More important for this review, Victorville is home to Paradox Enterprises, a thirty-plus-year-old specialist audio company owned by Terence Robinson, who takes the designs of his brother, Ron, and turns them into products catering to the DIY hobbyist and those audiophiles seeking hand built and customized electronic components, cables, cartridges, tonearms, turntables and accessories. I first became aware of Paradox when I read several positive reviews of their colorful anodized replacement bodies for Denon DL-103/DL-103R cartridges. It seemed that replacing the plastic body on the stock '103/'103R with the aluminum body led to significant aural rewards. According to Robinson, even more improvement comes with an upgrade to the Pulse Guard anodized-aluminum body. The lead damping, motor encapsulation and increased mass of the upgraded Pulse Guard are said to reduce the internal noise floor of the cartridge even further. Most recently, Robinson began selling his statement cartridge using the motor from the Denon '103R with a ruby cantilever and Gyger S diamond stylus, potted and damped within the Pulse Guard body.

In line with its emphasis on analog products, Paradox offers three phono stages: the Phono 30, Phono 40, and Phono 70. They share the same uniquely designed circuit and circuit board and differ only in their ultra-low-noise JFET fixed gain. Each features passive RIAA equalization and bandwidth flat from 10Hz to 50 kHz. A Signature version of each is available at higher cost and features hand-selected premium parts and wire. There is also a statement phono stage called the Phono 70 Signature Mono, which doubles the number of components. Details and specifications on the variety of products for sale are available on the company's idiosyncratic website.

Inside that mailer was a sturdy, black Pelican-like flight case. It seemed easy to open -- just flip up the latches and lift back the lid. That didn’t happen. After a frustrating five minutes, my significant other and I (both holders of a Masters degree) had not yet opened the case. It seemed we had failed to notice small, black zip ties on each side of the latches, keeping the case from opening. A quick snip with the scissors and the case opened with a solid clunk. Inside the well-padded case were typewritten instructions and a specification sheet; a plastic bag containing loading plugs; a power umbilical and test clips; a cloth holding the AC cord; and carefully fitted into the foam liner, the Phono 40 and its power supply.

The Phono 40 is housed in a black aluminum case measuring 8” x 6”x 2” and can be held in one hand. Other than a bold "Phono 40" artfully engraved into the faceplate, the chassis is unadorned. Around back, you’ll find high-quality, chassis-mounted, clearly marked RCA jacks for left and right input, and left and right output. There's also a post for ground connection and a female socket for the power supply’s umbilical. The Phono 40 incorporates the same passive RIAA section and is built on the same board using the same parts and chassis as the Phono 70. Having one less gain stage than the Phono 70, the Phono 40, as its name implies, offers 40dB of gain -- best if you’re using a moving-magnet or a high-output moving-coil phono cartridge, as I do.

What distinguishes this phono stage from most others available today is the presence of an additional pair of RCAs to accept loading plugs. Loading plugs? Yup. These are special RCAs to which resistors are attached by either screw-terminal or spring-style connectors. They are used to change the impedance load for a cartridge. The review sample was supplied with loading plugs producing a 47k-ohm load. I also got a “loading kit” that enabled me to choose from a variety of cartridge-loading values. The ability to adjust a cartridge’s loading precisely via the loading plugs would come in handy when it came time to listen, and the Phono 40’s unlimited loading options made this fine–tuning step both painless and rewarding.  I admit an air of nostalgia overtook me as I assembled the loading plugs. It took me back to the days, decades ago, when I took to building a trio of Dynakits (amp, preamp and tuner) on the dining-room table of my parents’ home. Today, I found myself obsessed with the process of selecting resistors and securing them, neatly, into the loading plugs. For what it’s worth, I found the screw-terminal connectors far easier to work with than the spring-style ones.

