Tag Archives: synthesizer

Madkids Empire Is Turning Intimidating Synth Gear Into Pure Play

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Most musical instruments communicate one thing very clearly before you even touch them: you have to earn this. The arrangement of knobs, the wall of technical labeling, the thick manual sitting smugly beside the unit. It is an initiation ritual disguised as product design, and for most people, it works exactly as intended. They back away.

Madkids Empire, a studio founded by a designer named Xam, has built something that works in the opposite direction. Their collection of analog synthesizers is covered in illustrated surfaces, organic silhouettes, and, deliberately, Chinese annotations that describe functions through metaphor rather than engineering terminology. Instead of telling you what a knob controls, the labeling hints at what it feels like. It is the difference between reading a recipe and being handed a fork.

Designer: Madkids Empire

The visual language alone is worth paying attention to. Each instrument looks less like a piece of audio equipment and more like an illustrated landscape you could reach into. Wooden frames and brass details soften what would otherwise read as industrial objects. The shapes curve and flow in ways that suggest something natural rather than manufactured, which is intentional. Xam builds the design around the circuit itself, starting with the technical structure of the sound and then finding a natural concept that mirrors it. A lake. A mountain. A tree. The interaction you have with the synth is meant to feel connected to that concept, so patching a cable or turning a dial carries a kind of environmental logic, even if you could not explain exactly why.

The result is an instrument that looks like you are supposed to explore it, and the collection does not disappoint on that expectation. The flowing silhouettes and playful interfaces do not just look inviting; they function that way too. Xam has said that what they want users to understand is that musical knowledge is not the entry point. Curiosity is. When someone hears a sound they like during experimentation, they have made something entirely their own, something they arrived at through play rather than study. That reframing matters more than it might initially seem.

Most design conversations around synthesizers orbit gear obsession and technical hierarchy. How many oscillators, what filter topology, which vintage unit did it draw from. Madkids Empire does not seem particularly interested in that conversation. The chaos baked into these instruments, and yes, chaos is a deliberate design choice here, provides feedback that evolves with what you are doing. Unlike randomness, which offers no relationship between action and outcome, the unpredictability here responds to you. You become part of the system. It is closer to improvising in a new environment than operating a machine.

That philosophy has a real audience right now. The broader design and tech world has spent years talking about removing barriers and making things accessible, but the actual execution is usually just simpler interfaces with less functionality. Madkids Empire took a different approach: keep the depth, remove the intimidation, and replace the instruction manual with the experience of discovery itself. The instruments are not dumbed down. They are just designed with a different entry point in mind.

The aesthetic choices also position these synths somewhere unusual on the cultural map. They are not vintage recreations chasing the warmth of a classic unit, and they are not sleek minimalist tech objects trying to disappear into a desk setup. They are objects you would notice on a shelf. Objects that invite a question. That sense of presence, the feeling that a thing has a personality before you interact with it, is genuinely rare in hardware design.

Xam has built something that sits at the crossroads of instrument, sculpture, and game. The synthesizer as landscape. The knob as terrain. Whether or not you ever make music with one, the thinking behind Madkids Empire’s work is the kind that deserves to travel beyond the synthesizer community and into a wider conversation about what it means to design something people actually want to touch.

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PAC-MAN Shrank Into a Tiny $28 Synthesizer and It Actually Works

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Some crossovers make obvious sense. Some don’t. The Otamatone Melody PAC-MAN is the rare kind that manages to be both completely absurd and entirely logical at the same time. Two icons of Japanese pop culture, each beloved for being a little weird, a little niche, and deeply joyful, have merged into one pocket-sized musical toy that I genuinely cannot stop thinking about.

Let’s start with the basics. PAC-MAN entered Japanese arcades in 1980, and the iconic yellow dot-muncher has barely stopped showing up in culture since. The Otamatone, on the other hand, is Maywa Denki’s strange and lovable musical instrument: a tadpole-shaped squeezable synthesizer with an expressive face that produces sounds somewhere between a theremin and a very distressed seagull. If you’ve ever seen someone play one, you already understand why it has developed a devoted global fanbase. If you haven’t, please stop what you’re doing and look it up immediately.

