.)
A sampling of mono cartridges currently on the market
If you don’t have a tonearm that uses removable headshells, or if you simply don’t want to fuss with swapping the cartridge and adjusting the counterweight every time, there are other options. While a mono cartridge will produce identical signals in both channels of a stereo system (a duplicated “mono signal”, if you will), simply summing the left and right channels of a stereo cartridge can actually produce comparable results (for more information, see the appendix at the end of this article).
One way to do this is with a mono button on an amplifier. Many vintage stereo amplifiers have mono buttons. If you don’t have access to one of these vintage amps, you can also sum with a stereo-mono switch, though these can be hard to find and are usually custom-built (members of the Steve Hoffman Forum can purchase one here). Another summing option is using a “double Y-cable” configuration, which involves placing a pair of RCA adapters in the signal chain, though the obvious drawback of this option is that you need to remove the adapters every time you switch between mono and stereo (the method is outlined here in this Steve Hoffman Music Forum thread).
Will either using a mono cartridge or summing provide more favorable results? Though the answer to this question certainly depends on which cartridges you are using, here we offer up one of these comparisons. The first is the result of playing a vintage mono record with a Grado MC+ mono cartridge and the second is a clip of the same record being played with a Shure M44-7 stereo cartridge and the mono button engaged on an integrated amplifier:
Johnny Coles, “Jano” (Original 1964 mono pressing of Little Johnny C.)
Grado MC+ mono cartridge:
Shure M44-7 stereo cartridge with channels summed:
A final, less popular option is to use a “left channel only” or “right channel only” setting on an amplifier. Unlike a mono setting that sums the channels, these settings will duplicate one of the two stereo channels in both signal paths. While this method typically fails to improve the signal-to-noise ratio of the signal, it is preferable in some rare instances. For example, if a record was played many times on a turntable with severe anti-skate problems, one groove wall may be in much better shape than the other, and listening to one channel or the other may prove more desirable than summing.
McIntosh MA6200 integrated amplifier with mono, L-to-L&R, and R-to-L&R settings
Vintage vs. Modern Mono Records & Stylus Size: Is Bigger Always Better?
The only other variable that modern mono lovers need to consider is stylus size. Today’s stereo (and mono) LPs are cut with a groove width optimized for playback with a modern stylus tip measuring approximately 0.7 mils at its longest radius (1 mil equals 0.001 inches or one-thousandth of an inch; in the metric system, 0.7 mils is equivalent to about 18 “microns” or micrometers, where 1 micron equals 0.001 millimeters or one-millionth of a meter). However, vintage mono LPs mastered prior to 1970 were actually cut with the intention of being played back with a larger 1-mil (25-micron) stylus.
For mono LPs mastered after 1970, a 0.7-mil stylus is the only sensible option. Fortunately, this is the spec for virtually all modern cartridges, mono and stereo alike (a few exceptions to this rule are the Ortofon OM cartridge with optional D25M stylus, the Ortofon CG 25, and the Miyajima Zero, all which sport 1-mil styli). As for playback of vintage mono LPs mastered before 1970, while it’s true that these discs were cut to be played with a 1-mil stylus, a 0.7-mil stylus will also fit these grooves. What’s more, there’s an attractive theory that a narrower 0.7-mil profile might avoid areas of wear higher up on the groove wall created by repeated plays back when 1 mil was the standard. In a perfect world, collectors would have both options at their disposal and make their choices on a case-by-case basis. But in the event that you must choose one stylus for playback of all mono and stereo LPs from all eras, a 0.7-mil stylus should suit you just fine.
(L to R) Ortofon OM with D25M stylus, Ortofon CG 25, Miyajima Zero
Once more, we have two audio clips to offer up for comparison. The first is a vintage mono LP from 1959 being played with the previously mentioned Ortofon OM cartridge and D25M 1-mil conical stylus, and the second clip is the same record being played with a Shure M44-G cartridge with a 0.7-mil conical stylus (both cartridges are stereo and channels are summed for both clips):
Donald Byrd, “Lover, Come Back to Me” (Original 1959 mono pressing of Off to the Races)
Ortofon OM cartridge with D25M 1-mil stylus:
Shure M44-G cartridge with stock 0.7-mil stylus:
Note that stylus size in and of itself has no bearing on whether a record will play mono or stereo; the inner workings of the cartridge are what ultimately determine this.
