| June 15, 2009
Artemis Labs SA-1 Turntable
 Cha-do, the Japanese
phrase for what we in the West call the tea ceremony, literally means "the way of
tea." Its Zen-inspired aesthetic strips the visible down to bare essentials for the
task at hand -- the glazed bowl, the hand-crafted bamboo whisk, a bronze kettle of
steaming water, powdered green tea spooned from a small jar, a hardwood table on which
everything rests, and the spare tearoom where it all takes place. A way to create and
foster meditative respite for lives in tumult (it gained popularity among Japan’s
warrior class, the samurai, in the 14th century), cha-do focuses the mind,
enhances attention for detail and subtlety, and expands appreciation for the senses even
as it reduces the manifold universe to a mere handful of items carefully selected,
artfully crafted, and deliberately presented. Even its preparation is choreographed in a
kind of dance-mime by the one who prepares and serves the tea. Though nothing in cha-do
is casual, neither is it rehearsed; rather, it’s the expression of a practice
acquired and a pathway -- a tao -- arrived at through a near lifetime of elegant
execution.
The new SA-1 turntable ($7800 USD) from Artemis Labs
strikes me as a product of a similar aesthetic and fully considered practice. It seems the
culmination of its creator Frank Schroeder’s long journey through the world of
analog. In the privacy of his workshop, where he also builds world-class tonearms,
Schroeder has been continuously experimenting with building turntables from scratch for
over 25 years -- trying out various plinths, testing motors, experimenting with drive
systems, and assessing the finely machined dimensions of bearings and the sonic
characteristics of different platter materials.
Frank Schroeder and the art of analog
"I had the ideas for the ’table before it was
made," Schroeder said in a recent telephone conversation. "Three years ago, when
Sean Ta [of Artemis Labs] asked me to consider designing one, I didn’t have to make
drawings or calculations or that sort of thing -- it was already in my head. Except for
trying out materials, all the R&D was done years beforehand, in my workshop."
Ta had come to Schroeder with only a few requirements: that
the new turntable design meet an affordable price point; that it be fairly compact and
appeal to Asian customers who use tube gear in small apartments; that it have an exotic
and definitive look; and that, without sacrificing resolution, it emphasize musicality and
dynamic range and have bottom-end control à la the famed Garrard 301. Schroeder told me
that he owns about 40 turntables, but had four specific and different "concept
models" from which he drew elements to create the SA-1. What resulted, Schroeder
feels, is a turntable different from any other in existence -- complex in terms of the
problems it solves, simple in execution and appearance.
In an analog world of massive platters and overbuilt,
Erector-set turntables, the Artemis SA-1 stands out for its clean lines and tasteful
simplicity. Its tidy, black, 15-pound platter and plinth of layered bamboo measuring 17
3/4"W x 2 5/8"H x 13 3/4"D create a picture of such refinement that I
thought immediately of sparely furnished tearooms in rustic gardens I’ve visited in
Japan -- elegantly eremitic huts of bamboo, stone, mud masonry, and rushes, made to be
open to the air of the world via sliding, rice-paper screens and moon-cutout windows. The
experience of using the SA-1 brought another pleasure as well: the gentle wedding of
natural, eco-friendly materials and aircraft-grade aluminum creates something special and
pleasing to the touch, like handling a fly rod of split bamboo balanced perfectly with a
stainless, single-action reel from Scotland. Zen and the Art of
Analog . . .
From top to bottom, the SA-1 exudes thoughtfulness of
design and superb mechanical execution (all parts are US-made). Schroeder began with
several proven elements of turntable design -- a sealed, non-inverted platter bearing with
phosphor-bronze bushings, an eddy-current braking mechanism, an anodized aluminum platter
and armboard, a constrained three-layer sandwich for the plinth, a high-torque DC brush
motor (its clever feed-forward circuit was designed by John Atwood), three feet of
differing materials (two polymer, one aluminum) -- and to them added his own innovations.
