Thorens — The Swiss Precision of a Belt’s Pull
By Rafi Mercer
On certain evenings, the act of listening feels like crossing into another country. The lights are dim, the chatter fades, and somewhere a platter begins to spin with such calm certainty that the whole room seems to lean towards it. If the machine is a Thorens, that quiet authority is no accident. The Swiss brand has never chased glamour or torque-driven bravado. It has specialised instead in the unshowy art of stability — the kind that lets detail bloom without interruption.
Founded in 1883, long before the hi-fi boom, Thorens began life making musical boxes and harmonicas. It is a lineage that already carried the idea of delicate mechanics and the translation of groove into tone. When they entered the turntable market, their instinct was to trust precision engineering over brute force. Where others leaned towards direct drive, Thorens refined the suspended sub-chassis belt-drive, isolating platter from motor through layers of suspension that seemed almost architectural.
The TD-124 of 1957 was the declaration. Built like a lathe, it offered the solidity of idler drive with the finesse of belt control. The result was a deck that broadcast engineers, European radio stations, and audiophiles alike began to treat with reverence. To place a record on a TD-124 was to sense that every cog and bearing had been tuned for continuity, for the absence of disruption.
Later models, like the TD-160, carried that heritage into homes across Europe, often paired with Ortofon cartridges and modest valve amplification. These decks didn’t demand attention; they asked you to sit still, to listen with a kind of continental restraint. In a world of ever-shifting formats, a Thorens suggested permanence, as if music itself could be trusted not to waver.
Listening bars that use Thorens today tend to be the ones chasing intimacy rather than spectacle. In Tokyo, I once encountered a small kissa where a battered TD-124 carried the weight of the evening, its platter steady under the dim glow of a lamp, pulling out the smoke-curled vibrato of Billie Holiday with unflinching balance. In Berlin, a café paired a TD-160 with Tannoys, filling the room not with slam but with texture, every bass line felt as much as heard, every brush stroke on the snare rendered with subtlety.
The character of a Thorens is its refusal to be hurried. It has none of the swagger of a Technics SL-1200, none of the showmanship of a Garrard 301 spinning under restored gloss. It is quieter, more reserved — a Swissness that finds satisfaction in doing exactly what is required, no more, no less.
And yet, that understatement is its true gift to listening culture. A Thorens doesn’t inject energy into the groove, it clears the path. In a bar, where conversation and atmosphere can cloud the edges of sound, a Thorens steadies the centre, allowing a listener to hear not just the record but the air around it. It is, in a way, a civilised turntable — one that believes listening is an act of focus, not of force.
As vinyl culture revives, Thorens has re-emerged with reissues and new models that pay homage to its mid-century heart. But it is still those older decks, with their suspended sub-chassis floating on springs like restrained dancers, that hold the true magic. To lower the needle on one is to enter a lineage where precision has always meant poise.
In a listening bar, where drinks flow and conversations rise, a Thorens holds its ground not by shouting but by simply staying true. The belt pulls, the platter turns, and for as long as the record lasts, the room is carried forward on Swiss time.
Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe, or click here to read more.
