mobanmarketI walked into the pitch-black room operated by the affable Klaus Bunge, manufacturer of the popular Odyssey amplifier. I stumbled into a seat.
After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed candles, a lot of them. 47 to be exact—I counted. Most were assembled in small groups on the floor, on ledges, in corners, behind lamps, peering like malevolent jack-o’-lanterns.
The back half of the room was devoured by a curtain of inky black linen. No light could escape or enter. Was this the prelude to some unholy pagan sacrifice out of a fever dream? Were we about to be bled dry in service of some forgotten god from Bunge’s twisted mythology? Was I about to meet my maker?
“Ken!” Klaus roared, “Finally, we meet!” I don’t know how he recognized me in the dark.
I smiled.
“What do you want to hear?” Klaus asked, handing me a remote so heavy it must’ve been made of cast iron. That’s when I noticed on the floor: small lights recessed into hollow shells made of tin, covered in pinholes arranged in a leaf pattern. Were these lanterns meant to illuminate our demise, a final, morbid show before a hidden bolt from the remote control silenced any report, good or bad?
Klaus played Santana’s Abraxas and all was well.
The setup consisted of a VPI Avenger Direct turntable with a Graham Engineering Phantom Elite tonearm running a DS Audio 003 cartridge and DS Audio Grand Master equalizer and power supply, feeding a Symphonic Line Die Erleuchtung tubed preamp (starting at $8000), and his Odyssey Stratos Mono Amplifiers (180Wpc into 8 ohms, $2700/pair). Speakers were Klaus’s two-way Odyssey Kismet Reference floorstanders with Scanspeak-sourced Beryllium tweeters ($4200/pair). Magnan cables connected the components.
Clean highs and bone-thumping bass transformed the room into a rock concert. Klaus, in top form, captivated the audience. I was relaxed, but I always kept one eye open.