Conclusion
Despite stereo’s current reign as the industry’s standard format, mono sound has certain qualities that distinguish it from stereo and make it special. When done right, mono can be a highly enjoyable listening experience. Mono recordings have a simplicity that give them character. Their “punch” is intrinsically tied to the limitations of the format, and the same can be said of the way the elements of a mono mix meld together into one cohesive whole. My hope is that this article has explained how to get the most out of your mono records and has also provided you with a practical, affordable solution in your quest to obtain the finest mono vinyl playback possible.
* Advanced collectors will appreciate a note regarding the difference between single-coil and dual-coil mono cartridge design. In theory, a single-coil design will provide an even higher signal-to-noise ratio than a dual-coil design. Known single-coil models include the Ortofon CG 25, Miyajima Zero, and Denon DL-102. Additionally, mono carts with no vertical compliance (the CG 25 and Zero) may also produce superior results, though newcomers should be aware that the lower compliance of these cartridges requires a special high-mass tonearm to achieve the appropriate resonant frequency for the system.
Appendix
“Stereo information” in a stereo record is information that is not equally present in the left and right channels of a stereo signal, and it is determined by the unique vertical modulations cut into each groove wall. “Mono (centered) information” is equally present in both channels and is determined by horizontal modulations in the groove only. Since surface marks on a record generate both horizontal and vertical motions of a stylus, playing a mono record with a stereo cartridge will not only reproduce noise related to the vertical motions of the stylus, that noise will usually be more noticeable because it will be in a very different position than the music in the stereo field. Using a modern mono cartridge will certainly cure this ailment, but summing a stereo signal from a stereo cartridge will produce noticeable improvements as well. The reason for this is because much vertical noise in a record’s groove is “out-of-phase”, meaning that the voltages produced by the cartridge’s left and right channels are to some extent polar opposites of each other, so when they are summed together, not only is the volume of this (stereo) noise reduced, the relative volume of the mono information i.e. the music is slightly boosted as well.
To illustrate this, the screenshots below show various waveforms in a digital audio workstation. The first shows the left and right channels of a mono record being played in stereo, while the second shows the same record played with the left and right channels summed using the mono button on an amplifier (both clips use the same stereo cartridge):
Lead-in groove of a mono record being played in stereo
Lead-in groove of the same mono record being played with channels summed to mono
“A DIVISION OF UNITED ARTISTS RECORDS, INC.” on both labels
Personnel:
Jerry Lloyd, trumpet
Zoot Sims, tenor saxophone
Jutta Hipp, piano
Ahmed Abdul-Malik, bass
Ed Thigpen, drums
Recorded July 28, 1956 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
Originally released February 1957
1
Just Blues
2
Violets for Your Furs
3
Down Home
4
Almost Like Being in Love
5
Wee-Dot
6
Too Close for Comfort
Selections:
“Just Blues” (Sims)
For Collectors
This LP didn’t pique my interest until I saw an original pressing on the wall at an esteemed Manhattan record shop last fall. Though I was unfamiliar with the music, I knew of the record’s ‘holy grail’ status. Needless to say, I was intrigued. At this point in my time collecting I felt confident handling such an expensive piece, and when I removed the vinyl from the sleeve it was beautiful — Lexington Ave. labels, flat edge, deep groove, all the trimmings. When I got home later that evening I gave it a listen on Spotify and quickly realized how fun and animated the music was. Though I had never spent anywhere near the asking price on a record before, the thought that I may never see the record again eventually captivated my mind, so I arranged an in-store audition.
I set out with cash in hand, ready to make what I believed to be a respectable offer. When I got to the store, I took a more careful look at the record before it played. Visually it was beautiful with only some light scuffing. When side 1 began, the music sounded loud and present and I liked what I heard. The second song, the ballad “Violets for Your Furs”, was quieter though, and revealed light yet consistent surface noise. The owner said the record had been cleaned, which was a bit disconcerting in consideration of the noise I was hearing. I began listening more carefully, and by the time the needle got to trumpeter Jerry Lloyd’s solo on “Down Home”, the last song on the first side, the deal was dead, as inner groove distortion was evident. I thanked the owner for his time and left the shop a (much) wealthier person.
At this point I knew I loved the music, so I picked up the Classic Records reissue. It sounded great, but I still wanted to see if there was something I was missing out on that could only be provided by a younger, fresher master tape. So I sought out the copy you see here, an early ‘70s United Artists copy (technically the second ever pressing of the album). Ultimately, the master tape sounded similar with both pressings and I decided to keep the UA.