The Phono 40's 18V DC power supply, sourced overseas but modified by Paradox, is housed in a smaller but identical-looking aluminum case. It measures 5 1/2”x 3 3/4”x 1 3/4” and weighs around a pound. Placed smack-dab in the middle of its face plate is an illuminated LED display showing the output voltage, in my case 18.5V. It glows bright red -- so bright, in fact, that I wished it could be turned down. I could not avoid staring at it while listening and found it distracting and difficult to ignore. The careful application of some blue masking tape solved the problem. To the left and slightly below the display is a minuscule toggle power switch. In back is an IEC socket and the outlet for the locking umbilical. The included power cord is terminated at one end with a male Hubbell hospital-grade, three-blade, copper plug. The wire is Cardas 2x21 -- 21.5AWG copper Litz conductors with cotton dielectric and PTFE tape wrap. Both the control unit and the power supply are hand-assembled using, as stated by Robinson, “only exceptional parts (Mundorf, Duelund, Audio Note, and Linear Systems), wire and solder.”

had on hand several cartridges to use with the Phono 40 -- a couple of moving magnets and a handful of moving coils. The moving magnets were an Ortofon 2M Blue (5.5mV output) and an Audio-Technica VM75SH (4.0mV). Among the moving coils were an Audio-Technica AT Mono3/LP (1.2mV), an AudioQuest AQ 1.1 MC (1.1mV), and a Dynavector DV-20X2H (2.8mV). When the stylus of the Dynavector hit the grooves on Bill Evans’s gorgeous album You Must Believe In Spring, reissued recently by Craft Recordings on two Kevin Gray-mastered 45rpm discs [Warner Bros./Craft Recordings CR00455], and the first dulcet piano notes and Eddie Gomez’s liquescent bass on “B-Minor Waltz” filled the room, I realized I was privy to game-changing analog sound -- an impression that did not change throughout my listening sessions. The utter lack of noise from the phono stage lifted any veils between the music and me. The performance unfolded on a believable soundstage with the three musicians occupying tangible places within. During that initial listening session, I loaded the Dynavector to a recommended 47k ohms. Later listening with this cartridge saw a reduction in loading to 1000 ohms, resulting in a more euphonic (in a good way) presentation. It was with this and the Audio-Technica VM75 SH cartridge (loaded to 47k ohms) that I did the majority of my listening. As a rule of thumb, trust your ears to tell you when the ideal cartridge load has been reached. It will be the one that sounds the most right.

With the Phono 40, the electronic machinations of the late composer Klaus Schultz on his 1975 album Timewind [Brain 1075] acquired a degree of palpability I had not been aware of before. The swooshes and pattering of his synths on “Bayreuth Return,” the first side of this half-century-old album, captivated me as midrange detail revealed itself with a previously concealed richness. The more I listened, the more I gave in to the spirit of the music and the artificial world to which I was transported. I credit the Phono 40 for providing me with the vessel to make that journey.

Turning to less ethereal but still otherworldly music, I reached for Bill Frisell’s 2022 trio album Valentine [Blue Note B003217001]. Over four sides of perfectly pressed vinyl, Frisell weaves his magic in tunes ranging from down-home, funk-laden stompers to an homage to Thelonious Monk, from Burt Bacharach(!) to a protest song. Each of the thirteen cuts is an example of economy, subtlety, timing and teamwork in the service of music.  Even though the soundstage is skewed to the right, with very little information coming from the left speaker, the Phono 40 let me appreciate the textures, tones, degree of finesse and detail in each of the performances and captured what must have been an intimate session. On the title cut, “Valentine,” for example, the plucked notes from Frisell’s electric guitar were rendered with a crisp bite -- dynamic yet not pressed up against my face. They bloomed on their own cushion of air. Rudy Royston’s drum kit was beautifully detailed and present, placed just behind and to the left of Frisell. His cymbal splashes rang true with appropriate sizzle and decay. Thomas Morgan’s upright bass, though a bit recessed in the recording, sounded hefty and satisfyingly “woody,” and displayed good, if not superb, presence.

Did I say that throughout the four LP sides the midrange is to die for? In contrast to the Phono 40, my PS Audio GCPH phono stage ($995 when still available), though a little bit more robust in the bass, was less dynamic and present here. It was detailed and had good texture but lacked the crispness of the Phono 40, especially on the plucked guitar strings. The PS Audio’s soundstage also seemed slightly compressed, with less depth and smaller images. It was, overall, less organic-sounding than the Phono 40. I was also surprised at the difference in bass response between the two phono stages and sought an explanation. Following the suggestion of Ramon, a longtime friend and hi-fi mentor in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I replaced the power cord supplied with the Phono 40 with the Shunyata Venom 3 I had used on the PS Audio GCPH. More copper did the trick and the mystery was solved -- the robust bass I had heard with the PS Audio GCPH was now present with the Phono 40.

