Herb Reichert

I am a lucky person. I've been writing monthly audio columns since 1992, and the chief benefit of that privilege has been that each month my mind is free to visit distant shores searching for exotic artifacts that readers might never encounter at their local audio emporium. This month, my raft drifted again onto Japan's metaphorical shores.

I was cordially greeted by an international cohort: Victor Kung (VK Music in Canada), Yoshi Segoshi (the American distributor for 47 Labs), Junji Kimura (47 Labs' founder and chief engineer), and Kazutoshi Tsukahara, formerly associated with 47 Labs (in Japan) and now founder and chief engineer of Sparkler Audio, which is also based in Japan. Sparkler Audio makes modestly priced components including the model S515t "ballade II" CD transport, which I am about to describe.

Totem Acoustic was founded in 1987, in Montreal, Canada, by a former high school math teacher named Vince Bruzzese. The company's first product, the Model 1 loudspeaker, impressed me so much I bought a pair.

These little boxes steered the music straight into my brain—just like Quads and Snells...Today, those speakers look and sound like vintage pipe-and-slippers standmounts. This is especially true when compared to Totem Acoustic's brand-new Element Fire V2. Totem's new Fire looks Maybach-level glossy, and windswept, and trés moderne, but also smart and down-to-business, as befits its made-in-Canada roots.

The day I visited Stereophile Senior Contributing Editor Kalman Rubinson, I arrived back home with a headful of new understandings, but before I could ponder those things, I made a cup of tea and sat down to read a few New York Times obituaries.

While Kal and I sat chatting on his couch, he told me that reading obituaries was not only fascinating but had actually helped him find out what happened to a few people he had lost touch with. I told him I hadn't read Times obits in years but when I did, I did it to enjoy the quality of writing. We agreed that the Times's obituaries (as well as their Sports, Food, and Arts & Leisure pages) are good places to find inspired bits of pure journalism.

After some raving about our favorite journalists, we began telling when-we-were-kid stories about how we used to stare through the grille cloths on table radios, where inside by the speaker we would see the announcer's face, and sometimes whole orchestras—in miniature—on a dark stage where the speaker cone morphed into a concert shell.

In Gramophone Dreams #88, I described the sound of TEAC's VRDS-701T CD transport as "dense and precise in a way I had never previously heard from digital." I went on to explain, "by 'dense,' I mean there was a tangible corporeality effected by seemingly infinite quantities of small, tightly packed molecules of musical information."

What I noticed most during the review period was the extraordinary volume of data the 701T was vacuuming off those pits and lands and turning into music. As I have gotten to know it better, what I've noticed most is how the 701T sorts and delivers all that data in a manner that makes every DAC I pair it with sound more corporal and dynamic.

As I wrote that review, I wondered how the 701T would perform partnered with its matching UD-701N converter/streamer/preamplifier and how the TEAC flagship DAC's sound character would compare to flagship DACs from HoloAudio, Denafrips, and dCS.

It's important for readers to remember that I've spent my adult life as an artist and mechanic. Making things. Working as a tradesperson during the day then at an easel or workbench at night.

When I finished high school, all I wanted to do was work in a fancy, well-equipped shop building drag race engines. Engine building was something I had already shown a talent for, but my parents insisted I go to college. Unfortunately, my high school grade point average was so low I was turned down by every college I applied to. Consequently, my parents forced me to attend Wright Junior College in Chicago, a place where teachers rolled joints for their students. And I got straight A's. Those easy A's got me into Western Illinois University, a small state college in a tiny rural town called Macomb near the Mississippi River. My mother was so proud, she told everybody she knew that her son was accepted into "university," but she could never remember which one.

Throughout my hundred years, I've told everyone who'd listen: If it's adventure you seek, the best way to find it is to stand on the right corner at the right time wearing the right hat, and when the limo pulls up and the driver says, "Get in," do not ask where it is going.

This strategy has served my life story well. It has placed me without striving in countless cinema-worthy locations, hanging with all types of legend-worthy characters.

Lately, that corner where I stand wearing the right hat is in front of the Polish newsstand at the intersection of Manhattan and Greenpoint Avenues in Brooklyn.

In 1989, I bought my second pair of Rogers LS3/5a's from a guy on Staten Island who had them hooked up to a Musical Fidelity A1 integrated amplifier. After playing the speakers for me, he began removing his zip-cord speaker cables and paused to show me how, at the amplifier end, his red-plastic Pomona Electronics banana plugs had partially melted from the A1's heat. We both laughed.

After it first appeared in 1985, the A1 quickly became famous for its hot top plate. The top plate got as hot as it did because it was used as a heatsink for the output transistors, which were biased highly into class-A. The A1's hot top made tabloid headlines, but for me it was its bold, sinewy, un-transistory sound and timeless, sharply drawn styling that distinguished it from cooler running Brit-fi competitors such as Audiolab's 8000A, Creek's 4040, A&R Cambridge's A60, and NAD's 3020.

Now it's back, priced at $1779, looking and feeling cooler than before.