In many, musically significant ways, the Lars and Monica are the very antithesis of the original Linn/Naim pace, rhythm and timing -- PRAT -- approach to musical reproduction, a system philosophy that contained the performance and imposed its own rhythmic logic and rigid grid on proceedings, a musical and expressive straitjacket that turned toes to metronomes and rhythmic flexibility to march time. Like sugar in tea, it was all about familiarity and palatability, the additive eliminating subtlety and layers like a steamroller compresses tarmac.

Both Linn and especially Naim have come a long, long way from those early days of audio and retail hegemony, but the contrast to the rhythmic and expressive freedom exhibited by the Engström electronics is still stark and remains relevant. When it comes to rhythm and tempo, perspective and space, the Engström amplifiers don’t just allow the performers to play at their own pace, the performance to set its own agenda, by building outwards from the core musical components -- they make it a given. Rather than starting with the whole and then trying to drill down into the detail to perceive the pattern, they start with that pattern and then clothe it in layers of textural, spatial and harmonic information. It’s a fundamental difference in approach and presentation, an entirely different mechanism, and one that informs every aspect of the amplifiers, their performance, their strengths and their weaknesses.

Dwell on that for a moment and it doesn’t take long to realize its profound implications. If the Engströms are transparent to the pattern and sense of the performance, then they will also be transparent to the recording itself. Once you’ve identified the way in which these products work, it also quickly becomes apparent that this modus operandi is significantly more apparent the smaller the piece you listen to. Why? Because smaller ensembles require less complex and convoluted recording rigs -- and those simpler setups introduce less disturbance. Likewise, older recordings are also less likely to deploy massive numbers of mikes, channels and effects to achieve their ends.

During the recording of the Carreras/Te Kanewa West Side Story [Deutsche Grammophon Gesellschaft 415 253-1], producer Hanno Rinke tells conductor Leonard Bernstein not to worry about a sonic anomaly he’s hearing on playback because "It can be fixed in the mix." Sadly, Hanno and a lot of other recording engineers were overconfident in their skills, as becomes only too apparent when you examine their work through the looking glass of the Engström amps. It’s not that you can only listen to simple, small-scale recordings on the Lars and Monica, just that you really get to hear their benefits, broadening the gap between the almost "they are here" credibility of the best, small acoustic recordings and larger-scale, mass-market offerings. In the same way, the qualitative gap between CD and vinyl becomes a gaping chasm. Don’t get me wrong -- the Engström amps sound great on CD, but when you play records, those special intimate performances really come to life.

Given the implications of all that, and given that the Monica line stage is named for the late, great Monica Zetterlund, it should come as no surprise that the Engströms, both audio designer Lars and his industrial-designer nephew, Timo, are jazz fans. Any audio electronics that excel on small-group acoustic recordings are just crying out to be fed the jazz canon, while the music itself is all about pattern and variation, evolution and recapitulation, the very musical vocabulary in which the Engström amps excel. With the LP of Coltrane's My Favorite Things [Atlantic 1361], I’ve never heard its simple genius laid quite so elegantly bare, while listening to "Lush Life" (from Lush Life [DCC/Prestige 7188/LPZ-2032]), I’ve never before enjoyed such clarity of purpose or such a direct musical connection. The piping, reedy textures of Coltrane’s sax are immediate, breathy and natural, while Paul Chambers’ bass lines -- bowed or plucked -- have a clear sense of pitch and direction, pace and impulse. The switch from ballad to double time is an effortless and utterly fluid change of gear, while Trane’s elongated lines are beautifully shaped, his evolutions clear. Clarity and separation were exceptional despite the mono recording, with tonality and depth differentiation effortlessly identifying each instrument. When Donald Byrd’s sparky, quicksilver trumpet solo shoots out, the playing is fast yet relaxed and unhurried, never jumbled or flustered, so that when he drops back into the ballad tempo for the finale, the transition, once again flows with a natural expressive grace, a simple extension of what flowed before.

That level of relaxed intimacy and rhythmic dexterity makes for a captivating listening experience that pulls you into and through the track’s evolutions, captured by its natural sense of progress and musical momentum. The track might be familiar, but this is a new, brighter, more colorful and more exhilarating journey. Even the dense and difficult A Love Supreme [Impulse! A-77], an album I’ve always struggled with, takes on a new clarity and shape, more easily followed and tracked. Normally, I get lost around half way through side one, but with the Engströms doing the heavy lifting, I was -- perhaps for the first time -- able to not just listen but start to appreciate what this music is really about.

