![Photo James Pineda](https://www.radiomuseum.org/img/kein_passphoto.png) |
Below you find a part of the radio collection
James Pineda - including other related items.
I'm very interested in tube based audio and radio equipment, as well as high efficiency speaker systems. I have a growing interest in table radios which are an exceptional combination of striking design,excellent reception and engaging sound quality.
I don't understand much about electronics, but that's never gotten in my way. That's because I'm devastatingly handsome, and possess inexplicably powerful effects on any piece of electronic gear I come into close physical proximity with. For example, I can usually get a piece of nonworking vintage gear to fire up and function within design spec just by looking at it. Yeah, you read it right. Just. By. Looking. At. It.
Sweet. Right?
Sometimes, though, there are some really tough cases. For these, I'll simply start stroking the sides of the ungrounded case. That usually gets things the tubes glowing. Maybe, if I think a little extra love and sensitivity is called for, I'll lovingly touch the transformers. Maybe stroke the chokes.
You get the picture.
Of course, every once in a while, I'll come across a piece of gear that won't respond to my magnetic administrations. It's part of life, I guess.
For these, I used to take them out and bury them in a shallow grave behind my house. I figured that if something was that far gone that it resisted my efforts, then it deserved a rest. That maybe allowing it to break down and return to earth was the right thing to do.
I say that I used to.
Until I opened my door and discovered at my feet a familiar looking Sherwood S-3000 tuner. It had the same faceplate and chassis markings that were present on one that I had consigned to the hereafter just three days before. Only this one seemed different. More of an unsettling feeling about it, I guess.
I picked it up and felt a warm surge come through my hands and up my arms. I felt it wanting me to hook it up, and plug it in. I know I shouldn't have, I mean, in the back of my mind was this little voice, warning me, "no...it's wrong...you know it's wrong. You know it's wrong." But overtime I touched it, that little voice however increasingly desperate, receded ever so much, until it was gone. As if it had been drowned somewhere in the inky black recesses of someplace I'm never allowed to go.
Weird, huh?
But it gets worse. When I tried tuning in my local NPR affiliates, all I could receive was...AM talk radio. What the ?!? How's this possible, I thought? I mean, except for the weird collection of rats nested wires, screws, electrical tape, and dirt that seemed to be welding everything together, it looked like your average barn find chassis.
But it gets worse. Slowly, to my horror and fascination, the scratchy broadcast talkshow chat started becoming more aggressive and monolithic. Kind of like listening to a kind, intelligent, empathetic Terry Gross starting to morph into...Rush Limbaugh. I was listening to...witnessing...all of these voices coming to me - generally smart and informed as a starting point, probing with truthful purpose, and most being somewhat civilized - all were giving away to a static-y, uniformed, willfully mean spirited outlook.
Gradually, the voices coming across the ether were becoming bullies, with growing gravitational pull. It was hard to listen to, and even harder not to feel the fear and violence they were peddling.
Rush Limbaugh. Berlusconi. Rubio. Le Pen. Trump. Cruz. All mixed in with the worst of those who came before them. The Southern white supremacists, the eugenicists, fundamentalist ministers teaching the most distorted views of their faiths.
All demagogues.
Acting rashly, I yanked the power cord from the wall, and heard a slowly growing silence take over. And then...the darkly transformed chassis began to glow from its tubes, and a lone voice began to rise above my stunned silence and the swooning crowds.
I couldn't understand what he was screaming. He was speaking German.
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