The Sounds of Yesteryear (Part 2)
From shellac to 8-track: A joyride through the golden age of analog audio formats.
In my previous column, The Sounds of Yesteryear (Part 1), we explored some of the ingenious ways humans have devised to store and reproduce audio content, with a focus on music. In particular, we discussed magnetic wire devices, which recorded sound signals on steel wires. These little scamps predated magnetic tape recorders.
As an aside, I have a passion for science fiction. One of the books I often recommend to like-minded friends is A Fire Upon the Deep by the American author and professor Vernor Vinge. This begins with an expedition from a young human civilization on the fringes of the Milky Way. They are investigating a newly discovered data archive on an ancient and uninhabited planet. Suffice it to say that they awaken a malignant super-intelligence, after which things go rapidly downhill. All this takes place in the first couple of pages — you wouldn’t believe what happens next!
The reason I mention ancient data archives here is that so much of the technology I grew up with is now but a distant echo of a memory in the collective consciousness. For example, many young people have never even heard of items like 4-track and 8-track cartridges and their corresponding players. Does this lack of awareness really matter in the scheme of things? Probably not, but it makes me sad to know that we forget things so quickly. On the other hand, now that so much knowledge (including this column) is being captured in digital form, it may provide fodder for historians thousands of years hence. (If you are such a historian, then may I bid you a cheery “Hello”?)
We will return to 4-track and 8-track systems momentarily, but first, to set the scene, let’s kick off with disk recordings. Early records circa the 1900s are typically referred to as “shellac records” because they were made from a natural resin called shellac. These were brittle and heavy, and — just to increase the fun and frivolity — they were produced in a variety of speeds ranging from 60 to 130 revolutions per minute (rpm) and sizes ranging from 7 to 12 inches in diameter. By 1912, the industry had largely standardized on 78 rpm and 10- or 12-inch diameters, which could hold approximately 3 to 5 minutes per side.
In 1948, Columbia Records introduced 33⅓ rpm LP (Long Play) records, made from vinyl, which was lighter and more durable than shellac. These 12-inch records could hold up to 22–25 minutes per side, making them ideal for classical music and full albums. In 1949, RCA Victor introduced 45 rpm 7-inch disks, designed for single songs or extended plays (EPs). These were cheaper to produce and purchase, making them ideal for pop hits and jukeboxes.
Records prior to the 1950s were monophonic (mono), which means they supported only a single audio channel. Stereophonic sound (stereo), which supports two separate audio channels (left and right), became mainstream in the 1950s. The way in which two channels could be encoded using a single groove in a vinyl record is (a) a tribute to the ingenuity of mid-twentieth-century engineers and (b) a story for another day.
As another aside (I simply cannot help myself), in 1973, the UK comedy group Monty Python released their fourth record album, titled The Monty Python Matching Tie and Handkerchief. The first side of this record had a single groove as usual. However, the second side had two concentric grooves. This meant that, depending on where the stylus landed when you set the record running, you'd hear one of two completely different sets of sketches — essentially giving the album a hidden “third side.”
Many unsuspecting fans thought their copy was defective or that they'd imagined missing material until they discovered this dual-groove gimmick. I remember my friends and I falling for this trick ourselves. When one of our number first got this album, we immediately gathered at his house and played both sides. Then some more friends arrived, so we played both sides again. By chance, the second playing of the second side ended up on the alternative track, leaving those of us who had been there from the start with very puzzled expressions on our faces.
I bet there are some people who, by random chance, ended up hearing the same track on the second side multiple times before eventually landing on the hidden track. I sometimes wonder if there is someone out there who has always landed on the same track and — to this day — has no idea that there are two tracks on the second side of their copy of this album.
Let’s change track (no pun intended). As car ownership boomed in the 1950s and 1960s, people spent more time commuting and traveling by automobile. Although radios were common in cars by that time, they didn’t offer control over what was played. Drivers wanted the ability to choose their own music, a capability that radios couldn’t provide.
The requirement was for a compact, durable, and easy-to-use music system that could withstand the vibrations and temperature changes inside a car. Portable record players weren’t really an option, although some people tried (bless their little cotton socks). In 1962, the American businessman and engineer Earl William “Madman” Munz created the Muntz Stereo-Pak, better known as the 4-track cartridge, in which the tape formed an endless loop. Muntz licensed popular music albums from record companies and duplicated them on these 4-track cartridges (first advertised as “CARtridges”).
