Even Michael Fremer is surprised at how hip it now is to play vinyl again, especially among the younger set. I was thinking about this when I listened to the new solo recording by Chris Jones, the bassist in my jazz quartet, Attention Screen. To my surprise, his Overcast Radio release in the Dubstep/Grime genre, "Midnight Sun/Vendetta" (45rpm single, Surface Tension STNSN002), is available on vinyl and as an MP3 download, but not on CD. I was recently discussing the surge in vinyl demand among our youts with Josh Bizar, of audio and music retailer Music Direct, who sees the potential for future revenue in this development. In his words, "Young people are buying entry-level turntables, and someday they may actually have jobs."

So I decided to review Pro-Ject's Debut III turntable ($349), to see how it would fare not only in a revealing reference system, but also when matched with other entry-level components.

The Debut III is a complete "plug'n'play" record player that includes a Pro-Ject 8.6 tonearm and an Ortofon OM 5E moving-magnet cartridge. The cartridge comes already installed and aligned; all you need do is install the counterweight, set the tracking and antiskating forces, unlock the motor transport screw, and you're ready to go. The instructions are clearly written; any mechanically challenged person who has never seen a turntable before should be able to set up a Debut III in 20 minutes.

I've had a lot of experience with turntables, having owned rugged, well-designed decks from VPI, Rega, Goldmund, Linn, and Thorens; the Pro-Ject fits nicely into this company. As I unpacked and set up the Debut III, I noted how well-thought-out and simple the design is, and how rugged and stable it seems. As I examined the Debut III, the phrase "cost-cutting to a price point" never entered my mind. The turntable is available in flat black ($349) or any of several custom colors (add $30): piano-gloss black, silver, glossy white, red, yellow, blue, and green. The paint on my attractive red sample reminded me of Porsche's "Arrest Me Red" hue.

The Pro-Ject's AC motor has a two-step metal pulley, for 33 and 45rpm (78rpm is available as an option), which drives the hub and platter via a flat-ground belt. To reduce the transmission of vibrations, the motor is decoupled from the fiber-board plinth, which sits on four shock-absorbing feet. The steel-sheet platter is fitted with a felt mat and sits on a hub with a spindle of chrome-plated stainless steel runs on a polished ball bearing in a brass housing. The 'table's power supply is separately housed.

The headshell and undamped armtube are cut from a single piece of aluminum. The inverted horizontal bearings consist of two hardened stainless-steel points, but the arm's vertical tracking angle (VTA) is not adjustable. The phono cable terminates in gold-plated plugs. The Ortofon cartridge outputs 4mV, tracks at 1.75gm, and is recommended to be loaded with 47k ohms. Finally, the Debut III has an attractive plastic dustcover.

I fired up my Creek Destiny integrated amplifier and alternated between the Epos M5 and Monitor Audio RS6 Silver speakers. Finally, I connected the turntable to the aforementioned Marantz and Paradigm Atom v.5 speakers to compare this ca-$1000 system with the more expensive rig.

Listening
The first thing I checked was Debut III's level of noise. Sure, when I lowered the needle into the groove, I did hear enough groove noise to remind me that I was playing an LP. No, it wasn't the "music flowing from a silent black background" that I'd heard from Michael Fremer's Continuum Caliburn turntable, but then, at >$100k, that 'table is slightly more expensive than the $349 Pro-Ject. I did spend quite a bit of time analyzing the design of the Debut III's motor-isolation system. Pro-Ject has designed an ingenious mechanism to "float" the motor above the plinth using a rubber O-ring, and it worked quite well. The motor didn't touch the plinth, but still exerted just enough tension on the belt to turn the platter at a consistent speed. (I noticed no problem with speed consistency, even when playing piano recordings.) However, when I set the needle in the runout groove, turned the volume all the way up (well past ear-splitting levels), and set the platter rotating, I could hear a very faint low-level hum from the motor to tell me it was on. However, even when listening to music at loud levels, this motor noise wasn't noticeable.

Greater isolation, too: During that time, designers have used a variety of things to keep unwanted vibrations from sullying the marriage of needle and groove, ranging from felt washers and rubber grommets to metal springs to elastic belts to nothing at all. A multinational company called Hanss Acoustics (footnote 1) is among the latest to try their hand at one of the most interesting of these approaches: magnetic opposition, in which record platter and world have no physical contact with one another. And while that isn't the only technical peg on which the Hanss T-30 hangs its hat, I can't help noting that this turntable and its stablemates are among the most affordable realizations of that once-exotic approach—thanks, presumably, to the fact that the outwardly German Hanss products are mostly made in Hong Kong.

Description
The T-30 is more or less the midpoint of the Hanss turntable line. Indeed, their current catalog reflects a modular approach, with successively dearer models sharing the same basic design, yet with more: more motors, more tonearm mounts, more drive belts, more platter mass, more layers of plinth.

To dissipate unwanted vibrations as effectively as possible, the basic Hanss plinth is a sandwich of thin aluminum plates and thick acrylic sheets, bonded together and machined into a shape that, viewed from above, suggests a very large North American blue crab. But the shape is less fanciful than Mies van der Rohe: Three of its five organic-looking pods incorporate Hanss's sturdy support modules—each using an assembly of powerful rare-earth magnets and a rounded metal foot—while the remaining two pods contain the T-30's tonearm supports. Hanss's standard practice is to supply the T-30 with one armboard cut for a Rega RB300 or similar tonearm, and the other cut for an SME arm. The Lotus Group, which distributes Hanss turntables and record cleaners in the US, says they can also supply blank armboards, or ones cut for such alternative tonearms as the Triplanar. The Lotus group's Neil Levy adds that Hanss hasn't yet devised a mounting arrangement for such extra-length arms as the EMT, the Schick, the Shindo, or various others, new and old—but they intend to.

The T-30's feet used opposed magnets to provide an isolating spring action. Similarly, the 2.73"-thick, heavy, black-anodized aluminum platter is supported by an appropriately robust bearing, using magnetic opposition to relieve some but not all of the contact pressure between parts. The bearing's rare-earth magnet probably could do the whole job, but Levy says that a properly adjusted T-30 bearing allows contact between the ceramic lower spindle, stainless-steel thrust ball, and brass bearing well/thrust pad, to achieve the proper degree of mechanical grounding. The inner surface of the height-adjustable bearing well is machined with a spiral groove, presumably to help circulate the relatively light oil within.

Hanss supplies two AC synchronous motors with the T-30, each topped with an acrylic drive pulley and snugged into a multi-tiered aluminum base that's intended to not touch the plinth. The two bases look identical but are of slightly different heights; thus, the three silicone-rubber drive belts powered by the left-hand motor ride the platter a bit higher than the three belts powered by the right-hand motor, for even drive distribution. AC cords from both motors plug into the back of a common outboard power supply, nicely styled to complement the T-30's plinth. In addition to producing clean, stable sinewaves for the motors, the power supply provides a central On/Off switch for both, plus fine-tuning of the selected speed (33.3 or 45rpm, but no 78).

The Hanss T-30 is supplied with a relatively simple, low-mass record clamp, but with no platter mat of any sort, suggesting that intimate contact between vinyl and platter is part of the design—a notion I went along with for all of my listening. Other standard accessories include a plastic strobe disc and, built into the plinth, a battery-powered GRS (generate, rotate, synchronize) optical speed counter. Hanss takes speed stability seriously!

Installation and setup
One sign of a good company is good packing—and the Hanss T-30 had very good packing. Its heavy, generously sized carton was fitted with three layers of sculpted foam, into which the turntable's various parts fit unambiguously well. The installation manual was sparse but sufficient, and literally every step began with the word please. I like that in a manual.

The T-30 requires an open shelf space measuring at least 25" W by 18" D, so I placed it on the top surface of my Box Furniture D3S rack, which also did a fine job of supporting the T-30's 83 lbs. Lowering that heavy plinth into place may have been the only real challenge: Installing the bearing assembly on the plinth took half a minute, including the time it took to open the bearing's plastic pouch. Installing the platter on the bearing consumed another eight or nine seconds of my life. And it took less than five minutes more to scoot the motors into place, plug them into the power supply, and gently stretch the six belts around the platter rim and pulleys.

Installing my Rega RB300 tonearm required a bit more work, but even that was notably easier than usual: The T-30's Rega armboard incorporated a fine-pitched height-adjustment mechanism, with twin setscrews for holding the arm pillar neatly and securely in place. (I guessed that a real vinylphile had had a hand in the T-30's design when I saw that they were 2mm setscrews, requiring the same size of hex key that most of us keep on hand for installing phono cartridges.) As delivered, my review sample had the SME armboard in the right-hand position, with the Rega-style armboard off to the back. Swapping them around was the most time-consuming chore presented by the T-30—loosening and tightening the bolts that hold the mounts in place took perhaps 10 minutes—but it was simple enough to do.

Listening
The floor in my listening room is ¾"-thick tongue-and-groove Brazilian cherry over plywood, supported by 2" by 10" joists: I know because I installed the flooring myself. And even though I did the right thing by starting in the middle of the room and working my way out in both directions—done properly, that helps to allow the boards to expand and contract with the seasons—the floor still tends to buckle and bounce a bit in summer.

But a relative few have seemed the products of original thinking. And most of those have stood the test of time: The ">Well Tempered Turntable. The Rega Planar 9. The Roksan Xerxes and its descendants. The VPI Scout and its variants (footnote 1).

If only for the originality and sheer quality of its design, I wonder if the dps turntable from Bauer Audio of Munich, Germany—the model name is an initialism for its native-language descriptive, der plattenspieler—might also deserve a place in that select group, far from the overpriced, overstyled, underengineered norm. Near the end of last year, after a mildly agonizing wait, I received a sample of the dps from US distributor Ayre Acoustics and set about learning the answer.