Interestingly, early stereo jazz, with its often hard right-left separation, is just as successful. The miking might disturb the spatial integrity, but the otherwise simple recording still delivers the musical goods, while sensitively executed modern recordings can be spectacular. Kit Downes’ Tricko [Coup Perdu CPLP003] juxtaposes his crisp piano against the contrasting textures and longer notes of Lucy Railton’s cello, with occasional ambient embellishments. The Engströms give the way those textures combine a glorious clarity and impact, whether the cello’s accents are longer bowed notes or the sharper attack of plucked interjections. Even with music this sparse, it commands your attention, the system dropping away from the performance before you.

And what the Engström amps do for jazz they do for pop and classical too, always making the most of what’s on offer rather than discarding what isn’t up to scratch. They thrive on carefully produced studio pop, preserving tonal shadings, textures and timing cues that (ironically) so often evade ‘higher resolution’ systems. Just listen to Tony Levin’s closing bass solo on "Don’t Give Up" (Peter Gabriel's So [Realworld PGLPR5X], the double 45rpm, half-speed remastered LP); the notes aren’t just perfectly paced and pitched, they have shape and a sense of direction, attack and decay. Gabriel’s vocals have a natural presence and immediacy, as does Kate Bush’s chorus work, while the instrumentation and playing is beautifully blended by the deft production work, a great song elevated higher by good work in the studio.

So far I’ve concerned myself with describing -- well, okay, wallowing in -- what the Engströms mono amps do well. Musically speaking, the quality of the ingredients shines through. But how far can they stretch and at what point do they overreach. In part the answer to that question depends on the system. Having used the Lars at length with the Living Voice Vox Olympian system, I can say with certainty that in that (admittedly esoteric) context, they never struggled for power. In fact, of all the amps I tried with the Vox Olympian system, they were by far my favorites, their clarity and innate grasp of musical structure for me easily eclipsing the Kondo Gaku-Oh with which the speakers were developed and are so often, so convincingly demonstrated. With both amps on hand, there was no question which of the two offered the greater musical insight as well as the most musically engaging and satisfying performances. But despite their elevated asking price of these amps, most Engström owners won’t be aspiring to ownership of full-range horns, and one of the things that makes these electronics so interesting is their ability to work with far more conventional loudspeaker loads. Visit hi-fi shows and, as often as not, you’ll find Engström exhibiting with the likes of Marten or Vivid, purveyors of three- or four-way cabinet speakers with sensitivity hovering around the 90dB mark.

I spent a lot of time listening to the Lars/Monica combination with both the Wilson Benesch Resolution and the impressive new Raidho XT5 (perhaps the best-balanced floorstander that company has ever produced). These speakers may not be the obvious choice for a sub 40-watt amplifier, but then they also have something in common with both the Vivid and Marten designs. All four are low-loss devices, with low-storage-signature cabinets and if they run the gamut of different, high-tech driver approaches, they all manage to preserve musical energy, one way or another. With both the Raidho and the Wilson Benesch designs, the Lars was more than happy -- up to a point. Go too big or too hard and the soundstage started to collapse and congeal, with dynamic compression shutting down musical and tonal contrasts. Play Gabriel’s "Don’t Give Up" on the XT5 and it is presented with presence, scale, separation and authority -- both rhythmic and low-frequency -- as already described. But let the album run into the dense, musical maelstrom of "That Voice Again" and in the space of the gap between two tracks you have shifted the system from consummate control to flirting with the edge of its comfort zone. Quite where you cross that line depends on the nature and the level of the program material, and it’s not as simple as big is bad. Looking to investigate this very question, I assembled a selection of Shostakovitch 5th Symphonies, music that moves from the softly haunting to the truly monumental, via every stage in between. In each case, the massive crescendos could and generally would tip the system over the edge, but the onset of distress and the nature of collapse varied significantly with performance and, perhaps most interestingly, with provenance.

All told, I selected four performances and five discs: in chronological order they were Previn and the LSO [RCA SB-6551], LP 1966, and [RCA 74321 24212], CD 1995; Berglund and the Bournemouth S.O. [EMI SLS 5044], LP 1976; Haitink and the Concertgebouw [Decca 478 3174], CD 1981); and Ashkenazy and the Philharmonia [Signum SIGCD135], CD 2008. It made for a fascinating exercise, both in terms of the different interpretations and performances and also the different presentations.

