First, a quick rant about how badly B&O has treated its loyal customers—and people like me who’ve tried to join their ranks.
The BeoSound Moment was the second B&O product I ever bought. The first was a BeoVision 11, which I adored (and still do). When I asked my dealer (B&O Canterbury—now out of business) about the Moment, they seemed oddly hesitant and asked a lot of questions about how I’d use it. That was a red flag, but they sold me one in the end. I integrated it with my BeoVision 11 and had nothing but problems from day one.
The “Jukebox” (their name for the tablet) constantly had trouble connecting with the “SoundHeart” (the dock). They blamed my Wi-Fi setup, saying B&O products were known to have issues with certain network gear—mine was made by Apple—and suggested switching to another brand they’d had better luck with.
Let me tell you: I work in tech as a software engineer. Low-level network incompatibilities like that are extremely rare. I never took it seriously. I think the staff believed what they were saying, but in reality, I think it was just superstition—what we’d call “cargo culting” in the industry. They saw a pattern where none existed.
I believe, and still do, that B&O’s flaky software was the real problem. Software built for networked environments is supposed to be self-healing. Dropouts and disconnects happen, but the system should recover transparently. That’s how the internet works. If your software doesn’t handle this gracefully, it’s because it wasn’t built properly.
Eventually, I found that a factory reset would let the Jukebox and SoundHeart find each other again—but it still wouldn’t play music through my BeoVision 11. B&O said updates were coming to fix the issue. Eventually, one did allow me to play music via the TV, but the Moment still needed regular factory resets to re-establish the connection.
Then there was the interface. It was a complete disaster. It tried to merge all my “liked” Deezer tracks into my library. If I had an album on my DLNA server (a Drobo running Twonky), it would show duplicate tracks—or sometimes even a duplicate album—based on what I’d liked. In the end, I unliked everything on Deezer just to make the UI usable.
Even when the Jukebox and SoundHeart stayed connected, I still had to reset it regularly. Sometimes it stopped playing tracks (possibly due to an expired Deezer session), or playback became choppy. But I stubbornly persevered. I’m sure others would’ve returned it much sooner. I really wish I had.
Then came the 2.0 software rewrite—the big update that was supposed to fix everything. It took the software from beta. And I mean that literally. The original software was alpha: barely functional, experimental, and unstable. The update brought it to beta: still buggy, but mostly working. The difference was huge.
Then they discontinued the product. A few minor bugfixes followed, but B&O essentially walked away from it.
B&O shipped a product with broken software. Every time I raised issues, they blamed something else. After years of stringing me along, they finally released a half-decent update—then discontinued the product.
Now to the real point of this post.
Like many others, my Jukebox developed a smudge in the centre of its screen. I had a feeling I knew what was happening: the battery had expanded and was pressing against the back of the display. I didn’t think it was dangerous, just annoying. So I kept using it.
Later, after moving to a 4K TV, I put the Moment in storage. Today, while clearing out old gear, I took it out and connected it to power. As soon as I placed the Jukebox on the SoundHeart, it made a hissing noise that got louder—then a loud pop. I freaked out and pulled it off the dock immediately. A burning smell lingered.
Worried it was a fire risk, I asked ChatGPT. It told me the sounds were signs of thermal runaway—a battery failure that can cause fires or explosions. It said that if I hadn’t removed the Jukebox, it might have caught fire or exploded. These fires release can’t be put out with water. It advised me not to power it again, and that it could still ignite even while unplugged. It also warned me not to handle it unless I wanted to risk my fingers.
So now I’m stuck. I live in an apartment and need to dispose of this dangerous item. After all the grief this product gave me—the gaslighting over its software, the awful resale value — now this?
I really wanted to love B&O. But they make it so hard.
Let this be a warning: If your BeoSound Moment has a smudge on the screen, disconnect it now. Store it safely until it can be disposed of or repaired by someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s too late for mine—the battery’s already started to fail.
The BeoSound Moment was the second B&O product I ever bought. The first was a BeoVision 11, which I adored (and still do). When I asked my dealer (B&O Canterbury—now out of business) about the Moment, they seemed oddly hesitant and asked a lot of questions about how I’d use it. That was a red flag, but they sold me one in the end. I integrated it with my BeoVision 11 and had nothing but problems from day one.
The “Jukebox” (their name for the tablet) constantly had trouble connecting with the “SoundHeart” (the dock). They blamed my Wi-Fi setup, saying B&O products were known to have issues with certain network gear—mine was made by Apple—and suggested switching to another brand they’d had better luck with.
Let me tell you: I work in tech as a software engineer. Low-level network incompatibilities like that are extremely rare. I never took it seriously. I think the staff believed what they were saying, but in reality, I think it was just superstition—what we’d call “cargo culting” in the industry. They saw a pattern where none existed.
I believe, and still do, that B&O’s flaky software was the real problem. Software built for networked environments is supposed to be self-healing. Dropouts and disconnects happen, but the system should recover transparently. That’s how the internet works. If your software doesn’t handle this gracefully, it’s because it wasn’t built properly.
Eventually, I found that a factory reset would let the Jukebox and SoundHeart find each other again—but it still wouldn’t play music through my BeoVision 11. B&O said updates were coming to fix the issue. Eventually, one did allow me to play music via the TV, but the Moment still needed regular factory resets to re-establish the connection.
Then there was the interface. It was a complete disaster. It tried to merge all my “liked” Deezer tracks into my library. If I had an album on my DLNA server (a Drobo running Twonky), it would show duplicate tracks—or sometimes even a duplicate album—based on what I’d liked. In the end, I unliked everything on Deezer just to make the UI usable.
Even when the Jukebox and SoundHeart stayed connected, I still had to reset it regularly. Sometimes it stopped playing tracks (possibly due to an expired Deezer session), or playback became choppy. But I stubbornly persevered. I’m sure others would’ve returned it much sooner. I really wish I had.
Then came the 2.0 software rewrite—the big update that was supposed to fix everything. It took the software from beta. And I mean that literally. The original software was alpha: barely functional, experimental, and unstable. The update brought it to beta: still buggy, but mostly working. The difference was huge.
Then they discontinued the product. A few minor bugfixes followed, but B&O essentially walked away from it.
B&O shipped a product with broken software. Every time I raised issues, they blamed something else. After years of stringing me along, they finally released a half-decent update—then discontinued the product.
Now to the real point of this post.
Like many others, my Jukebox developed a smudge in the centre of its screen. I had a feeling I knew what was happening: the battery had expanded and was pressing against the back of the display. I didn’t think it was dangerous, just annoying. So I kept using it.
Later, after moving to a 4K TV, I put the Moment in storage. Today, while clearing out old gear, I took it out and connected it to power. As soon as I placed the Jukebox on the SoundHeart, it made a hissing noise that got louder—then a loud pop. I freaked out and pulled it off the dock immediately. A burning smell lingered.
Worried it was a fire risk, I asked ChatGPT. It told me the sounds were signs of thermal runaway—a battery failure that can cause fires or explosions. It said that if I hadn’t removed the Jukebox, it might have caught fire or exploded. These fires release can’t be put out with water. It advised me not to power it again, and that it could still ignite even while unplugged. It also warned me not to handle it unless I wanted to risk my fingers.
So now I’m stuck. I live in an apartment and need to dispose of this dangerous item. After all the grief this product gave me—the gaslighting over its software, the awful resale value — now this?
I really wanted to love B&O. But they make it so hard.
Let this be a warning: If your BeoSound Moment has a smudge on the screen, disconnect it now. Store it safely until it can be disposed of or repaired by someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s too late for mine—the battery’s already started to fail.