Description
The dps turntable hides a number of surprises under an outwardly simple skin. The bottommost portion—let's call it the plinth—is a precisely cut and polished sheet of aluminum about 0.4" thick. Adding to the mass is a stainless-steel motor housing fastened rigidly in place at the left-front corner; together, it and the plinth weigh a little over 15 lbs.

That aluminum plinth is also home to three shallow PVC cups, on threaded acrylic posts, that the user can raise or lower in order to level the next layer up. All three cups are filled with elastomer buttons, which act as supporting springs for the next layer.

The middle portion of the dps is a laminate of six separate sheets: two layers of a lossy damping material—described as an anti-vibration foil—sandwiched by three relatively thin sheets of Baltic birch plywood, with an even thinner sheet of cork bonded to the underneath of the uppermost surface. The laminations are hidden from view by a serenely pretty hardwood frame, although the layer of cork stands very slightly proud of it, by design. That thin sheet of cork serves to support the dps turntable's uppermost layer: a sheet of shiny black acrylic, beautifully made, and pierced by precisely milled mounting holes for the platter bearing and tonearm, as well as an opening through which the top of the motor pokes.

The acrylic top sheet is fitted with a substantial alloy bearing well, with an inside diameter of 30mm. At the center of the well is a stationary spindle 10mm in diameter, machined from a tungsten alloy, recessed on its top end to receive a 3mm ruby thrust ball. A multi-tiered polymer hub, 25mm in diameter at its largest point, slips over the spindle and contacts the thrust ball, becoming the sole moving part of this inverted, zero-clearance bearing—but there's a twist: The hub also contacts the bottom of the well through a pliant O-ring. That, along with the presence of a viscous silicone oil in the bearing well, creates considerable resistance.

That seems wrong, of course—until you consider the other half of the dps drive system: a three-phase AC synchronous motor with exceptionally high torque. That motor, custom-made for dps and and topped with a well-machined polymer pulley, remains in full-power mode as it works to overcome the constant friction in the platter bearing. In the process, speed stability, as governed by the motor's external power supply, itself becomes both a constant and a fixed element, irrespective of platter inertia. Contrast that to a system in which the power delivered to a synchronous motor is reduced after startup, as the platter and bearing spin more or less freely: From that point forward, the power supply, no matter how cleverly designed, can merely correct rather than maintain the speed.

Looked at another way: The combination of resistive bearing and high-torque motor confers the benefits of a high-mass platter, but without the mass—and thus without the consequent penalty of stored energy. That design innovation allowed designer Willibald Bauer to select light, rigid, and altogether vinyl-like acrylic as his platter material, with all the attendant benefits.

So we accept that the platter bearing and motor of the dps turntable comprise a single element of the design—yet even that falls short of the full truth. The third, equally crucial part is a high-quality power supply for the motor, without which the above would be of little consequence. And this is where Bauer's US distributor, the manufacturer Ayre Acoustics, arrives on the scene. Charles Hansen of Ayre first saw the dps at a show in Frankfurt a number of years ago and was thoroughly impressed, especially with the upmarket version, in which the three-phase AC motor is driven with a custom three-phase power supply. Yet the upmarket power supply adds significantly to the price. So, to allow the dps to be sold in the US for more or less the same price as in Europe, Willi Bauer agreed to let Ayre create a three-phase supply for a North American edition of the dps. Hansen and his team had to start with a clean slate.

For a turntable that's been in production for 21 years now, the Linn LP12 has pretty much stuck to the same basic design while watching two decades of analog fads'n'fashions come and go. Picking up where the classic AR turntable of the '60s left off, the venerable LP12 reigned on through such "breakthroughs" as: ultra-massive stiff-belt–driven platters (Micro Seiki and others in the '70s); direct-drive (Japan Inc. in the '70s and '80s); S-and J-shaped tonearms (ditto); quartz servo-controlled motors (ditto); linear-tracking tonearms (B&O and Phase Linear in the '70s and '80s; Airtangent and Eminent Technology in the '90s); motional-feedback stabilized arms (JVC and Sony in the early '80s); ultra low-mass arms (Dual in the '80s); P-mount (Japan Inc. in the '80s); platters with inverted, high center-of-gravity bearings (SOTA and Pink Triangle); and, more currently, the much-talked-about $12,500 Forsell turntable, which features...umm...an ultra-massive stiff-belt–driven platter. Well, bell-bottoms are back, too.

Klyde
This past year, Linn's put the LP12 through some more ch-ch-ch-changes. While you can use other manufacturers' cartridges on a Linn, there's always seemed to be a unique synergy between Linn's own cartridges and the LP12—and for many (including JA), Linn's flagship Troika moving-coil achieved a kind of magic when mounted to an LP12 'table and $2495 Ekos arm. I know in the times I've visited John's listening room in Santa Fe, no matter what other gear and speakers he may have had hooked up at the time, his LP12/Ekos/Troika rig always sang with an authority I hadn't heard from any other analog combo. Unfortunately, Linn has just discontinued production of the Troika, replacing it with two models, one above the Troika's price and one below it. JA reviewed the new flagship $2295 Arkiv in Vol.16 No.11, and Linn sent me the bonnie new $1095 Klyde, along with an LP12 to partner it. While Linn claims much higher performance for the Arkiv over the late, great Troika, they consider the Klyde to essentially equal the Troika's sonic performance at around half the price of the departing cartridge.

Reportedly manufactured by the Japanese ScanTech group to Linn's specifications, the Klyde bears a physical resemblance to the Troika by retaining the circular profile and three-piece "samwich" construction of the older cartridge, although the new cartridge doesn't feature the three-point mounting scheme of the Troika and the new Arkiv. The two rounded "outer" alloy sections are brushed aluminum alloy, while the Klyde's motorvatin' guts are encased in the central, black-colored middle section. Like the Troika, the Klyde sports a "Vita"'-type line-contact diamond stylus, nudely mounted to an aluminum cantilever. The sample I received was serial #003, the first two apparently going to the Pope and Oprah. I don't know in what order.

The Klyde was delivered a little over a year ago by Audiophile Systems' West Sales Manager and all-around supremely good guy Steve Daniels, who also brought an LP12 Basik to audition the Klyde with. After I listened to the LP12 in its Basik configuration for a few days, Steve modified the LP12 to allow for instant switching between Valhalla and Lingo power supplies in order to more easily compare the three levels of LP12ness (footnote 1). In addition, right near the end of my time with the Linn, it was fitted with the new $495 Cirkus bearing upgrade also reviewed by JA last month.

Compare & contrast
The Linn analog rig came into my system at a time when I was using the $1195 Well-Tempered Record Player and $295 Sumiko Blue Point Special as my reference for phono playback, and I have to tell you, it was pretty shocking to switch over to the LP12. The midpriced WTRP is a terrific turntable/arm combo for the money, but the Linn rig took everything up by more than a few notches. The WTRP held up admirably to the comparison, but the difference in sound between the LP12/Klyde and the WTRP/Blue Point Special was pretty dramatic.

The most startling difference between the two analog rigs was in DA BASS. What was simply "the bass" before was now DA BASS!!! Well-Tempered's unique fluid-pivot arm has a lighter, softer, less well-defined bass range than even a good midpriced fixed-pivot arm like the Linn Akito or Roksan Radius (footnote 2); compared to the awesome Class A low end of the $2495 Ekos, it was just no contest. I was aware of the WTRP's deficiencies in the bass dept. back when I reviewed the 'table in Vol.14 No.7, but after a series of upgrades—the Blue Point Special replaced the standard Blue Point used in the original review, and Well-Tempered's $400 Black Damped Platter brought the bass up several notches in both quality and quantity—the WTRP's low end became quite liveable.

Footnote 2: Reviewed in Vol.14 No.7 and Vol.16 No.8, respectively.

Photograph: TONEAudio Magazine

The evolution of high-end turntables illustrates how such a perfect merger of art and science can be approached from either side. The Linn Sondek began as a simple design that, while compromised in some ways, was implemented so artfully that sonically it transcended its origins. The original idea behind the SOTA turntable, on the other hand, was to build "a better Linn" by correcting the Sondek's design flaws. The SOTA was a vastly superior design, and, like any self-respecting engineer, I bought one.

Unfortunately, the SOTA wasn't realized with the artistry that had made the Linn so special, and never quite delivered on its promise. The net result was a kind of toss-up between the art-based Linn and the engineering-based SOTA, with proponents of each claiming that their approach was better. The designs and performance of both evolved and were improved over the years, the Linn through more advanced engineering of its power supply and chassis, the SOTA through better execution of its design principles, and modifications that sometimes weren't well understood, even by the designer(s), but that resulted in better sound. And somewhere along in there, I replaced my early-model SOTA with a second- or third-generation SOTA Star.

Does a Spiral Groove begin at the inside or the outside?
Allen Perkins has been designing, improving, and redesigning turntables for over 20 years, and well understands the importance of both art and science. He played key roles in the evolution of the SOTA, first as a frustrated owner working on his own 'table, and later as one of the company's managers. One of those roles was to provide telephone support to customers, which exposed him to even more issues with the 'tables, as well as a universe of users' tweaks and modifications. When, eventually, he was put in a position to influence SOTA's designs, he incorporated what he'd learned into improved versions of the existing models and a new, vastly improved turntable model, the Cosmos.

A few years later Perkins left SOTA to form Immedia, his import and distribution firm. But he continued to design turntables. Some of the SOTA's design elements were incorporated in his new turntables, the Immedia RPM-1 and 2, but for the most part, the new designs were radically different from the SOTAs. One thing Perkins had noticed while developing the Cosmos was that prototype chassis sounded better naked than when hung on springs inside a box. Measurements convinced him that this was because the suspended versions were in constant motion. Ergo, the RPM models eschewed spring suspension and any sort of external box, and the theme of eliminating any spurious movement was applied throughout the designs.

