History lessons may bore most of you, but some background is
needed to understand the brain-rattling Silver Seven. A lesson in
psychology wouldn't hurt either, because what we're looking at
here is a response to hurt pride, or ego, or whatever it takes to
drive a mass-market manufacturer to produce a four-chassis power
amplifier clocking in at seventeen big ones.

Bob Carver, a wizard designer who can't decide whether he wants
to be Albert Einstein or Cecil B. De Mille, has the high end in
his blood. Founder of Phase Linear, Carver can take credit for
being one of the first to manufacturer gigantic overkill
transistor amplifiers. The seeds of cost-no-object high end took
root in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and Phase Linear was a
key player. But Bob's tenure with the company which bears his
name has seen only the production of affordable products with no
aspirations toward the high end, signified by a mix of genuine
innovation and marketing excess. Indeed, some of the Carver
notions are so bizarre as to border on the comical, but this
hasn't stopped the company from selling many millions of dollars
worth of hardware.

Carver has always enjoyed winding up the press with what are
known as 'the Carver Challenges'. Three years ago, Bob took on
the American high end community -- mainly in the pages of
¬Stereophile¬ -- by suggesting that he could make one of his more
affordable amplifiers sound just like whatever cherished
high-ender his critics cared to name. The technique he employed
was what he calls 'Transfer Function Matching', in which the
differences between an input signal and an amplifier's output are
used to identify its 'sonic fingerprint'. By inverting an
amplifier's output and summing it with the output of a second
amplifier, the amplifier can be tweaked to sound like the first.
If the two are absolutely identical, then a null will be created
by complete cancellation. Any differences will be the distortions
or by-products to be removed for tweaking the second amp to sound
like the first amp.

Subjective tests followed, apparently supporting Carver's
contention, but his victims were less than satisfied with what
reached the shops. Stung by this, Carver decided to produce his
own cost-no-object 'statement', returning to what he has
described in print as his true love: tubes.

Carver knows his target victims well enough to realize that what
he needed to produce was an absolute mother of a tube amplifier
which would offer the sound of the classics, the true greats,
while being able to emulate the virtues of modern amplifiers in
every respect. If it seems like Carver tailored the amplifiers to
perform in such a way as to appease certain reviewers, well,
that's probably the most pragmatic (if somewhat cynical) approach
I've ever heard of as far as hi-fi design is concerned. On the
other hand, if you, the reader, believe that Reviewer A is a
knowledgeable and honest individual whose opinions are to be
valued, then it also stands to reason that the designer who
builds an amplifier to that reviewer's exact tastes has made what
that reviewer genuinely considers to be a superlative product. In
other words, forget the motive, which will always be to sell
amplifiers and garner rave reviews (or vice versa). The proof is
in the performance.

Carver's Silver Seven Mono Vacuum Tube Power Amplifier is
described as a classic circuit benefitting from modern
developments. Taking no chances, Carver has incorporated every
known tweak short of Beltism, so the end user need do nothing
except install the amplifiers in the system.

The Silver Seven takes the form of two chassis per channel,
including a massive power supply connected by a multi-core
umbilical cord to an equally massive power amplifier. Starting
from the ground up, each hand-rubbed, black lacquered chassis
rests on four rubbery Simms Vibration Dampers, which in turn rest
on polished granite anti-vibration bases; Carver is taking no
chances here on mechanical interference causing microphony and
you do save on Isoplats. The power supply chassis, measuring
252x452x245mm (wdh) including the feet and baseplate, sports a
large needle-type meter on its front sloped panel, the meter
monitoring tube condition.

The slope continues back toward the massive mains transformers,
behind which lurk the fuses, the mains and umbilical leads and
the on/off and stand-by switches. This is Ergonomic Failing No 1,
because -- I don't care how purist you are -- these amps will not
be left on at all times once you've experienced either the heat
they generate or the way they set your electricity meter into
overdrive. Having the switches on the front would make one's life
a bit easier. The meter itself does diddly until something goes
wrong, so I didn't get to see it dance. It does, however, look
cute enough in its retro glory to have inspired Sony to put a
similar meter on the front of their top-end amplifiers.

