Whither the Walkman?

OK, it's confirmed - I like retro stuff. I like shiny new stuff as well, but it doesn't provide quite the same frisson as nice old gear. Thing is, technology is developing at such a pace that shiny new stuff becomes nice old gear fairly quickly.

I have been volunteering in a local 'op shop' (charity shop/thrift store) lately, and have just started testing the donated electrical gear. Among all of the toasters, vacuum cleaners and vibrating foot spas there is the occasional item of greater interest, and I find that I have to control my urge to claim these relics as my own. One plastic bag contained a number of boxed devices - radio, portable cassette recorder, mini-vac, and so on. It looked like an electrical dealer had had a clear-out of the back room.

The piece that stopped me in my tracks was a 'Walkman'-type cassette player. Ordinarily, I'd pass by one of these very quickly, never having had a real need for music on the go; I don't own an iPod, and possibly never will (but as I've still got my old slide viewer, I could do this with it). Also, I've seen enough sad-looking cheap specimens to know that they are usually not worth a second glance, even in their heyday. This little Panasonic beauty though, seemed a notch above the rest. It looked like a serious piece of kit and was a recorder as well, in pristine condition. I've been thinking about getting a recording device, so that I can do some interviews, and this seemed to be the ideal thing.


Recording is via a built-in mic, or by using the plug-in stereo mic supplied (Stereo Dynamic Sound, the box says), or if I'm feeling particularly Luddite, by plugging into the PC and copying MP3s across... Listening is by earphones or with the built-in speakers (or by borrowing the PC speakers). I can record and playback at either of 2 speeds, and when I've had enough of recording myself and playing back in Barry White mode, I can listen to the radio, either FM or good old AM. To perfectly locate the aerial, I can rotate it into any of 18 click-stopped positions on one axis (the other axis just does the mundane swivel thing, but it's very tight and smooth).

All in all, it's a fully-packed little gizmo, even though it won't play MPEGs or AVIs; as it is, I have already used it to transfer a set of audio tapes to MP3, before the tapes lose their magnetic charm. A tone control and a setting for metal tape would be nice, but I won't lose any sleep over it.

Judging by the sticker on the box, it's only 6 years old, but using, as it does, the antediluvian audio cassette instead of flash memory or a HDD, it's retro enough to give me that secret tingle. Oh, what fun we'll have, me and my RQ-A300 - once I've bought some blank audio tapes. As John Lee Hooker said, "this is hip".

Still Sparking

I was sorting music on the PC, and found an old Sparks track (I was a fan in the early-mid 70s). Having also recently seen a more recent Sparks video on Rage, I decided to go for a quick web-nosey, finding a few things that took me back. Surprised to find the boys are still going strong (stronger than ever, by some accounts), I arrived at their official site. (I was never a big fan of electronic pop - theirs or anyone else's - so although I'm not falling over myself to discover their latest stuff, I admit to being curious about the favourably-reviewed Lil' Beethoven.)


Now, I have more than a passing interest in retro, so this site caught my eye. A natty Flash home page (Flash doesn't usually impress me all that much) provided a few moments' amusement in the company of an old typewriter. Clicketty-clack.

The past is evaporating

I have always been concerned about the disappearance of ephemeral (and not-so-ephemeral) things, that deserve a greater degree of longevity. In my domestic surroundings, this manifests as a love of old or antique furniture, cameras, books, and so on. Photographs have a special place in my heart, as documents of people and events in the past - especially when those photographs are from the early years of photographic endeavour.

Retro Thing reports on the potential loss of early expmples of computer software, in "Restoring Woz's Original Apple BASIC":

"You might not realize how much early microcomputer software has been lost over the years. Steve Wozniak's Apple BASIC is a case in point. Only a few original copies of the tape still exist, and there were no perfect binary dumps of the 4096 byte file until Michael Steil recently decided to try his hand at reading a 2002 mp3 audio recording [mp3] of the original 30 second cassette file."

