There is something unfair about me attempting to review a CD player. I mean, who am I--and what do I know? There's a billion or more CD players out there, and I've only heard a small handful: maybe two dozen different ones since the damn CD was invented.
      Lately I've gotten to use two or three different players in my own system, and man, that's nothing. So even if I think the Flatfish is the best thing that ever played my CDs--who cares? The guy down the block may already have a better one at half the cost for all I know.
      On the good side of this bad issue: I have, over the last decade, been the beneficiary of some astounding luck. God has brought me an amazing stack of the best high-fidelity equipment ever made. I used to laugh. Routinely I employed about $30K worth of handmade hardware, just to spin records and pick up the signal from their grooves. Likewise, I've played my 100 or so CDs through about $30K worth of digital equipment. And then there's the time I had a system worth about $650,000. And then there's the 30ips master tapes, the 78s, and the trips around the world just to listen to someone's way-gone audio assemblage...
      Okay, okay. I've used a bunch of the good stuff, and I may be able to recognize some above-average music playback when I hear it, but there is still no way I can tell you what's the best CD player, or even what the best CD player is at any given price level. All I can reasonably report on is whether or not a fool like me would buy this or that player--and possibly how long I think I could live with it without getting antsy for a better one.
      Another reason this whole scheme is unfair: I must be a total sucker for audio equipment designed by Japanese guys. Many years ago I had a system that was mostly built by Shindo. After that, I imported Tango Transformers and Black gate capacitors. Then I imported Audio Note Japan. Meanwhile, I fall in love with electronics by my friends Uchida and Komuro. Next, I write a rave review of the 47 Laboratory "Gaincard" amplifier. And now I'm shameless enough to think you'll listen while I try to tell you why the Flatfish is the most satisfying CD front end I have ever used. If I were you, I'd just read this article for it's modest entertainment value and go out and buy whatever damn CD player makes you happy.
      Actually, there's a third reason you shouldn't take my review too seriously: I have only given my phone number to two people in the whole audio industry. You see, I'm trying to change my life, and therefore I have concocted this very snobby rule that only "art world" people can have my phone number. I like this rule. It keeps me sane and out of the line of fire of a lot of airborne shit particles. I not only refuse to talk to audio professionals but I make every effort to write about only what Grand Master Art-D tells me to write about. (Truth be told, I'm a little out of touch with the latest developments in audio too. All in all, I'm probably the wrong guy's opinion to bet your kid's lunch money on.)
      So here it is, I confess, the two audio importers that have my private phone number are Roy Hall of Music Hall and Yoshi Segoshi of Sakura Systems, the importer of the Flatfish. But!! I have a great reason for breaking my good rule for him. He is an artist. He paints. He studies art. And best of all, he has, in my opinion, amazing good taste in all things creative. I love to go to his studio and listen to music, look at art books, and talk about art. (His JBL loudspeakers aren't bad, either.) He is a wise, gentle, and cultured man. He has a Zen heart. Therefore I am prejudiced: I am probably predisposed to liking what he plays for me.
      That said, I believe the art part is his audio virtue--it is his highly developed aesthetic judgement that allows him to choose the right equipment to import.
      However, if I say something is wonderful--and it's really ca-ca--then my whole credibility begins to smell less than wonderful. Therefore, you have been warned...

      For two months I only listened to CDs. I went crazy and put myself in debt. I doubled my CD collection since the 1st of January. During this time I entertained all sorts of irrational thoughts--like maybe I should sell my record collection and spend the money on CDs. Or maybe CD is better than LP after all. My LPs looked boring and dirty and old and useless. I started carrying the magic remote control everywhere. I started praying for a CD jukebox so I could even select the CDs from the remote. It started to feel like getting up and changing a CD was old fashioned and unnecessary. I became ready for a future where I just have to clap twice and the CD player says, "Yes Master!"--and I say, "Kid Rock, track seven." I'm not joking: I am absolutely ready for that kind of convenience. Send the LPs and the master tapes to the junk store! I want to be able to wave my hand up and down to change the volume. I want to snap my fingers and hear music. Actually, how cool would it be if the music could just follow you like a dog? Wow! Imagine walking down the street and you meet a friend, and you say, "Have you heard the new Beck album?" And she says, "No--but I'd like to." So you snap your fingers and there it is. Right there in the air around you.

I am ready for that.