Next, I pulled a recent purchase from my “just acquired LPs” holder. It was Gustav Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets, in a 1962 recording of the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Herbert von Karajan [Decca SXL 2305]. After the bombast of the first section, the second, “Venus, the Bringer of Peace,” comes as a breath of fresh air as it restores calm to the large orchestra. The excellent sound on this 60-year-old recording enabled the serene mood to evolve and be sustained with contributions from the woodwinds, flutes, strings and the clear chiming of the glockenspiel and celeste. The vintage sound of this recording put me some distance from the orchestra, but the skill of the Decca engineers captured the orchestra in fine detail. The brief violin and cello solos were clearly heard yet remained part of the larger ensemble. Both the Phono 40 and the PS Audio GCPH gave outstanding accounts of the music on this recording. In the final analysis, though, the Phono 40 just sounded more right. I was convinced I was hearing this recording as clearly and compellingly as I ever had using the Phono 40 to direct the cartridge’s signal.

One of my favorite records for evaluation purposes is Thomas Newman’s quirky score for the 1999 motion picture American Beauty [Universal Music Special Markets B0029070-01]. Not to be confused with the American Beauty (Music From the Motion Picture Soundtrack) compilation, the score is chock-full of sonic surprises that will test the limits of your system and take you on an exhilarating ride, especially with the Phono 40 in the system. The soundstage is cavernous, the music and effects coming at you from all sides, including deep into the stage. The bass on certain tracks extends to window-rattling depths while the treble on others is crystalline and extended. For instance, on “Dead Already,” three quarters of the way into the music is a deep bass figure which threatened to dislodge framed pictures hanging on the wall. Likewise for “Power of Denial,” the third track, in which the four-note bass figure seemed to reach for limitless depth. Turning to the opposite end of the frequency spectrum in “Arose,” the shimmer released from the notes on the sharply struck triangle resonated clearly and was easily carried on the almost palpable pillow of air. On “Root Beer” and “Spartanette,” cacophonous percussion effects took center stage, accompanied by more of those deep bass plunges. The startling clarity of the percussion and the strength of the bass on these tracks were as compelling as they were attention-grabbing. Lest we ignore more lyrical moments, the beauty of a concert grand piano was captured in realistic sonics in “Mental Boy.” All of these sonic delights were presented in a virtual 3-D soundstage courtesy of the Phono 40.

With a 1.2mV output, my Audio-Technica Mono3/LP moving-coil cartridge (discontinued) is at the lower end of usability given the modest gain of the Phono 40. However, I wanted to get a sense of its performance with this component. Chris Connor is one of my favorite female singers, and her 1956 album Sings Lullabies of Birdland [Bethlehem BCP 6004] is a gem. Following the polite swing of side one’s opener, “Lullaby of Birdland,” Connor slips into an intimate, sensual groove on “What Is There To Say?” with a delivery defining the term sultry. Her voice was clear as a bell with a fullness appropriate to the moment. The mono recording put Connor dead center between the speakers with Ellis Larkin’s trio behind her. The lack of surface noise was impressive for this 66-year-old record, lending credence to Terence Robinson’s use of passive RIAA equalization which, in his words, “produces the necessary equalization curve by shunting to ground . . . gets rid of a lot of noise like ticks/pop/hiss etc.” “Try A Little Tenderness” sounded like a bedtime reverie, with Connor’s husky voice on prime display. At the right volume, it’s as if she’s singing directly in front of the listener, uncomfortably close. The side’s closer, “Blue Silhouette,” was performed perfectly and transported me back to a less worrying time. Kudos to Terence Robinson for creating a product capable of raising deep emotion.

Another example of a female vocalist able to raise goose-bumps is Dinah Washington. Her 1955 album, For Those In Love [EmArcy MG 36011], features musical arrangements and leadership by a then-22-year-old Quincy Jones. My clean, first pressing reveals the exceptional talents of the small band of hand-picked, world-class musicians assembled for the session. For an example of this, listen to Washington’s take on the weeper, “Blue Gardenia.” Her unique voice, acting as just another instrument in the tight-knit ensemble, carries the tune as the sinewy tenor sax of Paul Quinichette, punchy lines of guitarist Barry Galbraith, and Cecil Payne’s chuffing baritone sax weave their complementary solos. The recording is to die for -- present, balanced, dynamic, as visually represented in the back cover session photograph -- and the Phono 40 uncovered it all.

