AXPONA Storms Chicago, Spotify Still Chasing Lossless, Moses Returns for Passover, and A Brief Encounter: Editor’s Round-Up

Next week, AXPONA rolls into Chicago with the usual parade of six figure systems, luxury finishes, and enough polished aluminum to make a hedge fund manager feel seen. It is hi-fi as theater, aspiration, and occasional insanity. Across the Atlantic, Spotify is in London still trying to sell better sound like it just stumbled onto the idea behind a velvet rope and a cocktail napkin.

Back home, Passover is underway, which means The Ten Commandments returns right on cue. Only this time, with war raging in the Middle East, the annual ritual feels less like old Hollywood spectacle and more like an uneasy reminder that history never stays buried for very long. Unless you’re an IRGC missile commander who suddenly drops off the map after the IAF makes a house call.

And then there is Brief Encounter, not some shiny new rediscovery, but a film I found in the Criterion Collection bin at Princeton Record Exchange. Long forgotten by most people, ignored by the algorithm, and still more emotionally precise than half the prestige sludge passing for cinema now.

AXPONA in the Windy City. Moses in a time of war. Spotify getting its funk on in London. And a quiet black and white film that still knows exactly where to stick the knife while standing on the train platform.

AXPONA Hits Chicago: Big Sound, Bigger Price Tags, and Zero Apologies

AXPONA 2026 hits Chicago next week and we’re going in six deep. It’s my first time back in the Windy City since 2003 and my first marriage, which ended about as well as you’d expect when the walls start closing in and the elevator rides feel longer than they should. Living on the 40th floor teaches you a few things; mostly to make sure the elevator is actually there before you step in, because the alternative is a very short conversation with gravity and a long fall through the shaft.

Different trip this time. Same city. Same ghosts.

Back then it was runs to White Hen at odd hours, flipping through vinyl at Jazz Record Mart like it was church, deep dish at Uno’s that hit like a brick, and Garrett’s popcorn that clung to your clothes like evidence you couldn’t ditch. Manny’s Cafeteria on the South Side when you needed something real; corned beef carved thick, kishke and kreplach that could reset your entire operating system, and Jewish soul food that didn’t care about trends or your feelings. Neither did my divorce attorney and that bill got paid first.

And the Wieners Circle after 11 pm, where ordering a char dog without getting verbally dismantled felt like cheating the system. Don’t ask for ketchup unless you enjoy public humiliation. Chicago has rules. It enforces them. Without mercy.

Now it’s AXPONA. Towers full of gear most people can’t afford, rooms full of opinions nobody asked for, and enough six figure systems to make you question your life choices on the spot. Six of us walking in with notebooks and cameras, no illusions, and just enough sense to avoid Guido the Killer Pimp out in the suburbs.

What are we expecting at AXPONA? Let’s not kid ourselves.

Based on what manufacturers, distributors, and PR people have been telegraphing for months, this is going to be a show dominated by systems that live in a tax bracket most people will never visit. Maybe you can afford it. Maybe I can on a really good year with a tailwind and a bad decision. The rest of the music listening public? Not even in the conversation.

I ran the numbers yesterday. There will likely be more $1 million systems on those floors than systems under $30,000. Let that sit for a minute. That’s not aspirational. That’s detached.

And no—we’re not doing the lazy “it’s like a car show” comparison. It’s not. Cars are a necessity for most people. A six figure audio system is not. One gets you to work. The other gets you a slightly better hi hat on a Steely Dan track. Let’s keep some perspective.

Yes, companies want to show their best. Of course they do. Big rooms. Big sound. Big statements. The problem is that “best” has drifted so far into the stratosphere that it stops being relevant to almost everyone walking through the door. You can admire it. You can photograph it. You can talk about it. You can’t build it at home unless your last name is on a building somewhere.

So where does that leave consumers? Standing in a hotel hallway, listening through an open door, wondering why the hobby keeps talking past them.

And the industry? Still stuck in the same loop. It doesn’t know how to market itself beyond preaching to the converted. It struggles to connect with younger listeners who are perfectly happy with headphones and streaming. And when it does get attention, it’s often for products that reinforce the idea that high-end audio is a gated community with a very expensive cover charge.

