The P21 EXD has speaker-cable taps for 4 and 8 ohms; I found the latter slightly more dynamic, and so did all of my listening in 8 ohm mode.
The P21 EXD isn't all that heavy at 37.54 lb, and slid easily into the bottom shelf of my Salamander rack. The umbilical that links the P21 and its PSU is rather short, however. I ended up placing the PSU parallel to the P21, under the stubby bench my CD player sits on, perched on four Mapleshade Isoblocks. The PSU I plugged straight into the wall, no filter. I pressed the on/off switch on its faceplate and the games began.
Listening
As a for-hire Stereophile scribe, my job is to communicate my impressions of the sound of the audio component I'm assigned to review, warts and all. If I can't describe an amplifier's sound in a clear, concise, convincing, and hopefully somewhat entertaining manner, I'm not worth what Stereophile pays me. I like to think that, most of the time, I get it right—my 22 years of hi-fi reviewing put me in good stead: in the black, not the red. But for all my juggling of sources and speakers, spinning numerous LPs, and quizzing Gary Dews until he was ready to bust, any characteristic sound that the BorderPatrol P21 EXD may have had evaded my ears, at least at first. Its standout trait seemed to be its unerring transparency. But is any audio component truly transparent, imposing on the music no personality of its own and thus influencing the listener's perception of that music not at all? Balderdash, I say. Nonetheless, I heard what I heard—or didn't hear.
I played LPs familiar and, mostly, foreign, as well as files streamed and ripped. Although I sometimes enjoy using recordings new to me to evaluate gear, only by playing very familiar recordings—ones practically ingrained in my DNA—could I arrive at any definitive conclusions regarding the BorderPatrol amplifier. But once I did, its character spoke loud and clear.
Some amplifiers speak volumes about tonal saturation, about the macro- and microsubtleties of an instrument's timbre and texture. Others image superbly, while still others rejoice in dynamics, in rapid ascents and dizzying plummets. Some sound like tube bluebloods, others speak a clean solid-state language. Though it took a while, the BorderPatrol P21 EXD eventually revealed an undeniable sonic signature. My slowness in grasping its unique sound is testament to Gary Dews's genius in creating an exceptionally musical and understated amplifier.
From the all-acoustic, past-meets-present exotica of Transcending Continents and Memories: Medieval Europe Meets Traditional Chinese Meets Avante-Gard (LP, MA Recordings M091A) to the throbbing electronica of Björk's Homogenic (LP, One Little Indian TPLP71)—plunging deep to near-subsonic frequencies produced from, respectively, vibraphone and synthesized keyboards—the combo of P21 EXD and Klipsch Heresy IIIs created superb bass vibrations in my small listening space. Both the deep resonances of the percussion and stringed instruments on Transcending Continents and Björk's menacing synth tones summoned distinctive bass flavors, each equally compelling and somewhat surprising. Where my Shindo Haut-Brion power amp has always reproduced bass frequencies as very colorful, rich, and highly saturated presences, the P21 EXD unleashed deep-bass delights that ranked with the tightest and tautest, if not the deepest, I've heard in my Greenwich Village aerie. When the Hana EL cartridge slipped into the grooves of Homogenic's "Hunter," the BorderPatrol's bass rumble was not only heavy and of great quantity, but the notes practically levitated, seeming to rise from the suspended wood-plank floor like the coils of some large creature flexing its muscles.
Beginning with the quality of its low-bass frequencies, the P21 EXD didn't respond like any other tubed amplifier I know—certainly not like the Art Audio Diavolo 300B amplifier I owned many years ago. From then on, the BorderPatrol's sound impressed me with its super-"black" backgrounds, solid dynamics, excellent imaging, and a special way with texture and touch. After I got over thinking that the P21 EXD was simply transparent, I heard its true voice: one of great subtlety, nuance, dynamic inflection, and retrieval of micro-information. Like all amplifiers that eschew gross distortion to focus on the spaces between the notes, the P21 EXD re-created the wholeness of the signals sent it, revealing the subtle melodic and rhythmic gradations of every recording I played. Though it could sound a bit dry at times—unlike my Shindo Haut-Brion, whose sound is perpetually rich in saturated tonal colors—the P21 EXD was more down-to-Earth, if not necessarily more buttoned-down. Its sound was less romantic, but perhaps more neutral than my dear Shindo. In that, the two amps represent performance ideals that I find equally exciting.
