為什麼我不恐懼AI？從科爾托(Alfred Cortot,1877-1962)的一張1919年實體蟲膠唱片說起
古殿殿主
前幾天，我把一張蟲膠唱片從架子上取出來。
Victor Talking Machine Co.，紅色Victrola標籤。柯爾托(Alfred Cortot,1877-1962)演奏李斯特——《輕盈》(La Leggierezza)。單面盤，首版壓製，1919年出廠。距離現在，超過一百年，大約是107年前。
這首曲子以其極致的靈巧、優雅與高難度的技巧聞名，是十九世紀鋼琴歷史文獻中展現「輕盈」美學的代表作。
我把它放上1925年的Credenza留聲機，針頭落下去。
那個聲音出來的時候，我全程屏息聆聽，沒有說話。
一、背景的戲劇性
讓我先說說這張唱片是在哪裡錄製的？
1917年，美國Victor公司買下紐澤西州卡姆登(Camden, New Jersey)北五街114號一座廢棄的浸信會教堂，把它改裝成錄音室。主廳牆面掛上粗麻布，拱形屋頂被天花板遮蓋，調整聲學效果。這裡後來被稱為「Victor教堂錄音室」，成為當時古典音樂錄音最重要的場所之一。
1919年1月8日，柯爾托正在進行他人生首次的美國巡迴演出，被Victor公司邀請走進這座教堂。
就在兩個月前，1918年11月12日，《紐約時報》樂評人James Huneker在柯爾托的紐約首演評論中寫道：他的鋼琴演奏「充滿節奏活力」，在李斯特第二匈牙利狂想曲結束後「獲得了滿場起立的歡呼」。就在那場演出不到兩個月後，柯爾托從紐約趕到卡姆登，走進那座剛被改裝完成不久的教堂，面對金屬喇叭，坐下來。
柯爾托是第一位在這個空間留下正式錄音的古典鋼琴家。
柯爾托是這個空間的「開場鋼琴家」。
這是他人生在美國的首次錄音，當年他41歲，正值人生藝術巔峰。在他之後，拉赫曼尼諾夫(Sergei Rachmaninoff,1873-1943)、霍夫曼(Josef Hofmann,1876-1957)、帕德瑞夫斯基(Ignacy Jan Paderewski,1860-1941)等人才陸續走進這個空間。
那一年一戰結束不過兩個月，整個歐洲還在廢墟與重建之間喘息。他帶著那個時代所有的重量走進來——他的師承、他的演奏記憶、剛剛從戰爭裡走出來的世界的空氣——然後面對一個巨大的金屬喇叭，坐下來。
沒有舞台，沒有觀眾，沒有麥克風。只有那個漏斗狀的金屬喇叭，連接著一片薄玻璃振動膜，振動膜中央是一根刻針，刻針對著旋轉的蠟盤。
柯爾托彈出La Leggierezza的第一個音符。
空氣震動，傳入喇叭，振動玻璃膜，帶動刻針，刻進蠟盤。沒有任何電子元件，沒有任何採樣，沒有任何中介。那是一條純物質的震動鏈條，從他的手指，一路連到那根刻針刻出的溝槽。蠟盤後來被電鍍成金屬主盤，再壓製成蟲膠唱片。
這個物理事件，就這樣被封存進去了。
而在這份錄音中，不僅刻下了他彈奏的聲音，也同時刻下了上述的這些歷史訊息與空氣。
二、第一稿永遠最接近本能
這份1919年的錄音還有一個非常罕見與特殊的地方。
Victor 74589這個目錄號碼只代表「這首曲子、這個演奏者」，而非特定錄音。同一個目錄號碼下，壓製自不同的take：
C 22506-1：1919年1月8日，Camden錄製 C 22506-6：1923年2月27日，Camden錄製（最終通過版本）
「古殿」收藏的正是第一個take 1——1919年1月8日首次錄製的版本。這份74589在事隔四年之後，又錄到take 6的最終版本。後世發行的主要是take 6，而這份1919年的take 1，就被封存，存世極為罕見。
那這個take 1有什麼意義？
Victor內部認為「不夠好」、四年後重錄的版本。柯爾托41歲技術巔峰、尚未有任何「記憶失誤」問題的最早狀態。比「官方認可版」早了整整4年零50天。
Victor在1919年認為take 1「不夠好」，但這個判斷是商業標準，不是藝術標準。當年唱片公司否決一個take的原因可能很多：
可能是：錄音喇叭的拾音問題
可能是：某個音符的小瑕疵
可能是：動態平衡不符合當時的商業偏好
可能是：甚至只是柯爾托自己當天不滿意
但這些理由，跟「演奏內容是否偉大？」是兩件完全不同的事。
1919年的柯爾托，還沒有任何錄音包袱。他不知道這首曲子將來會被反覆重錄、被後世無數人研究比較。他就是走進錄音喇叭前，把他此刻對La Leggierezza的理解完整傾倒出來。1923年的take 6，已經是第六次嘗試——那個演奏裡，必然帶著「這次一定要通過」的意識。
第一稿永遠最接近本能。
這也完全呼應「實體的全面連結」的核心——這張蟲膠裡封存的，是一個1919年首次完成的完整物理事件，一個當下的震動，而不是被反覆修正後的「正確答案」。
三、「幾乎如新」意味著什麼？
