Boot up the C64U, and you’re greeted by a re-creation of the C64’s menu. Here, you can type in operation commands just as you would back in the day, using the BASIC programming language. Problem: I don’t have the first clue about BASIC. However, in what is possibly the greatest throwback of all, the C64U comes with a spiral-bound, 273-page user guide. It is an absolute tome. Somewhat surprisingly, it’s not a reprint of anything that came with the original, but rather a tailored guide to what the C64U does, where it differs from the C64, and how to get to grips with the computer’s capabilities. Equal parts history book and instruction manual, it starts out teaching you some simple commands and builds up to teaching you how to code. I’m still very much working my way through it, but that tactile approach—referring to the book, trying something out on the computer, back and forth—is a great touch.

Hidden Upgrades

If you don’t fancy having to do homework, the C64U’s own default menu, accessed at any time with a flick of the multifunction power button on the right-hand side of the unit, is a simple list of options and settings. Hit RETURN to go into any section—say, “Video Setup” to adjust whether the C64U outputs in original resolution, in PAL or NTSC modes (surprisingly important, given some games will only work with one display standard or the other), or a crystal clear 1080p with scanlines removed—and back out to save any changes to the system’s flash memory. It’s still a minimalist approach, but feels fairly intuitive.

This is also where you can start playing around with some of the other modern touches of the C64U, like how to leverage its far greater power. Well, “greater” in comparison to 1982. Spec-wise, this isn’t going to threaten any more modern machine, but running on an AMD Xilinx Artix-7 FPGA chip and packing 128-MB DDR2 RAM—compared to the 64 KB of the C64—it blows its inspiration out of the water. While at baseline it replicates the performance of the 1982 hardware, meaning it operates as if there’s only the original 64 KB were there, you can menu-dive to activate a virtualized RAM Expansion Unit, or activate a “Turbo Boost” to accelerate the clock speed to a lightning-fast (in this particular context) 64 MHz.

Every audio system requires amplification. In a traditional hi-fi set-up, the loudspeakers are always “passive”—which is to say, they don’t produce their own power. Instead, they must receive an amplified audio signal from an external source, aptly called an amplifier, in order to do their thing. Even in a more modern, self-contained audio system (like the Sonos Era 100, for example), the drivers that produce the sound must be amplified in order to function—this just all happens in a singular box rather than across hi-fi separates.

But if you’ve heard about amplifiers, you may have also heard about preamplifiers (often referred to as “preamps”) and wondered where they fit into an audio system, and whether you need one. Let’s answer those questions, shall we?

What Does a Preamp Do?

An audio signal needs plenty of attention before it’s ready to be amplified—so ultimately the question “what does a preamp do?” broadly contains its own answer. A preamplifier takes care of everything that needs to be done before the audio signal (sent from the music source) is amplified and sent onwards to the system’s speakers.

In a self-contained audio system like the Sonos speaker, the preamplifier and the amplifier are in the same enclosure, along with the speaker drivers that actually deliver the sound. Even in a more sophisticated hi-fi separates setup, the preamplifier part of proceedings is still often handled out of sight, within the amplifier. These types of amps are known as “integrated amplifiers” and contain both preamp and amplifier functionality.

However, some people prefer to separate out this functionality, which is when you may come across a preamplifier as its own piece of equipment, paired with a power amplifier. In these cases, the preamplifier allows you to select the source of music you’d like to hear (the majority have a selection of input options in order to support a system with multiple sources), and also set and adjust the volume.

The preamp also ensures the audio signal is at “line level”—that is, the standard voltage strength of an audio signal transmitted between components—and sends it on to be amplified, ready to be moved onwards, finally, to the speakers.

Does an External Preamp Improve Sound Quality?

Hi-fi orthodoxy says that individual functions in any system should be kept as separate as possible if the best results are to be achieved. The thinking goes that, by keeping electrical activity as shielded and self-contained as possible, the audio signal has the best shot at remaining as pure and uncolored as possible.

By dividing the preamplifier and the amplifier functions into separate boxes, there should be a reduction in electrical noise and interference around the signal compared to having it all crammed into a single box.

There is what looks like another maddening design fail, with the Switch’s left shoulder buttons, L and ZL, positioned on the right of the Mini Arcade Pro’s eight-button layout, with the right-hand R and ZR buttons to their left. However, this is actually a trick borrowed from other console arcade sticks, and it works surprisingly well for 2D fighters such as Ultra Street Fighter II. Capcom’s classic series builds combos from light, medium, and heavy punches and kicks, which is best suited to a six-button layout. Played on a ‘regular’ controller, those inputs usually extend from the four face buttons to the right-hand shoulder buttons. Here, the B, A, and ZR buttons, and the Y, X, and R buttons line up in rows, so the game plays just like it would on an actual cabinet. It’s neat.

However, I wouldn’t use the Mini Arcade Pro to play fighters competitively, even for low-stakes online play. While the joystick feels great, the rest of the inputs feel far from tournament grade. I occasionally noticed overly sensitive “twitchy” controls, where pressing a button once—to select a game in a compendium title, for instance—would result in multiple inputs, even without that aforementioned Turbo feature activated. It’s not a consistent problem, but annoying when it happens.

As the Mini Arcade Pro is only designed for one player, it feels better suited to arcade puzzlers, shooters, and side-scrolling beat-’em-ups anyway. The Golden Axe games in Sega Genesis/Mega Drive Collection, the entire roster of Capcom Beat-’Em-Up Bundle, and Namco Museum’s Splatterhouse all fared well, as did classics Pac-Man and Galaga. Shooters in particular are where that Turbo feature does come in handy—hold down the Turbo button, then the input you want to apply the feature to, and blast away to your heart’s content. Repeat the process to turn the feature off.

That’s probably not enough to salvage this for most players, though. Unless you’re using your Switch or Switch 2 to near-exclusively play old-school games—or at least old-school style games, like Streets of Rage 4 or Terminator 2D: No Fate—then this has limited appeal. Coupled with the hoops you need to jump through to update it for Switch 2 usage and the abysmal imagery slopped all over the thing, the Mini Arcade Pro isn’t so much retro as it’s better left in the past.