Designers: Pac-Man and Otamatone

The Otamatone Melody PAC-MAN takes the whole concept and shrinks it into a keychain format, measuring just 1.6 by 3.75 by 3 inches and running on a CR2032 battery. It comes pre-loaded with 11 songs, which you select by pressing buttons on the tail, and you play along by pressing a stem button while squeezing the cheeks to create that signature “wah” effect. Low, medium, and high pitch modes round out the playable range. The packaging includes a keychain attachment, which means yes, you can absolutely wear this as an instrument. That detail matters more than you’d think.

The collection covers the full PAC-MAN roster: the original yellow character and all four ghosts. Blinky in red, Pinky in pink, Inky in that distinctive cyan, and Clyde in orange, each keeping their arcade color identities perfectly intact. The visual translation is genuinely clever. PAC-MAN’s circular body replaces the Otamatone’s face naturally, almost like it was always supposed to go there. The proportions work. The ghost designs translate with equal elegance, their rounded arcade silhouettes sitting comfortably within the Otamatone format. As far as licensed crossovers go, the design team clearly took this seriously enough to get the details right.

Now, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that the Otamatone Melody isn’t exactly a sophisticated musical instrument. Compared to the full-size Otamatone, which demands real technique and rewards it with genuinely expressive sounds, the Melody format is more toy than tool. The controls are simpler, the sonic range is narrower, and the whole point is portability and accessibility over performance depth. It exists comfortably in the space between collectible, music toy, and glorified novelty, and it makes no apologies for that positioning.

But that’s precisely where the appeal lives, and I’d argue it’s the smarter design choice. Not everything needs to be serious. The Otamatone was never competing with professional instruments; it was built to be joyful and a little absurd, and the Melody version simply leans further into that mission. The PAC-MAN edition layers cultural nostalgia onto an already culturally loaded object. You’re not just carrying a tiny synthesizer; you’re carrying a piece of arcade history that produces music on demand. That’s a rare combination, and it’s one that will resonate well beyond people who consider themselves fans of either brand.

The broader rollout reinforces just how seriously this partnership has been taken. PAC-MAN has appeared across both the Regular and Deluxe Otamatone formats, with Blinky, Pinky, and Inky joining the full-size Regular line earlier this year. The original PAC-MAN Regular model even incorporates pixel graphics and a pellet motif on its controls, the kind of small, referential detail that collectors notice and quietly love.

At $27.99, the Otamatone Melody PAC-MAN isn’t trying to be a luxury object or a serious instrument. It’s a functional collectible, a desk toy that plays music, a nostalgic artifact that earns its place on your keychain with a little wah and a surprising amount of personality. The fact that it exists at all feels like a small cultural gift: two strange, beloved things that had no obvious business merging, somehow making perfect sense together.

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Love Hultén Built a Pink Floyd Prism Guitar You Can Actually Play

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The equilateral triangle is one of the most psychologically loaded forms in Western visual culture. It appears on currency, on occult diagrams, on the cover of the best-selling rock album of all time, and now, with precise white planes and amber jewel controls, on the body of a custom synthesizer guitar made by Swedish instrument designer Love Hultén. The Magicos-2, unveiled in late 2025, carries that shape with full awareness of its freight. Hultén has built Darth Vader synths, bonsai MIDI sculptures, NES-inspired keyboards, and a circular Game Boy for clients over the years, and we have covered the lot of them here at YD. Each one takes a form that feels conceptually wrong for an instrument and makes it feel inevitable. This one takes the prism from The Dark Side of the Moon and turns it into something you can actually play.

Commissioned by a private client and described by Hultén himself as a “triangular oddity born from deranged imagination and psychedelic fandom,” the Magicos-2 is a double-necked instrument housing a 1010music Tangerine module on one arm and a Lemondrop on the other. The detachable base unit, a trapezoidal slab that sits below the main body and separates cleanly for transport, contains the effects chain: Walrus Audio Lore for reverse reverb and ethereal drones, Collision Devices TARs for fuzz and distortion. A rose quartz crystal pyramid sits at the center of that base, lit from within. Hultén calls it the crystalline emitter, and at this point, questioning the nomenclature feels beside the point.

