The Digital Keyboards Inc Synergy II+ is a digital additive/FM synthesizer that sounds like no other. Somewhat similar to the extremely popular Japanese Yamaha DX7, its tone is mellower and warmer. The Synergy appealed to many performers and composers in that it was, like the Synclavier (one of Michael Jackson’s famous early synthesizers) , made in USA.
It’s estimated that only 700-800 Synergy keyboards were made and that less than 100 are in operation today.
Due to it’s rarity and lack of many working examples, it is not easy to garner modern day opinions and user experiences and so it makes sense to paste some stuff from wiki:
“Analog synths of the same era (the late 1970s and early 1980s when the Z-80 computer chip ruled the electronic world) were subject to environmental changes in the input controls that meant every performance, even after a short delay, would be different. The tuning capacitors would drift due to performance venue temperature changes or recording studio humidity and temperature changes making it very difficult to stay in tune with other instruments and especially other electronic instruments.
One way around this was to spend huge sums of money on the latest high end digital synthesizers that held their tunings digitally. Famous electronic artist Wendy Carlos (her originally soundtrack for The Shining remains unused to this day and I have yet to hear it. If you have a link please share in the comments below) owned a Crumar General Development System, or GDS, that was released in 1980 and sold at that time for $30,000USD / $41,544 CAD or $114,300 USD / $158,271 CAD in today’s prices after adjusting for inflation . “
The GDS was used famously on the Tron soundtrack.[9] She was also one of the instrument’s most devoted users, and still uses it to this day.
The GDS Leads to the Synergy
With microchip prices falling including the Z-80 and with further work on the same basic concept of the GDS (additive synthesis, a system microcomputer, programmable sound generators, and a number of different input devices) the lower-cost Synergy was released in 1981.[10] More affordable and more powerful computer chips meant that The Synergy was able to remove earlier expensive design parameters that would have required a separate stand alone computer component, and re-packaged the entire system into a case with a 77-key keyboard.
Due to it’s high price, the GDS did not sell well, allowing the Synergy to find some market share. However, when the famous Yamaha DX7 was released in 1983, it quickly took over the market. The DX7’s FM synthesis offered the same basic control over output sound as an additive synth, but could duplicate the effects of many ganged oscillators in as few as two.[11] Its $2,000 usd/ or around $7,000 usd in today’s money when adjusted for inflation. This price point eliminated any competition from the additive synths and production of the Synergy ended in 1985.
A final version of the original Synergy machine was produced after Digital Keyboards was shut down in early 1985. More on this below. Digital Keyboards’ chief designer, Mercer “Stoney” Stockell, decamped and formed Mulogix with Jim Wright and Jerry Ptascynski. The Mulogix Slave 32 was a Synergy re-packaged into a 2U rack-mount module with a MIDI interface. The Slave 32 could read and write EPROM cartridges from the Synergy.[12]
Final Version
Later models of the Synergy, known as the Synergy II+, feature MIDI implementation, 24 user voice RAM, and an RS-232 computer port. This allowed support for Kaypro II portable computer systems running Synergy voicing software to open up the possibility to finally edit the sounds of the Synergy as well as to save patch and sequence data on to floppy disk. (via vintagesynth.com)
If you are searching for one of the most desirable synthesizers ever, fear not, because our friends at ToneTweakers just fully serviced a unit and it’s working great and its a desirable II+ model. Check out the video below to hear the preset sounds. For the Silo, Jarrod Barker.
A few years back, I posted the “I Found a… Pipe” blogpost – an attempt to initiate a series of found object accounts; exploring the dynamics of curiosity, the chance encounters, the chains of association, the pratfalls and prat-uplifts that may accompany such discoveries.
One of the persistent themes is the idea that electronic-equivalents of sound-making processes can be found for free in the physical world – an ideal driven by poverty and its resultant anti-capitalism, and accompanying skepticism towards commercial electronic hardware flavours-of-the-months. Whereas the “pipe of 2018” had limited sound-making value, this new blogpost examines the musical scales obtainable from multi-holed hollow flints, found during pandemic walkabouts.
I’ve been traipsing around fields.
The flint-rich geology of the locale boasts rocks with hollow cavities – channels left by decayed ancient sea sponges. These hollow flints are difficult to spot, as their holes are usually clogged with mud. After some cleaning with water and bell-wire, the cavities can be cleared, creating almost ocarina-like ‘instruments’. So far, a number of different flints have been found with interlinked channels, each offering unique microtonal musical scales.
These stones, each with their own in-built set of pitches formed 500 million years ago, are good grist for the arbitrary tuning mill.
