The Stereo Action Dimension

Liner notes from the upcoming BMG Music release

The RCA History of Space Age Pop

Vol. 3: The Stereo Action Dimension

by Irwin Chusid

First there was Stereo. And then there was Stereo Action.

The difference? Between Minnie Mouse and Gina Lollobrigida. In a word: Va-Va-Voom!

While NASA engineers raced for outer space, RCA engineers raced for aural space. With the introduction of 1961's Stereo Action LP series, RCA proved victorious in beating other record companies to the age of hyperactive two-channel hijinks. (The Russians never even left the compression gate.) While other labels were playing ping-pong with their percussion, RCA was launching inter-groove ballistic mischief on a grand and unprecedented scale.

They heralded Stereo Action as offering "spectacular sonic illusions of motion, directionality and depth." Not content to program simply for ears, RCA provided a "visual" component to audio: "Soloists and entire sections of the orchestra appear to move thrillingly back and forth across the room," they proclaimed. "Stereo Action is musical movement so real, your eyes will follow the sound."

When stereo was commercially unveiled in the late 1950s, record companies and audio dealers staged a relentless campaign to persuade consumers that two speakers were better than one. Gimmicky demonstration discs were distributed free with the purchase of any home stereo. These LPs featured rifle zings and ping-pong volleys, fireworks, zooming locomotives, and footsteps panning from left channel to right, magically before the astonished listener.

It caught on--for good. Generations later, two channels remain the standard. (In the 1970s, they tried four--quadraphonic--but the free market settled the matter: two channels were sufficient. The anatomical configuration of the human head also may have played a small role.) With the Stereo Action series, RCA made the most of those two channels. Bongos bounced about the den, violins cascaded from the heavens, pianos glided from wall to wall, and vibes chimed as if struck by Tinker Bell's wand.

Too cute? Sensory overload? Stereophonic showing-off? OK, sometimes the producers went overboard with gratuitous cross-channel panning, like kids on Christmas morning playing with a new chemistry set. And--think about it--the image of "soloists and entire sections of the orchestra appear[ing] to move thrillingly back and forth across the room" is a trifle absurd. The musicians didn't move across the room--thrillingly or otherwise--during their performance; that such an illusion would enhance one's appreciation of an LP was a fanciful marketing ploy. Nevertheless, musical artistry was never a secondary consideration; it was co-equal with the recording process.

David Hall, Music Editor of HiFi/Stereo Review, in the liner notes to Ray Martin's Stereo Action entry, Dynamica, addressed the question of gimmickry. Referring specifically to the preponderance of ping-pong and choo-choo train demo discs, he observed, "Wonderful as these stereo sound effects may be as aural novelties, they cannot hold the listener's attention for long or over many hearings. The substance of almost all recordings worth living with is, after all--MUSIC." And Stereo Action, he stressed, showcased "new concepts in the art of orchestral arranging and a large measure of truly imaginative and creative collaboration between musicians and recording engineers." In other words, it was more than just a fancy canvas--the musical art justified the frame.

Speaking of frames, all original Stereo Action albums were packaged in elaborate die-cut covers. A glossy inner sleeve would feature abstract splashes of color, glimpsed through an oddly-shaped, peek-a-boo window cut out of the thick cardboard slipcase. (Several titles were later reissued in regular covers without die-cuts.)

For anyone who grew up after 1960, it's difficult to appreciate the advent of wild, apparently three-dimensional sound, especially compared to the monophonic (one-channel) "hi-fidelity" that came before. Stereo must have seemed a remarkable and mystifying technological achievement--a leap comparable to the advancement from airplanes to moon rockets.

Studio master recordings in those days were captured on three discrete tape channels ("triple-tracking"). To minimize leakage (the sound of one instrument "bleeding" onto another track), microphones were positioned near instruments with meticulous precision, and the recording signal would be assigned to a particular track. After the performance, the three-track master was mixed down to left and right channels for home phonographs and tape decks. It was in this post-recording stage that the panning was applied (voila!--stereo action). In addition, imbalances and glitches in the master could be corrected by such advances as equalization (filtering out or heightening specific ranges of the sound spectrum), reverberation (a slight echo, for a fuller sound), and adjustment of pitch (via tape speed manipulation), increasing the likelihood that artists and producers wouldn't have to settle for flawed fidelity. The final product was as much a creative expression of the engineer as of the orchestra.

"Every note of the music to be recorded must be scored with Stereo Action in mind," the liner notes explained. "An elaborate system of charting each and every instrument for proper stereo placement guides the actual scoring. In addition to the musical annotation, a companion series of non-musical diagrams for the studio work is developed."

In addition to the now-you-see-it, now-you-don't arrangements and frolicking percussion, some Stereo Action albums presented ambitious concepts. Bernie Green's Futura, recorded in 1961, posed the question: "What will popular music sound like in 1970?" Green's quirky re-tooling of such chestnuts as "Under Paris Skies" (featuring an electronic device called a "Tonalyzer") provided some musical clairvoyance.

For Esquivel's Latin-Esque, to attain the purest separation of channels, the huge orchestra was divided in half and placed in two studios almost a city block apart, led by two conductors (Esquivel and Stanley Wilson). "Through an intricate system of inter-communication by headphones," the liner notes explained, "the musicians were able to hear each other and play together just as if they were all in the same room."

And although Leo Addeo's The Music Goes 'Round and 'Round might not be termed a "concept album," it could be the only orchestral LP to showcase an ocarina trio on every track. (It did not, alas, start a trend, though it could have inspired The Troggs' "Wild Thing.")

In an ironic postscript, RCA reissued some Stereo Action titles in mono, a gesture that artist and vinyl enthusiast Wayno compares to "decolorizing a current hit film for the black and white market." The record jackets boasted: "Now for the first time! RCA's acclaimed 'Action' series in monaural hi-fi!"

Your skeptical friends might wonder--nowadays, what is this stuff good for? Why would anyone bother to rediscover a dated, forgotten genre like Space Age Pop?

Great reason #2: these recordings are an antidote to everything you're sick of in contemporary music. Had it up to your adenoids with attitudinal rock posturing? Feel besieged by bombastic Boltonism? Does country sound like the same old same old? Have earth-destabilizing dance beats and in-yo'-face hip-hop sneers induced migraines? Tired of the latest incarnation of punk, Bon Jovi soundalikes, and British twit-rock? Bored with self-pitying singer-songwriters and rich, pampered balladeers?

Welcome back to the Space Age. Spend this evening navigating a lush, alternate universe accompanied by sparkling melodies, a cocktail on the rocks, and a soft, warm companion. They did it this way 35 years ago. It's still a delightful way to spend a relaxing, out of this world evening.

Great Reason #1: The music is very, very fine.

Irwin Chusid, a WFMU radio personality, chronicler of musical esoterica, and bachelor bon vivant, agrees that vinyl is a terrific medium, but he has nothing against CDs--or whatever format they invent next.

Thanks to Paul Williams; Herman Diaz, Jr.; Byron Werner, Don Brockway

Special thanks to Wayno for all his suggestions and contributions to this volume

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