Switch-on from cold takes a good three or four minutes until the
'soft start' relays click and music emerges. At times when you
wish to interrupt your listening sessions, you can switch the
unit into stand-by; switching back on takes about one minute as
the amp has been left 'idling'.

You'll know when the amps are on, believe me. Each 330x485x275mm
(wdh) main chassis sports no less than ¬fourteen¬ 6550 output
tubes, plus a 6550 as a voltage regulator; KT88s are an
added-cost optional extra. A 12BY7 high-gain voltage amplifier
pentode serves as the input valve and three paralleled 12BH7A
power triodes drive the 6550s, completing the line-up. While the
1930s-mad-scientist styling may be aimed at securing a following
in Japan, where such glorious kitsch has real cachet, seeing four
chassis and 38 exposed valves is guaranteed to seduce ¬anyone¬ who
ever looked at an out-of-date ¬Hi-Fi Yearbook¬ in a lustful manner.

Protecting the four input valves at the very front is a tiny
barrier, to the right of which rests a gain control; the mains
transformers reside at the back. Beneath these at the rear are
two gold-plated input sockets, one for real-world pre-amps and
one for pre-amps guaranteed not to leak DC. Playing it safe, I
opted for the normal rather than the 'turbo' during the reviewing
period, as I don't trust any hi-fi equipment, whatever the
pedigree. The hot-rod input is labelled 'Lab Direct' and is DC
coupled to the amplifier, while the 'Normal' input is AC coupled
through a WonderCap. In a fit of bravery (or stupidity), I gave
'Lab Direct' a bash and will admit to experiencing a shade more
transparency, but my cowardice soon had me reconnecting via
'Normal'.

Although the 'Seven features automatic biasing, a bias switch on
the back comes into play when the valves have aged to a point
where the meter shows an idling current creeping above 0.6 amps.
Switch to 'high bias' and you extend the life of the tubes, as
the plate current will fall back to between 0.2 and 0.6 amps.

Ergonomic Failing No 2 is also found on the back, another touch
of 'retro' in the form of gold-plated screw tags for the speaker
connections. The Silver Seven allows you to choose from taps of
1, 2-4 or 8 ohms, but screw heads are not that wonderful for
grasping two bare cables or even two spade lugs if you're
bi-wiring. For #17,000, though, I'd be surprised if Carver said
'No!' to a customer who insisted on five-way binding posts.

The Silver Seven derives its name from the use of silver wiring
and silver solder throughout, and seven pairs of output tubes.
Carver, eager to have this behemoth dubbed a modern classic, used
traditional fully-balanced circuit topology, massive wide
bandwidth ultralinear output transformers and the calibre of
valves which I didn't think you could find in any quantity. The
14 tubes per side are driven to produce a conservative 375W into
8 ohms, with peak current on the 1 ohm tap of 35 amps; energy
storage is 390 joules. Reading the owner's manual and the
promotional literature reveals that the unit is tailored to sound
vintage, but with such modern touches as ghostly silence, the
ability to drive hungry and awkward loads and to offer bandwidth,
slam and dynamic capabilities not realised by tube designs of the
Golden Age.

HW International left the Carvers with me long enough to allow me
to try them with speakers including Apogee Divas (2-3 ohms),
Stages (3 ohms), Celestion SL700s (6 ohms-ish) and a host of 8
ohm-plus speakers. As the Silver Sevens are unlikely to be driven
by budget components, I restricted the sources to the
Basis/SME/Koetsu Urushi analogue front-end and the Marantz CD-12
and CAL Tempest II Signature CD players. Pre-amps included the
Audio Research SP-14 and Carver's own C-19 valve pre-amp, which
I'll discuss in detail next month.

The Sound Of $1650-Worth Of 6550s

Price shouldn't influence a reviewer or a civilian listener when
assessing any product; it should only determine the final
value-for-money rating and whether or not it fits a budget.
Although the Silver Seven may not be the dearest amplifier on the
planet, it's the costliest I've ever used in my review system and
it took a bit of effort to force myself into dismissing the
influence of the price tag. Then again, I wasn't presupposing
that the 'Seven would be all that marvellous, because I wasn't
expecting the performance to match the overwhelming appearance or
price tag. After all, Bob Carver's main achievements have been in
the middle market, and I had no reason to believe that a slap in
the face from the US press was enough to drive him to levels of
sheer brilliance.