The RPMs began a new design cycle for Perkins. He'd improved the engineering-based SOTA with empiricism and art, and taken it about as far as it could go with the Cosmos. The RPM 'tables were the start of a new line, one that combined what he'd learned from the SOTA's evolution with new, original elements, embodied in an entirely new design. As had the Linn, SOTA, and SOTA Star before it, an RPM combo of turntable and tonearm (footnote 1) served as my reference for a time.

Spiral Groove SG2
The Spiral Groove turntables look similar to the RPMs; as Allen Perkins noted in his interview in the January 2010 issue (p.59), "There are no new ideas in the Spiral Groove 'tables." They do include, however, several refinements that reflect a mix of evolution, new ideas, and more advanced design and production capabilities. The boxless chassis and dense, multilayer construction resemble those of the RPMs, but where the smaller RPMs had a three-layer chassis, the SG2 has five: two thin layers of damping material separating three aluminum plates. The Spiral Groove platters resemble the RPMs', but their structures are quite different. The SG2 platter has layers of aluminum, an impregnated phenolic, vinyl, and graphite; their placement, thicknesses, and even assembly order have been chosen to most effectively couple with the record and drain vibrations away.

For example, the SG2's bearing assembly alone incorporates a number of significant refinements. There are no bronze bushings or press-fit components, both sources of variability and, possibly, unwanted motion. Instead, hardened steel sleeves are used. These can be finished to very tight tolerances, allowing the contact surfaces to be minimized and placed optimally to eliminate any radial movement. Another change to the bearing assembly is that the magnet assemblies used to support the platter's weight have been changed and reoriented based on electromagnetic circuit models, to eliminate stray magnetic fields that might affect the cartridge. The SG2 even uses a different system of elastomer plugs to hang and isolate the motor subplate from the main chassis.

In its three decades the Delphi has undergone many upgrades both technical and aesthetic. Not surprisingly, so has the price. The Mk.II Delphi sold for $1250 in 1986; the Delphi Mk.VI with Turbo power supply and dedicated power cord now sells for $8500, which, in today's market, I think is reasonable for what you get. The review sample came with an Oracle/SME 345 tonearm ($3100) and a Benz-Micro Thalia high-output MC cartridge ($1700), for a total cost of $13,300—or $11,600 for just 'table and arm.

Born beautiful, the Delphi has become only more so—the fit and finish of the Mk.VI are flawless. The aluminum surfaces, coated in high-gloss polyester, gleam brightly and are smooth under the fingers. You'll like looking at and touching it.

But the Delphi has also had many technical difficulties, beginning with the offset weight of the tonearm, which, in earlier models, made it difficult to get the three-point spring-based suspension to behave pistonically. LA retailer Brooks Berdan elegantly solved that problem with a modification consisting of a U-shaped weight affixed to the underside of the chassis opposite the arm-mount ring. Oracle eventually included a similar feature in their design. While a spring still constitutes the main suspension component, each of the Mk.VI's three suspension towers includes more than a half-dozen elements, including parts made from felt, Sorbothane, rubber, and Delrin.

Oracle has made a series of changes to the basic design over the years to, among others, the motor (formerly DC, now AC synchronous), the power supply, the subchassis (it's now more massive), the arm mount (an aluminum sandwich now replaces the original acrylic wafer), a heavier platter (though still of aluminum), the bearing (it's now wider), and the integral polymer mat).

The Mk.VI's aluminum subchassis is the most massive yet; it's thicker, and, to improve resonance control, has been redesigned to shorten the arms that extend to the three posts from which it's suspended. Oracle has also widened, by about 35%, the width of the support for the tonearm mounting ring, thus increasing the rigidity of the mount system.

The Mk.VI's spindle bearing retains the Mk.V's contact system, wherein six nylon-tipped setscrews protrude through the bearing housing to contact the spindle. Each platter spindle and housing must therefore be individually calibrated as a system. In the Mk.VI, Oracle has changed the screws to a material less sensitive to variations in temperature, thus making possible greater accuracy and tighter tolerances. The thrust pad is of a new polyamide-imide plastic said to have the greatest strength and stiffness of any thermoplastic made. This is claimed to increase resistance to wear and decrease rotational noise.

The Delphi Mk.VI includes a few other minor tweaks, but the greatest improvement Oracle has made to the Mk.VI, and probably to any iteration of the Delphi—an improvement claimed by Oracle and easily audible to me—is the new Micro Vibration Stabilizer System. In essence, this adds shock absorbers to the spring suspension system. The system consists of a cup, half-filled with silicone fluid of extremely low viscosity, located next to each of the three suspension towers. A lockable Delrin plunger, threaded and tapered, is attached to the subchassis bottom directly above each cup. This can supply very precise amounts of damping, depending on how deeply into the fluid the plunger is . . . plunged.

While a properly designed, spring-suspended subchassis can do an outstanding job of isolating the turntable from floorborne vibrations—and, to some degree, airborne ones as well—it creates its own problems. No matter how well machined the platter and bearing, some amount of wobble will be produced when they rotate. This can set the spring suspension in micromotion, producing lateral displacements that can vary the distance between the platter and motor pulley, and thus affect the stability of the platter's speed of rotation. In a spring-suspended system, such lateral and/or vertical microdisplacements can also result when an LP with an off-center hole causes the tonearm to make otherwise unnecessary lateral movements. In addition, the microvibrations created by the stylus tracing the groove modulations travel in two directions: down into the platter and subchassis, as well as up into the tonearm, by which means they can even reach the arm bearing. If there's play in that bearing, those vibrations can travel back along the tonearm to return to the stylus.

Despite that, you'll never convince me that CDs produce music that sounds better or more lifelike than LPs, or that CDs even come close to communicating music's ability to evoke emotions from listeners, or the sensation that you've been transported to the concert hall, or that the musicians are in your room performing for you. They just don't.

Play the best CDs for an hour and convince yourself that the technology has gotten really good—and it has—then play an LP on even a modestly priced turntable, and the sensations of quiet, relaxation, and relief are profound. As one friend who hadn't heard vinyl in years said when he heard The Clash on my turntable, "That's the sound I've been missing!" His decision was made in an instant: He got rid of most of his CDs and replaced them with the LPs he'd ditched when he went digital.

The Bardo
Brinkmann Audio built its reputation for turntables on belt drive. Then, wanting to produce a less expensive model, they devised an elegant direct-drive system for the Oasis, their first turntable to incorporate a plinth. More recently, founder Helmut Brinkmann has designed the Bardo, essentially a plinthless Oasis that more closely resembles the company's sleek, plinthless, belt-driven La Grange but costs less than either.

The basic Bardo costs $7990 and shares the superbly designed and machined spindle and bearing used in the Oasis, the La Grange, and Brinkmann's top turntable model, the Balance. For another $1500, Brinkmann will substitute for the standard acrylic platter mat an integral one made of precision-ground crystal glass, and add a screw-on record clamp. The glass mat includes for the record label a recessed area of stainless steel around the spindle to accept a raised washer insert. Screwing down the clamp produces a force around the record's perimeter that flattens it against the platter. A second option ($1490) adds a heftier outboard power supply for the motor, with a larger transformer that's said to increase the bass response. A slab of polished granite measuring 18" W by 1.25" thick by 12" D for the turntable to sit on is standard in the US. An isolation base, made by Harmonic Resolution Systems, which has had a long relationship with Brinkmann, is available.

The Bardo supplied for review included the glass platter and clamp but not the power-supply upgrade, in a complete plug'n'play package that included Brinkmann's 9.6 tonearm ($3990) and Pi moving-coil cartridge ($2700). Brinkmann will supply custom-drilled armboards for your choice of tonearms; Helmut Brinkmann was kind enough to include boards for my Graham Phantom II and Kuzma 4Point arms.

What any mass-loaded turntable sits on will have a great effect on its sound. The Bardo sat on my HRS rack atop an HRS isolation base tuned for the 'table's weight. In my opinion, the HRS rack is one of the greatest audio products ever manufactured.

A Non–Disco-Friendly Direct Drive
The Bardo and Oasis share the same neat, efficient direct-drive motor, designed and manufactured by Brinkmann. It consists of a large, eight-pole ring magnet mounted in the subplatter bearing housing, and a series of coils arrayed on a circuit board mounted below the magnet. An aluminum subplatter holds the steel bearing shaft, the ring magnet, and the tachometer. A circular fixture of machined aluminum, bolted to the plinth, contains the electronic drive circuit and the four field coils, which, interestingly, are not symmetrically arrayed at 90° angles to one another. Instead, in order to allow space for the control circuitry on the printed circuit board that supports the coils, they're arrayed at 22.5° angles, which puts the first at about 8:45 o'clock and the fourth at about 3:45. Why the space between the coils doesn't cause asymmetrical rotational performance, I don't know. Maybe it does. The bearing shaft, which rides on a Teflon thrust pad that sits in a machined aluminum carrier at the bottom of a circular opening in the center of the coil array completes the compact design.

Two Hall-effect sensors—ie, transducers whose electrical output varies in response to variations in a magnetic field—track the ring magnet's North and South pole positions, and direct an amplification system that precisely times the sequential increases and decreases of current flowing to the coils, as needed, to ensure smooth rotational performance. The concept is not new—see my review of the Grand Prix Audio Monaco direct-drive turntable in the November 2007 Stereophile, Vol.30 No.11—but the execution appears to be.

Though Thorens is credited with developing the earliest direct-drive turntables decades ago, modern direct-drive technology took into account the quick-start, quick-stop needs of radio stations and DJs. Thus, motors were high-torque, platters light.

Virtually all electric motors "cog,"ie, their rotational speed regularly fluctuates above and below the average speed as each magnet pole goes past each coil. A high-torque motor needs a greater number of poles—in some designs, dozens—and the more poles, the more cogging. With nothing to counteract the motor cogging that inevitably occurs directly within the platter of a high-torque, low-mass, direct-drive turntable, large amounts of wow and flutter are also inevitable.

