A radio & 1994.
The sounds of a home and the first encounters with Japanese vintage Hi-End before I knew there were words for timbre, dynamics or decay.
I have always been curious about what happens beneath the surface.
How things connect. How signals move. How a system behaves when everything is working — and when it isn't.
My relationship with sound and technology began in the 90s with world music and Japanese Koukyuu audio, before curiosity gradually expanded into engineering: networks, systems, infrastructure and real-world banking platforms.
Perhaps that is why
I listen to sound differently.
I don't only hear the object. I listen to the system around it.
Đôi tai là tiêu chuẩn đo lường tối thượng. Trước khi âm thanh trở thành cảm xúc, nó là mức tham chiếu, động lực học và độ tĩnh của không gian.
After listening to many guitar players, I once noticed something unusually moving in the playing of Phil McGarrick: the emotional continuity of one note into the next.
It wasn't simply tone. It was the life inside the decay — the feeling that the previous note had not disappeared before the next one arrived.
Different rooms. Different systems. Different music. Different ears.
What matters to me is the relationship between them — and whether the music makes me want to stay for one more track.
I am drawn to reference-grade systems: carefully matched vintage Hi-End components, refined Class-A amplification, revealing loudspeakers and a room that allows the recording to breathe. The point is not the badge on the front panel, but the quality of the relationship between source, system, room and listener.
The sounds of a home and the first encounters with Japanese vintage Hi-End before I knew there were words for timbre, dynamics or decay.
Music passed from one hand to another, carrying not only songs but the memory of where they came from.
Some melodies survive decades without needing to explain why.
One small mechanical sound before the room becomes quiet enough to listen.
Hanoi has its own way of listening.
Quiet rooms behind old streets. Morning coffee. Tea and conversations that last longer than expected. Music playing while the city continues outside.
I am interested in the people, places and memories that exist inside that soundscape.
On guitar, sustain, decay and emotional continuity.
A small room, a system, and a conversation that lasted into the evening.
The first sounds that became part of an internal reference.
Technology changes. Music changes. The need to listen remains.