Imagine that you have two copies of a movie and two television sets. One copy is on Blu-ray and you pair that with a high-definition television — an HDTV. The other copy is on standard DVD, which you’ll watch on a standard-definition television. You synchronize both videos and watch the results.
The difference in image quality between the two sets should be obvious. The HDTV’s picture should look crisper and have colors far more vibrant than the standard counterpart. We’ve reached the peak of video quality — or have we?
When we talk about HDTVs, we’re really talking about image resolution. The picture on a television set is composed of millions of tiny dots of light called pixels. Standard-definition televisions have a resolution of 480. That means approximately 480 horizontal lines from the top of the screen to the bottom generate the images you see.
High-definition televisions pack more lines of pixels to create images. On the low end of the high-definition standard in the United States you have approximately 720 lines of pixels. On the high end, you have approximately 1,080 lines of pixels. Manufacturers are slowly phasing out the 720-line models in favor of the 1,080-line ones.
Using more pixels to create an image results in a smoother picture. Imagine you’re given a stack of green and brown squares of paper. You’re told you have to build a picture of a tree using the squares exactly as they are. If the squares of paper are large, your tree is going to look blocky with lots of jagged edges. But if you have smaller squares of paper, the tree will look smoother and more natural.
That’s what high-definition television does. It’s not just the number of pixels in the image — it’s the size of each individual pixel. As you pack more pixels into a screen, you have to make the pixels themselves smaller. In turn, the television will produce smoother images.
But is 1080 the best resolution possible? Could you buy a television set that packed even more pixels together? Would it make a difference? And would you be able to find programming that conformed to the higher resolution? Let’s find out.
On a recent Monday, Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone — the dual frontmen of TV on the Radio — are lounging backstage at Boston’s Wilbur Theatre, chowing down on crab cakes and clam chowder for lunch. Topics of conversation include the election, Jay-Z and a phenomenon both guys find a little strange: getting approached on the street by random fans. “Whenever a stranger calls me by name,” Malone says, “I wonder, ‘Did I meet this person when I was drunk?’”
Malone and Adebimpe better get used to the attention. Dear Science, the Brooklyn quintet’s fourth album, debuted at Number 12 on the charts; a coup for an arty band that’s one of America’s most ambitious. Crowds have grown larger. Letterman and Leno are calling. Girls are coming to the shows.
Dear Science isn’t exactly Radio Disney stuff — Afro-beat rhythms and intricate electronic textures courtesy of producer-guitarist Dave Sitek are prominent — but it’s catchier and more danceable than the dense electronic noise of the band’s first few records. “We just wanted to make our version of a dance record,” says Adebimpe.
With three samplers and four horn players (plus guitars and drums), TVOTR tear into extended funk-laden versions of Science cuts like “Golden Age.” Offstage, they’re pretty mellow. Each member is in his 30s and tries to eat right and sleep well. Entertainment on the road is low-key: For Adebimpe, it’s watching DVDs of the Errol Morris interview series. Drummer Jaleel Bunton likes to jog. “Let’s just say we’re not Mötley Crüe,” says Bunton.
Backstage in Boston, Malone tells a story about the band eating mushrooms “by the handful” during a tour of Europe a few years ago. “I went swimming in the Mediterranean,” he says. “And I saw a vision of a death head surrounded by seraphim.” Malone says he has no plans to repeat the experience. Adebimpe concurs: “Oh, God, no.”
Two days after the Boston show, TVOTR gather in the basement of the Brooklyn Masonic Temple, having just played the second of three sold-out hometown gigs. They drink Stella and talk warmly with friends, family and girlfriends. Being home, if only briefly, makes Adebimpe a little wistful. “There are people at these shows who were there in the early days,” he says, referring to the small, messy gigs half a decade ago, back when TVOTR were just a half-serious recording project. “I want to say to those people, ‘Fuck, I can’t believe what’s happened either.’ “
