If you saw our feature earlier in the week, you know Michael Fremer is crazy about vinyl. He's been defending its merits ever since digital formats started to surface, and has published several DVDs detailing how best to set up a number of nice audiophile turntables.

But of course, you don't have to have to have an audiophile turntable to enjoy vinyl—great used tables like the Technics SL-D202 I got in high school (pictured) can be picked up all over the internet, at garage sales or from your Dad's basement for very little dough, and will serve you well as long as they're in decent shape.

Plus, with tons of record labels including a free digital download with the purchase of an album on vinyl these days, it's a great way to give back to your favorite artists—you'll get a cool tangible object that has the potential to sound far better than your MP3s, but with a digital copy for you iPod nonetheless.

So if you have a turntable that's never received a proper tune-up, here's how to set it up to get the best possible sound from it. With Fremer's help, my table is now in tip-top shape, and yours can be too.

What you'll need:
• The manual for your turntable and cartridge (the part with the needle attached)
• A 2mm Allen/Hex wrench for the cartridge screws (most are 2mm, anyway)
• A ruler
• Magnifying glass and flashlight (not essential, but makes things easier)
• Needle-nose pliers or tweezers
• A printout of a standard cartridge alignment ruler (available at vinylengine.com for free)

First thing's first, though—if you're unsure of the progeny of your table, or if it hasn't been serviced in a long time or ever, the easiest upgrade you can make to ensure it's at its best is a new cartridge. This part is almost solely responsible for the sound generated by your table, and you can get a very good new cartridge for less than $100 (try Shure's M97XE for a good one in the $90 ballpark, but there are cheaper options as well).

After that, there are three variables you want to make sure are set, and those are the three variables we'll be covering: cartridge alignment, tracking pressure and anti-skating. While there are tons of other adjustments that can be made, with some tables having more calibration options than others, these three are fairly universal and will get you in the ballpark of calibration, which is much better than fresh-from-the-dusty-garage.

Let's get started!

Tracking Pressure
This is what the weight on the back of your tonearm is for—it controls how much pressure is put on the stylus as it tracks the record's grooves. This should be set according to what's suggested in your cartridge's manual. Google around for your cartridge make and model and you should be able to find the manual, or your turntable manual may suggest a baseline range. Again, Vinyl Engine is a great resource for manuals.

1. If you're installing a new cartridge, connect the red, blue, green and white wires to the corresponding marked terminals on the back of the cartridge. If they're too loose and fall off the pins, put a toothpick inside wire clips and tighten it with the pliers. Once it's hooked up, loosely screw the cartridge into the headshell (we'll be adjusting its alignment later) with your hex screwdriver.

2. Set the turntable's anti-skating dial to zero, then turn the weight on the back of the arm just up until the point the tonearm floats on its own. Then, by turning the part of the weight with the gauge but not the entire weight, set the gauge back to zero to "re-zero" the weight.

3. Now, turn the entire weight to the number (in grams) specified by your cartridge's manual. If it specifies a range, stick it in the middle.

4. If you're feeling like getting serious, you can buy a specialized tracking pressure gauge that will tell you the exact pressure. But for most folks, the guidelines on the tonearm's weight are fine—mine was almost exactly correct when measured with Fremer's digital gauge (as you can see in the picture).

Cartridge Alignment
Ideally, a tonearm would track across the record from the beginning to the end in a straight line across the surface, so that the stylus was perpendicular to the groove at all times, thus keeping distortion to an absolute minimum. But since the turntable arm is fixed, it traces a parabola across the surface of the record as you play it. Mathematically, the parabola arc has two points where the stylus should be sitting perfectly perpendicular to the groove. These are the points we'll use to set the alignment.

But you don't have to be Pythagoras Jr. to plot them—thankfully, there are protractor PDFs you can print out which will mark the approximate position of these points on most turntables. There are also PDFs for specific tone arms and turntables floating around—Google your model to see, but you should be served just fine by the standard approximation provide by the basic print outs at Vinyl Engine. (We're using a glass version here in the photo, but the paper ones are fine).

