The Speaker That Ate My Bedroom

A month ago, I reached my breaking point with the smart speakers in my house.

I finally accepted an uncomfortable truth: they were not smart.

They were the technological equivalent of an overconfident waiter who gets every order wrong while insisting he knows exactly what you want. Every interaction became an argument. When I asked for Bach, I got Led Zeppelin. When I asked for jazz, I got information about a music festival in a pumpkin patch somewhere near Santa Cruz. The speakers spent less time serving me than forcing me into a hostage negotiation with their algorithms.

I found myself shouting at inanimate objects far more often than seemed healthy.

Something had to change.

The first casualty was the kitchen speaker.

I removed it and replaced it with a Marshall Acton III. The improvement was immediate. Music sounded richer, podcasts sounded fuller, and the speaker itself looked handsome sitting on the countertop. Instead of feeling like a piece of disposable technology, it felt like a piece of furniture with a purpose.

Before long, I wanted the same experience in the bedroom.

Buying a second Acton III would have been the sensible decision, but sensible decisions are not always the most entertaining. I measured the space on my bedside table and convinced myself that I needed an upgrade. Thus began my journey into the upper reaches of Bluetooth speaker excess.

I ordered a Marshall Stanmore III.

Larger than the Acton and packing more power, the Stanmore occupies a different class of speaker altogether. It is less a Bluetooth speaker than a luxury liner disguised as one.

Appropriately enough, it arrived on Father’s Day.

When I opened the box, I experienced a moment of panic.

This thing was enormous.

I placed it on my bedside table and immediately began comparing it to the Acton. I played classical music. I played podcasts. I switched back and forth.

And then I arrived at an awkward conclusion.

The difference wasn’t dramatic.

If the Stanmore sounded better—and I believe it did—the improvement was subtle. The Acton III had already crossed the threshold where additional performance produces diminishing returns. The smaller speaker would have been more than sufficient.

Unfortunately, that observation leads to the painful portion of this review.

The Stanmore dominates the room.

Not physically.

Psychologically.

Its presence reminds me of John Cheever’s short story “The Enormous Radio,” in which a household appliance gradually takes on an outsized role in a family’s life. The Stanmore radiates a similar energy.

It seems to say:

“I’m not here merely to play music. I’m here to become the main character.”

The speaker sits beside my bed like an ambitious monarch surveying its kingdom.

“Look at me,” it seems to whisper. “Notice my beautiful cabinet. Admire my brass controls. Listen to my glorious sound. Rearrange your priorities around me.”

It is a speaker with the confidence of a cruise ship.

I’m hoping adaptation will solve the problem.

Five months ago, when I bought a G-Shock Frogman, its enormous size dominated my wrist. For weeks I felt as though I had strapped a small appliance to my arm. Then something curious happened. My eyes adjusted. The watch stopped looking gigantic and started looking normal.

I’m hoping the same thing happens with the Stanmore.

At the moment, however, when I lie in bed, I remain acutely aware of its presence. It looms beside me like a luxury ocean liner docked next to a studio apartment.

Sometimes I feel as though I should christen it properly.

Perhaps I should smash a champagne bottle against its side before asking it to play Mendelssohn’s Scottish Symphony.

And yet, despite my complaints, I find myself increasingly charmed by the thing.

The more I listen, the better it sounds.

The strings grow richer. The voices become warmer. The music seems to expand beyond the walls of the room.

Perhaps that is the secret behind all successful indulgences. At first they feel excessive, even absurd. Then, little by little, they win their case.

I suspect the Stanmore III is doing exactly that.

The cruise ship has arrived in port.

Now I just need to stop staring at its size and enjoy the voyage.