Regulating a direct-drive motor's speed with a phase-locked loop produces tight speed control and measurably low levels of wow and flutter, but the motor's constant, ultra-high-speed hunting and pecking as it over- and undercompensates in the attempt to produce a consistent speed can create a jitter effect in the mid-treble to which the human ear is particularly sensitive, adding a hard, brittle texture to music. That describes the sound of Technics' now-discontinued SL1200 series of direct-drive turntables, and explains why, despite their high build quality and relatively low price, few are used in serious audio systems, though some listeners claim that these 'tables can be modified to improve their sonic performance.

The closest I could come was Rega's own RB300 tonearm, surely the best-selling perfectionist tonearm of all time. After that came the Rega Planar 2 turntable, a sample of which I owned and loved in the early 1980s. Next on my list was the original Rega Elys, a moving-magnet cartridge that sounded as chunky and direct as it was cheap and magenta.

All the products on my list were simple, purposeful, cost-effective things lacking in pretense and filigree; much the same could be said of Rega's latest record player, the entry-level RP-1 ($445). And while the greater good may come from long production runs and stable product lines, I was nonetheless encouraged by this replacement for the scarcely-four-year-old Rega P1: At a time when most manufacturers of high-value gear are either chasing the bigger profits they think exist upmarket or throwing in the towel altogether, Rega Research seems more dedicated than ever to the giving of more for the taking of (relatively) less.

Description
The austere RP-1 appears to have nothing up its sleeve: a simple, oblong plinth—a board, really—with a plain-looking platter, a plain-looking tonearm, and a plain-looking on/off button. Like a rowboat or a pair of pliers, if the thing were any simpler, it simply wouldn't work.

But the board turns out to be of a well-chosen wood composite, with a nice looking—and presumably vibration-damping—outer skin. And the RP-1's suspension turns out to be the same simply made yet cleverly designed rubber feet that have supported Rega turntables since time out of mind. Rega must've bought a million of those things.

At the approximate center of the plinth is a sign of Rega's precision-engineering pedigree: a platter bearing that wouldn't seem out of place on a $1000 turntable. It's a beautifully made thing, with a brass well, a small steel thrust ball, and a 0.32"-diameter steel spindle, its bottom machined flat (not unlike that of the larger and ball-less Garrard 301). The bearing spindle is pressed into a 4"-diameter molded hub that serves as a subplatter—another of those things that Rega seems to have bought in bulk.

Using a small rubber belt of round cross-section, the molded subplatter is driven by a 250rpm synchronous motor, a nice-looking Dutch component apparently not too different from the ones used in Rega's more expensive turntables—or the Linn LP12, for that matter. (Until the late 1990s, Rega used a second rubber belt in each turntable, forming it into a suspension "cradle" for the motor.) The bottom of the motor is cushioned with self-adhesive foam strips, and its axle is topped with a molded pulley, with separate "steps" for 33.3 and 45rpm: In this part of Sparta, changing the speed, when needed, is done manually.

The RP-1's platter is molded from phenolic resin, a comparatively ancient sort of thermoplastic that's similar but not identical to Bakelite. (The latter is something you could even make at home, assuming your home is well supplied with formaldehyde and carbolic acid. Look around!) I'm not sure why Rega abandoned the wooden platter of the P1 and various OEM turntables they've made in the past. (Termites?) But, when tapped, the resin platter sounds a bit less thwocky than the wood, and more of its mass seems—there's that word again—concentrated around its periphery: a good thing.

The tonearm is Rega's new RB101: the latest variant/descendant of the tried and true RB300, and a slight upgrade from the RB100 tonearm of the P1. The RB101 uses a simpler version of the alloy armtube casting that was developed for the RB300, with a separate, glued-in headshell and a plainer bearing housing. The armtube's diameter is 0.5", the effective length is 240mm, and antiskating force is applied with an adjustable (and calibrated) magnet. I'm not much of a tonearm-tapper—I consider the practice inconclusive at best, mildly silly and fatuous at worst—but I tried it anyway with the RB101, and heard a sound that was timbrally similar to that of the resin platter. (The platter's sound was a little lower in frequency.) I suspect that these are very good things, but I don't really know.

The cartridge supplied with the Rega RP-1 is an Ortofon OM 5E, a moving-magnet type that weighs 5gm, tracks at 1.75gm, exhibits a compliance of 20µm/mN (which is on the high side of acceptable for a decidedly medium-mass arm such as the Rega), and puts out 4mV at 1kHz, 5cm/s. (The Rega P1 came bundled with an Ortofon OMB 5E cartridge, which was said at the time to be an OEM-only item; by contrast, the OM 5E is part of Ortofon's regular product line; replacement styli should be available from any Ortofon dealer.)

Setup and installation
Unpacking the RP-1 was like seeing an old friend. I've unpacked and repacked many dozens of Rega record players over the years, and this one was no different: Neither Rega's packing materials themselves—three Styrofoam inserts, some cardboard bits, a few strips of translucent red tape—nor the way they're put together have changed in over 30 years. The review sample arrived in perfectly good shape, despite one or two of the Styrofoam pieces being a bit crumbly.

With that in mind, companies from Pro-Ject to Rega to Clearaudio have produced such products. A few years ago, Marantz commissioned Clearaudio to build one for them. The Marantz TT-15S1 ($1700) was essentially an upgraded Clearaudio Emotion packaged with a Clearaudio Virtuoso Ebony Wood cartridge in an ingenious configuration that proved popular, and for good reason: It looked good, was easy to unbox and set up, and sounded really fine, not only for its price but for well beyond it.

Now Clearaudio counters with the Concept turntable with Verify tonearm, which can be bought solo for $1400; all you need do is install in it the cartridge of your choice. Or it can be had in one of two money-saving plug'n'play editions: with the Concept MC moving-coil cartridge (normally $800), for $2000; or with the Concept MM cartridge (normally $200), for $1500.

A cartridge-equipped Concept is so plug'n'play that even the stylus force is preset. That's right: Clearaudio ships it with the counterweight in place. So unless you don't know what a stylus guard is or how to remove it, there's no reason you can't be playing records within a few minutes of opening the box.

The Concept Concept
More than likely, Clearaudio was thinking "lifestyle product" when designing the Concept, but their manufacturing prowess got in the way, so it ended up having convenience features and high performance.

The Concept was originally equipped with spiked feet, but some buyers complained. So in the middle of my listening to it, Garth Leerer, of Clearaudio importer Musical Surroundings, sent replacement feet equipped with rounded inserts of furniture-friendly elastomer. That's the "lifestyle" world for you.

While the Concept doesn't have auto shutoff or auto start, it plays all three speeds: 33.33, 45, and 78rpm, selectable via a chunky, arthritic-friendly knob at the left front of the plinth. The motor is built into the plinth, resulting in an attractive, small-footprint design that doesn't require the buyer to find a place for an outboard motor—or even a motor placed in a hole in the plinth!

In the past few years Clearaudio has shifted from a heavy reliance on acrylic for its plinths and platters to other materials, often used with constrained-layer damping. The Concept's "resonance-optimized" plinth, set in a frame of machined aluminum, is a composite of medium-density fiberboard (MDF) topped by what appears to be the same material used for the platter, which is machined from black polyoxymethylene (POM), an easily machinable copolymer that's strong, rigid, and has many industrial uses.

The 5.5-lb platter sits on a plastic subplatter assembly fitted to a polished shaft of tempered steel that rotates in a sintered bronze bushing while riding on a Teflon thrust pad. The platter is driven by a decoupled DC motor with low-noise bearings, its speed governed by an electronic controller.

The Clearaudio Concept turntable does offer precise adjustment of platter speed, though that's not mentioned in the manual. For detailed instructions, contact Clearaudio's US distributor, Musical Surroundings, through www.musicalsurroundings.com.

Verify
Clearaudio's Verify tonearm weighs 280gm and has an effective length of 239.31mm (9.42"), which makes it almost identical in that regard to a Rega arm. It features a "friction-free," magnetic-attraction bearing that floats within what looks like a captured-bearing housing. Magnets on housing and arm are attracted to each other but are kept apart by a tension wire that exerts a downforce. A similar design was described in a Japanese patent issued in the early 1980s, and variations have been used on a few relatively expensive tonearms, such as those from Frank Schroeder. This appears to be the first implementation of this bearing design in a tonearm that's part of a complete and relatively inexpensive record player. The tonearm armtube material isn't specified.

The business end of the Verify arm terminates in a fixture with a long slot for adjusting cartridge overhang. The cartridge is attached to an offset subplate that's secured with a screw inserted through the slot—a system that I believe was originally by Schroeder and has been used by Clearaudio for some time. The Verify is hardwired with what appear to be high-quality cables and tight-fitting RCA plugs.

Although a plug'n'play design, the Verify is capable of a full range of adjustments, including vertical tracking angle (VTA) and azimuth (the headshell rotates). The arm is preset for "medium antiskating," and while the method by which the antiskating force is applied isn't specified, it was appropriately set for cartridges that track at around 2gm, and measured so. In most cases, the antiskating force is probably best left as set at the factory. The knob for adjusting the antiskating is under the turntable, at the base of the arm. Clearaudio recommends that this adjustment be done very gradually and may be best done by the dealer.

Everything about the Verify—how it looks, its smooth cuing mechanism, its high-quality wiring and cartridge clips—speaks of Clearaudio's attention to detail, and of a genuine attempt to give the buyer of this moderately priced turntable a substantial tonearm that's pleasing to look at and smooth in operation.

The same can be said of the Concept itself. With its black metallic trim, the Concept is an exceptionally attractive and smooth operator that, based on its appearance, would seem to cost more than $1400.

Through the years there were more modifications of VPI turntables: the extra pulleys disappeared, multiple belts were replaced by a single belt, and a flywheel provided an interface between the platter and the motor. There was even a beltless version driven by a flywheel. You can find images of "the VPI variations" online.

