This all reminds me of the time I attended a Stereophile-sponsered exhibition/convention (which I believe they hold with some regularity). I was a salesperson at a high-end audio store at the time. At the show, they had one of those "can you tell the difference" events (repeated at least twice, as I recall).
In this case, the comparison was between a top of the line Adcom solid-state amplifier and another amp of a much higher price and, presumptively, of better quality. The test consisted of the playing of ten sets of two different auditions of the amps. Each set of ten consisted of our listening "blind" to two auditions and, then, writing down whether we thought that the particular audition was one of the two different amplifiers, or whether it had, in fact, been of the same amplifier played twice. We were told to write down "same", or "different" for each one of the ten sets of auditions. We were told to not try to identify which specific amplifier had played at each separate audition. Presumably, that would have confused us, utterly, or even, perchance, driven some of us mad.
It was a large room, of about two hundred people. I had the good fortune to be seated in the rear corner of the room. I had decided, counter to our instructions, that it would be more challenging, even, perhaps, subversive, to, indeed, write down the name of the specific amplifier that I believed played each time.
I made all my decisions within the first two seconds of each audition. The person seated next to me actually stood up and complained that my responding so quickly was distracting and confusing him. This pleased me because, as I am a philosopher, I'm in the business of distracting and confusing people.
To make a long story even longer, I was right nineteen of twenty times. (Naturally, I blamed my one mistake on the fellow seated next to me.)
How was I able to do this? Simple. I didn't try to hear any differences, at all. Instead, I relaxed into a near meditative state and concentrated on "listening" to how my body felt. I, then, immediately responded according to how my "mood" had changed the instant the music began to play--and, luckily, one amp made me feel better than the other. I kept my conscious mind nearly empty (something that I can do quite easily). Most importantly, I never left myself enough time to second-guess myself.
There is an instructive and brief Buddhist tale about a monkey who is so desperately thirsty that he sat by a stream and grabbed and grabbed at the flowing water such that he could never get a drink. But, as soon as he released his grip, the water flowed immediately and effortlessly into his cupped hands. Thus, his thirst was sated.
Don't grab at the river of music as it rushes by. Dip your hands in, let it pass, and you, too, can effortlessly drink from it, as you're caressed by its ebbs and flows.
In this case, the comparison was between a top of the line Adcom solid-state amplifier and another amp of a much higher price and, presumptively, of better quality. The test consisted of the playing of ten sets of two different auditions of the amps. Each set of ten consisted of our listening "blind" to two auditions and, then, writing down whether we thought that the particular audition was one of the two different amplifiers, or whether it had, in fact, been of the same amplifier played twice. We were told to write down "same", or "different" for each one of the ten sets of auditions. We were told to not try to identify which specific amplifier had played at each separate audition. Presumably, that would have confused us, utterly, or even, perchance, driven some of us mad.
It was a large room, of about two hundred people. I had the good fortune to be seated in the rear corner of the room. I had decided, counter to our instructions, that it would be more challenging, even, perhaps, subversive, to, indeed, write down the name of the specific amplifier that I believed played each time.
I made all my decisions within the first two seconds of each audition. The person seated next to me actually stood up and complained that my responding so quickly was distracting and confusing him. This pleased me because, as I am a philosopher, I'm in the business of distracting and confusing people.
To make a long story even longer, I was right nineteen of twenty times. (Naturally, I blamed my one mistake on the fellow seated next to me.)
How was I able to do this? Simple. I didn't try to hear any differences, at all. Instead, I relaxed into a near meditative state and concentrated on "listening" to how my body felt. I, then, immediately responded according to how my "mood" had changed the instant the music began to play--and, luckily, one amp made me feel better than the other. I kept my conscious mind nearly empty (something that I can do quite easily). Most importantly, I never left myself enough time to second-guess myself.
There is an instructive and brief Buddhist tale about a monkey who is so desperately thirsty that he sat by a stream and grabbed and grabbed at the flowing water such that he could never get a drink. But, as soon as he released his grip, the water flowed immediately and effortlessly into his cupped hands. Thus, his thirst was sated.
Don't grab at the river of music as it rushes by. Dip your hands in, let it pass, and you, too, can effortlessly drink from it, as you're caressed by its ebbs and flows.