Friends, Texans, music lovers, Lend me your ears;
I come to raise up vinyl, not bury it.
The evil that digital does lives after it;
The good oft interred below the 0's and 1's;
So let us bury CD. The noble Sony
Hath told you CD was perfect sound forever:
If it were so, it was a grievous jitter,
And grievously hath CD answer'd it.
Here under leave of vinyl and the rest -
For vinyl is an honourable sound;
So is music all, all honourable sounds-
Come I to speak in CD's funeral.
He, also, was my friend, not so faithful but just OK to me:
But Sony says he was perfect;
And Sony is an honourable company.
Sony hath brought many CD's home to music rooms
Whose ransoms did the stockholder's coffers fill:
Did this in CD seem perfect?
When our vinyl hath sang, digital hath wept:
Perfect sound should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Sony says CD was perfect;
And Sony is an honourable company.
You all did see that on our audio systems
We often presented new digital formats,
Which our ears just as often refused: was this perfect sound?
Yet Sony says it was perfect sound;
And, sure, Sony is an honourable company.
I speak not to disprove what Sony spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all do still love vinyl, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to listen to vinyl more?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish formats,
And men have lost faith in their hearing. Trust your ears with me;
My heart is on the turntable there with vinyl,
And I must pause as true sound comes back to me.
Ò¿Ò jim...

"The man that has no music in himself;
nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds;
Is fit for treason, stratagems and spoils.
The motions of his spirit are dull as night;
And his affections dark as Erebus."

W. Shakespeare

The Merchent Of Venice