I’ve lived in the same house for 25 years. I’ve owned my motorcycle from new in 2007, and I bought the one before that new in 1990. Once I find something I like, I keep it longer than I should. Perhaps it’s inertia, or maybe it’s because I make shrewd buying decisions. Either way, I don’t let go easily.
Back in 1993, Sonic Frontiers exploded onto the audiophile scene with its SFD-2 digital-to-analog converter. Prior to that, this Canadian company had been making excellent tube amps and preamps, with a focus on snazzy casework and jewel-like parts quality. With the Stereophile review of the SFD-2 and the subsequent coverage of the MKII version, Sonic Frontiers gained a rocket-boosted launch into low-Earth orbit.
The rise of Sonic Frontiers, its rapid expansion, and subsequent descent into bankruptcy is the stuff of business-school case studies. Sonic Frontiers and Anthem—its lower-priced line—were bought by Paradigm Electronics, and after the dust had settled, Sonic Frontiers was no more. Anthem survived as an offshoot of Paradigm, offering solid-state stereo and multichannel components.
Somewhere around 1998, I purchased a Sonic Frontiers SFL-2 preamplifier and SFP-1 Signature phono preamp. I already owned two Sonic Frontiers products: the SFL-1 preamplifier and the SFS-40 stereo tube amp. I had been flailing somewhat at that point in my audiophile ascent, and purchased these products on the recommendation of two buddies who were both heavily into tube audio. The SFL-1 and SFS-40 were a wonderful pairing, and the upgrade to the SFL-2 and SFP-1 Signature really elevated my game. Along with a pair of Totem Acoustic Model 1 speakers, I had an all-Canadian system of which I was rightly proud.
The SFP-1 Signature was an excellent phono stage, but it was a touch noisy, so when I reviewed the Aqvox Phono 2 CI back in 2006, I bought it and sold the SFP-1. Eight years, I had owned the SFP-1 Signature. Not a bad run.
I kept the SFL-2, though. Around 1999, after Sonic Frontiers went belly-up, I became acquainted with Mike Kerster, one of the original designers of the SFL-2. Mike suggested that he could perform some modifications to my preamp that would elevate its performance even further. Mike and I lost touch over the subsequent decade, and I don’t clearly recall what changes he made—higher-quality tube sockets and some capacitor upgrades, I think—but I remember being right pleased with the outcome.
Shortly after that, I moved into my current house.
The SFL-2 remained a consistent member of my system. I dallied with other preamplifiers as part of the life of a reviewer, but I always returned to the SFL-2, which has a complement of eight 6922 tubes. Four are used for a buffer stage, and the other four are actually two separate gain stages. Somewhere down the road, I purchased some Tesla gold-grid 6922s and used those in the four critical positions. The Teslas worked a treat, and I kept this configuration for about eight years. About five years ago, my audiophile neighbor Ron gave me two boxes of assorted 6922s and 6DJ8s, as he no longer had a use for them. I rifled through this treasure chest and settled on four Russian tubes (real military stuff that looked like it had been pulled from a MiG) for the buffer positions, a pair of juicy Gold Aeros for one gain stage, and a pair of Brimars in the other stage. With these tubes, in this configuration, the SFL-2 just shone.
I admit that I have a sweet tooth for the classic tube sound. I love the richness, the warmth. Okay, I know that it’s a form of distortion in the most extreme cases, but—sue me—I like it. The SFL-2 had just the tiniest drizzle of that tube juiciness. It was still dead-on accurate and crisp, with exceptional imaging and retrieval of detail, but never harsh. The old girl put a small dab of sunset glow on everything I played through her.
Back in 2014, I purchased a 2004 Mercedes-Benz S500. This was the most wonderful car I’ve ever owned. A long-wheelbase V8 with every conceivable luxury option: 18″ AMG wheels, a flawless body and interior, and only 67,000 miles on the clock. I paid $11,000 (all prices in CAD) for a car that made me feel like an African dictator whenever I drove it. All it needed was a flag on each front quarter panel to complete the image.
I kept that car for four years. It was surprisingly reliable, given the horror-show reputation of the S-Class sedan. Still, it cost me about $2000 a year to run, what with the occasional repair and two-gallon synthetic-oil changes. At the four-year mark, it was still running like a Teutonic champ, and I could have happily kept that car for years more. However, I was keenly aware that any significant issue with this car would cost me more than it was worth. The air suspension? Two grand per corner. The transmission? Crate it up and send it back to Stuttgart. If there actually was a major failure, I had resigned myself to simply taking the plates off and abandoning the car somewhere.
So I made the executive decision to sell the Benz while it was still running well. I sold it for $7000, and a week later the new owner called me and thanked me profusely for selling him the car. I replaced the Benz with a leased Acura ILX—essentially, a pimped-up Honda Civic. After the S500, the ILX was so bland it was painful. Every time I sat in it and pulled away from the curb, I wanted to die.