Designer: Love Hultén

Alexis Mardas, better known as Magic Alex, was the Beatles’ in-house electronics wizard during the Apple Corps years, a man who promised John Lennon wallpaper that played music, a force field for the house, and an amplifier that would go to a million. Almost none of it worked. What he left behind was the irresistible idea of a device that operates somewhere between real technology and pure mythology, an object whose presence in a room changes the room’s frequency before it ever produces a sound. Hultén name-drops Mardas directly in the Magicos-2’s description, and the invocation lands. This instrument carries that same energy: technically rigorous, visually hallucinatory, and spiritually somewhere between a laboratory prototype and a sacred relic.

The Tangerine and Lemondrop, both 1010music modules, sit one per neck, each a dense and malleable synthesis engine with its own voice and parameter set. Having two discrete sound sources mounted symmetrically on the triangular body means the player can run parallel sonic worlds simultaneously, layering Mellotron-style string leads against drones, or pushing both into the Lore’s reverse reverb to create the kind of sustained wash that makes people stop and stare at the ceiling. The fretboard grids running along each white arm read visually as pure geometry, equal parts instrument neck and architectural elevation drawing. Two necks, two engines, one triangular chassis: the form follows the function with a directness that most instrument designers would kill for.

Walrus Audio’s Lore pedal handles the reverse delay and ethereal glow, celebrated among ambient and drone players for its ability to turn almost any input into a sustained, backward-breathing atmosphere. Collision Devices’ TARs sits alongside it, adding the fuzz and harmonic density that filters the whole signal into what Hultén memorably describes as a carpet of sonic moss. The base connects to the triangular body via a clean physical joint visible as a horizontal seam in the silhouette, detaching entirely for transport or for reconfiguring the signal chain. That modularity reinforces the instrument’s identity as a system rather than a single object, which matters practically when you are carrying something shaped like a pyramid to a gig.

The nine amber teardrop controls embedded in the triangular face, warm brown and orange against the flat white surface, are the one moment of color in the whole instrument, and they carry the weight of that responsibility well. They read like something between a control panel and a constellation. The crystal pyramid in the base glows softly beneath them. The chakras, per Hultén, are aligned. I believe him.

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Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker Co-Designed a Synth So Good It’s Now a Collector’s Item

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Transparency in tech has followed the classic arc of any design trend: radical, then referential, then mainstream, then meaningful. Nothing made it radical. Dozens of imitators made it referential. Beats and Casetify brought it mainstream. The interesting question now is which products use it meaningfully, where the visible internals are genuinely worth seeing, and the form of the object actually benefits from the revelation. A cheap Bluetooth speaker with a clear shell is just a clear shell. An instrument with carefully designed internal geometry, a speaker assembly, a green PCB, and ribbon cables threading between custom-designed synth hardware is something else.

That distinction is what makes the Clear Orchid: Arctic worth drooling over. Telepathic Instruments, the company Kevin Parker of Tame Impala co-founded with Ignacio Germade and a small team of music technology obsessives, has announced the fifth drop in its Orchid hardware line: a fully transparent, teal-based limited edition capped at 3,000 units worldwide, available May 11. The Orchid earned its place on TIME’s Best Inventions of 2025 list on the back of a chord-first synthesis system that separates root note, chord type, and voicing into independent controls. The Arctic edition puts all of that hardware on display and makes a visual argument that the guts of a well-designed instrument are as compelling as its sound.

Designer: Telepathic Instruments

If you haven’t encountered the Orchid before, the short version is this: where every other synthesizer on the market is built around individual notes, Orchid is built around chords. Press a key and you trigger a full harmonic voicing. Your left hand works a matrix of chord-type buttons, labeled Dim, Min, Maj, Sus, M7, 9, and a few others, while your right hand handles the keys and a large Chord Voicing encoder adjusts how those chords sit across the register. A patent-pending voicing system repositions harmonies across the equivalent of a full piano keyboard’s worth of range, far beyond what the compact one-octave keybed physically suggests. Three synthesis engines, a virtual analogue subtractive, FM, and a vintage reed piano emulation modeled on 1960s electric pianos by renowned German developer Stefan Stenzel, give the harmonic system genuine sonic depth rather than the thin, preset-cycling feel that plagues most beginner-friendly instruments. When we first covered the Orchid at launch, we described it as an “ideas machine,” a device for capturing musical intuition without requiring the theory background to justify it. That description still holds, and the Arctic edition makes it literal: you can see exactly where the ideas come from.