From his years of workshop experimentation came the plinth of bamboo for natural beauty
and damping; magnetic tape for the drive to eliminate elasticity, guarantee
sample-to-sample thickness, and ensure consistent speed transfer; an adjustable tensioner
placed extremely close to the platter to minimize side-thrust and prevent slippage; and a
spindle machined to have a semirough surface to ensure enough hydrodynamic drag to keep
constant the pressure of the lubricant within the sealed bearing. Whisking all of
these together into an efficient, eye-catching design has made for an amazingly holistic
product. Like the deftly elegant gestures of a dancer who has dedicated years to the
practice of the art, the SA-1’s visible but understated beauty harbors within it
depths technological sophistication and craftsmanship.
Setup
For all these intricacies of design, unpacking and
assembling the SA-1 was a snap. The turntable is shipped in a large cardboard box and
packed in layers. Each component is isolated -- either nested among thick sheets of
polystyrene or in its own smaller cardboard box. The inventory of parts to assemble is
minimal: external motor controller and umbilical, plinth with bearing and motor already
installed, three cone feet, platter, tension roller, drive tape, circular armboard,
paper/felt inlay mat, bubble foam mat, and acrylic mat. Artemis provides a
well-illustrated, 12-page owner’s manual that’s a breeze to follow -- it
literally took me longer to read the manual (ten minutes) than to set up the ’table
(seven minutes). The last thing I did was to run a power cord (not provided)
to the external power regulator, then connect it to the motor in the plinth via the
umbilical. Although completely unfamiliar with the SA-1 and how to set it up, I spent only
about 30 minutes unpacking, assembling, and installing it in my system.
To operate the SA-1, you set the speed choice (33rpm,
45rpm, or variable) via a beautifully machined selector knob on the faceplate of the
external supply, then flip the On/Off switch below and to the knob’s left. Although
Artemis includes a nice strobe disc to measure the platter’s speed, I used a KAB
SpeedStrobe, which comes with a disc with digital graphics instead of bars or stripes:
Point the SpeedStrobe’s light at the spinning graphics on the disc and read the speed
numbers. When the numbers stay still, you’re dialed in. If adjustment is needed,
Artemis provides a small plastic screwdriver that fits into a screw recessed in a hole
below the speed-selector knob on the motor control. You just snook it in and turn it to
adjust the motor’s speed.
Of course, correctly rigging the tonearm and cartridge
takes as long as it takes -- in my case, quite a while, as Sean Ta had loaned me the
excellent but immeasurably fussy Schroeder DPS arm. But once that was done, the system
rewarded me with weeks of outstanding sound. The SA-1 armboard, made of the same
aircraft-grade aluminum as the platter, is cut specifically to match the user’s
tonearm, and secured in place with three screws that fit into curved, oblong slots near
the board’s outer rim. The board’s circular shape allows for the precise
correction of geometries by simply loosening the screws and rotating the board. Thus, with
a single adjustment, you change the spindle-to-pivot distance and minimize cartridge
fussing. For finer adjustment, I also rotated (albeit only a smidge) the silver-anodized
base of the Schroeder tonearm itself by loosening the large Allen bolt that fastens it.
Artemis offers a few upgrade options. Though my review
sample lacked them, you can order customized Stillpoints ($300/set of three) to replace
the stock Artemis feet. Additional armboards, cut by Artemis for any commercially
available tonearm, can be had for $300 each. Also available is a lovely, diminutive
(1.5" diameter, 2.7 oz.) record puck of a dense, Delrin-derived polymer ($100). I
tried using the SA-1 with and without this puck, but quickly found that this little devil,
no bigger than a sake cup, worked wonders for making violins sound smoother and
sweeter and increasing the bottom-end tightness and presence of just about every LP I
played. Once I started using it, I never stopped.
System
The Artemis SA-1 and Schroeder DPS tonearm went into my
reference system: Cary CD 303/300 CD player; Nottingham Spacedeck turntable with Heavy
Kit, Nottingham 9" Spacearm tonearm with Pete Riggle VTAF, and Shelter 501 Mk.II
(0.4mV) and Zyx Airy 3 (0.24mV) moving-coil cartridges; Herron VTPH-2 phono stage; Thor
TA-1000 Mk.II and deHavilland Mercury 3 preamplifiers; deHavilland KE 50A monoblocks (40W,
class-A) and Electrocompaniet AW220 monoblocks; Von Schweikert Audio VR5 HSE loudspeakers
(91dB/6 ohms); Cardas Golden Reference and Verbatim interconnects (RCA); and Verbatim
speaker cables with jumpers.