But selling the Benz was, I guess, the right thing to do at the time. When I was driving it home after completing the purchase, my joy in piloting the thing was tempered by a (totally reasonable) fear that it might strand me right then at the side of the highway. So I sold it while it was still a good car, and while I could still sell it in good conscience.
Tube gear is like a vintage Mercedes-Benz. You never know when it’s going to blow up. Of course, it can be insanely reliable, but you never know. A failure could be as simple as a tube going Chernobyl and taking out a screen resistor—No user serviceable parts inside! Caution! This appliance generates lethal voltages! So now you have to get it repaired—assuming that’s possible.
I had an Audio Research VT100 power amp that died a fiery death on me. Lord knows what actually went wrong, but there were a lot of tubes and other parts in there. A local repair shop took a shot at it and couldn’t figure it out. I ended up taking it to the authorized dealer, and a knowledgeable tech looked it over. The power transformer had bombed, and when he fired the VT100 up with a Variac, other parts failed. So, to the curb it went.
My SFL-2 was still running great. Over the last year I’ve been using a Hegel P30A preamplifier because it matches up so well with the Hegel H30A amp. As part of Hegel’s design philosophy, the H30A has very high input sensitivity, and when feeding it with the SFL-2, I could only use the first few notches of its incredibly coarse stepped-ladder attenuator. Another drawback of this gain mismatch was that the small amount of tube rush generated by the SFL-2 was amplified so much that it sounded like a sandblasting booth at the front of my room.
So the SFL-2 sat on the shelf for nearly a year before I was finally ready to let it go. That said, I wasn’t totally comfortable selling something this old without knowing that it was working up to spec. After conferring with SoundStage! founder Doug Schneider, I asked Diego Estan, our electronics measurement specialist, to run it through the SoundStage! Audio-Electronics Lab obstacle course.
In short order, I had the measurements and they were respectable. There were a couple of oddities that could reasonably be laid at the feet of the tubes themselves, but there were also some standouts. In all, the results of this testing suite were more than acceptable for a 30-year-old preamp and gave me the moral go-ahead to sell the SFL-2.
I took a look around to see what I could include to sweeten the deal. When I bought the SFL-2, it came with a set of black faceplates as well as the preinstalled gold ones, which was a nice bonus. I dug around in my spare-tube drawer and came up with four of those NOS Tesla 6922s, so they went into the pile. Last up were three Ayre myrtlewood blocks that worked exceptionally well under the power supply. I also had the original user manual, but the box did not survive my last move, so it had to be local sale only.
I posted the ad at an aggressive price on Canuck Audio Mart, and within an hour had three replies. All three were versions of “I’ll take it.” None of that “What’s the lowest you’ll take?” malarkey. I answered the first query and we immediately went to a voice call. John—user name luckysimba—and I chatted for a short while, and, because haggling is obligatory, we settled on a $50 reduction in price. John was willing to take my word on the operating and cosmetic condition and we shook hands, virtually.
The next day we met at a nearby gas station to perform the transaction. John was an enthusiastic audiophile who has long been a fan of Sonic Frontiers, and we chatted for a while about the company’s products and our experiences with them. The time came for me to take one last look at my old girl, and I loaded it into John’s car. He handed me a packet of money and said: “Count it.”
“No need,” I responded. “You trusted me, so I trust you.” He gave me a quizzical look, but I could see him come to the realization that this was a meeting of like minds.
Back home, I took stock of my current system and how it has evolved. At one point in my life, my system was comprised entirely of tube-based products. When I had the Sonic Frontiers preamp and phono stage, I powered the system with a pair of EAR Yoshino EAR 509 mono tube amps. At that time, there wasn’t a single transistor in my listening room. Oh sure, it was a bit rich and mushy, but it was ripe and sumptuous, like eating a summer peach over the sink, the sweet, wet juice dribbling down your chin. Listening to that system was an almost carnal delight.
Over the years, that all changed. After the Aqvox phono stage, the next solid-state interloper to insinuate itself into my system was the Bryston 4B3 power amplifier, which I bought when my Audio Research VT100 gasped its last. Hey, this is actually really nice, I recall thinking. And it’s not gonna blow up on me. Then in came the Simaudio Moon 860A v2 amp and its matching 740P preamp. The whispers in my head started. I could live with this . . .
It was like a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, with an alternate Solid State Jason quietly replacing Tube Jason after he fell asleep listening to a fully transistorized system.
The final nail in the coffin of my tube life came with the arrival of the Hegel amp and preamp. This combination brought to my system a sense of neutrality, control, and muscular litheness that makes my reviewing tasks far easier. Yet at the same time, the Hegel combination lets the music flow with a grace that keeps listening a pleasure.
I am fairly certain that my old SFL-2 had a fair bit of life left in her, and I hope John gets as much pleasure out of her as I did. After all, behind me, on top of my record rack, sits an EICO HF-81 integrated tube amplifier that’s well over 70 years old and still in working condition—for the most part.
Now that I’m thinking about it, anyone in the market for a vintage tube amp?
. . Jason Thorpe
jasont@soundstagenetwork.com
