I wish I could be enthusiastic about the Acoustat Spectra 11—an electrostatic/dynamic hybrid selling for $999/pair. At first glance, the Acoustat Spectra 11 looks like a good deal. They could almost be called knock-offs of the Martin-Logan Sequels—they're about the same size. As with the Sequels, there are moving-coil bass cabinets below, electrostatic panels on top. The Spectra 11 cannot be bi-wired and does not come with spikes. Tiptoes are recommended, and I used them. I let the speakers run in for about 24 hours before doing any serious listening.

Sumo is one of a handful of American audio manufacturers dedicated to producing moderately priced products aiming for high-end sound; their most expensive product is the Nine Plus, at $1199 (although a more expensive Andromeda II is imminent). When I heard I was scheduled to review the Sumo Athena, I looked forward to the opportunity. A Sumo Nine (not a Nine Plus, which I haven't auditioned) had been my front-line power amplifier a few years ago. It was an excellent budget amplifier whose only serious shortcoming was its limited 60Wpc power output.

Choosing a moderately priced preamp has traditionally presented the audiophile with a host of serious problems. Most attempt to be all things to all listeners, expending resources on bells and whistles which would have been better expended on basic performance. Few have anything resembling a decent moving-coil stage. But there have always been a few designers (and companies) willing to expend much of their effort at the "low end of the high end." PS Audio has been such a company. Their new 4.6 preamp, an update and cosmetic clone of the earlier, well-received 4.5, is not at the top of their preamp range—that honor belongs to the 5.5—but it is clearly designed to be more than a price-point product.

Saint-Saëns: Carnival of the Animals
Ravel: Mother Goose Suite
Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, André Previn, cond.
Philips CD 400-016 2 (CD).

The whimsical Carnival, with its nose-thumbing at Saint-Saëns' contemporaries (eg a lugubrious "Can-Can" and a stately cello rendition of Berlioz's Dance of the Sylphs, from The Damnation of Faust), is given a delightful treatment here, and put on one of the best-sounding CDs I've heard to date from a major record company.

Philips has been less up-front about the roots of its CDs than most other record manufacturers, If fact, they have been downright sneaky about it. This release—billed prominently on the CD jacket as a "Digital Recording"—sounds very much as if it was analog-mastered. The is certainly nothing Philips should ashamed of, because this is a better-sounding recording than most digitally mastered ones.

Call it the Robert Louis Stevenson Syndrome . . .