The speaker, which looks like a chic satellite dish, begins to pump out the opening strains of the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” It’s as if I am hearing the song for the first time. The sound is immersive and impressively loud, but somehow doesn’t seem oppressive or hard on my ears, even when cranked all the way up. Instead, the sensation is something akin to warmth, the speaker optimizing something called “active room compensation.” That is, it automatically adjusts to the acoustic dynamics of the room based on how and where it has been placed. As the song’s famous “woo woos” kick into high gear, I sit hypnotized for the entirety of the track’s six minutes, gradually ticking up the volume. I keep imagining the famous 1968 Jean-Luc Godard documentary about the song’s creation, thinking that it might be only in this moment that I’m finally hearing the song the way it was meant to be experienced — all thanks to this extraordinary little speaker, aptly described to me as “an infinite circle of sound.”

For anyone considering the A9, it comes with an array of interesting, customizable features. While you can sync it with a variety of devices (via AirPlay, Chromecast, Bluetooth, or voice control), one of the pleasures of using the speaker is that you can control it with a few simple touches. Running your finger along the perimeter of it allows you to adjust the volume with a gentle swipe, while a friendly tap skips to the next track or pause. The front face of the speaker (“a perforated polymer shell in the famous Fibonacci pattern which is found extensively in the natural world”) is customizable in over eight different wool-blend covers, while the legs come in four different wood options.

You can also mount the speaker on the wall if the default tripod stand setup takes up too much space. Even though I understand the practicality of mounting it on the wall (the one hanging in the showroom looks very cool), the thing that strikes me most about the speaker is its unusual physicality. Not small enough to be considered diminutive, not big enough to be imposing, it takes up just enough space to feel intentional. Like so many things that Bang & Olufsen makes, it feels as much like an art object or a well-designed piece of furniture as it does a functional audio component. It feels seductive. Even when playing the world’s most famous rock ’n’ roll song about Satan, it’s an object that tells the world you care enough about music to play it in the most erudite way possible. It’s a device that all but demands that you sit down and listen.