A few years ago, Weisfeld was apparently struck by the great sound of an old Empire Troubadour turntable whose motor was integrated into its plinth, something most designers of premium turntables long ago abandoned for what seemed obvious reasons concerning the direct coupling of noise. He built a prototype of such a design and was surprised by how great it sounded, and by how many problems the return to the old thinking could solve, assuming the motor could be properly isolated within the plinth. The result, the original VPI Classic ($2750), became one of VPI's best-selling products and is still available.

The Classic 3
The Classic 3 turntable ($6000) is the most recent VPI model, and includes some significant refinements, including a massive new plinth structure in which a ½"-thick plate of machined aluminum is bonded to a 1/8"-thick steel subplate that itself is bonded to 2" of MDF. The result is a massive, well-damped, ultra-low-resonance, 60-lb platform that sits on newly designed feet that, Weisfeld claims, produce greater stability and provide a better aesthetic match to the new plinth, which is finished in lustrous piano-black lacquer. The review sample's top plate was finished in wrinkled pebble black.

The drive system consists of an AC synchronous motor fitted with a two-step Delrin pulley that interfaces, via a rubber O-ring, with an 18-lb aluminum platter damped with a stainless-steel disc bonded to its underside. The platter rides on a pre-lubricated inverted ball bearing and a composite thrust pad.

I'm happy to see the switch of platter material from acrylic to damped aluminum; Weisfeld says the latter can be more precisely machined, and is more easily damped, more resistant to changes in temperature and humidity, and more dense. And he and I agree that it sounds better than acrylic. The Classic 3's platter is machined to accept VPI's peripheral ring clamp, which is included, as is their heavy HR-X center weight. Although the Classic 3 has been designed for the LP to be in direct contact with the platter's aluminum surface, some buyers have been using as a record mat the thin rubber mat that protects the platter surface during shipping. Weisfeld is agnostic about whether this is a good idea or not.

Most important in a turntable like the Classic 3 is how the motor is simultaneously integrated into and mechanically isolated from the plinth. Here the motor, fitted from below, is attached to a heavy plate that in turn is attached to the plinth top, but separated from it by a rubber damper. There's another rubber damper under the motor. The motor is a high-torque model, but when I placed a stethoscope against the plinth and listened, I heard virtually no motor noise.

JMW-Classic tonearm
The JMW-Classic, an upgraded version of VPI's JMW Memorial 10.5i tonearm, costs $2600 and features a new stainless-steel armtube, bearing assembly, and base mount. It is wired with Nordost Valhalla cable from the cartridge pins to the RCA jacks (XLR jacks are also available).

Since its launch, the JMW Memorial arm has undergone significant renovations that have resulted in major mechanical and sonic improvements. While the JMW-Classic retains the concept of the original, almost everything about it has been rethought and upgraded. On the original arm, azimuth was set by rotating an offset ring attached by an O-ring to the lower part of the arm's bearing-cup housing. Thus the O-ring, attached to a high mass, essentially acted as an unwelcome high-frequency spring vibrating at musical frequencies. On the JMW-Classic the azimuth is set by rotating either that ring or the counterweight. The original cantilevered bearing platform was relatively thin and unsupported. It is now far more massive and rigid, and a secondary locking support ensures rigidity. The circular mounting block of stainless steel makes possible the rigid connection of arm to plinth, and the overall design ensures a commendably low center of gravity.

What hasn't changed is the arm-rest lock—it still doesn't really lock—and, as with all "pure" unipivot arms, lateral instability remains a problem: even with damping fluid in the bearing reservoir, when I lowered the stylus to the record surface, the arm took almost 10 seconds to completely stop rocking. It looked worse than it actually was—for whatever reason, the rocking was inaudible. While the anti-unipivot lobby claims that such a design means that the arm will move in directions other than the desired lateral and vertical, I challenge anyone listening to this turntable to hear anything other than rock-solid images across the entire record surface.

VPI includes its antiskating mechanism, already attached to the mounting block for the RCA jacks. You'll need less antiskating with the JMW's 10.5"-long arm compared to a 9" arm, but I still recommend using it. VPI supplies O-rings for the antiskating lever. I'd prefer a sliding weight—the closer the O-Rings are placed to the antiskating device's pivot point, the less offset mass they provide—but that's a minor quibble.

Setup: Relatively Easy
Everything needed to set up and use the Classic 3 and JMW-Classic is in the box, including VPI's overhang jig and azimuth rod and a Shure stylus-pressure gauge. While the see-saw Shure gauge will get you close, I still think if you're going to spend $6000 on a turntable that can accommodate cartridges costing same, you should invest in a digital stylus gauge.

Remove the plinth from the shipping carton, set it atop your chosen platform, level it via the feet, place the platter atop the pre-lubed bearing, slip the O-ring over the platter and motor pulley, plug in the AC cord, and you're ready to install a cartridge. It's that easy. But before you do, you'll surely take a few minutes to admire the beauty of this turntable. In my opinion, it's the best-looking VPI ever.

The JMW-Classic arm is as easy or as difficult to set up as any pure unipivot for which azimuth is a critical parameter. If you follow the instructions and use the included tools, you'll get it close enough for enjoyment, but it can be better done with more sophisticated tools (and, of course, I recommend my setup DVD, available from the Stereophilewebsite, which includes detailed instructions on how to set up a VPI).

The overhang jig is sufficiently accurate, but the rod method of setting azimuth will at best get the stylus perpendicular to the record, and that hardly guarantees that you've properly set azimuth. (Using this method, a small metal rod rests in a groove in the headshell. You adjust the azimuth angle so that the distance from record surface to rod is equal on both sides.) Get the Musical Surroundings Fozgometer or Dr. Feickert Analogue's Adjust+. You'll add maybe $300 to your investment, and it will be well worth it.

The Sound of Both Hands Clapping
I know what they say: "Don't knock it till you've tried it." In this case, I knocked it first. Before listening to the Classic 3, I put the stylus in a stationary record groove and did some tapping. As I've pointed out before, how a turntable responds to such an impulse doesn't necessarily indicate how it deals with sustained musical signals. The Classic 3 was definitely more lively in this regard than the essentially inert Dr. Feickert Analogue Blackbird, the last 'table to sit atop my HRS platform. Tapping either the aluminum top plate or the lacquered periphery produced a fairly loud knocking sound from the speakers. Tapping the top of the HRS platform produced an equally lively knock of much lower frequency. (Tapping the HRS rack on which the platform sat produced silence. The HRS rack works.)

Next I checked the Classic 3's speed accuracy, using Feickert's iPhone app and a test record. Each of the four grooves on the 33.33rpm pulley step produced slightly different results, as did the three on the 45rpm step. Each was relatively close to perfect, but the uppermost groove produced remarkably consistent and stable readings of from 33.30 to 33.39rpm. The lowest groove was 33.45–33.50rpm. The upper groove of the 45rpm step produced the result closest to perfect: 44.99–45.05rpm. These are superb results by any measure. So if you want perfection, find the right pulley groove and measure with a device as accurate as the free Feickert app (you'll need a test LP with a 3150Hz tone).

First up on the JMW-Classic was the Lyra Helikon SL, a lower-output version of the standard Helikon. It's fast, honest, on the analytical side, and highly detailed. If the Classic 3 sounded warm and soft, I'd know it wasn't because of the cartridge!

It's fun to play new records on unauditioned gear—you can assess the performance without prejudice. You might say that not knowing anything about the recording leaves you adrift, but if you have your system's reference sound well locked into your brain, even unfamiliar recordings will demonstrate identifiable sonic characteristics, such as excessive brightness, and mushy or overprominent bass.

It seems reasonable to think that bike manufacturers who accommodate this trend should have a better chance of surviving. Indeed, the Russian manufacturer of Ural motorcycles has worked to focus consumer attention on their all-sidecar line (and their increasingly popular vintage styling); consequently, they've gone from the red to the black. Harley-Davidson, on the other hand, stopped making sidecars three years ago, in apparent ignorance of the fact that the median age of their own customers is 49 and rising. (Their ship remains afloat—to the great relief of their dedicated workforce—only because H-D now makes more money from the licensing of their logo than from the products they manufacture.)

Is any of this beginning to sound familiar?

At least partly in response to steadily rising sales of LPs, a number of domestic audio manufacturers continue to create new turntables, tonearms, phono cartridges, and phono preamplifiers for audio perfectionists. Those are the clever ones: the ones who want to be healthy, not Harley.

Sure, the prevalence of grotesquely unaffordable ego-wank products among that lot remains the dominant trend within the trend, and a contributing factor to our industry's sad slide toward irrelevance. But there's cause for optimism whenever someone introduces a record player that's affordable (footnote 1) or at least relatively so. Thus my pleasure at seeing the smart new Paris turntable from Oracle Audio Technologies, the Canadian firm that earned a place in audio history with their very first product: the striking and similarly smart Delphi turntable (footnote 2).

The Oracle Paris Mk.V is offered in a number of configurations: with and without various tonearm choices, with and without Oracle's own cartridge, with and without a dustcover, and so forth. As a turntable only, minus tonearm and cartridge and everything else, the Paris sells for $3150. Oracle recently sent me a fully lit Paris, with its fluid-damped carbon-fiber tonearm and its high-output moving-coil cartridge, all for the less-than-extortionate sum of $5000.

Is "UFO mothership over London" video real?
When I first saw the Oracle Paris, at the 2011 Salon Son et Image show in Montreal, I assumed it was a solid-plinth design—either that, or a design in the spirit of the first Roksan Xerxes, whereby the arm-mount area is defined by a slot routed into an otherwise solid board. As it turns out, the Paris's platter and tonearm are completely and, I think, cleverly isolated from the rest of the works. The subchassis, for want of a better term, is a 1"-thick wooden plank a little over 1' long, oriented in a straight line between the platter bearing and tonearm mount fastened to it. Two stiffly flexible fiber-glass rods pass through the subchassis and extend, laterally, into the plinth itself, with soft Sorbothane washers at all contact points. At the very ends of the suspension rods, those rubber washers are encased by hard plastic tubes, movable up or down by means of threaded rods that are accessed from underneath the turntable. Thus the user can raise, lower, and level the platter and tonearm relative to the motor and plinth.

