What's the effective mass of the tonearm?
DeKay
I can't believe I found one
I’ve spent the today in immersive communion with my newly acquired Electrophonic tabletop stereo system, crowned with a Garrard turntable that whispers of British restraint and rotary elegance. Some have dared question its pedigree. To them, I offer a simple counterpoint: Have you actually listened to it?
Let us begin with Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours (Warner Bros., original pressing). The moment the stylus descended onto “Dreams,” a shiver went through me—not just because of the music, but because the tonearm hesitated ever so slightly, as if contemplating the gravity of what it was about to reproduce. Christine McVie's piano emerged with an almost Steinway-like grace, while the bass was... well... suggestive rather than present—a sonic implication more than a note. Some might call it “thin.” I call it “impressionistic.”
Then came Les McCann & Eddie Harris’s Swiss Movement. The raw energy of Montreux '69 poured from the speakers like a perfectly poured bourbon—warm, smoky, and slightly unstable. On “Compared to What,” McCann’s piano pounded through with a sense of urgency... or was that the hum of a loose transformer coil adding its own commentary? Either way, it was visceral. Almost like being there, minus the acoustics, the crowd, and the fidelity.
Curious to test its range, I inserted my 8-track copy of Led Zeppelin IV. Say what you will, but “When the Levee Breaks” has never sounded quite so... contained. The sheer gall of squeezing Bonham’s thunder into a plastic cartridge is matched only by this machine’s unwavering resolve to play it anyway. Did the drums crush my chest? No. But they nudged it. Firmly.
Then came Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. I dare say, Garfunkel's falsetto floated through the air with such spectral fragility that I briefly wondered if the Electrophonic was channelling spirits. A slight warble in pitch during the crescendo gave the moment a very human imperfection—some might say "wow and flutter"; I say "soul."
And just when I thought this marvel of engineering couldn't surprise me again, I slipped on Shania Twain’s Come On Over—a vinyl pressing, of course. "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" snapped to life with such clarity that I momentarily forgot the stylus was worn and tracking heavy enough to engrave marble. The bass line walked politely, never too forward. The chorus? Heavenly. It sparkled like a Nashville sunset through cheap glass.
Yes, the left speaker grill buzzes faintly on high piano notes. No, I won’t “fix” it. That’s resonance. That’s character. You can keep your sterile sound stage and your 120 dB dynamic range. This is hi-fi with a past. With mileage.
In summary: The Electrophonic is not just a stereo. It’s a conversation piece. A sonic time capsule. A walnut-clad monument to an era when music systems were furniture, not firmware.
Mock it if you must. But when the lights are low, and the Garrard spins, I’m not just listening. I’m experiencing. And isn’t that what it's all about?
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