Poetic Imagery More literary inspiration and more watts characterise Sonneteer's second integrated amplifier, the Alabaster. Somehow, the new amplifier scene last year was about as exciting as watching a hedgehog hibernate. Except for an integrated transistor amplifier from sonneteer, the Campion (HFN/RR, Sept '96). That woke up this reviewer enough to wonder in print whether a high powered version might be something to look forward to. So, off went the two young designers, paying their dues to the Dead Poets' Society, and here is the Alabaster, named after a somewhat obscure 16th Century gent who wrote mostly in Latin. There's forethought for you: Castle Acoustics may run short of ruins to name speakers after, but there are enough English poets to see Sonneteer through the next century. A second amplifier is like the notorious second novel or second album. If the first was promising, there's always a risk the next will fall flat on its face. However, the muse hasn't deserted Sonneteer. The alabaster has a strong resemblance to the fist electronic rhymester, with a similarly splendidly lucid, clear and precisely defined midrange capable of great vocal subtlety, but truly powerful dynamics either side as well. Externally, it's much the same: two inputs direct to the volume pot; three auxiliary inputs; no phono stage; but dual binding posts for bi-wiring; and a thicker and heavier front panel. It delivers 50W/ch instead of 35 into 8 ohms, with a claimed 100W into 4 ohms. What makes a great amplifier different from the merely good, regardless of the price tag, is coherence and cohesiveness. There's a point at which the listener sings along to any part of an orchestral score, a bass line, or even copies Glenn Gould's colic moans and groans on the 1955 Goldberg Variations without realising it. Any damn fool piece of electronics can just play a tune and get it over with, but the best, like the Alabaster, does more than that. Rhythmically, for one thing, it's a ballet dancer that can't be fazed by anything. And for another, this is one of the best amplifiers for voice around. Anne-Sofie von Otter's singing in Johan Helmrich Roman's 'O Herre Gud Guds Lamb' from the mid-18th-century Then Svenske Messen is as lithe and sinuous, and sexier by far, than any Tori Amos or Alanis Morisette. The Alabaster lets every nuance of vocal technique through to raise hairs on the arms faster than electrolysis in a health clinic. It felt like the follicle in the Technics ad looks, no kidding. Or take the boys in the Previn/LSO Carmina Burana: singing 'Oh, oh, oh, totus floreo; iam amore virginali...'. they had just the cheeky salaciousness of 13-year olds who have fathomed out that these sentiments are written in cruder English on their school lavatory walls. Just as sensuous was Bill Bruford's live Earthworks album, with a raw, tough but perfectly defined sound to saxes, percussion and electronic keyboards. The Alabaster even kept some phase trickery within bounds: all but the truly good amps tend to spread the chordal drums amorphously across the speakers, but the Alabaster's control didn't falter. This new Sonneteer is, if anything, even more transparent in the mid-range than the Campion, which was fairly special. Speaking of sound pictures. Barenboim's Chopin Nocturnes are not to everyone's taste, but the Alabaster turned out a perfect simulacrum - a realistic size, width and depth so impressive it even cons you into believing the image has height as well - of the grand piano on the DG recording of Op48:1, right down to the thundering base notes. It transmitted energy. People often write about hi-fi which has a listener playing 'air guitar', but this has you playing air piano, fully convinced for the length of the CD that you are Barenboim or Gould or Brendel, which is a lot harder. The Alabaster is very good at orchestral scale, too. There's no shortage of dynamics. Whether it's Bruckner or Mahler, the brass blazes, and it's obvious that all the players are present and no trace of a suspicion that even one is sneaking a read of a novel during the rests. Let's not let enthusiasm run away with us, however. This is an English stiff-upper-lip magazine after all. There is a degree of fuzziness in the lower midrange, slightly muffling some cello notes and blurring the distinction between bass and tenor trombones, or some piano notes below Middle C. But if it weren't for the almost outrageous transparency of the rest of the range and the sparklingly clear treble, this wouldn't occasion comment. This is not an amp that should be wired stinted on either end. It was wired up mostly to a Rotel 980 transport DAC and Harbeth HL Compact 7s, but it shouldn't be outclassed by ancillaries until quite a way up the spending scale. In the Latin Mr Alabaster would have understood; 'Oh, oh, oh, totus floreo, iam amore alabasteri, tortus ardeo, novus, novus, amor est, quo pereo'. What? You didn't do Latin at school? 'Oh, love the new Alabaster. It's to die for.' (c) Eric Braithwaite 1997 - used with permission. Click here to go back.