The Paris's alloy main platter bearing combines a low-viscosity oil bath with a polished steel spindle, the latter machined to a point much like that of the Linn LP12, but notably smaller in diameter. Also like the Linn's, the Oracle's bearing is fitted with high-tech polymer sleeves, and is used without a thrust ball. The spindle is press-fitted to a machined alloy subplatter, the rim of which is 0.375" tall: not a whole lot more than the width of the flat drive belt itself. The AC synchronous drive motor is mounted 4" away from the platter bearing, fastened to an alloy cradle on the underside of the plinth and damped with a soft polymer ring. The convex running surface of the brass motor pulley is even narrower than the rim of the subplatter—hence the importance of being able to line up the plinth with the subchassis. The transformer for the Paris's 24V power supply is contained in a wall wart—a decent one, with a rugged connector and a cable that's slightly less wispy than the norm—while the phasing circuit, regulators, and other electronic components are housed in the plinth itself.

The dark acrylic platter measures just under 1" thick, and its outermost edge is grooved in a manner that suggests circumference drive by a long belt of round cross-section—although that's not the case. The platter's surface is machined flat, intended for intimate record contact facilitated by a two-piece Delrin clamp that threads onto the top of the spindle. (The use of a separate record mat is not encouraged, and none is supplied.)

If the Oracle Paris is any indication, turntables may themselves be going from black to red: My sample matched perfectly the scarlet box in which Ortofon still packages their old-style SPU pickup heads. Go ahead and reach for one of yours, and see if you don't agree.

Florida couple shares home with 15 skunks
The new Oracle tonearm, available separately for $950, begins life as a Pro-Ject 9cc: an interesting arm in its own right. The stock Pro-Ject arm comes with a set of ABEC7-spec (that's good) ball bearings, a decoupled and calibrated counterweight, and a cartridge platform that's perfectly centered with the arm-bearing axis, notwithstanding the requisite offset angle. But the arm's real calling card is its one-piece tapered armtube of carbon fiber, a material said to confer rigidity and low resonant behavior while allowing the effective mass to remain low enough for use with medium- and high-compliance cartridges. Indeed, the specified effective mass of the Pro-Ject 9cc is 25% lower than that of the ubiquitous Rega RB300 family of arms—yet its armtube appears every bit as rigid and imperturbable.

Oracle adds to this an accessory they call their Micro Vibration Silicone Damping Device: essentially, the same kind of trough-and-paddle affair that Max Townshend crafted for his Rock turntables of the 1980s, albeit one in which the trough doesn't extend over the record itself, and wherein the role of the paddle—which moves with the armtube as the cartridge traverses from the outer groove to the inner—is played by the tip of an adjustable setscrew. The farther the user lowers the setscrew into the stationary silicone bath, the greater the damping effect. Notably, the portion of Oracle's Damping Device that carries the paddle/setscrew is a two-piece clamp, made of Delrin, fastened to the fat end of the armtube; it seems reasonable to wonder if this also confers a damping effect to the carbon-fiber tube.

Other arm details: Cueing is accomplished with a lift/lower device of the usual sort; antiskating force is provided by a thread and falling weight; and cartridge azimuth can be adjusted by rotating the entire armtube, which is otherwise locked in place with a setscrew near the arm bearings.

In terms of setup difficulty, the Oracle Paris proved slightly more daunting than a Rega P1, but still within the capabilities of most audio hobbyists. Two small wooden blocks hold the suspension still during shipping, and those have to be removed and set to one side—after which the user installs the bearing oil, bearing spindle (with subplatter), drive belt, and platter. Then the subchassis is adjusted from underneath by turning four small, knurled knobs that are fairly easy to get at. The idea there is to level the subchassis by adjusting the gap between platter and plinth with a small plastic gauge (provided), after which the turntable as a whole can be leveled absolutely by adjusting its three threaded Delrin feet. The motor requires no special attention, apart from plugging the wall wart into an AC outlet and connecting its five-conductor plug to a socket on the rear edge of the plinth.

The Oracle arm, which arrived premounted on the Paris's subchassis, is a bit trickier, if only because of that damping device. Its calibrated counterweight is surprisingly accurate: After leveling the arm and setting its counterweight to 1.6gm, I was rewarded with a measured downforce of about 1.65gm. Not bad!

Footnote 2: Oracle Audio Technologies, 6136 Blvd. Bertrand Fabi, Suite 101, Sherbrooke, Quebec J1N 2P3, Canada. Tel: (819) 864-0480. Fax: (819) 864-9641. Web: www.oracle-audio.com.

"I spent a half-hour digging in the garden for worms, but couldn't find any."

"You could have driven to Mr. Zetterstrum's farm, knocked on his door, asked his permission, and spent a few hours overturning the cowflops in his pasture. I'm sure you would have found one or two worms that way."

"You're right. I guess I didn't want to go fishing that badly."

So it goes today, as I take my first, tentative look at the world of direct-drive turntables. Like virtually everything else in domestic audio, this little tributary has a history—and a following. I'm respectful of both, but not to the point of adulation; letters of complaint, the likes of which followed my adventures in The Land of the (Advent) Large—eg, "You should have consulted ServoMan1949, DirectDick, and LardVader before writing this column!"—will be discarded unread.

Now then . . .

Direct driving
Generally speaking, one needs a transmission of some sort in order to mate the qualities of an engine with the requirements of its application. The mismatch between an automobile's need for torque at low speeds and a gasoline engine's abundance of same at only higher speeds is the classic example, and the overlapping worlds of record players and electric motors provide another: Electric motors have been with us for a while, but not so the ability to use them at the slow and steady speeds required for record playback. Thus, from the early part of the last century to the late 1960s, the audio industry crept from noisy gearboxes to clunky idler wheels to torque-sapping belts and pulleys . . .

The idea of motorizing a platter directly had long appealed to professional users, for whom quick starts were and are an obvious boon. And while the sonic advantages of sudden acceleration appear not to exist in this life, the performance advantages of the high torque required to move a heavy platter from 0 to 33.33rpm in less than one turn are considerable. In that sense, it would seem that the audiophile stood to gain as much as the DJ from a player in which record spindle and motor spindle are one and the same.

The thing was finally done in 1969, when the Technics division of Panasonic introduced their SP-10, considered by many to be the first commercial direct-drive turntable of the modern hi-fi era (footnote 1). Like the Garrard 301 and the Thorens TD 124 before it, the SP-10 was a plinthless, armless, and altogether serious piece of gear. Unlike those other landmark products, the Technics SP-10 incorporated a servo.

The word sounds inscrutable, but like other such hi-fi terms—jitter and baffle come to mind—the thing itself is straightforward: A servo is, quite simply, any secondary mechanism that's used to correct and control the performance of a primary mechanism. Servos can be mechanical or electrical in nature, or virtually any combination thereof, and can respond to a variety of error inputs. The mule driver who whips his mount at the first sign of slowing is a biomechanical servo (implying, correctly, that the former is slave to the latter: a comforting thought for mules everywhere). The tachometer-based system used to correct and control platter speed in the first SP-10 is an electronic servo. And so it goes.

As so often happens, more than one manufacturer was busy developing the same thing at the same time. Thus, it wasn't long before a direct-drive turntable was brought to market by a different firm: Nippon Denki Onkyo Kabushikigaisha, otherwise known as Den-On—or, simpler still, Denon. Early in 1970, Denon completed work on a high-torque AC motor made specifically for low-speed use, then designed for it a speed-control system in which magnetic markers on the platter's perimeter were read by a stationary tape head: their patented Pulse Magnetic Field Detection system. Denon's first direct-drive turntable was released to the broadcast industry later that year; their first domestic unit followed in 1971.

In the years after, Denon designed and manufactured scads of other direct-drive turntable models. Throughout the 1980s the company added to their line a number of relatively affordable models with integral tonearms, but before that, Denon's domestic players were typified by the DP-2000 and DP-80: high-quality motor units available without tonearm or plinth, if the customer so desired. (Interestingly, a spring-loaded isolation base for Denon's top-end models was among the very first products made by the contemporary American turntable company VPI.) Denon's professional models reached their pinnacle with the self-standing DP-100M, the motor of which was taken from the company's line of disc-cutting lathes. (The 100M went on to influence the development of another iconic player, the professional-grade EMT 950 of 1976 . . . but that's another story for another day.)

Throughout that time, Denon did more than just crank out turntables. Given their long association with the Japan Broadcasting Company (NHK), most of Denon's landmark products have been made for the professional audio field: Japan's first disc-cutting lathes (1939), the world's first practical pro-audio PCM recorder (1972), and—lest we forget—the world's first pro-audio CD player (1981). Of course, we all know what happened to turntable sales after the first consumer CD players came into existence—and Denon's case was no exception. It seemed there would be no more DP-80s from the now-sizable company, let alone DP-100Ms. And while Denon never altogether ceased making turntables, that segment of their product line took a back seat, with a far greater emphasis on cheap record players than ever before in the company's history.

Forever changes
Like the people we love, the companies that supply our audio gear sometimes change into things we no longer recognize. The loudspeakers designed and manufactured by Snell Acoustics have little in common with the ones they made in their early years, when founder Peter Snell was still alive. The audio consumers of 1983 who bought Conrad-Johnson Design's PV3 preamp for just $399 ($299 in kit form!) have to look elsewhere for such a thing in 2011. Today, Linn makes more digital products than analog, Naim no longer makes tonearms, and the majority of goods manufactured by Revolver are loudspeakers.

Some companies remain more or less as they were. Kimber Kable still manufactures their classic PBJ interconnects. Quicksilver Audio never stopped making small, high-quality tube amplifiers. Magnepan still sells Magneplanars, which are still among the highest-value speakers in high-end audio.