      Sadly, that's in the future, but here's the good news and the bad news for today: The good news is the Flatfish plays music as well or better than I ever hoped for from digital. It plays the content of the music. It plays the heartbeat. If a hundred women scream--it plays their pain. If a singer breathes--you can feel his chest. It can make music appear beautiful and even sometimes revelatory. When the music is nasty--I feet the nasty coming out of the speakers. When it is nice, I smile.
      While I had it here, the Flatfish felt to me like it reforged the chain of every rhythm that was pressed into the silver disc. It recovered the theater, the poetry, and the science of the music I played. In the space of my listening cabin, it appeared to remanufacture a big chunk of the reality and the spectacle of my favorite discs. It seemed to follow the music breath by breath and beat by beat. It played with authority and resolve. It did what I think is hardest for any audio component to do: It made every disc sound different and every type of music feel important. The Flatfish was unusual (to me) in the way it made the music feel immediate and present. There was an air of strength and rock-steadiness to the way it presented music. I felt like the player was my obedient slave...except, (and here comes the bad news) when I went to change discs.
      The Flatfish is very cool looking. Very modernistic and original in design. Its main purpose in life seems to be CD transport, but the Flatfish also contains a bare-bones DAC (four-times oversampling, single-bit), so you can use it as a self-contained CD player. What it doesn't contain is a power supply: You need to buy 47 Laboratory's Model 4799 "Power Dumpty" for your Flatfish, making it a $5400 CD player. The Progression DAC is 47 Lab's $2700 upgrade/companion piece. This needs a Dumpty of its own, but you can power it with the one you already bought for your Flatfish. But whoever designed the Flatfish must have played the same disc over and over. This beautiful little player completely stops being beautiful when I go to change discs. It stands on three little spiked legs with cups on the bottom and points on the top, and when I try to undo the disc clamp to remove one disc and exchange it for another, it either wobbles around like a hula hoop-er or it tips over. I got used to this borderline shakiness and I became more "Zen" in my approach to handling the thing--but I still think the designer was so enamored with how it looked that he didn't care a lick about convenience. It works more like an LP turntable than any CD player I've used.
      There's a second problem: The controls and display are on top, on the flat part of the fish. But the eye that reads the beam from the remote control is on the side. Therefore, the listener has two choices: He can stand over, next to and in front of the machine and manually select tracks with the switch on top (but then he may have to fix those spikes because he'll probably knock it over); or he can sit in his chair and massage the wand--in which case he cannot see the display to remind him which track is playing, or which track he has selected. None of this is really a big deal. It's just kind of funny, ha ha. The thing is still beautiful. I would be proud and happy to own it. I used the remote almost all of the time and I even reached a point where I could almost enjoy the gymnastics of disc changing. I just think you should be warned. If you are not inclined toward serenity--if you're always impatient, or if you're one of those nasty people that blow their horn when the traffic light changes--then you may find the Flatfish a bit clumsy and slow on the draw. I personally would not trade its lack of ergonomics for some ugly black box with a drawer that pops out like toast.
      While I used the Flatfish, Yoshi Segoshi loaned me back another Gaincard amplifier so I could drive my Spendor 1/2s with a complete 47 Laboratory system for a time. This three-piece system (four with the Progression DAC) felt like all I could ever possibly need. It looked sophisticated, and it was down with and on top of every type of music I could throw at it. Bass had major punch. I never noticed anything to be lacking.
      I did, however, discover something very interesting when Yoshi loaned me his Model 4705 Progression DAC, a non-oversampling device which is, as far as I know, as close as anyone comes to making a stripped-down, "purist" product for converting digital information to analog music. Until then, I had been using the Flatfish as a one-box CD player, and I was happy. When I inserted the Progression into the chain, everything changed. I was completely surprised. Instantly, there was a letting out of breath. My body became less tense. The music I played felt more relaxed and stretched out. More easygoing. The whole musical presentation became more like a flowing river.
      I used this setup for about two weeks, and one day I got a hair in my ass to take the DAC out and remind myself what the Flatfish sounded like on its own. I was surprised again. Now, the music seemed kind of brittle and overly crisp. Less supple and elastic. More jerky and contrived. More mechanical. I could make out the words to songs and hear tiny details a little bit better, but I clearly preferred the system with the DAC in.
      Which setup is more real? You tell me. All I do know is, if I could afford the Flatfish, the Progression, and the Gaincard to drive the Spendor 1/2s (I love the 1/2s more and more each day), that would be the system I'd be happy with for at least five or ten years. Or at least until I can clap my hands and say, "Supercat, track six!"

Quality: 00000
Value: }}}