I use Balanced Power Technology’s Clean Power Center
passive line conditioner for the phono stage and preamps. The Cary CD player goes straight
into the wall with a Fusion Audio Predator power cord. The power amps were plugged into an
Isoclean 104 II power strip with Cardas Golden Reference power cables, the strip itself
plugged into the wall with another Golden Reference. Other AC cords were BPT L-10, Thor
Red, Fusion Audio Impulse, and Harmonix XDC Studio Master. I have two 15A dedicated lines,
both with Oyaide R1 duplex outlets. I used PS Audio Critical Link fuses in the Cary player
and the deHavilland preamp and amps.
My equipment rack is a Finite Elemente Signature Pagode
with Cerapucs under the Cary player. The room is treated with sound panels from Acoustic
Sciences Corporation; bookshelves line the right wall, shelves of LPs the left. The
listening room, which is also my study, is fairly small (12’ x 15’ x 8.5’);
I listen both in the nearfield, and on a couch about 8’ away from the plane described
by the front baffles of my speakers. The Von Schweikert VR5s are toed in about 3", so
that the tweeter axes fire slightly to the outside of my ears in my standard listening
position.
The sound of one ’table . . .
After more than two months with the Artemis SA-1, using the
Schroeder DPS arm and mainly the Zyx Airy 3 cartridge, I still find it hard to attribute a
definite "signature" to the turntable’s sound. Its character was more
retiring than obtrusive -- it simply got out of the way, adding no sweeteners or bleaches
of its own to the sound of any of the classical, jazz, or rock LPs I played on it. What I
heard instead was great scaling and dynamics, a consistent solidity to the presentation of
instrumental sounds, fine resolution, image stability, a natural sense of air and
spaciousness, and a precision of timing such that what were most prominent were the
overall ebb and flow of music, its organic sequences, the virtuosity of performers, a
singer’s unique character and expressiveness, and the rich timbral quality of each
instrument.
The stability, precision, and cleanness of the sound
presented by the SA-1 was immediately noticeable from the first LP I dropped onto its
platter -- Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.22 in E-flat, K.482, performed by Alfred
Brendel with the Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields, conducted by Neville Marriner
(Philips 9500 145). The orchestral introduction had at once more resolution and a more
precise feel to it than I’d become used to with my reference ’table-and-arm
combo, the Nottingham Spacedeck (with Heavy Kit) and 9" Spacearm. Throughout the
first movement, cellos and timpani came in with fullness and timing in a way I was able to
discern as never before, as both the coincidence and the nanosecond of difference between
a cellist’s bowstroke and a tom-strike from the timpanist were quite apparent. As is
characteristic of the Nottingham, there was a warm, solid orchestral foundation from
cellos and double basses. But, unlike the English-made ’table, which tends to deliver
macrodynamics and a general density of tone over details and nuance, the SA-1’s
wealth of sound contained great finesse and sharpness as well. For example, Brendel’s
deft pedalwork was supremely evident through the SA-1, giving his playing a fuller
expressiveness than I’d been able to appreciate before. I heard lovely, trilling,
crystalline pianissimos, and thrilling forte runs in unison with woodwinds -- a properly
woody oboe, a throaty flute. Bass notes started and stopped precisely, arpeggios flowed
but didn’t overflow, and each note of each trill seemed anchored in time, arising in
its proper musical and temporal sequence, both its presence and ephemerality in keeping
with the flow of the music. Here, details were continually at the service of the
music’s purposiveness as an entirety rather than as isolate, constituent parts.
Musically speaking, that the timing was so right allowed the dynamic flow of the concerto
to come pleasurably together in a sweet coherence without my attention being distracted by
such audiophilic irrelevancies as spotlit transients.