And sometimes they come back—like Denon, which at one time virtually owned the domestic market for high-end direct-drive turntables. For most of the past five years, Denon's US turntable line topped out at $329, with a strong emphasis on USB-ready models designed less for enjoying music than for archiving it. But in 2010, in recognition of their 100th anniversary, the Japanese firm introduced a new analog product that claims the same perfectionist heritage as its first direct-drive models: the DP-A100, in which turntable, plinth, tonearm, and cartridge are sold as one for $2499 (footnote 2).

Footnote 2: Denon Electronics (USA) LLC, D&M Holdings, 100 Corporate Drive, Mahwah, NJ 07430-2041. Tel: (201) 762-6500. Fax: (201) 762-6670. Web: usa.denon.com.

Like my Simon Yorke S7, Brinkmann's Balance is about as plinthless a turntable as you'll find, which is what attracted me when I first laid eyes on it at the Kempinski Hotel show in Frankfurt some years ago. Importer Lawrence Blair delivered a mass-loaded Balance 'table ($12,900) fitted with a Brinkmann 10.5 tonearm ($3500) and Brinkmann'a EMT-based moving-coil cartridge ($2500). It's a ready-to-play system, which is how I mostly listened to it, but I did substitute first the Lyra Titan, then van den Hul Condor cartridges well into the review because I was familiar with their sound, and because the cartridge used is bound to have an enormous effect on any system's overall performance. Because the Balance doesn't have a suspension, Blair suggests using a Harmonic Resolution Systems HRS M3 isolation base ($2200), which is custom-designed for the Balance and features a split granite platform to isolate the motor from the platter/bearing assembly.

Atop the HRS M3 sits the massive Balance turntable, whose vestigial ovoid plinth is CNC-machined from a single piece of 40mm-thick Dural, the hardest aluminum available, according to the designer, Helmut Brinkmann. The oversized platter, 3¼" tall and weighing 44 lbs, is made of an aluminum-lead-copper alloy said to achieve extremely effective damping. The platter surface is a plate of elastomer-bonded crystal glass. An integral record clamp screws into the spindle. Mechanical energy created at the stylus/groove interface drains down from the record to the platter surface, then into the platter itself, where the derived mechanical impedances of the various materials prevent it from flowing back up to the vinyl. A massive, raised, round armboard platform of Dural, also attached to the plinth, features a stainless-steel ring whose only function is to look good.

The platter is driven by a thin O-ring that rides in a groove machined into the platter's circumference. The outboard AC motor, which sits on an isolated platform on the HRS M3 base, is a brushless, dual-phase design powered via a power supply that processes the push-pull motor phases to load the platter with a precisely defined amount of rotating energy said to optimize dynamic performance. Mr. Brinkmann says that failure to optimize the drive energy is what causes some heavy turntables to suffer from dynamic compression. The platter's speed is adjustable and can run at precisely 33.3rpm and 45rpm. An optional vacuum-tube–based motor drive is available for $2700. The platter's speed is selected via a handsome circular module connected via a metal conduit protruding from the motor housing.

The Balance's unique heated bearing allows it to deliver optimum performance immediately on startup instead of needing a warmup period. Optimizing and maintaining a fixed operating temperature also means that the machining tolerances can be kept extremely low. The bearing itself has dual bushings, a hardened steel axle, a 30mm, a thrust plate of hardened Teflon, and an integral oil reservoir.

While Brinkmann can supply a blank armboard, and almost any tonearm can be used with the Balance, I've reviewed it with Brinkmann's own 10.5 model, a Breuer-like gimbaled-bearing design. (An updated version of the original Swiss-made Breuer arm is apparently still being made.) The 10.5 features an armtube the designer described as a "high-speed, double-concentric, ceramic-plated, self-damping transmission device" and as "a heavily anodized (about 100µm), thin-walled aluminum tube that is "fast, stiff, and light." Only beryllium or diamond would more quickly evacuate energy through the arm base, Mr. Brinkmann assured me. Antiskating is applied via a system of threaded magnetic screw and ring. The vertical tracking angle (VTA) is adjustable, though not on the fly. The Balance's armboard clamping mechanism permits quick and easy switching of arms, and a single screw adjustment allows an arm's effective length to be easily varied during setup.

In short, the Brinkmann Balance has been designed for the music lover who just wants to play records and enjoy music without fuss (once, of course, the cartridge has been properly aligned). The system, including the EMT cartridge substantially modified by Brinkmann, has been carefully tuned, but I found that other cartridges worked equally well, as long as I choose those whose sonic characteristics complemented the 'table's.

I was told (allow for German/English translation interference) that the tubed power supply "uses mainly the vacuum in the tubes and magnetic forces for its special way of cleaning out the mains noises." According to Helmut Brinkmann, there are two sources of power-line noise: external noise from amplifiers, computers, and other power supplies, and internal noise from the solid-state power supply's own rectifier stage switching. Fast rectifiers raise the frequency of the noise but don't entirely eliminate it. Tube rectifiers work like "super-fast, super-soft-recovery rectifiers," according to Mr. Brinkmann, who added that the transformers in the tube-driven supply, unlike those associated with solid-state rectification, can't be peak overloaded and thus effectively remove outside line noise. The vacuum inside the tubes, he claims, isolates the AC and DC circuits, so the power comes through the vacuum and not through the power signal cables. Hmm . . .

Brinkmann understands why one might be skeptical about this explanation of how a tubed power supply driving a motor, turning a pulley, and spinning a platter via a rubber belt might result in a sound different from that from a solid-state supply—especially because he claims the former has a "tubier" sound. But he stands by it, claiming that the energy chain that drives the stylus can have such an effect. Hmm . . .

Setting up the Balance and aligning the cartridge took very little time, thanks to the elegance of the 'table and tonearm designs and the precision quality of build. Brinkmann's modified EMT cartridge is a medium-compliance, low-output design (0.21mV/cm/s) featuring a van den Hul stylus profile. It differs notably from other EMT cartridges I've used in having a solid-aluminum mounting structure in place of the standard plastic one. Its greater intrinsic mechanical rigidity and ability to rigidly mate with the headshell seemed major improvements over the stock model.

The solid-state power supply, including both the motor drive and the bearing-heater circuitry, remains plugged in at all times. To use the tubed supply, one disconnects the multipin, colleted motor cable from the main unit and connects it to the tube unit. Flip a switch on the power supply's rear, wait a minute or two for the tubes to heat up, and when the red LEDs on the speed selector light up, you're ready to play vinyl.

Everything about the Brinkmann Balance—the industrial design, the jewel-like build quality, the fit'n'finish, the feel—marks it as a world-class turntable design. Only a few 'tables I've encountered belong in the Brinkmann's league, and even then, there's something about the Balance's physical appearance, feel, and cosmetic elegance that sets it apart.

Occasionally, as a new DAC, amplifier, or speakers came through our door, my wife would ask, "When are you going to review some turntables?" So, in deference to my sweetie, I contacted Garth Leerer at Musical Surroundings, US distributor of Germany's Clearaudio Electronic GmbH, and asked him for two turntable setups: the Concept (system cost $1500–$2000) and the Ovation ($5500–$8250). Having read the buzz about both systems and learned about the technology that Clearaudio has packed into their price points, I thought they'd be great places to start.

I loved my time with the Clearaudio Concept (see my Follow-Up in the August 2012 Stereophile); it was fun, pleasant, and simple to use, and what it lacked in resolution and truth it made up for in musicality and grace.

Now to set my sights on something a bit more serious: the Ovation, Clearaudio's finest offering in a turntable with a traditional plinth ($4300 without arm). I was also excited that the Ovation system, with its Clarify tonearm ($1600), Talismann V2 Gold cartridge ($1750), and Basic+ phono preamp ($1000), costs about the same as my reference digital source, Bel Canto's Design's e.One DAC 3.5 VB with VBS1 power supply and e.One CD2 CD player. My goal for this review was to hear not only what the Ovation could do, but also how these high-quality digital and analog rigs compared to one another. In one fell swoop, I could keep the peace in my home with my wife and, once and for all, declare a decisive winner in the war of digital vs analog. By the end of the review, either the analog or the digital audio industry will be left in ruins. I'm sure that both shudder in dread as they wonder who will win and flourish, and who will lose and be condemned to a life of bankruptcy and destitution.

Horses to Water
Like most folks I've met in the audio industry, Musical Surroundings' Garth Leerer and Joe Wessling are wonderfully helpful, insightful, and enthusiastic about the brands they distribute. Leerer was uncommonly good at articulating the salient features of the Ovation turntable when, recently, I grilled him. So, straight from the horse's mouth . . .

How does the Ovation fit into Clearaudio's line and the greater world of turntables?

"The Ovation fits into the Clearaudio line as their best 'traditionally shaped,' rectangular-plinth turntable. It has the same footprint as the Concept and Performance models, [which are] priced below the Ovation, and uses all the technology of the more expensive Innovation series from Clearaudio—hence the name, Ovation. At the $5000 price point there are turntables with big plinths and/or big platters, but the Ovation uses materials and technology unique at its price point."

What materials and technologies are unique to the Ovation?

"The chassis sandwiches Panzerholz, a high-tech wood laminate, between two sheets of machined aluminum. Panzerholz machines similarly to steel, has a high rigidity-to-mass ratio, a low Q, and a wideband resonant signature. This means it does not ring, and its sonic signature is rich and full. Because Clearaudio has to machine out space in the Panzerholz plinth for the platter bearing, motor, and armboard, they fill the rest of the cavity with a rubber damping tile filled with stainless-steel shot. This adds mass and damping. The Ovation is the least expensive Clearaudio turntable using Panzerholz."

The Ovation's motor is said to have some unique features. What are they?