The transparent shell pulls double duty as both aesthetic statement and honest product communication. Look through the Arctic’s polycarbonate top and you see a green PCB laid out with visible intention, speaker grilles framed by the internal chassis, ribbon cables routed with the kind of care that only matters if someone will eventually see them. The teal-tinted base, slightly darker than the clear top, creates a subtle two-tone layering that stops the whole thing from reading as a prototype or an engineering sample. The yellow Sound, Perform, and FX knobs pop hard against the dark control surface above, the single red Bass button reads like a deliberate punctuation mark, and the OLED display at the center of the panel glows with Orchid’s skull mascot logo in a way that feels genuinely characterful rather than decorative. Telepathic Instruments clearly understood that a transparent enclosure raises the design bar: every component becomes load-bearing visually, and the Arctic clears that bar without much visible effort.

The Drop 5 release pairs the Arctic with the full launch of Pistil, Orchid’s companion VST plugin, now available on both Mac and Windows. Pistil brings Orchid’s three synthesis engines directly into any DAW, with ten new sounds in the full release, a rebuilt delay engine, and expanded fine parameter control. Existing Orchid owners get it at a discount, and standalone buyers can purchase it for $99 without the hardware. The practical implication is that the Orchid ecosystem has matured considerably since its initial 1,000-unit beta run: 12,000 units across 60 countries, placements at Abbey Road and Rue Boyer, and a featured role on Don Toliver’s Octane. Lewis Capaldi, Janelle Monáe, Fred Durst, Kid Cudi, and Diplo are all documented users. Josh Homme narrates the drop’s accompanying short film, a deadpan skewering of the creativity-guru industrial complex that is, frankly, funnier than most instrument launch content has any right to be.

The Arctic is limited to 3,000 units worldwide, with waitlist members getting priority access at 9 AM PDT for North America and 10 AM CEST for Europe on May 11, and the general public window opening an hour later. The classic Orchid colorway and the orange carry case are back alongside it. Join the waitlist at telepathicinstruments.com.

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Synth Modular Controller Treats Music Making Like Building with Blocks

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Modular synthesis has a split personality. There are racks of patch cables that promise infinite sound design but also scare off newcomers who don’t know what an oscillator actually does. Then there are small, playful instruments and construction toys that invite you to just start pressing things and see what happens. There’s room for a hardware system that borrows the friendliness of toys while still behaving like a serious instrument, one that teaches as you build.

Synth is a modular music synthesizer concept that treats every function as a physical block. Keys, pads, knobs, sequencer, effects, and display all live on separate modules that snap into a base. The designer cites inspiration from playful minimalism and block-based logic, but the project is independent and not affiliated with any existing brands; it simply borrows that spirit of approachable, interlocking parts that make complex things feel accessible.

Madhav Binu

The base acts like a studded board, and each module clicks into place wherever you want it. A beginner might start with a simple strip of keys, a small display, and a single effects block. As they grow more confident, they can add more modules, rearrange the order, or build a performance-focused layout with pads and big knobs up front, all without opening a settings menu or diving into software preferences.

Arranging modules from left to right or top to bottom mirrors the path sound takes through a synth. Oscillator, filter, envelope, effects, each block is a step in the chain, you can literally see and touch. Clear visual cues and simplified controls help users understand what each stage does, turning abstract synthesis concepts into something you learn by rearranging tiles instead of reading manuals.

This approach makes Synth less intimidating for beginners, who can treat it like a musical construction set, while still giving advanced users a flexible playground. Someone focused on live performance might cluster pads, faders, and a sequencer near the edge, while a sound designer might build a long row of modulation and effects modules. The same hardware adapts to very different workflows without needing firmware updates or screen menus.

The warm, tile-based aesthetic, with bold colors and minimal controls, invites experimentation rather than caution. The layout feels like a board game or building set, which lowers the psychological barrier to trying odd combinations. That sense of play is intentional; the project wants sound design to feel like a hands-on, spatial activity instead of a dense screen full of parameters you’re afraid to touch.

