Another outstanding quality of this loudspeaker was its bass response. I was completely astonished at the foundation the Frida was able to generate from such a compact cabinet combined with a five-inch driver. And no, it didn’t cheat in the usual way with an exaggerated bass hump around 100 hertz, as so many manufacturers of bookshelf speakers like to do in order to create a false impression. The bass was quick, clean, precise, and yet impressively deep. The prerequisite, however, was an amplifier of excellent caliber in terms of speaker control (damping factor) and current delivery, such as the Einstein I had connected. The specified -3dB point of 32 hertz, given the sensitivity of 87 dB per watt per meter, struck me as somewhat optimistic. I couldn’t verify it with measurements, but ultimately it didn’t matter at all. With my eyes closed, I had the distinct impression of listening to a full-grown floorstander. What impressed me most was how these bass qualities were entirely at the service of the music: with fine articulation, proper timing, and an excellent sense of rhythm, I could effortlessly follow even the most complex bass lines.

One record after another landed on the turntable, and I simply couldn’t get enough. In other words: Frida not only allowed me to listen for hours without fatigue, but also impressed me with an irresistible fun factor, which I greatly appreciated. By this I mean that the Frida was able to bring out subtle interpretive nuances that did not reveal themselves directly in tonal terms, but rather indirectly through the mental images they evoked. When Morrissey sang “Everyday Is Like Sunday” (Viva Hate, His Master’s Voice, 1988), I was immediately reminded of the brilliance of this song. The listener could interpret it as an expression of depression and despair or, much more fittingly, recognize in Morrissey’s detached powers of observation and poetic imagery a yearning for escape, and thus a certain dark beauty or a silver lining on the horizon. Morrissey’s dry, black humor culminates in the line: Etch a postcard “How I dearly wish I was not here.” To be able to peel away and convey the poetry of an artistic genius like Morrissey so vividly, while also creating imaginative images in the listener’s mind, is something that only genuine high-end components such as the Frida are capable of.

Now, for those who might want me to comment on whether the Frida fulfills the usual hi-fi technical requirements, my first instinct was to say: all mere trivialities—I won’t bother with such banalities. But that might be a bit unfair to you as the reader, so here goes: the Storgaard & Vestskov Frida impresses with a fast, powerful bass foundation that despite (or rather because of) its bass reflex design, which has been executed here with technical perfection — never lags behind the rest of the frequency spectrum in timing. And that, with bass reflex designs, is anything but a given. Rhythm, pace, and timing all benefit tremendously. The vocal range is very homogeneous, with sibilants sounding clear and clean, without any hiss or lisping. The overtone spectrum shines brilliantly; the Frida reaches up into bat-ear territory, with a tonal coloration that leans more silvery than golden, without ever sounding sharp or harsh. Frida also never sounds “boxy” like a beaming studio monitor but instead offers excellent dispersion and a holographic imaging capability. I was unable to detect any weaknesses. In terms of pinpoint imaging and coherence, perhaps it doesn’t quite reach the very best coaxial loudspeakers or full-range drivers in the world, but that is splitting hairs and hardly worth mentioning. The true strength of this loudspeaker lies in its ability to involve the listener, to draw them in, to make music simply compelling. The Storgaard & Vestskov Frida is a loudspeaker for music lovers.