Concentrating on the explosive fourth movement, I’ll start with Haitink and his refreshingly measured and straightforward reading. Although the playing and direction are clear, the scale and energy demanded of the system foreshortens the depth and limits the dynamic range and musical impact. Compare this to Previn on CD and the sheer verve and power in the LSO’s performance deliver greater presence, order and range, without the clipped crescendos of the Decca disc. The bass drum and double basses have more air and texture, but, above all, the music has a more defined and discernible shape and sense of purpose. This preservation of pattern is all the more impressive given that Previn rattles through the movement in nine and a half minutes, compared to Haitink’s 10:34. Now contrast the impressive body, color and musical impact that Previn achieves, with the Philharmonia under Ashkenazy’s baton. At 10:22 playing time, Ashkenazy’s tempo is only a little quicker than Haitink’s, yet musically the results are rushed and jumbled, the rapid, energetic phrases with their rousing theme tumbling over each other as the performance loses all semblance of shape, all sense of cresting, successive peaks. Previn’s reading, captured over four decades before the Ashkenazy enjoys both an analog master and, one assumes, a significantly less complex recording chain, both things that stand it in good stead, yet it is still surprising not only how much more music it delivers but how much better that music survives its passage through the system. Where both the Decca and the Signum discs expose the ultimate power limitations of the amplifiers, the crescendos on the Previn are more impressive and impactful and also delivered with less obvious constraint.

If the benefits of the analog original are really that apparent, how about resorting to LP? Comparing the Previn performance on LP to the CD version shows the same yawning chasm in quality that I’ve come to expect. The LP offers a deeper, broader and far more dimensional soundstage, richer colors, greater presence and a far greater dynamic range. It’s not so much that the LP goes louder, but it delivers more concentrated energy to greater musical effect. Comparing it to the Berglund recording again highlights just how clearly these amps differentiate between performers and performances. Berglund is hardly a shrinking violet, as witnessed by his EMI/BSO Sibelius cycle, but in this repertoire the Bournemouth simply can’t match the discipline and the resulting concentrated power and expressive contrast generated by the LSO, power that is essential to this piece.

That is a crucial observation when it comes to understanding these amps and their behavior under load. It’s not as simple as, Can they meet the dynamic demands of the piece? Instead, it’s more a question of how well they maintain their sense of pattern and musical whole as levels and complexity rise. That, in turn, depends to a large extent on the presence of those qualities in the recording to start with. Or to put it another way, the better the recording, the bigger they’ll go -- which is far from the normal case. Clean, organized dynamic demands are met with aplomb: it’s more confused and jumbled signals that fall apart under pressure. No, the Lars won’t deliver Previn’s vision at full chat without a hint of strain. Nor will they deliver the absolute dimensional stability and low-end authority of an amp like the VTL Siegfried II. But what they will do is capture the frisson of tension that makes the performance so dramatic and carry that thread through the towering demands of the crescendos. The soundstage draws in and instruments can step forward. Intra-instrumental space gets congested, but the shape and phrasing, the pattern and purpose is maintained throughout. These are not amps for a diet of non-stop symphonic blockbusters; their considerable strengths lie at the more intimate and intricate end of the musical spectrum. But I never cease to be amazed by how capable they are when you ask them to roll up their sleeves and shovel some serious coal. As with any modestly powered amp, speaker matching is going to be crucial to the overall performance envelope, with sensitivity playing a large part in that equation. The Lars is no powerhouse, but the range of options available for a given musical demand will be far wider with the Lars than any of the other low-powered amps discussed here.

Turning to the Monica used in isolation, I was initially frustrated and a little disappointed. Using its balanced outputs to drive the VTL S-400 II and feeding it from the Wadax Pre 1 Ultimate DAC or Kuzma Stabi M via the Connoisseur phono stage, it lacked the immediacy, attack and texture of the Connoisseur 4.2 line stage, the rock-like stability and dynamic authority of the VTL TL-7.5 III. Instead, it sounded rounded and softened, beguilingly warm and richly hued, but lacking that reach-out-and-touch quality that both the Connoisseur and the VTL possess.

It took a while to realize that what I was hearing was the same set of attributes I’d heard from the Lars monoblocls, but they were entering the system further upstream. In search of the Monica’s essential nature, I’d started out by playing small and intimate tracks, not realizing that I’d almost taken a step too far in that direction. You don’t get much more immediate and intimate than the stark clarity of Janis Ian’s "Some People’s Lives" (from the Breaking Silence LP [Analogue productions APP 027]), but what a track like this does is expose the Monica’s lack of ultimate immediacy without giving it any complexity to work on. Let the album run and the title track soon redresses the balance. It opens with a hushed vocal that is progressively expanded, double track on double track, line on line, into a virtual chorus. Listening through the Monica, I certainly missed the absolute immediacy, the almost ghostly intimacy of that opening vocal, but what happened next was remarkable, two voices appearing either side of the lead vocal, then two more and then another two, to create a spread of seven voices in all, all cloned from the lead. This was something I’ve never heard as explicitly before, yet the Monica revealed the studio artifice without so much as a flourish, with the sort of easy nonchalance that makes it even more impressive. The slab-sided opening crescendo, the chopped and changing rhythms, the shifts in dynamic density followed with an unerring sense of place and purpose, making musical sense of a track that all too often sounds more like sonic fireworks.