Boy, was I wrong. Even before the 'Seven had driven the mercury
up a degree or three, I was finding my face locked in a
grin/rictus. All of those 'chill factor' criteria were met, the
amplifier delivering a flood of 'you are there' touches of the
type that would have J Gordon Holt hopping with glee. Aside from
imagining Bob Carver with a balloon over his head reading 'I told
you so', the Silver Seven -- regardless of the speaker to which
it was attached -- proved itself to be audibly superior to any
amplifier in my arsenal or in recent memory. But before I get to
the inevitable ¬caveats¬, let me try to describe what this
amplifier does for the music.

However 'classic' the sound is meant to be, it has lower
registers unlike any vintage valve amplifier I can recall. Modern
designs I've heard (regardless of their chosen technology) which
approach or match the Carver include the larger Audio Research
amplifiers, most of the Krells, the big Rowlands, the Mark
Levinson monoblocks and the Goldmund; note that none of these are
'inexpensive', so such low-end control and extension does not
come cheap. If the bass does betray either its tube origins or
Carver's avowed intentions, then it's only through a slight
richness which absent from the solid-state designs mentioned
above.

The vice-like control and the richness continue with absolute
consistency up into the midband, where the latter starts to fade
out in exchange for greater neutrality. I don't know how
deliberate is Carver's sonic 'tailoring', but he managed to make
the richness dissolve by the point where it's already stamped the
sound with valve status, at the same time not allowing it to
intrude into the all-important midband. The inaccurate (though
undeniably pleasing) extra warmth heard on acoustic instruments
and vocals played through vintage tube products is absent in the
'Seven's performance -- a good thing as more and more time passes
from the days when most audiophiles lived with vintage gear and
would be prepared to forgive such euphonic distortions.

As for the treble, it's the same recipe: transient attack to
rival the fastest, most authoritative solid state devices you can
name, with the sweetness (but not the tubby lushness) of the tube
legends. However much it strikes me as dealing with mutually
exclusive virtues, Carver has managed to juggle the old and the
new with greater skill than I've yet experienced. Just as
impressive as the tonal neutrality, though, is the manner of
presentation, for the Carver has holographic capabilities
(dictionary rather than 'Sonic Holography' definition) on a par
with the very best.

'Tall', 'wide' and 'deep' are only part of the story. The spatial
characteristics also include uncanny precision and a seamlessness
that avoids overetched, 'Viewmaster'-style landscapes. In this
arena, the 'Seven has a few rivals bearing Audio Research, Krell
and (when they're working) Jadis badges, so the Carver hasn't
really pushed the boundaries in 3D terms. But rest assured that
it's world class. But if it is compromise or weakness that you
need to read about, then I should mention the way the Apogee
Divas (not the Stages) rendered the 'Seven a bit breathless.

Whatever the power rating, this amplifier is not the gutsiest
beast I've ever used. While the Diva was the only speaker in my
possession to expose some limitations in the Carver's dynamic
capabilities, I have knowledge of a few dozen other speakers
which are just as demanding. True, they, too, could be avoided,
but all are natural candidates for the 'Seven. Indeed, the
majority of high end speaker builders assume that their products
will be mated to powerful amplifiers. Normal levels were no
problem, but playing hardball is not this amplifier's forte. The
Aragon 4004 at 1/10th the price offered greater levels and no
compression or clipping with demanding material like large
orchestral works and sonic showstoppers.

But that doesn't stop me from regarding the Silver Seven as one
of the very finest amplifiers money can buy. The big chuckle,
though, is the price, which means that the Silver Seven is as
much a marketing tool as it is a hi-fi statement, however
undeniable and real its standard-setting virtues. Which leads us
to...

'T' Is For Tiny

Earlier in this review, I mentioned Carver's 'Transfer Function
Matching'. Quite obviously, the #1900 per pair, solid-state
Silver Seven T monoblock is conceived to be the poor man's Silver
Seven, right down to the 'steam punk' styling. Somewhere, I read
or heard that this amplifier was supposed to deliver '90% of the
Silver Seven's performance for 10% of the cost'. Hmmm...