Which brings us to the real question: who is this show actually for?

Consumers? Maybe.
Dealers? Sure.
Manufacturers talking to each other? Absolutely.
The media? Now that’s where it gets interesting.

Because the same companies that rely on coverage, reviews, and videos to create awareness are often the first to pull back when it comes to actually supporting the outlets doing that work. They want the exposure. They just don’t want the invoice.

That’s not a strategy. That’s wishful thinking and hoping that a free press dinner will make any of us forget.

AXPONA will still be packed. It will still be loud. It will still deliver moments that remind you why this hobby matters. But if the industry doesn’t figure out how to bridge the gap between what it shows and what people can actually buy, it risks turning its biggest stages into echo chambers.

And echo chambers don’t sell systems.

Spotify’s Lossless Listening Lounge: Better Late, Still Not Quite Great

And then there’s Spotify, rolling into London with a “lossless listening lounge” like it just discovered fidelity sometime after everyone else already moved in and redecorated.

Let’s be honest. This is Spotify playing catch up. Again.

Lossless has been sitting on the table for years; served hot by Qobuz, TIDAL, Apple Music—and Spotify keeps circling it like it’s trying to decide if the check is worth picking up. Now we get a curated listening space, some carefully staged demos, and the suggestion that better sound is finally part of the plan. Not here yet. Not fully defined. But hey, come sit on the couch and imagine it.

That’s the play.

And maybe it works. Spotify still has the audience. It still owns mindshare in a way the others can’t touch. Now it’s finally pushing lossless—but not to everyone. Not at scale. Not like it should have years ago. Instead, we get a listening lounge in London for a few dozen invited guests. Thirty people, give or take. Velvet rope. Controlled lighting. Curated tracks. The whole thing feels less like a product rollout and more like Studio 54 for the streaming class of 2026, minus the disco ball and with $250 sparkling water nobody actually asked for.

Let’s call it what it is. Optics.

Steve Jobs set this in motion years ago. A vinyl guy who knew exactly what good sound meant helped steer the industry toward convenience over quality, because it scaled and it sold. Everyone followed. Now Spotify wants to reverse course, but instead of flipping the switch for 600 million users, it builds a showroom for 30 and calls it progress.

And here’s where it gets uncomfortable.

Spotify is not immune to failure. When your platform starts to look like everyone else’s—same catalog, same features, same “now in better quality” messaging—the cracks begin to show. Especially when the people creating the music are still getting paid like loose change under the couch cushions. Billions in revenue. Fractions to the artists. That math doesn’t hold forever.

Jimmy Iovine has seen this movie before and he’s not impressed with how it ends. On the state of Spotify and the streaming economy, he didn’t hedge: “Streaming is minutes away from being obsolete.”

He’s not saying Spotify disappears tomorrow. He’s saying the current version of it is running out of road. The audience is there. The scale is there. But the value for artists, for culture—is getting thinner by the day.

So here’s the pivot nobody in those lounges wants to talk about.

If you’re an indie artist pulling in $0.0006 per stream, chasing algorithmic crumbs, you’re playing a rigged game. The smarter move? Build a real audience. One hundred thousand actual fans spending $200 a year—music, merch, tickets, direct support. That’s twenty million dollars without begging for playlist placement or praying for viral scraps.

Cut out the middle. Own the relationship. Keep the money.

Because lossless won’t fix the system. It just makes the system sound cleaner while it keeps doing exactly what it’s always done.

Thirty people in a room. Perfect sound. Expensive water. Everyone nodding like it matters.

Outside that room? Same hustle. Just louder.

Breaking the Middle Matzo with Moses While the World Burns

Passover is here. The Seder table is set, the questions get asked, and the answers don’t land the same way they used to. Not in Israel. Not in the diaspora. Not this year, with the world watching another round of conflict in the Middle East and pretending it’s something new.