1. Many turntable manuals specify an ideal distance from the back of the headshell to the tip of the stylus, so consult your table's manual and screw in the cartridge into the headshell's adjustable slots so this measurement is correct.

2. Now, place your alignment protractor on the platter, and carefully drop the stylus tip onto the first alignment point. The goal is for the cantilever (the metal part that extends down from the cartridge with the stylus tip on the end) to be parallel with the guidelines on the printout. If it's not, loosen one of the screws in the headshell and move it back or forward slightly. This is where a magnifying glass and flashlight can be handy, as the clearance between the bottom of the cartridge and the platter may be slim.

3. Once it's aligned in the first point, test it on the second point. Both are mathematically determined, so it should be aligned on the second point too. If not, try to find a happy medium.

Anti-Skating
Most turntables have an anti-skating dial somewhere. This setting counteracts the vector force that naturally pulls the stylus tip toward the inner lip of the groove as the record spins, because as mentioned before, you want it to track dead-center whenever possible.

1. All you have to do is turn the anti-skating knob so that the number matches the tracking pressure you set earlier. Fremer likes to set it a quarter of a gram or so less, which he feels is more accurate than the scales provided on most turntables. So do that.

More Tips
• Keep your turntable on as sturdy a surface as possible—this will prevent it from warbling or skipping if you walk/dance around near it.

• Keep your stylus and records clean. You can get very inexpensive tools for cleaning both of these parts, and it will keep everying sounding great and will prevent your records from wearing out too quickly.

And that's it. For more info, check out Fremer's calibration DVDs, which many vinyl junkies swear by.

Hope you guys enjoyed our Listening Test audio week as much as we did. If you have any other advice or tips to share, please do so in the comments, and if you're interested, check out last week's audio-related How To on maintaining a lossless music library. Have a great weekend listening everybody!

Listening Test: It's music tech week at Gizmodo.

My objective in experiencing a full-bore audiophile's listening room was not to try to call him on whether or not he or I could hear the difference in speaker cables composed of wire hangers or braided unicorn mane—no, it was to listen to music on a $350,000 stereo. But while I was there, how could I not try to experience a few before-and-after tests to see if I could spot the harmonic differences that are the audiophile's raison d'etre?

The differences we are talking about here are, of course, of the most incredible subtlety. But to many critics of audiophiles, a subtle change is quickly reduced to and equated with zero change, whereupon the screams of hysterics and rage against the immense stupidity and utter inanity of the audiophile life begins.

I didn't think I had to say this, but I guess I do: Anyone who spends $20,000 on speaker cables is fucking crazy. In fact, anyone who spends $200 on cable is crazy, in my opinion. But that's just not the point.

If I was drinking wine with a sommelier or wine critic, I wouldn't find it irrational to taste subtleties that I might have glossed over when drinking in the presence of normals. In these cases, it's not about the power of suggestion, it's about the power of context, and like it or not, there's context at the heart of all the world's manias, anything to which we attach the suffix "phile."

With audiophiles, I am an agnostic rather than an atheist. I believe that these differences, however miniscule, are, to those who have spent their life studying them, based on something real, not invented. Can I hear them? Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I write them off completely. My belief here is based not on decades of listening on high-end gear, but on a day I spent listening to a $350,000 system with someone who's been doing this for forty-some years.

It's a fact: I was led into hearing things I might not have without guidance. While some look to this possibility as evidence that the whole thing is a sham, I don't. I would need a lot more time to build up the necessary context to even be near a place where I could pretend to listen critically for such minutiae, but I heard something different than I would hear listening to my own sound system, and that's also a fact.

With that out of the way, here are three wholly unscientific but incredibly interesting listening tests we did in Fremer's audiocave. They were a blast.

Power Cable Swap
Test Song: "Avalon" by Roxy Music
Surprisingly not the fishiest test we ran, at play here is the purity and frequency range of the raw AC power that gets fed to the speaker amps. Fremer had two cables laying around that he was reviewing—one from Power Snakes Shunyata Research at a cost of $4,000 and one from Wireworld, whose $1,200 cable's selling point is that it filters out all but the 60Hz frequency of pure, unadulterated US alternating current.

