[O]nce upon a time a man was judged by the sheer bulk of his speakers — you'd walk into a single guy's apartment and find these giant wood-and-fabric monoliths. Tombstones by Dior. The guys who had these fancy systems usually had exquisitely hip tastes (Steely Dan! Weather Report!), but sometimes they were just headbangers who wanted brute force. These were also known as the guys who lived upstairs. The ones who'd start the REO Speedwagon the moment they got up — which, thankfully, was usually around one PM. I'm sure lots of people still have speakers the size of Sub Zero industrial refrigerators, but I'd prefer to trade size for that incremental fraction of audio fidelity.