(Note: The following two paragraphs were updated June 2024.) At this point it is clear that at least some of these UA mono LPs were exported for sale in Japan, as many copies can still be found with Japanese “OBI” stickers. The common cut corners with these records signal either promotional use or discounted/no-returns status. Additionally, although these early ’70s Blue Note reissues are some of the earliest to not be mastered by Rudy Van Gelder, Liberty Records had begun using other mastering engineers as early as 1966. But who mastered many of these United Artists reissues remains a mystery.
Some of these US reissues are not sourced from the original tapes. According to Blue Note archivist Michael Cuscuna, United Artists would have been the first parent label to demand that Blue Note’s original master tapes be duplicated (sometimes with Dolby noise reduction) in the event that the tape was beginning to flake. (This is why original copies of classic Blue Note albums with Van Gelder mastering are so valuable: there is no debating that they were made using first generation tapes shortly after the recording sessions.) But this myriad of possibilities doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on the quality of this particular finished product, the results of which can be heard in the needledrops above.
For Music Lovers
To stand out in the testosterone-overrun world of instrumental jazz, it certainly didn’t hurt that German-born pianist Jutta (pronounced “Yoo-ta”) Hipp was a woman. That’s probably what esteemed jazz critic Leonard Feather was thinking in 1954 when he began nurturing the undiscovered talent. After hearing a friend’s recording of her, Feather booked studio time in Germany for the 29-year-old redheaded bopper (New Faces – New Sounds from Germany, Blue Note 5056), then arranged for Hipp to come to New York City in November 1955 for a residency at the Hickory House on East 52nd Street. The six-month stretch that followed proved quite an eventful time for the pianist. She was recorded on location by Blue Note in April (Jutta Hipp at the Hickory House, BLP 1515/6), and amongst the plethora of world-renowned jazz musicians whose acquaintance she had the pleasure of making, Hipp was reunited with tenor saxophonist Zoot Sims, whom she had originally jammed with on the Continent a few years back when Sims was on tour with bandleader Stan Kenton.
Hipp woud eventually be asked to assemble a combo for a Blue Note session at the label’s holy house of sound, engineer Rudy Van Gelder’s home recording studio in Hackensack, New Jersey. Sims would be recruited along with drummer Ed Thigpen, the backbone of Hipp’s Hickory House trio. Trumpeter Jerry Lloyd came along with Sims and bassist Ahmed Abdul-Malik entered the equation as well. Overseen by Alfred Lion, a fellow German native, the session commenced in late July 1956 and produced the entirety of the LP in a single day.
The band warmed up with a pair of ballads: the Matt Dennis-Tom Adair composition “Violets for Your Furs” (first recorded by Frank Sinatra two years prior), and the standard “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)”. The former took what was perhaps a nervous Hipp four takes to get through, and while the time constraints of the LP format wouldn’t allow the latter on to the original release, it would surface for the first time 40 years later along with George Gershwin’s “’S Wonderful” on the 1996 Connoisseur Series compact disc.
Sims and Hipp rehearsing at Van Gelder Studio
Hours later, by the time seven songs were laid to tape, the session was all but complete when Sims would have suggested the band riff on an up-tempo twelve-bar progression of his choosing. The result was “Just Blues”, and the track proved to be so much fun that it would later be chosen as the album’s opener. (In a review for All About Jazz, critic Chris M. Slawecki quipped, “Sims contributed the opening “Just Blues”, although he apparently couldn’t be bothered to title it,” which provokes the comical image of Lion turning to Sims for the title after the take with Sims shrugging and humbly replying, “Just blues.”)
The album would eventually make it to store shelves seven months later in February 1957. But by this time Hipp had mysteriously disappeared from the scene, and without star power to drive album sales, the sides wouldn’t be repressed until the glory days of hard bop were long over, rendering the original LP a figment to the vast majority of the jazz record collecting populous.
On first listen, the music here may sound a bit old-fashioned when held up to other cutting edge jazz albums recorded in 1956, but the consistently fun vibe of Jutta Hipp with Zoot Sims proves difficult to deny. Sims would assume the unofficial role of leader that day, bringing a playful, infectious energy to the studio, and Hipp rose to the occasion despite known confidence issues. Thigpen, who would go on to form one-third of the legendary Oscar Peterson Trio, provides a steady, driving rhythm throughout, putting the soloists in the zone with inspiring momentum on more upbeat tunes like “Just Blues”, Lloyd’s “Down Home” and the J.J. Johnson composition “Wee Dot”.
