Okay, they’re usually called singing Tesla coils, but when it’s also got a name like the Zeusaphone, who could resist? However, as enamored as I am of the illustrative process, the moving picture is more adept at showing a proper spectacle such as this:
Extra credit: I finally learned the name of that damn song that plays on every two-bit organ in cheap horror movies!
I’m down with the Thoremin tip, too. Another video shows a guy from ArcAttack, a well-known Zeusaphone outlet, controlling Tesla coils using an Xbox Kinect.
If that method hasn’t been used to make a modern theremin by now, I have serious existential doubts about my fellow nerds.
This Rube Goldberg music-making marble machine is the brainchild of Wintergatan, a four-piece “folktronica” band from Sweden. It took 14 months for member Martin Molin to build after he was inspired by a Dutch mechanical instrument museum and YouTube woodworking videos. I didn’t quite believe it was real until I went to their website and saw how much Martin poured into this beast. I highly encourage you to check out this interview about his building process. (Also, the comment from a 13-year-old fan is adorable.) If you’d rather watch more, please enjoy the accompanying “How It Works” videos, nearly five times as long as the song (and utterly fascinating):
fucker uses basmati rice for the snare drum I CAN’T TAKE IT
Adult Swim asks: Which lauded early ’80s synthesizer mogul can best score Halley’s Comet? What happens when the comet takes a sudden interest in their harmonics and heads straight towards Earth? From the spot-on 1986 graphics, to the ridiculous names, to the deader-than-deadpan announcers, to the contestants’ use of the shofar to announce themselves at the climactic battle—this video is pretty much my everything.
…aaaaand I just realized I can’t embed it. Click on the screenshot and you’re golden.
News from Washington and Louisiana today — scientists have confirmed Einstein’s theory of gravitational waves not only by sight, but by sound. LIGO (Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory), which has detectors in both states, observed a disruption of light waves back in September of last year, positing the theory that the two-laser setup proves the existence of gravitational waves, brought into being by a billion-year-old black hole collision. To back up this finding they listened to recordings of the event, and lo — there’s a distinct “chirp” sound when the disruption hits. The New York Times goes into this better than I could. Consider this more fodder for my “Sounds of Space” comic.
What does all this mean? I have no idea, but it’s still REALLY FREAKING COOL
In the early ’90s, the crucible of intelligent dance music, IDM forerunner Autechre put a song called “Eggshell” on their 1993 debut album, Incunabula. Those who followed their career knew this was a reworked version of “The Egg,” a song on the 1992 compilation album Artificial Intelligence. I, however, was none the wiser when I first heard “Eggshell” in the early-to-mid 2000s. By the time I came across “The Egg” some time later, I’d spent much valuable time with “Eggshell,” but immediately took to its predecessor. Why? “The Egg” felt darker, more immediate, more aggressive; it knew what it was. “Eggshell” seemed to fall by the wayside, an echo of the emotion “Egg” elicits. But is that unfair?
Despite — or perhaps because of — hearing “Eggshell” first, I’ma tackle “The Egg” on top. Right away it establishes itself as heavy, dark, almost playful. A complicated staccato beat accompanies one melody, then another, coupled with glitching sound bytes. Harmonic parts offset and build, transitioning to more bombastic drum patterns. This is a song that gets shit done. Record scratches underpin yet another melody, not emerging until almost the 5 minute mark, which is no mean feat in a 7:33 song. All three, plus a supplemental offshoot from #3, come together at 6 minutes, only to drop out less than a minute later. The song dissipates, the listener charged by the experience.
“Eggshell” stands at a whopping 9 minutes, yet feels far shorter. Its starting melody is identifiable, but very different — cleaner, muted, matured. Skeletal at first, drums and genuine harmonics (not just keyboard smatterings) join the fold. The fascination here is in the atmospherics, the space carved out of “The Egg” to make room for “Eggshell”‘s sad urgency. Melody #2 hits around 1:30, unchanged. The song toys with harmonics and percussive interjections until the third melody crystallizes at ~3:45. “Eggshell” has the self-possession to put on the brakes, letting itself breathe when it needs to. The only spirit of “The Egg” shows up in a sputtering drum beat 5 minutes in. The first two melodies interweave at ~5:50, joined by the third at ~6:30. By this point the structure has reached its maximum height, allowing the listener to take it all in for a minute and a half, before all elements collapse into fossils of themselves and trickle into nothingness.
“Eggshell” isn’t an echo of “The Egg”‘s emotions; it’s the aftermath. I’ve come to appreciate them both for their own reasons. They’re two completely different songs for two completely different moods held together by their common elements; a flux of quantum interaction. I’m curious to know of other song reworkings done by one band, with wildly disparate results. Does hearing one song before the other permanently affect one’s opinion? What do you think?
If you’ve ever had a Fisher Price record player, you might want to dig around in your storage space. One of my Facebook peeps (hi Jenni!) posted a Gizmodo story about a guy who made an Instructable for making your own 3D-printed records. (Originally he made them via milling machine, so if you have one of those laying around, hey, go for it.) He even provides free music software so you can create your own songs. I imagine you won’t be able to fit much on tiny plastic record, so make that sweet hook count. (Note: I see the article’s from 2012. It’s still new to me, and possibly to you too!)