Rated at a 550W per side, the Silver Seven T is said to duplicate
the 'transfer function of the Silver Seven'. Using Carver's
Magnetic Field design circuitry, it actually pumps out more
watts, can drive 2 ohm loads, weighs only 7.2kg per side (as
opposed to the Silver Seven's 68kg), takes up floor space of only
370x292mm and looks just as wonderful. The controls are limited
to an on/off switch at the front, while the rear sports the
five-way posts I wish were on the Silver Seven.

This amplifier is notorious for having received one of the worst
reviews ever published. I think I understand why, though the amp
is by no means ready for display at Crufts. Basically, Carver was
silly for hyping this as a poor man's 'Seven because even those
who haven't heard the 'Sevens would therefore expect something so
far beyond the 'norm' that the wee Carver would have had to
perform miracles. Inevitably, the 'T lacks the absolute
transparency, the delicate treble, the coherence and the
authority in the lower registers of the 'Seven, but none would
have minded so much had Carver not declared it to be a
near-clone. Indeed, it has exceptional stage width,
better-than-average depth, reasonable bass extension and -- with
certain cone-type loudspeakers at least -- enough slam to suggest
that its power rating is indicative of its performance.

However poorly it fared with the Diva, the 'T worked nicely
enough with the Stages to make me wish that I hadn't (1) reviewed
it side-by-side with the 'Seven and (2) heard Carver's claims.
And I could only register dismay when the 'T failed to prove
adequate when asked to drive the ATC SCM20 'mini' monitors. I'd
rather not dredge up the hoary old debate which started with
Carver's Cube of some 10 years back, with its astronomical power
ratings and about as much guts as Charles Hawtrey. The 'T, also
endowed with 'Magnetic Field' technology, also seems to perform
less like a 500-watter than one would expect. It simply lacked
the slam I associate with amplifiers from the Aragon 4004 on up.

But I can't trash the amp because I did manage to find speakers
with which it mated beautifully, the Monitor Audio Studio 10 for
example never causing the 'T to turn harsh or to sound
'over-driven'. But just as the Silver Seven sounded like a
thoroughbred whatever the speaker, so did the 'T seem less than
authoritative through all but the smaller monitors. It suggests
that the 'T does not want to do too much work below 60-80Hz (the
effective lower limits of most small boxes), in which case the 'T
should be auditioned with this in mind.

Let's face it: The betubed Silver Seven is simply a 'dream'
amplifier. At its frightening price, it's amazing that over 50
sets have been sold. Even Carver will admit that it's a flagship,
like Infinity's IRS, designed to call attention to the rest of
the range. That both the Carver Silver Seven and Infinity IRSes
do sell is simply a bonus. But the 'T is the first off-shoot, and
it does not succeed in bringing the 'Seven Experience' to the
masses. It's simply a good, if undistinguished amplifier.

Because the 'T is so aesthetically adorable --'retro-tech' like
the Olympus 'O Product' camera or Mazda's Miata roadster -- it
will probably sell to the same people (and that includes me) who
buy 1930s styled pens or watches or cameras. But that doesn't
help those of you who want a taste of the Silver Seven's glory at
a lower tariff. For that, you'll have to wait for the forthcoming
Silver Six, or investigate the first of the company's tubed
pre-amps. Amusingly, Carver's first valve control centre is not a
high-end piece but a #950 unit within reach of the same people
who'd consider Naim or Exposure or Musical Fidelity; its high-end
counterpart will follow later.

As for that showpiece Silver Seven, well, whatever the sins or
graces of its progeny, it is simply a milestone in high-end
design. I can't flat-out say that it's the world's best amplifier
because I haven't heard every amp available (nor has anyone
else). Indeed, if anyone ever tells you that any single product
is the best of its type, be highly suspicious and change to
another shop or magazine. But I'll tell you this: The Silver
Seven, like most Ferraris, actually performs on a par with its
aesthetic presence. When you first see the four chassis, you
can't help but grin. You realise that here is a product made
truly without ¬any¬ constraints. It's audiophilia gone berserk.
Then you listen. After you recover, you realise that rampant
audiophilia isn't so crazy after all.