Here's Wireworld's filtering claim, from their website:

An ideal audio or video cable would pass the entire frequency range without alteration. However, an ideal power cord would pass only the 50Hz or 60Hz AC power, while blocking all other frequencies, to prevent power line noise and harmonics from degrading the sound and imaging quality of the system.

Not entirely sure how those two are related, but a claim is a claim.

The result: I heard a difference here, but whether or not it was a direct result of AC filtering, who knows. The filtering cables (the cheaper ones) seemed to sound a bit more reserved, but in some ways clearer. There might have been a little less harshness in the high frequencies of cymbals, or when Bryan Ferry sang an "S" sound. The more expensive AC cable was different, but it was hard to quantify how or why. Maybe a fuller sound, but not necessary a better one.

With this one, if there's any audible change at all from one to the other, one is still not better than the other. That's an important point to make here—spending more money in the audiophile realm often just means getting something different, not better.

Speaker Cable Swap
Test Song: "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin
Let me say now that listening to "Whole Lotta Love" on this system at high volume was transcendent each and every time, no matter what gear was involved. You may want to put a knife in any audiophile you see, but if you heard that song like I did once, and realize that these guys get to listen to it that way every time, you'd be doing it out of jealousy, not contempt.

That said, speaker cable is the most sensitive area to prod on both audiophiles and audiophile reactionaries alike, because it is home to some of the most dramatic swings in price for things that, fundamentally, are doing the exact same thing: carrying an electrical current from amp to speakers. That said, as Wilson explained on Tuesday, it's the one thing in these tests that may have the most merit. Genuine differences in electrical properties (wire thickness, manufacturing process, and the materials of the wire and its coatings all contribute to differences in capacitance, inductance and resistance) mean that cables are liable to sound different, given speakers with enough resolution to show those differences.

At play in our test was a set of $200 cables from Monster (here, playing the unfamiliar role of bargain choice) and a pair from Tara Labs that costs a deeply stupid $22,000, which Fremer had for review purposes.

The result: I strained to hear a difference, but did. Like I said, I was pretty busy trying to keep from shitting myself during both playbacks, but I did identify a change. And again, it was detectable most for me in the high-frequency zone: With the high-end cables, cymbals, tambourines, the high frequency bits of that crazy swirling tape-effects breakdown, all sounded perfectly isolated in the 3D space of the song and came through with crazy clarity. On the Monsters, anything in the high-end tended to blend together into a single entity that was slightly less pleasing perhaps, but still amazing.

Was the difference worth $21,800 to me—or even Fremer? Of course not. But it's there.

De-Magnetizer
Test Song: "Oh! Darling" by The Beatles, and others
And if you thought the other stuff was ridiculous, maybe turn away your gaze now. This is a $1,600 platter that, once activated, neutralizes the magnetism that allegedly develops over time in the metallic impurities found in vinyl's black dye. Since the record cartridge operates with magnets, this allegedly translates to less unintended futzing with the cartridge and therefore purer sound. I say allegedly because there's nothing in the way of firm scientific evidence that such magnetic impurities are enough to tamper with the cartridge's signal in a meaningful way. (It should also be noted that the Furutech product in testing here is no longer to be found on Furutech's website.)

The result: I swear to Lucifer, when listening to "Oh! Darling," I thought I heard Paul's voice move back a good foot or two in the soundscape once that record was de-juju'd. "Back" in a way that added clarity. Beyond that, I can't say I heard much else.

We tried the trick on several other records, and I got nothing. Fremer claims he and his audio buddies can usually tell a difference, which is sometimes drastic, sometimes not.

You can even try for yourself if you want to. Here are two AIFF files of Tom Waits' "Step Right Up" (download: File 1, File 2)—both encoded directly from vinyl by Fremer on his system. (Yeah, that process alone seems enough to dispel this myth all by itself, but again, it's a shaky claim to begin with.) One is pre-demagnetizing, another is post. Can you hear a difference? I can't. But if you have crazy gear at home, give it a try.

