How A Tiny Jazz Club in Stockholm Gave The World Its Greatest Audiophile Treasure

On December 6, 1976, Gert Palmcrantz was just going about his job. The recording engineer loaded his car with equipment at Europa Film Studios, setting out for another night of live music recording—nothing unusual for him. What he didn’t know was that this particular session would become a landmark in jazz history. A cult classic among audiophiles worldwide.

Jazz at the Pawn Shop is available now on The Revolver Club

The destination was Stampen, a cozy jazz club nestled in Stockholm's Old Town, named after the pawn shop that once occupied its block. Stampen had been around since 1968, and Palmcrantz was no stranger to its modest stage and rich acoustics. Over the years, he'd recorded many legendary Swedish jazz musicians there, including clarinetist Ove Lind, drummer Egil Johansen, and vibraphonist Lars Erstrand.

That night, he was set to record a stellar lineup: saxophonist Arne Domnérus, pianist Bengt Hallberg, bassist Georg Riedel, and Egil Johansen on drums—a group of musicians who were not just colleagues but also good friends.

Palmcrantz arrived early at the club, ready to transform the cramped space into a makeshift recording studio. Stampen could fit about 80 people, with a small stage barely big enough to accommodate a grand piano and the band. The setup required some ingenuity.

Using an ORTF stereo technique—a method developed by French radio engineers in the ’60s—Palmcrantz rigged a pair of Neumann U47 microphones just above the stage; mimicking the placement of human ears. This setup captured a remarkably natural and immersive stereo sound.

Additional microphones were strategically placed to pick up individual instruments: a Neumann M49 for the bass, a pair of KM56s over the drums, and a separate mic for the piano, among others. It was a complex arrangement, but Palmcrantz’s experience and precision paid off.

The "studio" itself was a cramped corner near the club’s kitchen, wedged between a refrigerator and stacks of beer crates. With his trusty Studer mixer, Dolby noise reduction units, and two Nagra tape recorders, Palmcrantz was ready to capture the magic. He even had to manually switch between the two tape machines every 15 minutes to ensure uninterrupted recording.

Before the music started, the atmosphere was already alive. Chairs scraped, glasses clinked, and the murmur of patrons filled the room.

As the band members arrived, Palmcrantz later recalled hearing Egil Johansen’s laughter and Domnérus cracking jokes as they took the stage. Palmcrantz had no time for extensive sound checks or adjustments. He set levels on the fly, making minor tweaks as the night progressed.

The musicians, consummate professionals, played flawlessly, allowing him to focus on capturing the music rather than correcting mistakes. In fact, the only notable mishap came during a drum solo, where a missed beat required a small cut in the tape—a challenge for only the most eagle-eared listeners to spot.

The following evening, the lineup expanded with the addition of Lars Erstrand on vibraphone. The stage, already snug, became even more crowded, but the energy in the room was electric.

Over two nights, Palmcrantz recorded hours of music that would later be distilled into the iconic double LP Jazz at the Pawnshop. The resulting album was an audiophile’s dream—a vibrant soundstage where every detail, from the delicate touch of Hallberg’s piano to the warm timbre of Domnérus’ saxophone, was impeccably captured.

On the right setup, Jazz at the Pawnshop feels like eavesdropping on a perfect night out in 1976. The clink of glasses, low murmurs from the crowd, and the occasional creak of chairs. You catch snatches of banter—someone casually asks about the tempo before Limehouse Blues, followed by the comment "The first tempo; normal tempo", demonstrated by foot-tapping; and a cheerful voice later calls out, “Hey! That was a good old song!” Even the faint hum of another band playing downstairs sneaks in, a reminder that this was no polished studio session but a living, breathing moment in time. It’s jazz, with all the life left in.

For Palmcrantz and the musicians, the acclaim that followed was unexpected. They had recorded plenty of sessions before, but something about those nights at Stampen—the chemistry of the band, the intimacy of the venue, the unfiltered energy of a live audience—came together to create magic. 

Today, Jazz at the Pawnshop is revered not just as a jazz album but as a benchmark for high-fidelity recording. It remains a testament to the artistry of both the musicians and the engineer who preserved their brilliance. Decades later, it continues to invite listeners to pull up a chair at Stampen, order a beer, and lose themselves in the vibrant world of live jazz.