Phono Accessory Reviews

When a magician pulls a quarter from someone's ear or saws a woman in half, I believe in magic. I know it's an illusion—not real—but that doesn't mean that magic isn't real.

What's real is that the magician's illusion is believable because your eyes see it and, until sometime later—even if only a fraction of a second—your brain doesn't argue. The best your brain can do is tell you, "Yes, you saw that, but you know it didn't happen."

Funny, then, how anti-audiophiles always claim that the ear is more easy to fool than the eye. Yet books have been devoted to cataloguing optical illusions. Do you believe that a railroad track's two rails meet at the horizon? Sure looks like it! The brain and ear are easily fooled, yet our very survival depends on their reliability. And the survival of an audio reviewer's credibility depends on his ability to be fooled as rarely as possible.

I sometimes joke about how audio designers create products that resemble themselves, not just in how they look, but also in the design approach used, and especially the way they sound. So, we have tall, cool, pragmatic Scandinavians making gear like the lean, elegant Børresen loudspeakers, while the Italians build luscious curvy equipment endowed with natural wood and leather, like Sonus Faber speakers and Unison Research amplifiers. Continuing this blatant stereotyping, we have Acoustic Signature founder Gunther Frohnhöfer, a stout German known for creating precision-built turntables that are as solid-looking as he is.

When I visited the Acoustic Signature factory in 2023, I watched as they hewed massive slabs of aluminum into beautiful, heavyweight turntables. This approach is the opposite of the lightweight-but-rigid philosophy embraced by Rega, and while the resulting performance has different strengths, I would argue that it is at least equally valid. As with Rega, Acoustic Signature products have a purposeful simplicity, in a way that would allow a nonaudiophile to instantly recognize what their function is.

I've always been a city dweller and can't lay claim to having owned boats, riding mowers, shotguns, basement refrigerators, golf clubs, or even patio furniture. When I moved to a loft from an apartment with a tiny backyard some 13 years ago, I even had to give up my Weber grill. This geographical fact has kept my possessions streamlined. My favorites include a handful of old waxed cotton coats, a couple dozen leather boots and shoes, a few mechanical watches, my Garrard 301 turntable, a roomful of books, and rather a lot of art, much of it made by friends. But without a doubt my fondest possessions are my records. At last count they numbered around 3500. Of course they are beautiful, both as objects and as conduits for music. But what I enjoy even more is the fact that I'm not really their owner, merely a custodian: Most of the records belonged to others before I bought them, and after I'm gone they'll find new owners who'll hopefully appreciate them as much as I do. So I feel I owe it to all of us to keep them in decent condition.

The next time you're preparing to play a record, try doing a little experiment. Once you have the record mounted and spinning but before you lower the stylus into the groove, lower your gaze to just below record level and look for a gap between the platter and the record. It helps if there's a light source or a brightly colored wall behind the platter. You may discover a gap—that very little of the record's playing area is making true contact with the platter mat or (if there is no mat) the platter. Another way to test this is to take a record you don't care much about, put it on the platter, then tap with your finger in the groove area listening for a click as your finger pushes the record down and it contacts the platter surface.

Warps obviously lead to such problems, but even records that appear flat make scant contact with the supporting surface. Turntable and aftermarket accessory designers have recognized this problem for decades.

I'm a music lover first, not the most Type A of audiophiles. Sure, I clean my records, but I'm not obsessive about keeping them immaculate like my audiophile father is; he cleans each record ultrasonically before it lands on his turntable platter, writing the date of each record's last bath and which cleaning machine he used on the outside of a fresh plastic inner sleeve before sliding the LP back inside. I don't think his cleaning schedule is rigid—he has far too many LPs for that—but it's regular. Whenever I visit with LPs in tow, they must pass through the record-cleaning machine (RCM) gauntlet before they're permitted to land on his turntable's platter...

Recently, I tried out one of the many RCMs currently on the market: the redundantly named Nessie Vinylcleaner ProPlus+ ($2495), which despite the name does not hail from Scotland, nor is it a monster; in fact it's smaller than some other record cleaners I've used.

The stylus that cuts the grooves in your favorite records is best described, in simple terms, as "chisel-shaped." The most accurate playback styli—the "extreme" ones that extract the maximum amount of information from the grooves—have a similar shape, with sharper and more severe contact edges than a standard elliptical stylus, itself an advance over spherical styli.

What? Suddenly a new Japanese cartridge manufacturer? That's what I was thinking when Mockingbird Distribution's Phillip Holmes dropped three cartridges on me from DYLP Audio. Never heard of them—but then I'd not heard of MuTech either when Holmes sent me one of that company's $4500 RM-Kanda (now Hyabusa) moving coil cartridges, which I reviewed in the March 2019 issue's Analog Corner. If that cartridge is not on your moving coil radar, you ought to put it there.