So as you can see, there was no hosanna moment in any of these tests, whereupon I drank any snake oil or took receipt of any ear honey. Far from it. My particular experience did not convince me to go out and spend tens of thousands of dollars chasing the minute gains that can be made in an audio system with ridiculously expensive gear. But I did hear something. By experiencing those differences first hand, I acknowledge their existence, and thus, acknowledge that people who have been listening to music at the highest possible level of quality for decades may know more than I do about the comparative sonics involved.

And the point remains, as clear as ever: Those who are listening to music at the highest level of fidelity and can discern the tiny differences at play here are doing a service—in both music production and music reproduction—to everyone who loves music everywhere.

Listening Test: It's music tech week at Gizmodo.

Fremer, if you have yet to decipher this, is an audiophile of the highest calibre. Literally millions of dollars of premium audio equipment have passed through his listening room under review for Stereophile magazine, and he's been obsessing about vinyl since he was four years old, memorizing the labels of his parents' 78s. A man who, when digital recording and reproduction methods began to surface culminating in the compact disc's takeover as the predominant music format, became a figurehead for the vinyl superiority movement, staunchly advocating its greater tonal resolution over a CD's 44.1 kHz max. (See this MTV clip for Fremer in action, circa 1993.)

In short, a species of human I had never known prior to hanging out with him in his New Jersey basement listening room last week, and a species, frankly, I was skeptical of in just about every possible way.

Upon getting picked up by Fremer at the train station near his home, my fears immediately began to feel all too real. It was but a minute or two into our car ride from the station that a rant on Walt Mossberg's inferior review of the Airport Express, Apple's music-streaming mini-router that Fremer and I both enjoy in our home systems, begins in earnest:

"If he's not going to tell people how it sounds, then what's the fucking point? Don't step into my world, Walt!" Multiple emails of complaint to poor Walt are cited. I am definitely thinking "uh oh" at this point.

But then, settled into the lone leather chaise in Fremer's basement audio temple, nestled right in the sweetspot of his $65,000 Wilson MAXX3 speakers, I hear the needle drop on Air's "Run" from Talkie Walkie. It's a song I've never heard (kind of fell off Air after overusing Moon Safari considerably), but one that I'm now listening to all the time. Because, with all honesty, I have never heard anything like that song played on that stereo system at that moment. Ever.

The song ends, and after emerging from an opiate-like haze, I hear a hiss. And yes, while the record was playing, I heard a pop, a crackle or two. Isn't this as high-end an audiophile system as they come? Shouldn't the sound be of such purity so as to sustain life in lieu of water for days on end?

I mention this slight—very slight, but noticeable—hiss to Fremer, and it's probably a frequency that 50 plus years of rocking have eliminated from his spectrum. He doesn't even care. This is when I start to understand.

After hearing I'm a Bowie fan, Fremer drops into his near limitless stacks and spins a pressing of "Heroes" with part of the title track's chorus in German. I'm giggling with pleasure at the frankly obscene level of detail I hear (Ich! Ich werde König!), but of course, I'm hearing the pops and crackles that a 30+ year-old record is likely to have. Shouldn't a $350,000 stereo system be completely free of such impurities?

"It's like when you go to the symphony, and the old men are coughing—same thing," Fremer says. Necessary impurities. Reminders of being in the real world.

We play my solid 256kbps VBR MP3 of "Heroes" off my iPod; it sounds like shit. Free of pops and crackles, yes, but completely lifeless, flat in every way. This is the detail that matters: Audiophiles are basically synesthesiacs. They "see" music in three-dimensional visual space. You close your eyes in Fremer's chair, and you can perceive a detailed 3D matrix of sound, with each element occupying its own special space in the air. It's crazy and I've never experienced anything like it.

