Integrated Amp Reviews

Secondo piatto
Most audio components' capacitors are soldered out of sight, neatly concealed inside the casework. Not the Legacy. Mounted in the silver center bay that runs lengthwise across the top of the amp are six custom capacitors—"pretty maids all in a row," my brain quipped (footnote 6). Each is Ferrari-red and looks like a D-cell that's been hitting the gym. These caps are made in Italy by Itelcond. Along with those logo-shaped heat fins, they've become part of the Pathos look. The company sources smaller, interior capacitors from Italy's ICEL. The input and speaker connectors are supplied by Neutrik and WBT, respectively. The power supply, which is borrowed from the Pathos Adrenalin and InPower monoblocks, is made in-house.

Damiano Zanini, Pathos's director of research and development, walked me through some of the amplifier's other internal highlights. "We use thick copper bars inside the amplifier to handle the high currents involved, ensuring robust and efficient power delivery," he emailed. "The input selector is designed with a special feature that not only selects the signal but also the source ground. This helps avoid ground loop issues."

Speaking of ground loops, the Legacy is probably the quietest tubed amp I've had in my system. No noise of any kind emanated from the speakers, even with the volume turned way up. I did hear a (transformer?) hum from the amplifier itself, but only late at night if I listened intently from inches away. When I moved back a foot, all seemed dead silent. At its lowest, the noisefloor in my listening room is around 32dB. Placing the sound pressure meter on top of the Legacy's vented chassis gave me a reading of 38dB. I think that's louder than a gnat breaking wind, but not by much.

The amp's preamp tubes, I learned, are used in a totem-pole configuration—a classic design that, topographically speaking, stacks single-ended stages to maximize gain and control. Pathos outfitted the Legacy with patented InPoL technology. The term is a portmanteau of Inseguitore Pompa Lineare, or "Linear Pump Follower"—a nod to how the solid state output stage "follows" the tube stage's voltage, while acting as a high-current "pump." The tubes provide all the voltage gain and shape the sound; the solid state circuit delivers current, adding nothing but muscle. There's no global negative feedback, and the signal remains in phase throughout. The idea is to preserve the harmonic and tonal integrity of the tubes while providing the current necessary to drive difficult loads. With the Legacy, Pathos literally doubles down via "doppio InPoL" technology, which essentially uses two InPoL circuits in a bridged configuration. This cranks up current delivery and allows for higher-power output.

The tubes themselves don't get especially hot, but the amp's overall thermal behavior is notable. According to my infrared thermometer, after 20 minutes of idling, the Legacy's temperatures were 95°F on the metal plate between the tubes, 93° on the black top, and 109° in the recesses between the heat fins. After six hours of playing moderately loud music (80–85dB at the listening position), the numbers were 101°, 114°, and 125° respectively. The amplifier had arrived in mid-October, just as nighttime temperatures in my part of New England started dipping into the low 30s, so I can't say I minded the toastiness. In the middle of the summer, I might feel more conflicted.

Dolce
It typically takes me weeks to get a handle on an amplifier's character. It was different with the Pathos. By day two, I understood what the amp is about. The word I kept coming back to was generosity. The immodestly named Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus (24/96 FLAC, Verve/Qobuz), a career-high album by—well, you know—sounded big and lavish. It was a very different presentation from the one served up by the impressive solid state Audia Flight amplifier that preceded the Pathos in my system. In a direct duel between the two Italians, the tube amp brought more brashness, more appassionata. The Audia Flight was a bit starker and punchier.

Forty minutes later, I was practically startled out of my chair when Pepper Adams started blowing his baritone sax on the album Mingus and his band had recorded some five years before: Blues & Roots (24/192 FLAC, Rhino Atlantic/Qobuz). Adams's opening notes on "Moanin'," cocksure and gritty, are placed mostly in the right channel but audibly reflect off the studio wall on his right (that's our left), gaining a bit of extra bite on their journey. You know how some exceptional musical moments get you grinning? This went beyond that. I literally laughed out loud with the pleasure of it, the brassiness, the nerviness. I thrilled to the cheek of Mingus's wailing nonet, its members alternately challenging their band leader and falling in line behind him.

By the two-minute mark, my torso was tingling, and 10 seconds later, I was overcome. That's no hyperbole: The sheer power of the performance, funneled through the Pathos, hit me in the gut. It was also the message that moved me. The track proclaims the indomitable desire for freedom, for release. That feeling permeates the whole recording. In a pinch, I'd still pick The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady as the shiniest of Mingus's pearls. Regardless, Blues & Roots must be one of the most visceral jazz events—I use that word advisedly—ever committed to tape. And holy hell did the Pathos amp bring it, with a bounteous presentation that expanded the soundstage in all directions, a picture of musical generosity. There's that word again.