This was pattern and perspective, all over again. The relaxed, unforced sense of pace brought its own quality of unhurried clarity to phrasing and arrangements, purpose and direction to performances, whether it was Don Henley singing Jackson Browne or Barbirolli conducting Sibelius. Listening with the S-400 II, there was an almost tidal continuity -- ebb and flow to music, a smooth sense of poised progression and substance, founded on the rich tonal palette and natural harmonic weight. This is a sound that reflects the irresistible power and shape of the ocean swell rather than the ripples or spray on its surface. It’s the polar opposite of the microdynamic resolution, texture and intimacy that are the Connoisseur’s forte; it lacks the absolute stability and planted authority of the VTL. Instead it offers a more motive, more fluid presentation that fastens on the overall line and shape rather than the notes and the gaps between them.

Yet, I’d heard none of that big-boned, sweeping tendency from the Monica in combination with the Lars -- as reverting to the Engström amps quickly demonstrated. Which is when I started thinking about gain. Using the S-400 II, I was running the Monica’s volume control at around -27 or -30dB. There’s wasn’t much that I could do with the phono stage, but the Wadax offers variable output. Winding down the output level of the Pre 1 by 25dB and compensating on the Monica, the benefit was immediately obvious, with the system gaining in agility and immediacy. All right -- this didn’t turn the Monica into a Connoisseur, but nor did it rob it of that sense of shape, flow and substance that make for such compelling listening. Whether it was string texture on the Kleiber Beethoven 7th Symphony (VPO [DGG SACD 471 6302]) or the vivacity and sheer adventure of Kopatchinskaja’s Tzigane on Deux (with Polina Leschenko [Alpha-Classics 387]) that sense of pattern was paired with instrumental texture and a new agility that brought performances to life. Now it was easy to hear why Patricia Kopatchinskaja is considered one of the most exciting violinists around -- and why Kleiber’s Beethoven is still revered today, more than 40 years after it was recorded.

Drafting in the Wadia S7i CD player proved the point, albeit at the cost of reduced performance from the player itself, down to the decreased bit depth of its digital-domain level control -- and there’s the rub. The Monica is an exceptional preamp, capable of bringing shape and order to the most difficult music, the murkiest recordings, but its performance is system and gain dependent. To give of its (considerable) best, you need to use it with sources and power amps that match its gain structure, which helps explain those input gain switches on the back of the Lars. What’s more, if that means adjusting the output level of the source components or the overall gain of the power amps, you need to ensure that those adjustments don’t impose their own sonic limitations. But if your system could do with an injection of shape and color, purpose and poise, then the Monica is well worth investigating. If it’s a good fit with the equipment already in place, the results could be exceptional. Which brings us back to the best fit of all -- Engström’s matching power amps.

s impressive as these products are individually -- and both the Lars and Monica are capable of bringing something extra, even to really good systems -- there’s no escaping that together their whole is greater than the sum of the parts, especially in a system built around them, or one that plays to their strengths. In that respect, the Engströms are no different to the similarly hair-shirt (and similarly exceptional) Connoisseurs, products that always work better in tandem than in isolation. But what makes the Engströms really special is that, used together, they offer the musical benefits so often claimed for SET amplification, without overdosing on the downsides -- the softened, rounded masking that renders music overly polite and ultimately innocuous. More powerful, more temporally accurate and sure-footed, with far greater musical clarity and purpose than the competition, the Engströms are also far more versatile, bringing those triode benefits to a wider range of systems -- at a price.

Which brings us full circle, back to those numbers that opened this review. Definitely distinctive in appearance, Monica and Lars are also compact and, no matter how beautifully finished or put together, there’s no escaping the simple fact that they are monstrously expensive -- expensive enough that as I suggested at the start of this review, there’s only one way to justify the cost -- and that’s performance. Every time I look at these products, inside or out, the numbers just don’t add up: I can’t begin to explain why they cost as much as they do -- at least not in material terms. But then I listen to them again and those concerns just seem to evaporate. Even then, at this price, to make them a sensible purchase they need to do at least one musically important thing better than anything else. It should be obvious from the preceding description that the Engströms tick that box pretty emphatically. I also mentioned earlier that the Lars monoblocks were head and shoulders above other amps I used with the Vox Olympians, a telling observation not because the Living Voice speakers are horn-loaded, but because of their sheer quality, company in which the Engström amps are demonstrably comfortable. They were equally at home with other exceptional partnering products, further underlining their pedigree.

Judge this book by its 300B cover and you could be in for a major surprise. These may not be the electronics solution for every system, but they will work in far more systems than you might expect, bringing with them something as musical as it is magical. At a combined cost of almost €120,000 they are not products for every man, but if you are in the fortunate position that you can afford them, they might just be the products for you.