Phono Preamp Reviews

Why bother with three phono preamps most of us can't afford? For the same reason the enthusiast automobile magazines cover the newest Ferraris and Lamborghinis: just reading about them is fun.

The first audiophile I met lived near a sewage treatment plant on the outskirts of Moscow. It was a few months after the Soviet Union collapsed, in 1992, when I was a college senior, and I recall walking with my father to his home past block after block of the identical dingy white tenements that encircle most Eastern European cities.

"The phonograph record is an art form itself," Lester Koenig wrote in March 1959, "and one of its advantages is the performance that exists uniquely of, by and for the record." Remarkably, when Koenig included this pronouncement in his liner notes to Sonny Rollins and the Contemporary Leaders, the 12" long-play record had been the dominant carrier of recorded music for less than a decade, and stereo discs had been mass-produced for just over a year.

For Koenig, this issue wasn't merely academic. Before making his name as head of Contemporary Records in Los Angeles, he had attended Yale Law School, worked as a screenwriter and producer at Paramount, and gotten blacklisted by the House Committee on Un-American Activities. At Contemporary, he set out to become a leading practitioner of the art of phonography.

"Give me the seduction, give me the pleasure," Ron Sutherland was nearly shouting into the phone. "I want to turn off the analytical mind and just enjoy myself!"

Sutherland speaks in the chipper Midwestern cadences of a comic character actor from the 1940s, sort of like a grown-up Eddie Bracken from The Miracle of Morgan's Creek, and I'd never heard him sound so excited. He was talking about his new phono stage, the Dos Locos, the first product he's designed collaboratively, having enlisted a group of audiophile friends who listened to and critiqued each iteration. "These friends are excellent listeners," Sutherland related, "whereas I'm a gearhead, and don't have the patience or discernment for that kind of listening. Sometimes I'd change something and they'd say, 'You made it worse!'" It sounded like he preferred the group dynamic. "There was something very intimate about this back-and-forth process," he told me. "And compared to working alone, it was a lot more fun!"

One of my favorite things about this pastime is the modesty of its aims. Despite the sometimes-astronomical sums spent on gear, and the small handful of drama queens who populate various corners of this hobby, all we're doing is trying to enjoy recorded music at home. No one here is reversing planetary warming or solving the Riemann hypothesis. The sole purpose of the pursuit we write about in these pages is to please, enlighten, and entertain. I like that about it.

This means that aesthetics matter. During a recent trip to Japan, I found myself marveling at the many vintage audio components used in both public listening spaces and people's homes, and the high prices these meticulously restored devices command. I found many of them lovely, the patina of age only adding to their allure. In the West, where we believe in eternal progress, it's common to ask whether these components' performance is up to contemporary standards. "Sure, it looks cool, but how does it sound?" we might ask, as though the physical beauty of the gear is a distraction or, worse, a ploy. Recall the old audiophile joke about the initials of the design-forward Danish manufacturer Bang & Olufsen standing for "beauty only."

Years ago, at a San Francisco Audiophile Society gathering, I was lucky enough to spend time with the late, brilliant electrical engineer Roger Modjeski, whose Music Reference RM-200 Mk.II hybrid stereo tube amp is among my most prized hi-fi treasures. I asked him what he knew about transimpedance phono preamplifiers. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and drew a detailed transimpedance phono preamp circuit, quipping, "These have been around forever, but until recently no one has paid much attention to them."

Ever since I stopped using my Audio Research SP10 preamplifier in the early 1990s—its eight phono-stage tubes used to get too noisy too quickly—I tried a variety of standalone phono preamplifiers. Seeing the most service through the 1990s and 2000s were, first, a Mod Squad Phono Drive EPS, then a Linn Linto, both of which I purchased. But when I measured Channel D's Seta Model L, which Michael Fremer reviewed in the August 2010 issue, the Linto was pushed to one side. The battery-powered Seta L (footnote 1) had the lowest noise and distortion I had encountered in a phono preamplifier, and I eventually bought the sample I had been sent for a follow-up review in 2013.