Saul Marantz was born on July 7, 1911, in Brooklyn, New York. His life would go on to become a testament to the idea that craftsmanship, artistry, and technology could converge in pursuit of a single, lofty goal: fidelity—not just to sound, but to the very experience of listening.

But if you’d told a young Saul that he would one day become the father of high-fidelity audio, he might have laughed. His early passions revolved around visual design. A talented graphic designer by trade, Marantz had a keen eye for proportion, symmetry, and elegance. He later brought these sensibilities into everything he touched, from the sleek panels of his audio equipment to the layouts of his print advertisements. Yet even in his early years, the seeds of his later obsessions were already present. He loved music with the same intensity that he loved design. A budding classical guitarist, he once called his work “a love letter to music.”

That love letter, though, didn’t start out as a plan. It started as an accident.

Tinkering Toward Genius

After serving in the Pacific during World War II, Marantz and his wife Jean settled into a modest home in Kew Gardens, Queens. Like many veterans, he was restless, yearning for a project to occupy his hands and mind. One day, he ripped the radio out of his 1940 Mercury. It wasn’t an act of destruction but transformation. Saul wanted to adapt the car’s radio for home use, and to do that, he needed to build an entirely new power supply. He succeeded, of course—Saul had a knack for taking the impossible and making it work. But more than that, he had discovered a passion.

In his basement, Saul began to experiment. His hands became his instruments, soldering wires and assembling circuits like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Jean often joked that their basement was more of a laboratory than a living space. It was in this makeshift lab that the Audio Consolette was born.

The Consolette wasn’t like anything on the market. It was a preamplifier with seven inputs, allowing users to connect everything from phonographs to televisions, and it offered multiple equalization curves for records. At the time, no standard existed for record equalization, and Saul’s creation addressed that chaos head-on. What he didn’t anticipate was the response. He built 100 units, thinking it might satisfy a niche market. The 100 sold out almost immediately. Orders for hundreds more came flooding in.

From the Basement to the Big Time

By 1953, Saul had refined the Audio Consolette into the Model 1, the first preamplifier to incorporate the new RIAA standard phono equalization curve. With orders growing exponentially, Saul moved his operation out of his basement and into a proper factory. Still, his commitment to perfection never wavered.

The timing couldn’t have been better. Post-war America was thriving, and the Hi-Fi movement was gaining momentum. Music lovers, flush with disposable income, were ready to invest in quality sound. But Saul didn’t see his customers as mere buyers. He saw them as partners in a shared mission to elevate music.

That philosophy was evident in every product. The Model 7 preamplifier, released in 1958, was an instant classic, with a unique circuit design and impeccable sound quality. More than 130,000 units were sold, and it remains one of the most revered preamplifiers in history. The Model 9 monobloc amplifier, introduced two years later, delivered 70 watts of clean, distortion-free power—a feat of engineering that set a new standard.

And Saul’s work wasn’t just functional; it was beautiful. His background as a graphic designer infused his creations with a sense of elegance rarely seen in electronics. The knobs turned with a satisfying precision. The dials glowed with a warmth that felt almost alive. Even the typography on the panels was carefully chosen. Saul understood that design wasn’t just about appearance; it was about creating a connection between the user and the machine.

The 10B Tuner and the Cost of Perfection

Then came the Model 10B FM tuner, Saul’s masterpiece—and his downfall. Released in 1964, the 10B was nothing short of revolutionary. Designed with radio engineer Richard Sequerra, it set a new benchmark for FM performance. Its ability to pull faint signals with crystal clarity was unmatched, and it included an oscilloscope for precise tuning. Critics and enthusiasts hailed it as the finest tuner ever made.

But brilliance has its price. The 10B was ruinously expensive to produce. Even when the price climbed to $750—a small fortune at the time—Saul was losing money on every unit sold. His perfectionism had created a masterpiece that the market couldn’t sustain. The financial strain was immense. That same year, Saul sold his company to Superscope for $3 million.

It was a bittersweet moment. Saul had built Marantz into a beacon of quality, but the realities of business had forced his hand. He stayed on as “President Emeritus” for a time, but by 1967, he had severed ties completely. Superscope moved production to California and began outsourcing to Japan, focusing on affordability rather than artistry. For purists, the magic of Marantz was never quite the same.

The Mentor and Innovator

Saul could have retired then, his legacy secure. But that wasn’t his style. In the 1970s, he teamed up with aerospace engineer Jon Dahlquist to launch the DQ-10 loudspeakers, a groundbreaking design that combined phase-aligned drivers with stunning aesthetics. The DQ-10s were statements, proving once again that great design could elevate technology into art.

Even in his later years, Saul never stopped tinkering. In 1996, he partnered with legendary designer John Curl to form New Lineage Corporation, but his return to the industry was short-lived. Saul Marantz passed away on January 17, 1997, at the age of 85. His death marked the end of an era, but his influence lives on.

A Legacy That Resonates

Today, vintage Marantz equipment remains highly coveted, not just for its performance but for what it represents. The warm glow of a Model 10B, the satisfying click of a Model 7 knob—these aren’t just relics. They’re reminders of a time when craftsmanship mattered, when innovation was driven by passion, not profit.

Saul Marantz’s story isn’t just about circuits and schematics. It’s about a man who believed in beauty, who turned his basement into a cathedral of sound, and who refused to compromise—even when it cost him everything.

And as long as people care about music—really care—Saul’s legacy will continue to play on, clear and true, like a perfectly tuned note in a world of static.