"The motor on the Ovation features what we call an Optical Speed Control. An infrared sensor is mounted on the top of the plinth, and the metal subplatter has a fine strobe pattern inlaid on its bottom. The sensor monitors platter speed to regulate speed accuracy in the presence of stylus drag. The sensor reads the rotating platter speed via the strobe and, via a servo, tells the motor how to quickly compensate for speed accuracy. If you look at a vinyl record, soft passages are very small, fine groove modulations, while dynamic passages and crescendos are more widely spaced grooves. These large grooves can cause small speed variations, which are often perceived as soundstage collapse or glare. The speed accuracy also has benefits for piano and choral music, where pitch accuracy is paramount.

"The motor in the Ovation is the same custom DC motor used in the Innovation series, and is decoupled from the plinth with elastomer isolators. It uses a flat belt for accurate coupling. The advantage of the belt being hidden under the platter is that the rubber belt is isolated from UV, which can cause it to dry out and age prematurely. The Ovation runs at 331/3, 45, and 78rpm."

The Ovation employs a Ceramic Magnet Bearing. How does it work, and why do you use it?

"The Ceramic Magnet Bearing (CMB) was developed by Clearaudio about nine years ago. A traditional bearing goes down below the plinth, and the platter acts like a spinning top. An inverted bearing has the bearing shaft rising above the plinth, placing the bearing contact point, sometimes referred to as the thrust pad, right under the platter spindle. The argument for an inverted bearing is that it is more rotationally stable; the argument against it is that it places a potential noise source—the contact point of the spindle, ball bearing, and thrust pad—right under the spindle and, thus, the record. The spindle is typically hardened steel, the ball bearing steel or ceramic, and the thrust pad can be bronze, or a synthetic such as polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE). As these parts rotate and contact each other, there is the potential for not only vibrational noise but also for wear, which results in noise increasing over time. Typically, oil is used to lubricate all the parts to reduce friction and wear.

"The CMB addresses these issues. The upper bearing part is magnetically levitated above the lower, eliminating the need for a ball bearing and thrust pad. The spindle is a ceramic material with lower friction than steel, so vibration, noise, and wear are greatly reduced. Clearaudio provides a synthetic lubricant for the ceramic shaft to further lower friction."

The Ovation's platter seems particularly robust. What is it made of?

"The Ovation platter is 40mm-thick polyoxymethylene (POM), an engineering thermoplastic used in precision parts that require high stiffness, low friction, and excellent dimensional stability. Like many other synthetic polymers, it is produced and sold under many commercial names, including Delrin, Celcon, and Hostaform. POM platters are machined using traditional methods such as turning, milling, and drilling, and require sharp tools to maintain precise tolerances. The bottom of the platter is milled out for the metal subplatter to be inserted, and features a weighted rim for increased flywheel effect. Thus the Ovation uses both passive and active techniques for speed accuracy. POM is 'softer' than the acrylic previously used by Clearaudio, and is more similar to vinyl."

When someone finally answered my call, I was surprised—partly because I'd grown so accustomed to hearing that busy signal, but mostly because the person on the other end of the line sounded so familiar. She was kind, candid, and her tone almost immediately took on the warm, concerned, slightly overbearing touch of a mom—my favorite kind of person. This was Sheila Weisfeld—cofounder, with her husband, Harry, of VPI Industries. We talked and talked. After a while, I wondered if Sheila was more interested in sharing stories about her sons than in selling me a record-cleaning machine.

Turned out that her first, Jonathan, had been killed in a car accident 13 years earlier. Jonathan and I would have been about the same age; like me, he'd wanted to be a musician. After Jonathan's death, VPI shut its doors for a month. Sheila dedicated herself to promoting safety-awareness programs and to helping her younger son, Mathew, find his way through the family's loss. Harry holed up in the basement for two years, perfecting a design that he and Jonathan had started together: a tonearm that, in honor of Jonathan, would be named the JMW Memorial. In our January 1997 issue, Michael Fremer called the tonearm "a triumph of industrial design" with a sound that was "intoxicating, almost magical."

Loss had inspired beauty.

Sheila, I figured, had taken a liking to me. (I'm great with moms.) But before we said goodbye, she expressed her displeasure with my choice of turntable. She was gentle, diplomatic, and unambiguous. "Perhaps you'd like me to loan you a turntable? Your call!"

My call? I was reminded of my own mom, always offering more of my favorite meal: I was too full to accept, but couldn't bear insulting her. I explained to Sheila, as tactfully as I could, that while I'd always been fascinated by and attracted to VPI's turntables, they were out of my price range. Plus, I had no idea how to set up a turntable. The Rega made setup relatively easy, but a 'table like VPI's entry-level Scout ($1800, with JMW-9T tonearm) was too intimidating.

"Can I take you up on the offer in a few months? By this fall, I might be able to give a VPI the attention it deserves."

"Whatever makes you happy."

Whatever makes me happy? I could almost see her smile.

When my conversation with Sheila was over, I immediately missed her. After speaking with her for just a few minutes, I felt I'd known her all my life. This was Sheila's effect on people. It's no surprise that her line was so often busy.

Days passed, spring turned to fall, one winter blurred into another, and I never again called Sheila. I figured we'd renew our discussion in person, at a Consumer Electronics Show or some other event.

In June 2011, when Sheila Weisfeld was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer, the doctors told her she had three months to live. She responded by going on long trips to Australia and to Texas; travel made her happy. Having surpassed the doctors' expectations, Sheila next planned to attend the January 2012 CES, where she would say goodbye to friends and colleagues and accept Stereophile's award for Analog Source Component of 2011, for VPI's Classic 3 turntable. She didn't make it. On December 16, 2011, Sheila Weisfeld passed away. I never got to meet her.

At CES, I handed our award to Mathew Weisfeld, who mentioned that he'd be taking on more responsibility at VPI. In April, at the New York Audio & AV Show, Mathew handed me a business card, explained that he was leaving his teaching job to work full-time with his dad, and introduced VPI's newest turntable, the Traveler. Dedicated to Sheila Weisfeld and meant to appeal to a younger generation of music lovers, the Traveler was designed for easy setup, would be available in a range of fun colors, and would cost $1299 without phono cartridge—almost exactly the price of my Rega P3-24 without phono cartridge.

The VPI Traveler
On the flight home from the 2012 CES, 27-year-old Mathew Weisfeld reached into the pocket on the seat back in front of him, pulled out a paper bag, and sketched a design for an attractive, user-friendly turntable that even his friends could afford. The 'table's size and shape would be very important. It would have to be sleek, small enough to fit on a standard equipment rack, and at least somewhat portable.

With a footprint of about 16.5" wide by 12" deep, the Traveler easily fit on the top shelf of my Polycrystal equipment rack, and left room for my VPI Crosscheck turntable level and Hunt EDA record-cleaning brush. Mathew Weisfeld boasts that he carried an early-production sample of the Traveler to the recent Newport Beach Show in his luggage. But at a hefty 24 lbs and standing about 5" tall, the Traveler is significantly heavier and bulkier than my Rega. While I wouldn't think twice about schlepping the Rega over to Uncle Omar's house for a listening session, I doubt I'd be able to tuck the Traveler under one arm and go.

The Traveler's chassis is made of 3/16"-thick aluminum and ½"-thick Delrin, the latter a commercial name for polyoxymethylene (POM), a thermoplastic attractive for its high rigidity, low friction, and outstanding dimensional stability. Harry Weisfeld explained that, in the Traveler, this combination of aluminum and Delrin creates a very quiet, self-damping structure while allowing all parts of the turntable to be perfectly aligned for smooth, controlled operation. The 'table's aluminum top plate extends just beyond the Delrin foundation, and comes standard in a range of colors that includes red, white, blue, and silver. (Other options may be available in the future; photos on VPI's website show Travelers in pink and gold.) My sample came in VPI's standard black finish and exhibited some cosmetic imperfections on the chassis' underside—due perhaps to being hauled around in luggage, or to the usual strains of shipping. The instruction manual recommends using the Panel Magic or Stainless Steel Magic cleaning products to eliminate any odd markings from the Traveler's surface.

The Traveler's machined aluminum platter is damped with a stainless-steel disc and has an integral cloth mat. As in the VPI Classic, the Traveler's motor is built into the chassis. While it might seem counterintuitive to place a vibration-inducing motor in direct contact with a vibration-sensitive chassis, VPI believes that a properly integrated motor provides steadier and more efficient speed control. Unlike my Rega and many low-cost turntables driven by DC motors, the Traveler's AC synchronous motor runs on the stable 60Hz line frequency, and is said to be immune to voltage variances. I asked Harry Weisfeld to explain.

"An AC motor knows where it is. A DC motor knows where it was."

I asked Harry Weisfeld to explain.

"An AC synchronous motor reads the line frequency coming from the wall, which, in the US, will always be 60Hz. The motor's rotational speed (600rpm, in the case of the Traveler) is set by the line frequency. You can vary the voltage from 70 to 140V, and the speed will still be 600rpm. If you slow the platter down with your finger, the motor will fight you to get back to the correct speed of 600rpm—it's a known, fixed item."

Using a record brush on a spinning LP, I noticed that the Traveler paid little attention to the downward pressure exerted on its platter, but continued to run smoothly, unperturbed. This is not at all the case with my Rega, which can be slowed to a near stop with the slightest touch. According to Weisfeld, AC motors are more sensitive to music's timing and, therefore, sound more dynamic and compelling.

And DC motors?

"A DC motor is very quiet, very easy to integrate into a turntable, passes CE and UL regulations with no problem, and is cost-effective. But what speed does it run at? [A DC motor] needs a feedback loop to maintain speed accuracy, and that causes a time delay when the [rotational] speed is changed by groove velocity."

The Traveler's main platter bearing comprises a high-tolerance Thomson shaft, a chrome-hardened steel ball, and a thrust plate of polyetheretherketone (PEEK), an extremely durable thermoplastic with outstanding creep resistance—perfect for high-stress applications. Hinting at a potential upgrade, Weisfeld claims that the Traveler's motor and bearing assembly can easily handle the Classic 3's substantial 20-lb platter.