一張1919年的蟲膠首版單面盤，保存至今超過106年，片況幾乎如新——這意味著：溝槽壁幾乎沒有針壓磨損，蟲膠表面沒有刮痕堆積，高頻信息幾乎完整保存，壓模留下的最初物質細節，仍然完整存在於溝槽之中。
換句話說，那根1919年的刻針在蠟盤上刻下的信息，此刻幾乎原封不動地還在我手上。
每一次播放，鋼針都會對溝槽壁造成微量磨損，高頻泛音最先流失。一張被反覆播放過的78轉，聽起來像隔著毛玻璃；而一張幾乎如新的首版，溝槽壁的物理形狀還是壓模離開的那一刻的形狀。這張唱片裡，柯爾托1919年的手指信息，比絕大多數已知的同版唱片都保存得更完整。
這張唱片從1919年發行到今天，中間經歷了：世界大戰、世界經濟大蕭條、蟲膠唱片被乙烯基取代、78轉被LP取代、類比被數位取代、串流時代。整個世界翻天覆地，而這張蟲膠靜靜地躺在某個地方，沒有被播放磨損，沒有被丟棄，沒有被重新熔化成戰時物資——蟲膠在二戰期間大量被回收熔化，這是許多珍貴78轉消失的原因之一。
四、「那個聲音真的非常好，非常真實」
首先要問：「好」和「真實」是什麼意思？
現代人第一次聽聲學78轉，通常的反應是：表面噪音、頻率窄、沒有低頻，但這些都不是重點。
百年前的全物理聲學錄音的頻率範圍非常有限，但正因為沒有電子介入，聲學錄音捕捉到的，是一種電子錄音永遠無法複製的「物理直接性」。從柯爾托的手指，到我的耳朵，中間從未有任何電子元件介入、採樣、壓縮、還原。那是一條純物質的震動鏈條，首尾相連，中間沒有任何數位或類比的轉換損耗。
現代錄音的問題，不是音質不夠好，而是太多人工干預。麥克風擺位、混音比例、壓縮器、均衡器、母帶處理、串流平台的響度標準化——每一個環節，都有人替你決定這個頻率應該多少、那個細節應該多突出。你聽到的，是一個被精心管理過的真實。
而那張蟲膠，沒有這些。柯爾托在喇叭前彈，喇叭震動，蠟盤記錄，就這樣。從他的手指到我的耳朵，中間從來沒有任何人替我做任何決定。
當然這張唱片也有數位轉錄版本存在。那個轉錄有它的價值——讓更多人有機會先接觸、比較、研究。但數位必須始終指向那個實體的根源，而不是取代它。最好的狀態，是數位把你引向那張原始實體蟲膠，引向那條從1919年卡姆登一路連來的物理鏈條——然後你想親耳聽到它。數位與實體連結在一起，才有意義。切斷了這個連結，數位只是另一個沒有歷史的聲音檔案。
我用101年前1925年的「留聲機之王：Victor Victrola Credenza」播放它。同一個時代的聲學設計，同一套對物理震動的理解，沒有任何電子放大，純粹的機械共鳴。用原配的鑰匙，開原配的鎖。
那個教堂錄音室，現在已經不存在了。北五街114號，早已被夷平為一個停車場。
但那個1919年1月8日在那個教堂裡發生的物理事件，還在。就在那個溝槽裡。仍在「古殿」手上。
這不是重播。這是那個完整的物理事件本身，跨越107年，在2026年的台灣，幾乎第一次被完整釋放出來。
最後：「實體」的本質力量
因為這張原始實體唱片，我去找了更多關於柯爾托的資料。他的師承，他的演奏哲學，他在那個時代的位置，他後來複雜的人生選擇。我找出了更多相關的唱片，對照著聽。我開始想，這個人的故事，應該讓更多人知道。
然後我想辦一場活動。
希望能夠讓大家在AI革命時代的來臨時，體驗與感受什麼是「實體」本質的力量？
那張實體唱片不是終點，是入口，是一個起點，一個連結點的啟動。它引你去聽更多，去讀更多，去認識更多人，去分享，去體驗，去與更多真實的事物發生連結。每一次真實的連結，又打開新的入口。這個過程沒有底，也沒有終點。
AI時代來臨，很多人感到恐懼。
我不恐懼，我不討厭AI，因為AI永遠只是協作者。
我越用，越清楚一件事：
AI放大的，只能是已經存在的真實與實體。真實與實體必須先在人的生命裡。
AI只是協作者與放大者，它無法取代真正的「人」，無法取代真正的「實體」。
那條從107年前美國卡姆登一路連到2026年台灣的物理鏈條，那個沉睡在溝槽裡幾乎沒有被碰過的物理印記——AI可以知道柯爾托是誰？能寫出一篇關於他的詳盡介紹。但它從來沒有實體接觸過那個實體的物理事件本身。
在AI革命的時代，真正決定一個人未來的，不是他多會用AI。
而是他掌握「實體」與「真實」的能力。
英國詩人威廉·布萊克著名詩作說：
「一沙一世界，一花一天堂。」
而那張實體蟲膠唱片，就是那粒沙，背後可以連結出一整個世界。
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2026年4月3日（五）晚上7點半到9點
古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶第42場・2026年第二季
歷史大師的足音・開季場：柯爾托(Alfred Cortot,1877-1962)早期李斯特與蕭邦錄音
這張Victor首版單面蟲膠Take 1，以及更多Cortot的早期錄音，將在1925年Victor Victrola Credenza上現場播出。