It is within this 3D space where the audiophile lives and operates, and spends all his money. Fremer himself is the first to admit that it would only take $3,000 to $5,000 to build a system that will be deeply satisfying to most music fans. On a scale of 1 to 100 completely of my own devising, let's put this system at around 85. Now, imagine that you've tasted 85, and you want to go higher; you want Bowie's cries of kissing by the wall to inhabit the most perfect point in your system's matrix, and Bryan Ferry's back-up fly girls on "Avalon" to flank him just beautifully. That, friends, is where you might end up paying hundreds of thousands.

Our little scale, unfortunately, is logarithmic, in that going from zero to 85 doesn't take a lot of effort or money, but going from 98.6 to 99.1 by swapping out a $2,600 AC power cable for a $4,000 one becomes a justifiable end. We did exactly that, and I strained to hear any difference at all (more impressions of our test will follow later in the week), but to Fremer, the difference was abundantly clear—not necessarily better with the more expensive cable, but different, a warmer, fuller sound, as Fremer described it. Here's the breakdown of his current listening-room hardware:

The point is, people like Fremer can not only hear the difference, they crave it. I walked into his listening room expecting to discern absolutely zero difference in the comparison tests we had planned, swapping out speaker cables that cost as much as a meal at the best restaurant in New York for another set that cost as much as a year of undergrad at Harvard. I actually did hear a tiny difference. But to people like Fremer, that tiny difference becomes a mind-boggling disparity, and it's worth paying for if it means a few decimal points closer to perfection. Unfortunately, the logarithmic curve is asymptotic: There is no ceiling. Fremer will be the first to admit that this type of dragon chasing is not and should not be for everyone.

This obsession with tiny differences explains Fremer's fevered defense of analog music sources over digital. Two anecdotes from the past are particularly illuminative:

The first is his memories of rushing to the record store in 1979 to pick up Ry Cooder's Bop ‘Til You Drop, the first mainstream rock release to be recorded using an all-digital process, which at the time was being lauded as the next big thing. But upon getting it home and dropping it into his high-end system, the results were not good:

"It made me feel horrible!" he remembers. Even though it was played on vinyl, Fremer could already detect some missing elements in the 3D audiophile space that just weren't there. "And it's not like I was a digiphobe at this point—I had no reason to be. I was as excited as anyone to hear this."

The second was the first public playing of a compact disc, to a room full of expectant audiophiles a few years later. While they breathlessly applauded the first track played from the then refrigerator-sized device, Fremer was horrified. He heard the same flatness and lack of detail in the 3D audio world he loved to inhabit. "I felt…weird. My hands were shaking. All I could think, then, was WE'RE FUCKED!" A few days later, a new, custom-printed bumper sticker was slapped on Fremer's car: "COMPACT DISCS SUCK."

And thus began a long battle, and thankfully, it seems to have ended happily. Both with the advent of SACDs—which Fremer is a great fan of, proving that he's not hung up on nostalgia—and the greater acceptance and continued life of vinyl, Fremer is a happy man these days. "I'm on top of the world right now. I set out to save vinyl, and we did it."

Because the thing is, Fremer loves music first and foremost. The audiophile I had feared was one who cares far more about the overpriced gadgetry than the actual music. This is not who I ended up meeting. This man listens to music and makes sure it was recorded with the best fidelity, that the intents of the artist have been preserved. And thank God he does, because we certainly don't.

I listen to most of my music on downloaded, compressed, lossy MP3s, and so do you. But even if you can't hear the sound quality, we need someone like Fremer up on that wall, a preservationist of archival recordings and an ombudsman for new recording techniques, because one day you'll want to hear it, and it'll be there because of audiophiles.

These guardians in and outside of the recording industry ensure that, whether it's in a movie theater tomorrow or in your own home listening room on some far off future date, you'll be able always get back to a recording that expresses every frequency, every ounce of warmth and life, of the original performance. Because if you can hear, it, if you ever get to live in that 3D space, you'll be glad Fremer helped defend it.

For more audio goodness, hit up Fremer's own site at musicangle.com

Listening Test: It's music tech week at Gizmodo.