The first thing to say about the sound of The Magnifier is that it sounds unlike any other phono-stage I’ve lived with, any other phono-stage I’ve heard. Initially, what’s going to strike you about the Thales is just how solid, fluid and purposeful it sounds. Its presentation is compact, spatially coherent and dimensional. It is also set back, relative to the speakers, well defined side and rear walls giving a natural sense of distance and perspective. There’s none of the startling immediacy that characterises the P1, nor the incredible micro-dynamics, texture and intimacy that you get with the Connoisseur. Yet The Magnifier is just as listenable and musically compelling as either of those units. Listen longer and deeper and you start to realise that this is a sound built on focussed instrumental and vocal energy, but focussed in terms of frequency and time (rather than location) and combined with perfectly proportioned mid-hall balance and perspective. Sit in Row M and you don’t get that zip and immediacy that you do further forward. The sound is fuller, more substantial, more mid-dominant and lacks some top-end energy – which is a fair description of The Magnifier. Separation and individual instrumental focus are not on the same level as the P1 – but then if they were, The Magnifier would be the aural equivalent of binoculars! Instead, this is a more big-picture, holistic view of the musical event. The Magnifier’s saving grace – its ‘super-power’ if you will – is that along with that holistic presentation comes a sense of natural pattern and organisation that, combined with its temporal, dynamic and rhythmic coherence, keeps the performers pointing the right way and moving firmly forwards. Did I say “purposeful”? In terms of energy and intent, this is bordering on the irresistible!
How does that translate in musical terms. Just one example will suffice… Play ‘Senses working overtime…’ (XTC, English Settlement, Virgin – V2223): note how that ticking, insistent rhythm set up by the snare and cymbal never falters under the assault of those big, slurred and rhythmically sluggish bass beats, instead moving inexorably forwards, climbing into and accelerating as the chorus arrives; note how the music gains density, presence and impact; note how effortlessly delineated the dynamic steps are – and how uncompressed. And when the music falls back from the chorus, we’re immediately back to that insistent rhythm and slightly plaintive vocal. The stability and confidence with which The Magnifier scales dynamic demands – and settles after them – projects a real sense of presence and, yes, musical purpose. This is a phono-stage that will never leave you wondering: wondering what the music is about or, why anybody bothered to record it.
Despite that capability to present concentrated energy as and where the performance demands, there’s nothing crude or unsubtle about The Magnifier. It might not be as up close and personal as the P1, but its holistic presentation captures the shape of the performance, is explicit when it comes to the lines and phrases within in, while its dynamic discrimination and temporal integrity ensures that the space and steps between notes within a phrase are perfectly proportioned. That grasp of the music’s arc makes air-guitar excess a constant risk when listening through the Thales. Whether it’s Mick Ronson on Ziggy or Mark Knopfler’s genre-bending emergence on the first Dire Straits album, Jerry Harrison on Fear of Music or Neil Young on Sleeps With Angels, The Magnifier brings an almost addictive attraction to the fuzz-crunching impact of a solid guitar riff, the soaring frisson of a sharply etched guitar line. But it’s not all about fireworks and shooting stars. There’s subtlety at play here too. When it comes to the carefully sculpted soundstage of Martin Stephenson’s ‘Wholly Humble Heart’ (Gladsome, Humour and Blue, Kitchenware KWLP8), the Thales captures both the space and the solid presence, proportions and dimensionality of the instruments and voices within it. Vocals have a natural warmth and character, communicative diction and expression, the bass guitar lines are rich, present and pitch definite. It’s all ‘right there’, but it’s unforced, with natural textures and attack. The guitars on ‘Me & Matthew’ are beautifully balanced against each other, the thrummy delicacy of the acoustic, the carved from solid curves of the Dobro.