不是串流，不是數位重製。
是那條從1919年卡姆登一路連到你耳朵的物理鏈條，完整地，在那個夜晚，釋放出來。
歡迎報名參加。
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【活動資訊】 古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶｜第42場：柯爾托(Alfred Cortot,1877-1962)早期李斯特與蕭邦錄音
特別收錄：這張Victor首版單面蟲膠Take 1，以及更多Cortot的早期錄音
時間： 2026年4月3日 (週五) 19:30 - 21:00
地點： 古殿樂藏 (台北市北投區西安街一段169號2樓)
費用： 600元 (含精緻咖啡飲品)
席位： 僅限 10 位 (請填表單報名，表單在留言中)
(「古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶」是台灣目前唯一固定舉辦此類深度歷史聆聽活動的空間。)
【活動資訊：見證歷史的聲音】 古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶｜第42場：柯爾托(Alfred Cortot,1877-1962)早期李斯特與蕭邦錄音
歡迎參與見證這個歷史時刻！
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👉 立即預約您的時空席位 (需匯款確認)：
Why I Am Not Afraid of AI?
A few days ago, I pulled a shellac record down from the shelf.
It was from the Victor Talking Machine Co., with that classic red Victrola label. Alfred Cortot (1877-1962) playing Liszt’s La Leggierezza (Lightness). It’s a single-sided disc, a very first pressing, born in the factory in 1919. That’s 107 years ago.
This piece is famous for its extreme dexterity, elegance, and staggering difficulty. It’s a true masterpiece of 19th-century piano history, perfectly capturing the aesthetic of "lightness."
I placed it on my 1925 Credenza phonograph and let the needle drop.
When that sound emerged, I held my breath. I listened to the whole thing without saying a single word.
1. The Drama Behind the Scenes
Let me first tell you where this record was born.
In 1917, the American Victor Company bought an abandoned Baptist church at 114 North 5th Street in Camden, New Jersey, and transformed it into a recording studio. They hung burlap on the main hall's walls and covered the vaulted roof with a ceiling to tweak the acoustics. This place later became known as the "Victor Church Studio," one of the most important sacred grounds for classical music recording of its time.
On January 8, 1919, Cortot was right in the middle of his very first American tour when Victor invited him to step inside this church.