The P21 EXD's talent at reproducing discrete orchestral notes with inner refinement and attention to microdynamics was very evident with two black discs: Mozart's Sinfonia Concertante for Violin and Viola, with Jean-Franáois Paillard conducting his own orchestra (LP, Denon OX-7022-ND); and Bruch's Scottish Fantasy and Hindemith's Violin Concerto, performed by violinist David Oistrakh, with the London Symphony Orchestra conducted respectively by Jascha Horenstein and Paul Hindemith (LP, Decca/Ace of Diamonds SDD 465). From both discs I could hear the sensual burr of the strings, even what sounded like the orchestral players inhaling and exhaling, and the unusual "crying" tone of Oistrakh's violin—an emotional presence that the P21 EXD captured perfectly. Again, instrumental nuances and the intricacies of textures were striking as revealed through the P21 EXD. The BorderPatrol's sound was balanced and coherent from top to bottom, and neutral in the best sense of the word.
I always return to the terrific Blue Note LPs of tenor saxophonist Hank Mobley, the "middleweight champ" who left a hard-won legacy of driving, deeply felt, brilliantly swinging hard bop gracefully informed by his clear-headed, melodically wondrous solos and breezy blowing. When people ask for a jazz starter package, Mobley's Workout, No Room for Squares, A Caddy for Daddy, and The Turnaround! always top my list.
One of my favorite Mobley albums is from 1960: Soul Station (LP, Blue Note BLP 4031), a perfect LP for judging dynamics, midrange fullness, spatial realism, and toe-tapping rhythmic drive. Through the P21 EXD, Mobley's blissful tenor sounded intact, with a bigger sense of air but less of that lush, romantic tone I always associate with this album. I also sensed more propulsion, more microdynamic intricacies from Art Blakey's drums, and the full-on heady release of that divine nonchalance expressed so perfectly by Mobley, Blakey, pianist Wynton Kelly, and bassist Paul Chambers. This is Saturday-night swing, all bonhomie and carefree exultation. The P21 EXD brought light and playfulness where before it was all shade and pure, sweet, insular soul.
The Story of O/93
Changing out the Klipsch Heresy IIIs for the DeVore Fidelity Orangutan O/93s created more fireworks and revealed more of the P21 EXD's personality. I immediately missed the midrange and treble spread of the Heresys' horns and the low-end delivery of their 12" woofers. But the more focused, detailed sound of the O/93s only confirmed my previous observations. As I played Soul Station, or Dave Holland's Triplicate (LP, ECM 1373), or Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis's Cookbook (LP, Prestige 7141), the P21's delicate resolution of microdynamics and shading was more evident. I missed the warmth and tone of my Shindo Haut-Brion's lower-end fundamentals, but was gobsmacked by the speed, clarity, and slam of the P21 and O/93s. Triplicate was as palatable and present as I've heard it, from the bassist's knotty rounds to drummer Jack DeJohnette's multi-limbed crash and roll, surging from left to right in swinging, skull-wringing stereo. The O/93s needed a lot more power to sing at full voice, but paid dividends in exposing the nooks and crannies of the P21's well-defined soul and frequently huge soundstages. This I Dig of You
If we engaged in a bit of that forum fanaticism called A/B/X testing, I surely could not tell whether the BorderPatrol P21 EXD stereo amplifier was tubed or solid-state, SET or push-pull, a flea-watt flea-market steal or a high-tech class-D switching amp. It's simply a great amplifier, a tremendous all-round performer, a machine made of tubes and trannies and nuts and bolts and wires that got me closer to the music without adding much in the way of editorializing. Gary Dews's mahogany-wrapped 300B engine is transparent, dynamic, and a serious truth-teller. It defies expectations while opening a door to new discoveries and memorable journeys. Your music library deserves no less.
As a for-hire Stereophile scribe, my job is to communicate my impressions of the sound of the audio component I'm assigned to review, warts and all. If I can't describe an amplifier's sound in a clear, concise, convincing, and hopefully somewhat entertaining manner, I'm not worth what Stereophile pays me. I like to think that, most of the time, I get it right—my 22 years of hi-fi reviewing put me in good stead: in the black, not the red. But for all my juggling of sources and speakers, spinning numerous LPs, and quizzing Gary Dews until he was ready to bust, any characteristic sound that the BorderPatrol P21 EXD may have had evaded my ears, at least at first. Its standout trait seemed to be its unerring transparency. But is any audio component truly transparent, imposing on the music no personality of its own and thus influencing the listener's perception of that music not at all? Balderdash, I say. Nonetheless, I heard what I heard—or didn't hear.