Synth reframes music production as something that grows alongside the user. Instead of buying a fixed box and learning to live with its quirks, you build your own interface, then rebuild it when your needs change. Even as a concept, it hints at a future where modular music hardware isn’t only about swapping electronic modules in a rack, but about reshaping the very surface you touch while you create.

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Korg Phase8 Is a Cyberpunk Kalimba for Producers Who Are Bored of Regular Synths

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On first glance, Korg’s Phase8 looks like something Love Hultén might have dreamt up after a late night with a kalimba and a soldering iron. It has that same altar like presence, where every screw and surface feels intentional, and the exposed steel bars read more like a kinetic sculpture than a row of notes. You do not just see an instrument, you see a machine that wants to be played, prodded, and prepared with whatever objects are lying around your studio.

The result is a tabletop artifact that feels half lab instrument, half folk relic. Phase8 invites the same sort of ritualistic interaction Hultén builds into his one off consoles and synth shrines. You can sequence it like a modern groovebox, but it really comes alive when your hands, a pencil, or even a river stone start interfering with those vibrating tines.

Designer: Korg

This whole thing runs on what Korg is calling “Acoustic Synthesis,” which is a fancy way of saying it hits stuff. Under each of those eight steel resonators sits an electromagnetic hammer that physically strikes the bar when triggered. A capacitive pickup then captures the resulting acoustic vibration and sends it back into the synth engine for shaping. It is a completely different path from the usual oscillator-filter-amp chain. The entire unit weighs a solid 1.71kg and measures just 231mm wide, giving it the dense, purposeful feel of a piece of lab equipment, not a lightweight music toy.

That physical interaction model is the entire point. Korg explicitly tells you to pluck, mute, and strum the resonators. They even encourage placing found objects on them to create new textures. An “AIR” slider on the side lets you boost or dampen the raw acoustic response, effectively mixing between the pure electronic signal and the sound of the physical object vibrating in the room. This haptic approach is a clever rebellion against the menu-diving and screen-staring that defines so much modern gear. It demands your physical attention.

Of course, this is a Tatsuya Takahashi project, so the experimental nature is backed by serious engineering. It has a polymetric sequencer, full MIDI and USB-C implementation, and even CV input for talking to modular rigs. At $1,150, it is not an impulse buy, but it also signals that Korg sees this as a proper studio centerpiece. They built an instrument that feels alive because, in a very real sense, its sound generation depends on physical, vibrating matter.

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Dad Built a 4-Step Sequencer Synth Simple Enough for Age 3

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A father built a portable synthesizer for his daughter’s third birthday, and the result looks almost too polished to be a first electronics project. It’s a four-step sequencer with sliders instead of keys, designed so a toddler can make looping melodies just by moving colorful controls. The synth is as much a design and learning story as it is a music gadget, documenting what happens when someone jumps into hardware with no experience and a clear deadline.

The idea started with a Montessori activity board full of switches and LEDs. Watching his daughter twist knobs and flip switches reminded Alastair Roberts of a synth control panel, and he wondered if he could build a musical version. He had no prior hardware experience, which turned the project into an excuse to learn microcontrollers, CAD, PCB design, and 3D printing along the way, all while trying to finish before her birthday.

Designer: Alastair Roberts

The finished synth is a rounded square box in pink or white, with four vertical sliders in bright colors and four matching knobs at the corners. Slide up for higher notes, down for lower, while a tiny OLED screen shows a dancing panda. There are no menus or hidden modes, just a looping sequence that keeps playing while little hands experiment with pitch and tempo, creating simple melodies that shift and evolve with every adjustment.

Roberts started on a breadboard, then realized he needed a proper enclosure that his daughter could actually hold. Off-the-shelf cases were the wrong size and the wrong colors, so he opened Fusion 360 for the first time and slowly modeled a custom shell. A friend’s 3D printer turned those sketches into a real, toy-like enclosure that feels closer to a commercial product than a hack, complete with rounded corners and smooth edges.