Just two months prior, on November 12, 1918, a New York Times music critic named James Huneker reviewed Cortot’s New York debut. He wrote that Cortot's playing was "full of rhythmic vitality" and that he "received a standing ovation from a full house" after finishing Liszt's Second Hungarian Rhapsody. Less than two months after that triumphant night, Cortot rushed from New York to Camden, walked into this newly renovated church, faced a massive metal horn, and sat down.
Cortot was the very first classical pianist to leave an official recording in this space. He was the "opening act" for the church.
This was his first-ever recording in America. He was 41 years old, standing at the absolute absolute peak of his artistry. Only after him did giants like Sergei Rachmaninoff, Josef Hofmann, and Ignacy Jan Paderewski step into that exact same room.
Think about the timing: World War I had ended just two months earlier. All of Europe was still gasping for breath between the ruins and the rebuilding. Cortot walked in carrying all the weight of that era—his lineage, his musical memories, the very air of a world that had just walked out of a global war. He faced that giant, funnel-shaped metal horn, and he sat down.
There was no stage. No audience. No microphones.
There was only that metal horn, connected to a paper-thin glass diaphragm. In the center of that glass was a stylus, resting against a spinning wax disc.
Cortot played the first note of La Leggierezza.
The air vibrated. The sound traveled into the horn, shook the glass, moved the stylus, and carved a groove straight into the wax. There were no electronic parts, no digital sampling, no middlemen. It was a pure, unbroken chain of physical vibration, running straight from his fingertips to the groove carved by that needle. That wax disc was later electroplated into a metal master, and finally pressed into a shellac record.
And just like that, a physical event was sealed in time.
This recording didn't just capture the sound of his playing; it captured all of those historical messages, the very air of the room, sealed together in the grooves.
2. The First Draft is Always Closest to Instinct
There is something incredibly rare and special about this specific 1919 recording.
The catalog number "Victor 74589" only tells us "this piece, played by this performer." It doesn't point to one specific recording session. Under this same number, different "takes" were pressed:
C 22506-1: Recorded January 8, 1919, in Camden.
C 22506-6: Recorded February 27, 1923, in Camden (the final approved version).
What we have at Gudian is Take 1—the very first attempt from January 8, 1919. Four years later, they recorded all the way up to Take 6, which became the final version. The records issued to the world later on were mostly Take 6. This 1919 Take 1 was essentially locked away, making it exceedingly rare today.
So, why does Take 1 matter?
Victor executives internally decided it was "not good enough," which led to the re-recording four years later. But this is Cortot at 41, at his technical zenith, completely free from any "memory lapses." It was recorded a full 4 years and 50 days before the "officially approved" version.
Victor rejected Take 1 based on commercial standards, not artistic ones. Back then, a record company might scrap a take for a dozen reasons:
Maybe the recording horn didn't pick up the sound quite right.
- Maybe there was a tiny flaw in a single note.
- Maybe the dynamic balance didn't fit the commercial tastes of the day.
- Maybe Cortot himself just wasn't in a great mood that afternoon.
- But none of these reasons have anything to do with whether the performance itself was great.
In 1919, Cortot had no "recording baggage." He had no idea this piece would be re-recorded over and over, studied, and compared by countless people in the future. He simply walked up to the recording horn and poured out his complete, honest understanding of La Leggierezza right in that moment. By the time he got to Take 6 in 1923, it was his sixth try—that performance inevitably carried the stressful thought: "I have to get it right this time."
The first draft is always the closest to human instinct.
This perfectly echoes my core belief in the power of physical connection. What is sealed in this shellac is a complete, physical event that happened for the first time in 1919. It is the raw vibration of a single moment in time, not a "correct answer" that has been edited and fixed over and over again.
3. What Does "Almost Like New" Really Mean?
A single-sided, first-pressing shellac record from 1919 that has survived for over 106 years in "almost like new" condition—what does that actually mean?
It means the walls of the grooves have almost no wear from the heavy needles of old phonographs. It means there are no scratches piled up on the surface. The high-frequency information is almost entirely intact. The microscopic physical details left by the stamper on day one are still sitting right there in the grooves.
In other words: the exact information that 1919 stylus carved into the wax is, at this very moment, resting almost untouched in my hands.
Every time a 78 RPM record is played, the steel needle shaves a microscopic layer off the groove walls, and the high-frequency overtones are the first things to vanish. A heavily played record sounds like you're listening through frosted glass. But an almost-new first pressing? The physical shape of its grooves is exactly the same shape it had the moment it left the factory press.
