Into the Arms of Venus de Milo

Does Rhino's High Fidelity vinyl edition of Television's Marquee Moon live up to the hype?

I never thought of myself as much of an audiophile. All of my first truly transportive musical experiences came via the car radio, a portable school turntable, and a quarter-sized clock radio speaker, so the idea that I would somehow require heightened sonic fidelity to truly experience the power of music seemed really absurd to me for a long, long time.

As I’ve written here in the past, I didn’t even begin to think about what a difference vintage stereo components could make in my listening experience until the late 1990s, when I purchased a tube-driven 1960s jukebox. And even then, it took another 20 years or so until I finally realized that my turn-of-the-millenium digital stereo setup wasn’t really doing my ‘60s- and ‘70s-heavy vinyl collection any favors.

Not that my current ‘70s-centric setup (an Onkyo TX-2500 MKII receiver from about 1978, and a pair of Epicure speakers from the early ‘70s) would be any audiophile’s dream, then or now — that Onkyo cost me about ten percent of what a vintage ‘70s Marantz receiver would currently fetch — but it still sounds several leagues better than my old CD-age components, and the pleasure I’ve received from it has inspired me to do a little more research before buying (or re-buying) favorite records. It turns out that sound quality of certain vinyl albums, both old and new, can vary widely depending on when and where it was pressed, and (as I’ve learned the hard way) the fact that a record is advertised as “newly remastered” and pressed on 180g vinyl is no guarantee of improved sonics or even a pleasurable listening experience.

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There are times, however, when the hype turns out to be totally justified — like in the case of the 2022 Abbey Road Half Speed Master edition of The Who’s Tommy. Or, as I discovered this past weekend, Rhino Records’ new Rhino High Fidelity vinyl edition of Television’s classic 1977 album Marquee Moon.

Now, Marquee Moon is an album I’ve loved since I first taped a copy of it from my college radio station circa 1988, and its musical and transportive power have always been such that I never really thought too much about how “good” it sounded. After all, I’d originally taped it on to a TDK D-90, a cheap cassette tape that seemed to naturally shave off the top end of the audio spectrum while muffling the bottom, and my first actual purchase of the album was when it come out on (an extremely brittle-sounding) CD. But whether I was hearing the album via the dulled-senses fog of the TDK playback or the fillings-rattling treble of the CD, Tom Verlaine’s poetic lyrics and his and Richard Lloyd’s artfully-entwined guitars never failed to cast a spell on me.

In 2012, a few years after I started rebuilding my vinyl collection, I scored Rhino’s then-new vinyl reissue of Marquee Moon. Even though I already knew every note of it by heart, it was the first time I’d ever owned the record on vinyl, and I thought it sounded absolutely wonderful. I figured that this one would be the copy I’d hang on to for the rest of my days… until when, a few months ago, I started hearing rumblings about Rhino’s new all-analog, limited-edition High Fidelity reissue. I went to the Rhino store website for further info, and this is what I found:

AAA Cut From The Original Stereo Master Tapes By Kevin Gray
Pressed On 180-Gram Heavyweight Vinyl At Optimal
Heavyweight Glossy Gatefold Jacket
Features An Exclusive Insert With Notes By David Fricke, Featuring Commentary From Band Members Richard Lloyd, Fred Smith, and Billy Fica

I was skeptical at first — did I really need another version of Marquee Moon, considering that the copy I owned already sounded so damn good? And shouldn’t they be spelling “Ficca” with two c’s?

But Kevin Gray usually knows what he’s doing… and after hearing several trusted friends rave about this new version, I figured I should take a chance. Marquee Moon is one of my all-time favorite albums, so why wouldn’t I want an even-more-better version, if one existed at the not unreasonable price of $39.98? And anyway, a limited-edition pressing would be easy enough to sell off if the hype turned out to be just that.

Chris Cobb of The Ottawa Journal didn't care much for Marquee Moon. Well, fuck that guy.

My copy — numbered 2072 out of 5000 — arrived from Rhino last week. On Sunday night, right before I went to bed, I turned off all the lights in my living room (save for the mood-enhancing ones over by the stereo), turned the receiver up as loud as I knew it could go without bugging my landlord, and slapped the album on my turntable for a test drive. Then I sat back on my couch and closed my eyes…

Without keeping you in further suspense, let me just say that this version of Marquee Moon is indeed all that and a bag of knishes. The guitars (and Verlaine’s lyrics) were always the stars of the show to my ears, but this edition manages the neat trick of boosting (or maybe wiping the mud off of) Fred Smith’s bass and Billy Ficca’s drums just enough to give the music more snap, crackle and oomph without stepping on the guitars or vocals in any way.

While I always understood on an abstract and intellectual level that Smith and Ficca were great musicians — they’d have to be in order to hold their own with Verlaine and Lloyd, right? — this time out I can really hear it. Their newfound presence in the mix now truly highlights the band’s four-way interplay, and makes Smith and Ficca seem more like equal partners than a backup rhythm section.

There are a number of revelations on the guitar tip, too, though they’re generally more subtle — things like soft little filigreed note clusters that I’d never noticed during the quieter passages, or reverb-heavy punctuation notes whose tails last significantly longer than I’d remembered. The all-analog processing shaves just a hair of the treble off the dueling Fenders without sacrificing any of their attack, and maybe even ups the “chime” factor a little in the process. (If you’ve ever experienced a sense of aural fatigue after consuming one of the many digital incarnations of Marquee Moon, rest assured that you will not here.) The “soundstage” is wide, deep and wonderfully detailed, without losing any of the music’s original vibe or mystery.

For me, the overall effect on first listen was like seeing a pristine print of a classic film; the actors, dialogue, imagery and camera movements remain the same as ever, but somehow it all feels richer, more alive, more immersive and more impressive than it already did. Which doesn’t feel like a remotely hyperbolic comparison to make, given the inherently cinematic quality of so much of Marquee Moon’s lyrics and music. It’s truly a ‘70s noir film fractured into album form, a record where every song seems to take place at night, and is filled with blurry (and occasionally sharply focused) sonic and lyrical snapshots of a New York City that I missed by a few years yet still totally recognize.

So no, I will not be trading in or selling off this RHF edition of Marquee Moon; if ever there was a version that made me want to fall “right into the arms of Venus de Milo” and remain there forever, this is the one. I keep hearing that Rhino’s getting low on copies, but as of today they still have ‘em listed for sale on their site. So if you’ve been curious about checking this pressing out, I’d highly recommend jumping on it before “this case is closed”.

Alas, I have been informed that Rhino is now completely out of stock on these. Hopefully your local vinyl purveyor will still have a copy or two…

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