"Better Git It in Your Soul," the first track on
Charles Mingus’s Ah Um (Columbia/Legacy 8697-33568-1, 180gm reissue), is
as hard-driving a post-bop jazz tune as one can find, and a great test of a
turntable’s timing, speed, and tonal articulation. On the SA-1, this gospel-inspired
jam came across with superb clarity and cleanness. The track features chattering drums, a
repeated figure on piano, an insistent vamp by three horns played in unison (alto and
tenor saxes and trombone), Mingus’s calls and hollers, and bluesy solos -- one of
them a solo break on tenor from Booker Ervin, with syncopated hand-claps by other
bandmembers in the background. Throughout, Danny Richmond’s drumming sounded crisp
and full of texture, the varied timbres of his snare, toms, and floor tom easily
distinguishable. The music -- full of rich interplay, varied instrumental textures, and
the sympathetic artistry of improvisation -- calls for high levels of timing and
resolution. The Artemis SA-1 handled it all with ease and clarity, the spontaneity of
interplay thoroughly evident, each note solidly presented and on time.
To listen for delicacy of presentation and the ability to
communicate drama in a voice, I turned to Emmylou Harris, whose light, lyric alto is full
of angelic nuance. If ever there was a song that could be described as a Kentucky aria,
it’s "Hickory Wind," from her Blue Kentucky Girl (Warner Bros.
BSK-3318), composed by country-rock pioneer and martyr Gram Parsons, who was Harris’s
lover and musical partner. In a stripped-down, simple arrangement -- at first just voice
and guitar -- the tune is set to a deliberate Scottish march cadence by Harris and The Hot
Band. I remember the way Parsons, in concert with the Flying Burrito Brothers, used to
hold his Martin 00-18 up to the mike and strum the same sort of introduction -- solemn, as
if it were a call to assemble and muster sentiment. In this version, one by one, the
fiddle, pedal steel, piano, and electric bass then enter, each playing with restraint,
giving Harris’s plaintive country coloratura lots of room. Via the SA-1, I could hear
the breath and pathos in her voice as she sings "But now . . . that I’m lonesome
. . ." and her voice lilts, then trails off into the air around it. Then, when the
backup choir of Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Tanya Tucker join in, their voices
emerged from an airy expanse behind Harris’s tremulous lead, giving it feathery wings
that seemed to lift it gently out of the mix.
Staying with country rock, I listened to a 180gm reissue of
the Band’s first album, Music from Big Pink (Capitol SKAO 2955). "We Can
Talk," the second tune on side 2, begins with the coordinated punch and chatter of
Levon Helms’s drums and Richard Manuel’s piano. Then, Rick Danko’s tuneful
bass comes in and, hearing it through the Artemis ’table for the first time, what
struck me was the marvelous clarity of the overall sound. I remembered, too long ago now
to tally the years, hearing the Band perform this song live at the Pasadena Civic
Auditorium and, at the time, comparing it to how the LP track sounded through my poor
dorm-room system -- a tinny hash of countryish voices. And I noticed the same kind of
difference this time around. "We Can Talk" can be a barnyard squabble of voices
and instruments, but via the SA-1, what might otherwise have come off as a grungy
cacophony instead struck me as a raucous three-part lead vocal and a rousing rendition of
rock’n’roll call and response as well. It’s the Band’s version of
Storyville jazz, albeit arranged rather than completely improvised: three voices
simultaneously sharing the lead, then two dropping away so one can tailgate, then another
call back in a riffing response. Throughout, Danko’s hooty moans and wails echo
Manuel’s reedy piping, then Helms’s gritty tenor chases them both down. I
attribute the superb resolution, the definitive separation and stage depth of the
voices and vocal effects I heard, to the machining of the SA-1’s platter, the
smoothness of its bearing and clever eddy-current braking, and the stable speed of its
motor and tape-drive system. Maybe nostalgic distance, too, had something to do with it,
but so did the exacting German design and fine American craftsmanship invested in the
Artemis ’table.