I don’t need to restate where I stand. I come from people who didn’t get the luxury of distance. Grandson of Holocaust survivors. Irgun blood in the family. Northerners who helped build Kibbutz Yagur on the slopes of Mount Carmel. We’ve paid for our history more than once. I carry the name of a dead IDF tank captain. That’s not symbolism. That’s the ledger.

And every year before Pesach, I go back to The Ten Commandments. It started when I was eight. I’ve seen it more than 60 times now. Ritual. Habit. Maybe something closer to muscle memory.

This year it hits different.

Not just because the headlines won’t let you look away. But because the story doesn’t feel distant anymore. Exodus isn’t some ancient script you dust off once a year. It’s right there on the screen, in Technicolor, staring back at you while the real world keeps reminding you how little has actually changed.

And yeah, let’s not pretend I don’t enjoy it. Anne Baxter owning every scene like she knows exactly what kind of movie she’s in. Not Leia, not trying to be—an Egyptian princess wrapped in power, obsession, and bad decisions. Moses with the arms of a dockworker and enough firepower to make the whole thing feel less like scripture and more like a warning shot.

It’s a massive film. Always has been.

But this year, it doesn’t feel like spectacle.

It feels like context. The Hebrews have one helluva air force now, and I don’t care who you think you’re rooting for—just understand this isn’t some Hollywood Technicolor three hour escape. It’s life, and a lot of death, in unforgiving UHD 4K. And no, you don’t get to sit back and chew bubblegum while it plays out. Traif.

Brief Encounter: Love, Restraint, and the Damage That Lingers

Four weeks ago, on my birthday, I went into the Criterion section at Princeton Record Exchange looking for something else. Didn’t find it. Found Brief Encounter instead. That’s how it usually works. You go in with a plan, and something better and far more dangerous—finds you.

David Lean’s quiet little knife of a film doesn’t scream. It doesn’t need to. A married doctor (Trevor Howard) meets a suburban housewife (Celia Johnson) on a train platform. Chance encounter. Polite conversation. Then the slow slide into something neither of them planned and both of them understand is doomed from the start. No grand speeches. No explosions. Just restraint, guilt, and the kind of emotional damage that doesn’t heal clean.

This was long before Fatal Attraction had Glenn Close boiling rabbits and turning infidelity into a full-blown horror show. Long before Unfaithful turned desire into something reckless and fatal, or Eyes Wide Shut made marriage feel like a locked room with no air. Brief Encounter got there first. No theatrics. No blood on the floor. Just two people who know exactly what they’re doing, and exactly what it’s going to cost them.

And that’s where it stops being “just a film.”

Because every now and then, life runs the same script. Different platform. Different language. Same outcome. Sometimes it’s very real—two people on the same wavelength, wrong timing, wrong circumstances, and the kind of connection that doesn’t politely fade when it’s over. It lingers. It burns. It wrecks things on the way out.

Sometimes it’s messier. You misread the room, misread yourself, and wind up choking on biltong while someone else takes the hit. Pride, ego, whatever you want to call it—it all tastes the same going down. Dry. Tough. Hard to swallow. And by the time it finally clears, the damage is already done and nobody walks away clean.

And if you’re really lucky, you end up staring at padded walls, mumbling your version of events like it might change the ending, one step closer to that second go-around with Nurse Ratched you swore would never happen.

Either way, it doesn’t end well.

That’s what Lean understood. The damage isn’t in the act. It’s in the restraint. The choice not to cross the line doesn’t save anyone. It just changes the way it hurts.

Related Reading:

• Opening Day 2026, Eyes Wide Shut, Sennheiser’s Uncertain Future, And Kaleidescape At 25: Editor’s Round-Up
• Paramount Wins Warner Bros Battle, Purim, Qobuz Goes To War On AI, Robert Duvall, And Empire Ears Goes Kaput: Editor’s Round-Up
• Audiophile Excess Runs Wild In Denmark, Qobuz Fixes CarPlay, Wes Montgomery’s Timeless Groove, And The Marantz M1: Editor’s Round-Up
• Jazz Dispensary At 10, Integrators In The Keys, Wireless Headphones On The Road, Catherine O’Hara, And Sinners Leading The Pack: Editor’s Round-Up