Some amplifiers speak volumes about tonal saturation, about the macro- and microsubtleties of an instrument's timbre and texture. Others image superbly, while still others rejoice in dynamics, in rapid ascents and dizzying plummets. Some sound like tube bluebloods, others speak a clean solid-state language. Though it took a while, the BorderPatrol P21 EXD eventually revealed an undeniable sonic signature. My slowness in grasping its unique sound is testament to Gary Dews's genius in creating an exceptionally musical and understated amplifier.
From the all-acoustic, past-meets-present exotica of Transcending Continents and Memories: Medieval Europe Meets Traditional Chinese Meets Avante-Gard (LP, MA Recordings M091A) to the throbbing electronica of Björk's Homogenic (LP, One Little Indian TPLP71)—plunging deep to near-subsonic frequencies produced from, respectively, vibraphone and synthesized keyboards—the combo of P21 EXD and Klipsch Heresy IIIs created superb bass vibrations in my small listening space. Both the deep resonances of the percussion and stringed instruments on Transcending Continents and Björk's menacing synth tones summoned distinctive bass flavors, each equally compelling and somewhat surprising. Where my Shindo Haut-Brion power amp has always reproduced bass frequencies as very colorful, rich, and highly saturated presences, the P21 EXD unleashed deep-bass delights that ranked with the tightest and tautest, if not the deepest, I've heard in my Greenwich Village aerie. When the Hana EL cartridge slipped into the grooves of Homogenic's "Hunter," the BorderPatrol's bass rumble was not only heavy and of great quantity, but the notes practically levitated, seeming to rise from the suspended wood-plank floor like the coils of some large creature flexing its muscles.
One of my favorite Mobley albums is from 1960: Soul Station (LP, Blue Note BLP 4031), a perfect LP for judging dynamics, midrange fullness, spatial realism, and toe-tapping rhythmic drive. Through the P21 EXD, Mobley's blissful tenor sounded intact, with a bigger sense of air but less of that lush, romantic tone I always associate with this album. I also sensed more propulsion, more microdynamic intricacies from Art Blakey's drums, and the full-on heady release of that divine nonchalance expressed so perfectly by Mobley, Blakey, pianist Wynton Kelly, and bassist Paul Chambers. This is Saturday-night swing, all bonhomie and carefree exultation. The P21 EXD brought light and playfulness where before it was all shade and pure, sweet, insular soul.
The Story of O/93Changing out the Klipsch Heresy IIIs for the DeVore Fidelity Orangutan O/93s created more fireworks and revealed more of the P21 EXD's personality. I immediately missed the midrange and treble spread of the Heresys' horns and the low-end delivery of their 12" woofers. But the more focused, detailed sound of the O/93s only confirmed my previous observations. As I played Soul Station, or Dave Holland's Triplicate (LP, ECM 1373), or Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis's Cookbook (LP, Prestige 7141), the P21's delicate resolution of microdynamics and shading was more evident. I missed the warmth and tone of my Shindo Haut-Brion's lower-end fundamentals, but was gobsmacked by the speed, clarity, and slam of the P21 and O/93s. Triplicate was as palatable and present as I've heard it, from the bassist's knotty rounds to drummer Jack DeJohnette's multi-limbed crash and roll, surging from left to right in swinging, skull-wringing stereo. The O/93s needed a lot more power to sing at full voice, but paid dividends in exposing the nooks and crannies of the P21's well-defined soul and frequently huge soundstages. This I Dig of You
If we engaged in a bit of that forum fanaticism called A/B/X testing, I surely could not tell whether the BorderPatrol P21 EXD stereo amplifier was tubed or solid-state, SET or push-pull, a flea-watt flea-market steal or a high-tech class-D switching amp. It's simply a great amplifier, a tremendous all-round performer, a machine made of tubes and trannies and nuts and bolts and wires that got me closer to the music without adding much in the way of editorializing. Gary Dews's mahogany-wrapped 300B engine is transparent, dynamic, and a serious truth-teller. It defies expectations while opening a door to new discoveries and memorable journeys. Your music library deserves no less.