In 1964, William Powell Lear (the same Bill Lear who founded Lear Jet) led a consortium that took the 4-track concept and extended it into the 8-track cartridge and player system. The mainstream usage model focused on playing pre-recorded music. Although it was technically possible for users to record their own 8-tracks using specialized equipment, this was uncommon in practice.
As for 4-track devices, the way 8-track systems worked was… let’s say interesting. In this case, the tracks were divided into four pairs of stereo channels. The tapes were recorded on a standard 8-track reel-to-reel recorder. However, when the tapes were loaded into an 8-track cartridge, the tape ends were spliced together to form a continuous loop (see a picture on Wikipedia).
A dual playback head was used to read two tracks simultaneously. A small piece of metal foil was attached at the splice point. When this foil passed under a sensor, it triggered the playback head to shift to the next pair of tracks. Navigation was extremely limited: most 8-track players didn’t have a rewind function, and many didn’t even have a fast-forward capability. However, almost all 8-track players had a button to manually advance to the next program — that is, the next of the four stereo pairs.
In 1965, Ford became the first automaker to offer 8-track players as a factory option, debuting in select 1966 models. By the late 1960s and 1970s, 8-tracks had become extremely popular, especially in cars, where their continuous-loop design made them particularly convenient. In fact, circa 1975 to 1978, 8-tracks and vinyl LPs were neck and neck in sales.
Sad to relate, however, the writing was on the wall. As the 1970s drew to a close, the Compact Cassette began to gain ground. Smaller and more portable, compact cassettes were everything 8-tracks weren’t. They were easier to store, didn’t suffer from abrupt program changes, and could be rewound or fast-forwarded with precision. By the early 1980s, compact cassettes had not only dethroned the 8-track but were starting to challenge vinyl records.
I never owned an 8-track system myself, but several of my older cousins did. They began by assembling their collections of 33⅓ rpm 12-inch and 45 rpm 7-inch vinyl records in the late 1960s. And then they repurchased most of these titles on 8-track cartridges in the early 1970s so they could play this music in their cars. I don’t remember them being overly concerned by this. What I do recall is that they were somewhat disgruntled when they had to purchase everything again on compact cassette tapes as this format gained prominence. I also recall them being a mite miffed (one might perhaps say “peeved”) when compact cassettes were displaced in their turn by compact discs (CDs).
In my previous column, we noted that streaming now accounts for ~85-90% of all music revenue, while physical media (vinyl, compact cassettes, and CDs) account for 7-10%, and downloads (digital sales) account for only 3-5%.
At first glance, this would seem logical. It’s easy to understand the progression from vinyl to 4-track to 8-track to compact cassette to CD to MP3 downloads to streaming. What is somewhat surprising is the current resurgence in physical media.
Vinyl began making a comeback in the mid-2000s, driven by nostalgia, audiophile appreciation for the warmth of analog sound, and a desire for tangible music ownership. By 2020, for the first time in decades, vinyl even outsold CDs in the U.S. The format’s large artwork, collectability, and association with indie and hipster culture helped cement its return as a beloved niche — now surprisingly mainstream again.
Although far less dramatic than vinyl’s revival, compact cassettes began to reappear in the late 2010s. Driven by retro aesthetics, indie music scenes, and DIY appeal, cassettes offer an inexpensive, physical format with charm. Limited-edition releases and vintage Walkmans add to the nostalgia, though the comeback remains mostly underground and collector-focused.
Meanwhile, compact discs have also experienced a modest resurgence since the early 2020s. Although streaming dominates, some listeners are returning to CDs for their affordability, excellent uncompressed sound quality, and sense of ownership. Special-edition releases and secondhand bargains have further contributed to their quiet but growing appeal.
All I can say is, “Who would have thunk?” But it’s not all about me (it should be, but it’s not). What say you? As always, I welcome your captivating comments, querulous questions, and sagacious suggestions, all of which you can share on Hackster's "Throwback Thursdays" Discord channel. I look forward to seeing you there.
P.S. Don't forget that you can peruse and ponder all of my Throwback Thursdays columns here.
I began my career as a designer of CPUs for mainframe computers. Now I'm a freelance technical consultant and writer.