Mrtennis, that would depend on your definition of 'better'. Having been into music for the last 45 years, I am less and less sure of what that means. One thing I know is that , in order for me to have the same acoustic experience listening To Lara St. John playing Bach on the Violin whilst being at a live concert, I would need not only to be on stage, but close enough for the proximity to become socially unacceptable in most musical circles, with the added danger of repeatedly experiencing the thrust of her bow in my eyeballs, or her elbow in my solar plexus, depending on orientation.
On the other hand, as pointed out by others, the live experience has an sensorial, social and emotional complexity and personal implications that reach far beyond the simple sonics of the source, and which are not, by definition, reproduceable electronically.
Thus, when I think of the live performance of Carlo Chiarappa Playing Bach's Ciaccona in D minor on his Stradivari under the 16th century portico of Groznjan in Croatia, I know my experience can't be ever repeated nor reproduced. Yet, was it simply the sound of his fiddle, reverberating from the vaulted ceiling which made it unique, or was this combined with Chiarappa's stage presence in checkered shirt-sleeves standing on the worned flagstones, the arched portico itself in the ancient little village square, the youth from both sides of the Iron Curtain congregated there to do and breathe music for three unforgettable weeks, the summer night with its own sounds. Or is it perhaps the longing and the 30-year-old memory of it all?
On the other hand, as pointed out by others, the live experience has an sensorial, social and emotional complexity and personal implications that reach far beyond the simple sonics of the source, and which are not, by definition, reproduceable electronically.
Thus, when I think of the live performance of Carlo Chiarappa Playing Bach's Ciaccona in D minor on his Stradivari under the 16th century portico of Groznjan in Croatia, I know my experience can't be ever repeated nor reproduced. Yet, was it simply the sound of his fiddle, reverberating from the vaulted ceiling which made it unique, or was this combined with Chiarappa's stage presence in checkered shirt-sleeves standing on the worned flagstones, the arched portico itself in the ancient little village square, the youth from both sides of the Iron Curtain congregated there to do and breathe music for three unforgettable weeks, the summer night with its own sounds. Or is it perhaps the longing and the 30-year-old memory of it all?