THE primitive awe of the Amazonian tribesman pointing at the "iron bird" soaring overhead is something I share. With me, though, it is recorded music.

The small, sleek music-making device I carry everywhere reproduces the violins working to Beethoven's sublime ideas, carries the ghostly tones of Billie Holiday and produces noises that make one wonder just what Tom Waits is hitting and with what.

How do all this and another 10,000 tunes fit in an iPod smaller than a pack of cards? That is powerful mojo, I tell my medicine man. Thankfully, Greg Milner's work dispels much of the mystique of recording, but its true worth lies in its articulate, thoughtful raising of questions concerning philosophy and aesthetics.

If this joining of science, human intellect and the exploration of ideas seems all a bit daunting, like Brian Eno coming up with a 24-hour soundtrack for Finnegans Wake, then do not quail, dear reader.

Milner is a nerd but one who can write. Perfecting Sound Forever is a marvellous story told with passion and genuine, original insight. He roams far from the turntable and the disturbed air that music ultimately is to take on questions that make "how does that entire string section fit in one groove of vinyl?" seem, well, primitive.

Milner is thoughtful but also wonderfully dramatic. He has an aptitude for swinging a very large hammer at a gong.

"The first thing the universe did was cut a record," is his opening sentence, referring to the Big Bang. On the same page, he observes: "Our pre-history is frozen sound."

His introductory overture is thus stating in unequivocal terms that this is a book that will concern itself with more than decibels, sound waves, microphones and multi-tracking. Milner is in love with sound, particularly when it takes the form of music. He explains the science patiently and lucidly. However, it frankly does not matter when it occasionally soars over my head like an iron bird.

Science is only part of the answer in the divine recreation of music. Indeed, sound can be captured by technology so primitive that it is surprising, even shocking, that the world had to wait about 13.7 billion years for Thomas Edison to come up with a device that met with what would now constitute almost an essential human need. A century later, recorded music is everywhere: in homes, in supermarkets, on radios and in earphones on every train in the country.

As Milner leads us gently by the hand through the Lomax recordings of blues singers in Deep South prisons to the computerised Pro Tools mavericks of the 21st century who seem to know what they want before they hear it, a realisation grows from a whisper to an insistent growl.

Edison was content to capture music. The music industry wants to change it, enhance it. The distance from the listener to the actual sound of the recording is immeasurable.

What is the music-lover listening to? The early multi-track systems allowed music to be "mixed", that is, made it easier for the sound to conform to an idea rather than the actuality of the performance. A second guitar track could be added, the drums could be muffled, another singer could be brought in later to beef up the vocals.

Recorded music, therefore, became a commodity to be produced rather than a sound that was being faithfully reproduced. The concept of high fidelity in music lies buried under the desks of a million producers.

Records now, in any format, are tailored to meet what is perceived as a demand. Milner brilliantly explains how recordings of the 1990s, particularly Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, introduced high, compressed volume as standard practice. The public, after all, wanted to hear the music while driving or sitting in the train seat next to me.

There is much that is depressing about this trend to shape sound, but Milner is too passionate about music, too in love with recorded sound, for the book to be anything other than a joy. There is realism, certainly. But the magic of the music remains.

Milner uses specific tracks to explain recording techniques and innovations. They roll out like a magnificent soundtrack to a superb, epic Milner production: When The Levee Breaks by Led Zep, Leopold Stokowski and his crudely powerful version of the 1812, Leadbelly recalling Irene, Ike Turner's ground-breaking Rocket 88, Sam Phillips's capturing the animalism of Elvis, Penny Lane by the Beatles, David Bowie's Let's Dance, Superstition by Stevie Wonder and more, always more.

And they can all fit in that little black box. Still beats me ...