Tag: Music

A Tribute to Gerard Rejskind

I don’t have hard rules for the topics on this blog, and there are times when I feel I need to write about something of importance to me. Or someone. This is one of those times.

Gerard Rejskind passed away a year ago to the day that I’m writing these words. I suspected something may have happened to him. As I’ve done occasionally if I’m unsure about someone’s personal situation, I reluctantly typed his name and “obituary” into Google. I was right… he died peacefully in Montreal in December 2023 after a short illness.

So who was Gerard?

It would not be true to say he was a friend. But as I wrote in a similar tribute piece almost two years ago, it is possible in our highly connected world to feel close to someone even if you’ve only spoken to them a few times on the phone. Through his writing, I came to know Gerard and understand him quite well.

Gerard wrote with passion, and he was the driving force behind an independent audio publication (UHF Magazine) that had a small but dedicated following. Through his reviews of audio equipment and recorded music, Gerard influenced many people, including me.

Let me first make a connection, between a subject that I do post about on this site… photography… and music. It isn’t a stretch to say that both these art forms have much in common. They are subjective; that is, they are things that cannot be quantified. If done well, they evoke an emotional response in us. And at their best, they are timeless.

When I found out that Gerard had passed away, I thought about the many ways he had influenced me over more than twenty years. Initially, I had been looking to upgrade my entry-level Sony CD player, a tinny-sounding thing. A colleague lent me a few back issues of UHF, and I was immediately hooked.

UHF (now defunct) was a publication unlike anything else I’d seen. With a modest budget and a small crew, Gerard managed to produce a magazine that bettered any of the big, commercial publications. It did so with a rare offering: totally honest reviews. There were none of the filtered, biased reviews that I read elsewhere. My favourite feature was a short, subjective paragraph from each of the review panelists about a particular piece of gear. This was invaluable for someone like me, who was new to the hobby.

Besides the magazine, Gerard also wrote a couple of books about “hi-fi”. Again, in plain language, he explained what the equipment did (or should do) and how it ought to be designed. This hit a chord with my engineering sensibilities. I found myself coming back to these books time and time again.

My wife will attest that I dropped everything when the latest print issue of UHF showed up in the mail. Because of their shoestring operation, the frequency of publication was, shall I say, variable. Gerard kept UHF going through COVID and his own health challenges. Those things only increased the appeal of the enterprise. I read every word of every issue, and I would save Gerard’s editorial page on the inside of the back cover until last. There, he would offer another nugget of audio wisdom, in his usual style… self-effacing, but with the authority he had earned over a lifetime of experience.

I’ve bought quite a lot of audio equipment and recorded music since I first encountered Gerard and UHF. In all that time, I wouldn’t think about buying anything unless I had checked to see if Gerard had reviewed the gear in question. If he liked it, that was good enough for me. If he really liked an item, he would become a distributor, which said a lot about his motivation. It was also quite convenient. I can honestly say he never steered me wrong.

Beyond all that, he made sure I and his other readers became more self-sufficient, by writing frequent articles and opinion pieces that educated us. In fact, the last edition of UHF, the 101st, consists of a series of introductory “101” pieces (in the usual nomenclature of first-year university courses) on various audio gear. It seems a fitting legacy to Gerard. The final paragraph of his last “State of the Art” piece is worth repeating here:

“The final rule is to do what we do: take notes, with details on
what you liked and what you didn’t. Concentrate on the music,
which is the purpose of the system in the first place.”

Gerard was a rare person: an honest businessman; a knowledgeable and generous resource; and above all, a gentleman. He will be missed.

Now I think I will go and put on a record and re-read some of his pieces.

Don’t Stop Believing

Sometimes life is hard.

It will be obvious from the long gap between posts that I haven’t been thinking much about the blog lately. It has been a difficult time on the personal front. I don’t feel like going into the specifics… maybe I will someday. 

Several times, I’ve tried putting my feelings into words, never sure if the result would end up in a blog post. Each time I’ve tried, it has been a failure. It’s frustrating, especially since I’m usually not at a loss for words. 

Music seems to help. As I write this, I’m listening to Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, a classic album by Lucinda Williams. This is melancholic music. It suits my mood and I think it makes me feel better… it’s hard to say. The lyrics of one of my favourite songs, Time from Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, have been stuck in my head. This verse seems appropriate. 

Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught
Or half a page of scribbled lines

My half pages (not literal, of course… they’re typed on my iPad) have been piling up, as I’ve grappled with anxiety. I’ve been feeling helpless against our overwhelming insignificance. Our impermanence. Our mortality.

North Glenmore Park pathway, April 2024

Then came a breakthrough of sorts. It was in a situation that might not be conducive to finding inspiration. But it was no surprise to me because I was running at the time. Anyone familiar with my story (Stroke of Luck is still available, by the way) will know that running has often been a source of consolation and positivity in my life.

To set the scene, I met a small but hardy group of my teammates at Carburn Park in Calgary for an interval workout. It was a ladder workout, which for those who aren’t familiar, is a session with increasing length intervals. This workout, with intervals of 400m up to 2000m, looked daunting. Each set totaled 5.4k, and Coach Janice had specified 2-3 sets. I had to go back to her to confirm the details because it seemed that she must have miscalculated. This was TOO MUCH!

To add another degree of difficulty, the weather was awful. The threatening sky opened up just as we finished our warmup jog around the lagoon. Clouds turned to rain, then snow. My eyes were being pelted with icy crystals. We were soaked in no time. The temperature hovered just above freezing. 

We ran south beside the steel-blue water of the Bow River, and I began to wonder what on earth we were doing. It didn’t help that I was the slowest runner in our group, meaning I also had the pleasure of watching my friends stretch out and away from me as the first set wore on. 

As I approached the turnaround point, now miles from my warm car, my mood lightened. I was enjoying this. Even as my vision was being obscured by sleet, my thoughts were becoming clearer. Then, as if on cue, the sun peeked out briefly, casting a warm glow on the wet pathway in front of me. (I didn’t bring a camera on this run… it would have been waterlogged… so I can’t even show you a picture of that special but fleeting moment.)

By now, I was totally on my own. My teammates were out of sight and the pathway was deserted. I was enjoying the feeling of movement, of being in control. Running was proof of life. I was thriving in what had just a few minutes earlier seemed an impossible task. 

Then the following thoughts came into my head, without any prompting:

  • I don’t have all the answers
  • Sometimes there are no answers to find
  • All I have to offer is my best effort
  • I can only control what I do, not what anyone else does 

I eventually made my way back to Carburn, where I caught up with my teammates. They had waited for me… how nice! We were soaked, shivering, and content. We patted each other on the back for getting through this monstrous workout on a rotten night, together. On that day, we were all heroes. Of course, even heroes need to dry off and warm up, so we said our short goodbyes and headed home. 

With my mind clear, even if temporarily, I was ready to face whatever challenges were still waiting for me. Running and music and writing can help me figure things out, even if the answers themselves remain elusive. 

Look for more pieces and photography soon. 

Peace.