Drummer Ed Thigpen
The recording itself is one of Rudy Van Gelder’s finest. By 1956 the engineer had finally backed off the quirky artificial spring reverb that hinders many of his earliest recordings, allowing listeners to hear the natural ambience of the Hackensack living room in all its makeshift glory. Soft, warm cymbals also define Van Gelder’s sound during this period, giving the music a unique, almost cartoony character. For the finishing touch, Reid Miles provided some of his most iconic design: a colorful, modern jumble of rectangles primitively imitating the keys of a piano (the cover has proven so iconic it has found a home in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City).
Sadly, this was the last time Hipp would enter a recording studio. At some point the pianist became jaded by the music industry, retreating to Queens to work in a textile factory. She returned to her first creative passion, painting, and lived alone there until 2003 when she passed away due to terminal illness. There are only a few recordings of the German phenom to be heard as a result, and we should be grateful for this particular shining example of her talents.
Side 1/2 matrix: AVCO ST-A-59201 / AVCO ST-A-59202
Personnel:
All but “Naima”:
John Coltrane, tenor saxophone
Tommy Flanagan, piano
Paul Chambers, bass
Art Taylor, drums
“Naima” only:
John Coltrane, tenor saxophone
Wynton Kelly, piano
Paul Chambers, bass
Jimmy Cobb, drums
All but “Naima” recorded May 4-5, 1959; “Naima” recorded December 2, 1959
All selections recorded at Atlantic Records’ 56th Street studio, NYC
Originally released January 1960
1
Giant Steps
2
Cousin Mary
3
Countdown
4
Spiral
5
Syeeda’s Song Flute
6
Naima
7
Mr. P.C.
Selections:
“Giant Steps” (Coltrane) [Mono]
“Giant Steps” (Coltrane) [Stereo]
Behold! Deep Groove Mono offers up its first ever head-to-head comparison. Here we take a listen to vintage mono and stereo pressings of the classic John Coltrane album Giant Steps. I had the mono LP first, but I liked the original stereo CD so much that when I saw this stereo LP for a great price I couldn’t pass it up.
Tom Dowd
Giant Steps was recorded at Atlantic’s infamous 56th Street “office studio” under the supervision of legendary recording engineer Tom Dowd. According to the album’s liner notes, it was recorded to an Ampex 300-8R eight-track tape recorder, the results of which are two distinct i.e. ‘dedicated’ mixes, meaning the mono mix is not a ‘fold-down’.
The mono: Coltrane is front and center in this dark, bass-y mix. Trane and pianist Tommy Flanagan sit in good relationship to each other, though Paul Chambers’ bass doesn’t have a whole lot of definition, and Art Taylor’s drums get a bit buried behind Coltrane’s screaming presence.
The stereo: No instruments are presented center here, which for better or worse takes something away from Trane’s presence. (I doubt that Dowd was not yet privy to the theory of the ‘phantom center image’, and I can’t help but wonder why he was still not utilizing the center at this time.) Chambers’ bass still lacks good definition, though the spread gives Taylor more room to cut through. My first version of this album was the original 1990 stereo CD and I always appreciated how well I could hear the nuances in Taylor’s drumming in the stereo mix (I especially love the detail of the ride cymbal).
Head-to-head: On speakers, both mixes sound quite full, but in headphones the stereo version’s wide spread and its emphasis on the bass and treble leaves the mono feeling quite thin. However, Coltrane commands more presence in the mono mix, not only because he has been shifted from the far left to the center, but the mono also seems to favor the midrange, where the saxophone’s timbre is largely defined. This is probably why I feel that Coltrane sounds a bit muffled in the stereo mix when compared to the mono.
The verdict: Through speakers, both mixes sound great to me and I’d be happy to own either copy if I didn’t have a choice. But while I can only assume that most die-hard Coltrane fans will prefer the leader’s stronger presence in the mono mix, I personally love hearing all the nuances of Taylor’s kit in the stereo mix through headphones, which is probably why this is my favorite listening experience overall.
To play us out, I have included “Naima” as an added bonus because it is simply one of my favorite ballads of all-time. I chose the mono version because I find that the tune’s sparse composition works better without all the ‘empty space’ inherent in the stereo mix.