This is especially horrifying when the potential loss relates to such a pivotal piece of computing history. Read on, here.

clipped from www.retrothing.com

Free Retro ebook

Hop over to Retrothing and download a copy of James Grahame's "Essential Retro" ebook, while it's available. James has obviously had a knock on the head, because he's giving this away free for a while. Miss out and you'll have to buy the real thing, or ... miss out.


I've been nosing around retrothing for a couple of years now, and find it a fascinating collection of what-used-to-be, what-is-again, and possibly, what-never-should-have-been-in-the-first-place. I don't share the interest in computer games (can't see why anyone would get excited about playing a 20-year-old game on an obsolete platform; actually, I don't get excited about computer games at all), but there's plenty other stuff besides.

Just like Grandma used to do it

There is a certain delight to be had in using a device that provokes your children to say "what's that?" - not because they haven't yet been introduced to one in school, but because they never will. I decided to make a meatloaf tonight (I'm no expert at it, this being only the second time I've done it. Bravely, I'm flying blind this time, as I can't be bothered to look out the recipe, wherever it might be!). Anyway, the meat was already minced, but I decided to mince the other ingredients - bread & vegies. It's such a satisfying process, and takes me back 40-odd years, when my mother would get the mincer out every Monday, to reduce the leftover Sunday roast to rissoles. I still love to scoff cold minced meat; there's something very pleasing about the texture (and taste). Now I think about it, the tadpoles in the garden also loved a bit of minced meat, as they nibbled furiously at small bits dropped in the water.

This one is a bit more decorative than the one my mother used (hers wasn't coloured), but it does the same efficient job.

Of course, one of the pleasures of the mincer was being allowed to turn the handle and watch the pulverized food pour out of the front. It's also very satisfying, just feeling the mechanism chew through the food as it does. This hasn't changed; I don't bring out this wondrous machine very often, but always enjoy the process. I think I probably bought the mincer simply so that I could relive that happy memory. Strange though, that neither of my children wanted to try it tonight, but then I suppose there's little fun to be had in using something that doesn't have LEDs, push buttons and a motor.


They say youth is wasted on the young; is that also true for simple pleasures?

In praise of a Weston

Way back when the world was young, and the word papparazzi wasn't even a twinkle in someone's eye, things happened at a slower pace. In the 'olden times', as my daughter might innocently say, there was less urgency to get one thing done and on to the next. A fast computer was someone who could flick through log tables in a flurry of pages, on the way to completion of a Herculean multiplication task. A small quality modern camera was likely to be a Rollei twin-lens reflex or perhaps a Contax rangefinder. A fast lens was around f2.8, and Kodachrome was hot stuff. (Kodachrome remained hot stuff for quite some time afterwards, but that's another story.)

In those peaceful times, there was no such thing as automated exposure control; a photographer had to use judgement and experience to get it right, or revert to using a hand-held light meter, such as a Weston. Almost an institution, the Weston Master was (is) a lovely instrument, with its snug, thick leather case and slim, heavy construction. It wasn't too good in low light – that needed an as-yet-unknown CdS cell – but as long as the needle wasn't bumping the bottom end of the scale, you were in business.

A swinging baffle allowed the large self-powered selenium cell (show me a light meter now that doesn't require batteries) to measure light over a fairly wide brightness range, and in later models a diffuser could be fitted over the cell, to measure the light falling on the subject instead of the reflected light, allowing a more objective exposure measurement. And that was about it. No bells or whistles, no LEDs or thumbwheel-controlled menu. Just a basic tool for no-nonsense, get on with it, photography. Pick it up, point it in the right direction, turn the dial, and there's your answer. Later models did provide a locking button, so that you could hold the measuring needle in place after the reading was taken, but that was about as high-tech as it got.

My Weston Master III doesn't get to see daylight very often these days, but that's all right. Occasionally, a modern light meter's battery fails, and out it comes, dependable as ever, to give me a result when it could otherwise be difficult to get the right exposure. I still like its glossy black enamel and rounded styling; the later silver-grey models with harder lines did little for me. If I'm using a pinhole camera (they don't see much daylight either), the Weston is a very appropriate tool to judge the right exposure: an unhurried measurement for an even more ponderous exposure. Deeply satisfying...