The first hand-wired version worked but was fragile, with a nest of wires that broke when he closed the case. That pushed him to design his first printed circuit board, using Fusion’s electronics tools to lay out sliders, knobs, and connectors in a neat, single layer. The PCB not only made assembly faster, but it also gave the interior the same sense of order and intention as the exterior, no hidden messes or shortcuts.

Small design touches make it feel finished. A dedicated battery compartment with a removable cover, mounting posts that let the board screw down securely, and a raised bezel around the OLED so it sits flush with the top surface. The front panel carries his daughter’s name, Alma, turning the synth into something personal. It now lives on a shelf with her other toys and, according to him, gets regular use.

The synth works at two levels. For kids, it’s a fun, tactile way to poke at sound without needing lessons or screens. For adults, it’s a reminder that you can go from zero hardware experience to a polished, gift-worthy object by following curiosity and learning each tool as you need it. Whether or not it ever becomes a product, it’s already a successful piece of design for the one user who mattered most.

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Someone Built a Working Synth From Cardboard and Walnut Keys

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Most synthesizers look and feel like appliances. They’re plastic boxes mass-produced in factories, efficient and functional but utterly lacking in personality or warmth. Pianos and guitars get to be handcrafted instruments with wood grain and visible joints, while synths are treated like glorified toasters with circuit boards inside. That disconnect between electronic music and tactile craft has always felt like a missed opportunity, especially when you consider how satisfying it is to play a real wooden keyboard.

One maker decided to fix this by building a fully functional synthesizer from scratch, using materials that sound completely impractical. The result is a compact, 34-key synth with a fiberglass-reinforced cardboard body, a steam-bent walnut frame, and individual keys handmade from oak and walnut. It looks like something between a vintage record player and a mid-century hi-fi component, with a turquoise fiberglass shell and warm wooden accents that feel more like furniture than electronics.

Designer: Gabriel Mejia-Estrella

The body starts as folded cardboard panels cut from a template, then gets layered with fiberglass cloth and epoxy until it transforms into a rigid, glossy shell. The process borrows from old automotive techniques where fiberglass shaped custom car bodies in the 1950s, giving the synth a retro-futuristic sheen. Around the perimeter sits a continuous steam-bent walnut strip with oval cutouts that mimic speaker grilles on vintage radios, adding visual warmth and a furniture-like presence.

The keys are where the craft really shows. Black keys are made from laminated walnut offcuts, while white keys are cut from oak for contrast and durability. Each key is individually shaped, drilled for a shared steel rod pivot, beveled to prevent jamming, then coated with fiberglass and sanded up to 3000 grit for a smooth finish. The result looks and feels closer to a piano than a typical plastic keyboard.

Underneath sits a custom flexible printed circuit with interdigitated copper pads and rubber dome switches. When you press a key, the dome collapses and bridges the pads, closing a circuit that a Teensy microcontroller scans continuously. The Teensy sends MIDI messages to a Raspberry Pi running Zynthian, an open-source synth platform packed with engines and presets, all displayed on a small touchscreen.

Of course, using cardboard and steam-bent walnut creates challenges the designer readily admits. Cardboard turned out to be impractical, requiring multiple fiberglass layers and tedious filling. Walnut is notoriously stubborn to bend, needing kerf cuts and boiling water to soften the fibers. The designer suggests foam board or 3D printing as easier alternatives and notes that more precise tools would have made the keys cleaner.

What makes this synth significant is how it challenges the assumption that electronic instruments have to be cold and industrial. By using wood, fiberglass, and visible handwork, it reintroduces warmth and personality into something usually purely functional. It’s less a finished product and more proof that synthesizers can be beautiful, tactile objects worth admiring even when silent.

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Key-bowed hybrid violin and keyboard synthesizer produces pure musical joy

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Of the many creative endeavors, music is probably one of the hardest to learn and practice. And of the well-known musical instruments, the violin is one of the hardest to play. But what if you can play the violin or some semblance of the instrument as easily as you could press down keys on a piano? And what if that produced the unique tonal quality of a violin while still hitting all the right notes perfectly? That’s the kind of musical experience that this DIY synthesizer offers, combining two classical instruments in a single form that might leave you confused with one hand playing the keyboard and the other playing the violin.