Before I get carried away, I should point out that on Michael Hedges's Oracle (16/44.1 FLAC, Windham Hill/Qobuz) and a range of other recordings, the Pathos was ample in the lower midbass, making the acoustic guitar sound two to three times larger than life. I heard the same thing on Paul McCartney's "Jenny Wren," off Chaos and Creation in the Backyard (16/44.1 FLAC, Capitol/Qobuz). Big acoustic guitar. Big clarinet. The sonic warmth of the Italian heavyweight surpasses that of the Margules U-280SC 30th anniversary monoblocks in my kit. That's not a bad thing, just as a rich chocolate torte isn't a sin. There's indulgence and lavishness in that dessert, and so it is with the amplifier. Seductive yet composed, the Pathos Legacy isn't scrupulously uncolored, which is also to say that it's not analytical in the slightest.

"Apartments" by Sybarite5, from Collective Wisdom (24/96 FLAC, Bright Shiny Things/Qobuz), came next. In my FLS10 review, I wrote that on this somber mood piece, we can hear the difference between drops of different sizes. Some hit grass or plants while others splash loudly off a table, a window sill, a rock. "On less-resolving systems," I opined, "the downpour sounds like the crinkling of foil or bubble wrap, like a wash. ... The resolution is such that the drops are separate, distinguishable events." It wasn't like that with the Legacy. It gave a bit less definition to the drops but displayed a more "whole" quality, subsuming each individual splash into the sound of rainwater rather than drops. I'd give the nod to the Audia Flight's handling of this effect, but I found it easy to succumb to the Pathos amp's impressionistic lyricism.

I'm not implying that the Legacy amplifier doesn't do musical accuracy. "Spirits in the Material World," an instrumental version of the Police song from bass ace Michael Manring's Drastic Measures (16/44.1 FLAC, Windham Hill/Qobuz), stood out via the Pathos. The uncannily convincing electric bass sung with that exciting metallic growl of a real amplified bass guitar. Roon Radio had served up this previously-unknown-to-me album, probably because Manring frequently collaborated with Michael Hedges. As jazz goes, Drastic Measures is on the light side. A superior album is Manring's The Book of Flame (16/44.1 FLAC, Alchemy/Qobuz). Listen to his composition "Your Ad Here," an audiophile-grade, Stanley Clarke–inspired funkfest whose wicked groove also calls to mind Tony Levin at his most deliriously creative.

The Pathos excelled at lateral soundstaging. One of the percussion parts on Israeli oud player Yinon Muallem's "Six Senses," off The Way It Goes (16/44.1 FLAC, Magda/Qobuz), seemed to come from a good 3' outside the right speaker. It pushed deep into the room. I had to put the amplifier away for a couple of months when other reviewing duties took precedence. (Don't take "put away" literally—there's no way I could've moved the Pathos without help from a couple of weightlifter types.) When I welcomed the amp back into service, it wasted no time reasserting its hold on me.

Just to make sure I'd hooked everything up correctly, I randomly played Nightfall (24/96 FLAC, RCA-Sony/Qobuz) by Till Brönner (trumpet and flugelhorn) and Dieter Ilg (bass) and was pulled into the music almost immediately. Their version of Ornette Coleman's "The Fifth of Beethoven" arrived in the room with drama and flair. Both instruments shone with a purity of tone that felt disarmingly genuine. Engineer Arne Schumann's mix places them fairly close together—I would have preferred more spread—but it's not like the Pathos exaggerated the effect.

The title track, composed by Ilg and Brönner, has a more expansive mix, with the bonus that Br&#246'nner's part appears more than once—to the left of the original and a few feet further back (all accomplished through a digital plate echo, and a reverb effect by the sound of it). The horn notes sometimes overlap in breathtaking ways. There's also an identical but much quieter third part, slowly fading into blackness. It all sounded phenomenal.

With the Pathos, words like goddam and Jesus would sometimes escape my heathen lips. Once or twice, I produced an involuntary "Oh!," exclaimed in pleasure and disbelief.

Addio, amore
With most recordings, Pathos's Italian thoroughbred mirrored its immodest physical dimensions with an immense soundstage. I don't recall hearing another amplifier in my system that delivered width, depth, height, and life quite like this bodacious beauty. A combination of presence and exceptional drive makes it a musical instrument in its own right.

Yes, it's a bit colored (most amps with a tube stage are), but it's also smooth, authoritative, and completely fatigue-free.

The Pathos Legacy has a moderately fleshy midbass signature that won't remind you of clinical lab gear. Presumably, it wasn't intended to be as neutral as the beige walls in a rental apartment. What you can expect from this no-holds-barred amp is vitality. Spirit. Brio. Pair it with speakers and electronics that are slightly on the lean side of neutral, and I can't imagine you'll ever run out of music that, animated by the Legacy, hits you right in the feels.

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Footnote 6: If you're wondering whether that's a reference to the nursery rhyme, the Eagles track, or the Rufus Thomas Jr. song "Walking the Dog," the answer is yes.