RMAF was my first true love.
I kid, sorta, but if it wasn’t for my first RMAF back in 2010, I probably wouldn’t have done this site. I remember kinda sneaking off all those years ago. I didn’t really know anyone. No one knew me. I was adrift and loving it.
I look back on that first experience — all those names meant absolutely nothing to me. I had only the vaguest idea who Harry Pearson was, or why anyone would care to sit and hang out listening to him. I learned, eventually, but back in ’10, I was fresh and new and naked to the world. How much (and how little) different 6 years makes.
My esteemed colleagues have rendered their opinions on this year’s adventure, so that’s pretty much a wrap. It’s time to thank Marjorie Baumert and her team for their heroic efforts, time acknowledge their trials and tribulations, their successes and triumphs. We wish them a restful, peaceful respite — and offer nothing but love and respect for what they accomplished.
What I want to share here is a bit of a photo essay (with far too many selfies, I’ll admit), along with some of my favorite moments and favorite things. What I hope you’ll pull from the montage is that RMAF, like many of these hi-fi extravaganzas, are wildly social events. And yes, while I do understand that for many of you, the idea of wandering into a random hotel jammed full of dudes babbling about “VTA” and “image depth” and “flux capacitors” might sound like an excellent way to get your introvert antennas tied in knots, it’s really pretty incredible. Trust me. I’ve had my antennae broken off more than a couple of times, and yes, I keep going back and, no, it’s not just that I’m brain-damaged.
These are my tribe. And, if you’re reading this, they’re probably your tribe too.
So, for those friends made and those yet to be so, I hoist my tasty adult beverage in your general direction and say, “Hail, friend, well met!”