Designer: Washiyama Giken

Electronic keyboards can try to mimic the sounds of different musical instruments, but they don’t always work. They can’t, for example, reproduce the unique vibrating quality of the violin family, which at the very least would require some physical medium to produce that kind of sound. Conversely, violins are hard to master because you need to also move the bow at a very precise location to hit the right pitch, and that location isn’t marked like on a guitar.

Key-bowed, which is a very creative name, tries to combine the strengths of both the keyboard and the violin with very few of the flaws. It’s actually an idea decades in the making, but it’s finally possible to pull it off thanks to modern technologies and hardware. The synthesizer combines a Roland K-25m keyboard, an Arduino Uno R4 minima controller, and a self-made bowing sensor with a vertical acrylic plate. Of course, the assembly also requires some programming know-how, especially when dealing with sound waves.

Despite the complexity of the build, using the Key-bowed looks pretty simple, at least for the musically inclined. You simply hit the keys with one hand to produce music like on a regular keyboard or piano, and then you use the other hand to move the bow across the acrylic plate as you would with a violin. The vibrations on the plate are detected by the sensor and then transformed into waves that modify the note that’s produced, resulting in a very realistic recreation of a violin sound, with perfect pitch, and without the screeches. You can even pluck the plate and make it sound like you’re really plucking a string.

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Key-bowed is definitely a work of genius that makes playing music both fun and enchanting. It still requires you to have some basic music knowledge, of course, but it makes the execution less daunting, especially if you’ve always dreamed of playing the violin. Of course, there are limits to the music you can play, since you’re technically producing notes with only one hand, and the design is made for those who hold the violin bow with their right hand. Nonetheless, it still creates a captivating experience, and hopefully, it can become a commercial product that will let everyone enjoy that experience as well.

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Teenage Engineering debuts new $300 Sampler… but it’s only Medieval Sounds and Gregorian Chants

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Medieval-themed Teenage Engineering Audio Gear was definitely not on my Bingo card this year.

Building on the success of its EP-133 K.O.II sampler from not too long ago, the quirky audio-tech company just debuted the EP-1230, a variant of the K.O.II with a medieval twist. Featuring old-timey instruments like the hurdy-gurdy and the bowed harp, sound effects like swords clashing or even a dragon roar, along with 9 original songs, and a bunch of effects (there’s even a Torture Chamber Reverb setting), this biblically accurate sampler is perfect for people looking to experiment with their sonic portfolio, making audio for medieval-themed games like your Dungeons & Dragons sessions, or perhaps trying to emulate the musical genres of a certain Woodkid.

Designer: Teenage Engineering

The EP-1230 is almost exactly like its predecessor in format, except for the ye-olde overhaul. It sports a rather beige color scheme, with medieval fonts on the keys as well as a medieval typeface on the seven-segment screen. Switch it on and you’ve got hundreds of sounds to choose from, featuring everything from old instruments to audio loops, original songs, and even SFX or foley sounds. You may find navigating the settings a bit of a learning curve because even the language on the keys is in Latin, but that’s all a part of the charm I guess.

Beyond its extensive sound library, the EP-1320 is a fully functional instrument. Its intuitive interface features pressure-sensitive pads for triggering samples, a built-in sequencer for arranging musical ideas, and a suite of effects processors to add depth and character to sounds. The device also invites you to build on its capabilities by recording your own sounds through its built-in microphone and line input. Whether it’s capturing the rhythmic hammering of a blacksmith’s forge or the haunting melody of a traditional instrument, the EP-1320 empowers musicians to infuse their creations with a personal touch. The sampler’s compact size and battery-powered operation make it a versatile tool for both studio and on-the-go music making.

The overall design of the EP-1230 is interesting, as it literally applies a medieval skin onto what’s ostensibly a very quirky contemporary-looking sampler. That fusion isn’t something most companies can pull off (it’s giving Medieval Winamp skin), but I guess if I had to trust a company with doing a good job, it would probably be Teenage Engineering. That being said, the market for a medieval-themed sampler could possibly be a lot slimmer than one for the company’s other products. The EP-1230 is up on Teenage Engineering’s website for $300 (the same as the EP-133 K.O.II), and enthusiasts can even grab themselves a medieval quilt bag, leather keychain, or tee shirt to complete the ‘look’.

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