I then returned to orchestral music, and, without fail, but
with utter ease and refined resolution, the SA-1 sorted out difficult complexities,
intricate tonal and timbral interplays, and dynamic range from the majestic to the
pianissimo. Period instrumentation, especially, can be hard to render -- in the absence of
vibrato, many analog rigs tend to reproduce the sound of massed strings as if they were
wind instruments being overblown: glossy, even glassy, and a little hard in peaks. But the
Artemis SA-1 ’table, in conjunction with the Schroeder DPS arm and Zyx Airy 3
cartridge, presented period strings only with openness, so that the harmonic richness and
sweet tone innate to this music came through with each bowing, whether sprightly or
mournful. Layering was always superb, presenting a good front-to-back illusion of a
chamber orchestra. And the timing was so wonderful, I felt each string section nimbly
digging into its instruments, the vibrancy and dynamics of multiple players in concert
coming across to create in me a kind of thrilling "jump factor." This was so
with Franz Joseph Haydn’s Cello Concertos, performed by Christophe Coin with
the Academy of Ancient Music conducted by Christopher Hogwood (L’Oiseau-Lyre DSDL
711), and with Handel’s Concerto Grosso No.5 in D, Op.6, performed by Neville
Marriner and the Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields (London CSA 2309).
For the past two years, I’ve tended to use one LP
above all others in my collection to test for analog authority, bass, and tonal color.
This recording has a fabulously rich palette of orchestral sounds -- the blare of trumpets
and horns, sonorous midrange notes from the woodwinds, plaintive upper mids and trebles
from violins, delicacy from a harp, thrilling bowstrokes from the double basses, and, on
top of all that, timpani thumping away. It’s Mahler’s Symphony No.2,
"Resurrection," performed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Choir conducted
by Georg Solti (Decca 63835). The first movement, Allegro maestoso, begins with
brisk and rapid forte bowstrokes from the double basses that state the
fiercely declamatory theme, while the other string sections keep up a suspenseful tremolo
in G octaves, until the woodwinds and violins pick up the theme too, though more
mournfully. The brass instruments follow with a series of fanfares (underscored by more
forceful timpani) worthy of Wagner and his Valkyries. Then the woodwinds and violins play
for a stretch, sweetly and at moderate volume, transforming the theme into a plaintive
dirge, whereafter the double basses return and a harp plucks out a graceful accompaniment.
It’s demanding enough, both in tonal complexity and in the intricacies of symphonic
timing, to confuse and congest many systems, but the Artemis SA-1 performed terrifically,
showing off nimbleness, speed, and tonal range throughout. The bowing of the double basses
never sounded indistinct, with blurred articulations, but started and stopped with
expressive, romantic majesty and German precision. I never felt the sound congest nor
heard the soundstage collapse, and enjoyed every moment of the music. The SA-1’s
ability to capture orchestral scale, dynamic swings (the symphony has passages that are
both bombastic and fit for a lyric soundtrack to Bambi), and the lavish variety of
tonal requirements was exceptional.
Conclusion
I’d say, in general, that the Artemis Labs SA-1 would
be a turntable for discerning music lovers rather than for audiophiles questing for a
component that would reveal utter details like the smack of lipstick on a wet pair of
lips. Yet I never got a generalized slurry of mood or presentation; instead, the SA-1
delivered an articulate brocade of audio precision, each note there to be recognized, both
in its individual gleaming and also its intricate interweave with the entire musical
tapestry. The opposite of analytic, it was all about flow, solidity, coherence, and
timing, rather than flattering the fantasy of measurable micrometers of detail. In talking
with Sean Ta of Artemis Labs, I joked that, to maintain my credibility as an audio
reviewer, I was looking very hard for negatives and drawbacks to write about. So far, I
hadn’t come up with any.
The SA-1 won me over. The charming simplicity of its look,
the complete ease of its operation, and the accuracy and fabulous tonality of its sound --
all came together to make for entirely pleasurable, unfussy musical experiences. If
you’re looking to upgrade from a beginner’s or mid-priced analog rig, or if
you’re looking for one of the finest ’tables out there for a relatively
affordable price, I encourage you to give the Artemis Labs SA-1 a serious audition. It
definitely has a special way about it -- the Tao of Audio.
. . . Garrett Hongo
garretth@ultraaudio.com
Artemis Labs SA-1 Turntable
Price: $7800 USD.
Warranty: Five years parts and labor.
Artemis Labs
679 Easy St., Unit E
Simi Valley, CA 93065
Phone: (818) 216-7882
Fax: (818) 555-1212
E-mail: info@aydn.com
Website: www.artemislabs.com |