In this record, the physical imprint of Cortot’s fingers from 1919 is preserved far better than in almost any other surviving copy in the world.
From its release in 1919 until today, this record has quietly survived two World Wars, the Great Depression, the shift from shellac to vinyl, the shift from 78s to LPs, the leap from analog to digital, and now, the streaming era. The whole world turned upside down, yet this piece of shellac just lay quietly somewhere. It wasn't worn down by playing, it wasn't thrown away, and crucially, it wasn't melted down for wartime materials (a fate that destroyed so many precious 78s during WWII).
4. "That Sound is Truly Wonderful, Truly Real"
First, we have to ask: What do "good" and "real" actually mean?
When modern listeners hear an acoustic 78 RPM record for the first time, their reaction is usually: There’s surface noise. The frequency range is narrow. There’s no bass. But they are missing the point entirely.
Yes, the frequency range of pure acoustic recordings from a century ago was very limited. But precisely because there was no electricity involved, acoustic recordings captured a "physical directness" that electronic recordings can never, ever replicate.
From Cortot’s fingers to my ears, no electronic components ever intervened. There was no sampling, no compression, no digital restoration. It is a pure, physical chain of vibrations, connected from end to end, with zero loss from digital or analog conversions.
The problem with modern recordings isn't that the sound quality is bad; it's that there is far too much human intervention. Microphone placement, mixing ratios, compressors, equalizers, mastering, the loudness normalization of streaming platforms—at every single step, someone else is deciding how loud a frequency should be or how much a detail should stand out. What you are listening to is a carefully managed, highly manicured reality.
That old shellac has none of that. Cortot played in front of a horn, the horn vibrated, the wax recorded it. That’s it. From his fingers to my ears, no one made any decisions for me.
Of course, digital transfers of this record exist. Those transfers are valuable—they let more people discover it, compare it, and study it easily. But digital should always point back to the physical root, not replace it. The ideal state is when a digital file leads you back to that original shellac, guiding you to that unbroken physical chain stretching all the way back to Camden in 1919... making you want to hear the real thing with your own ears. Digital only has meaning when it's anchored to the physical. Cut that tie, and digital just becomes another audio file with no soul and no history.
I played it on my 1925 "King of Phonographs," the Victor Victrola Credenza. It uses the acoustic design of the same era, the exact same understanding of physical vibration. There is no electronic amplification, just pure mechanical resonance. I am using the original key to open the original lock.
That church studio doesn't exist anymore. 114 North 5th Street was leveled long ago to make way for a parking lot.
But that physical event—what happened in that church on January 8, 1919—is still here. It’s right there in the grooves. It’s sitting right here in Gudian.
This isn't a "replay." This is the complete physical event itself, crossing 107 years of time, being fully released into the air in Taiwan in 2026, almost as if for the very first time.
Finally: The Essential Power of the "Physical"
Because of this physical record, I started digging into more history about Cortot. His teachers, his philosophy on playing, his place in that era, and the complicated life choices he made later on. I pulled out more records to compare. I started thinking: More people need to know this man's story.
And then, I realized I wanted to host an event.
As the AI revolution sweeps over us, I want to give people a space to truly experience and feel the foundational power of "physicality."
That physical record isn't the end of the journey; it's the entrance. It's a starting point, the ignition of a connection. It invites you to listen to more, read more, meet more people, share, experience, and build connections with more real things in the world. And every real connection opens up a new door. This process has no bottom, and no end.
Many people are terrified of the coming AI era. I am not afraid. I don't hate AI, because AI will always just be a collaborator.
The more I use it, the clearer one thing becomes: AI can only amplify the reality and physicality that already exists. Truth and physicality must exist in human life first.
AI is an assistant, a magnifying glass. It cannot replace a real "human," and it cannot replace a real "physical object."
That physical chain stretching from Camden 107 years ago all the way to Taiwan in 2026, that physical imprint sleeping almost untouched in the grooves... AI might know who Cortot is. It can write a highly detailed essay about him. But it has never, and will never, physically touch the event itself.
In the age of the AI revolution, what truly determines a person's future isn't how well they prompt an AI. It’s their ability to grasp "physicality" and "reality."
As the British poet William Blake famously wrote: "To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower..."
That physical shellac record is that grain of sand. And behind it, you can connect to an entire world.