Back in the 1980s, I, along with many of my music-loving friends, became attracted to the music released on Windham Hill. Co-founded by William Ackerman and Anne Robinson in 1976, the label focused on mainly acoustic music drawn from folk, classical, jazz and world genres. It was almost always instrumental, soft, lyrical and tuneful music, and the label achieved a great degree of popularity among what were then called yuppies. Unfortunately, due to its association with a certain socio-economic class, Windham Hill also received a lot of scorn. Those admitting they listened to and even liked Windham Hill records were often viewed with suspicion. I was one of those. Putting that aside, the quality of the recordings, featuring exceptional pressings, and their presentation were first class. Among my collection of Windham Hill LPs is a 1986 album by William Ackerman, Conferring With the Moon [Windham Hill WH 1050]. Mastered by Bernie Grundman at Sheffield Labs Matrix (yes, that Sheffield Labs), it boasts a digital recording process and sounds fine, if a bit dry. What caught my attention, though, was the startlingly realistic sound of the Zampoņas (pan pipes) in the opening bars of “Lago de Montaņas (Mountain Lake).” The raw sound of that primitive instrument was menacing and joyous at the same time and rudely woke me from my reverie. The pan pipes sounded as if they were being blown just behind the turntable, directly in front of me.

Finally, after a lot of listening, I took off my critical-listener hat, pulled from my shelves a relatively clean, six-eye, stereo first pressing of 1957s The Sound of Jazz [Columbia CS 8040] and eased into my seat. It was time to listen to this recording without pen in hand, for pleasure only. It was recorded at Columbia’s iconic 30th Street Studios just days before the groundbreaking live television broadcast on CBS, and it only took a few seconds for me to realize why this record has become an audiophile fave. It has many of the qualities you look for in a great recording: dynamics, soundstaging, believable imaging, honest timbre, clarity, balance and tangibility. Given the world-class musicians assembled for the broadcast, the music is timeless. It features the traditional jazz stylings of Red Allen with his All-Stars, the inimitable voices of Billie Holiday and Jimmy Rushing, Pee Wee Russell, the Jimmy Giuiffre Trio and the amazing swing merchant Count Basie and his All-Stars. The Phono 40 put me in the studio with the players -- especially Mal Waldron, whose solo piano on his composition “Nervous” was positioned just to the left of my right speaker. I sat through both sides of this recording in awe at what had been caught on tape that winter day in December, 65 years ago, and how the Phono 40 got out of the way and revealed it all.

n the final analysis, I totally enjoyed my time listening to LPs with the Paradoxpulse Phono 40. It made each listening session, regardless of the cartridge used (even though Terence Robinson doesn’t endorse high-output moving-coil cartridges, I had no problem with the sound I was getting from the Dynavector DV-20X2H), a rewarding and emotional experience. The Phono 40 was not particular as to the music played, either. It treated the signals from whatever music I chose with aplomb, be it raucous alternative rock, soothing electronic ambient, acoustic jazz, or small- or large-scale classical. The Phono 40 always remained behind the scenes, in service to the music and not a part of it.

I also came face to face with my stubborn OCD which compels me to tinker, not leaving well enough alone. My PS Audio GCPH offers a smorgasbord of control at the turn of a knob (gain and loading) or by pushing buttons on its remote control (mono, phase, volume). Besides the option of balanced outputs, it also offers the ability to drive amps directly via a large volume knob (also remote controlled) on the front panel. Those features guided my decision to purchase the GCPH several years back. If faced with a need to buy a phono stage today, I would have to take a long look at the Phono 40. It sounds as good as any phono stage I’ve heard in my many years of listening and betters most of them. It is also extremely easy to use. If its 40dB gain is adequate for you, I cannot imagine how spending more on a phono stage would result in significantly better sound. If you own medium- or high-output moving-coil or moving-magnet cartridges, I heartily urge you to take advantage of Terence Robinson’s 30-day, risk-free offer and add a Phono 40 to your LP playback chain. By committing to a fixed-gain phono stage with hand-selected, premium parts and virtually unlimited loading options, you can focus on drawing out the best sound from your phono cartridge and LPs.