Why is arbitrary tuning important? I consider it a topic all-too-frequently dismissed. For those who enjoy the divergent aspects of differently-tuned music, or wish to escape the ubiquity of the equal tempered musical scale, it may be surprising that microtonal/xenharmonic music offers very little refuge – it is here that just intonation and “pure” harmonic mathematical dogmatism supplants one tyranny with another. I exaggerate here a bit, but it’s fair to say that random/arbitrary musical scales are generally viewed as unsophisticated in microtonal music circles.
A few years ago I tried to establish a historical basis for ‘intuitively selected tuning systems’ in my Radionics Radio project (on Sub Rosa records), but drawing upon a fringe science – no matter how artistically groundbreaking those acoustic-radionic activities were in the late 1940s – didn’t convince many (radionics involves ‘psychically’ selecting frequencies that correspond to thoughts).
Random tunings offer complete freedom, and reveal the idiosyncrasies of the instruments used, as well as the identities of soundmakers. I would go as far to politicise it: arbitrary tuning is perhaps the ultimate musical ‘decolonisation’ whilst also being a practical and philosophical ideal for microtonal music’s LGBTQ+ lineage that embraces such varied personalities as Kathleen Schlesinger, Elsie Hamilton, to Harry Partch and Wendy Carlos – a lineage rarely-discussed, but deeply rooted, I believe, in the opposition to the norms of western equal temperament (and the contra-norms of just intonation and equal divisions of the octave).
Hollow flints found in fields speak of the primacy of arbitrary tunings: random, fully individuated tunings literally set in stone.
My favourite is a handheld flint with five channels. Unlike the specially-lipped ocarina, hollow flints cannot produce pure tones when blown into, unless a sharp ‘labium tip’ is expertly chiselled into it somehow (a feature of all fipple flutes). This isn’t necessarily a problem – for instance, sound artist Akio Suzuki has been playing upon unrefined natural stones for decades, eliciting exploratory pitched noise: half-tonal, half-percussive, and sensitively done. Covering the holes on the flint while blowing does produce vague pitches, but too broad to measure precisely.
Kathleen Schlesinger, in her 1939 deep-study of ancient greek auloi (reeded wind instruments dug up from historical sites) and their possible scales remarked that “it is impossible to determine the pitch, scale, or modality of any pipe that lacks a mouthpiece which will play it”.
These rocks are not instruments, and it is indeed tricky treating them as such: even if a fipple mouthpiece (from a wind recorder, for instance) is introduced to the rock (which I did), the pitch of the notes varies due to its player’s breath pressure: the more open holes there are, the more breath pressure is required to produce a tone – and the natural reflex action is to supply more breath pressure, an action so unconscious that it almost feels as if the rock becomes an extension of the body. Try it yourself.
It is possible to connect a small lapel microphone to a loudspeaker amplifier, and place the microphone inside the flint to hear feedback. The feedback pitch is relative to the cavity, and alters according to the fingering of the cavities. I did a brief experiment with this on camera, and posted it to Facebook to advertise the episode of Wavelength on Resonance FM where I describe these experiments.
On the internet, there’s always either a miserable don’t-know-who, or a know-it-all nonsenseclown poised to blurt.
If they’re remotely connected to creative doings, it tends to spur on the mission to legitimise arbitrary scales. On this occasion, one such character (I can’t discern which) emerged from the woodwork to advertise their obliviousness to these experiments’ contexts: “eh, this is like sticking a piezo transducer in anything. Ok; weird, somewhat regulated noise. ‘Man farting in field’ has been Lucier’d to death.”
Maybe this person is rightfully irate to some extent: the volume required to obtain the pitches of the flint cavity is horrendous on the ear. To record it, one rainy afternoon I walked to the field where the flint originated, specifically to avoid remonstrations. Alvin Lucier used compressors to limit the volume of his object-based feedback. This feedback technique actually pre-dates Lucier’s work by eight decades – the feedback flute was proposed by Alfred Graham, patented in 1894 – a failed history I’ve excavated and written about in ‘Magnetic Music…‘ and ‘Failed Histories of Electronic Music‘, and recreated as a working model. Graham recognised the many variables affecting the flute’s pitch, such as battery power, the shape and construct of the loudspeaker and microphone, and their relative positions.
Nevertheless, the feedback flint, if held stable enough, is a fairly accurate approximation of the pitch intervals obtainable. By comparing the feedback-generated intervals with the intervals obtained with an attached fipple, and also with the vague windy tones created when blowing, mean averages can be obtained.
With the lowest note registering as 669Hz, the ratios are calculable as 1/1, 737/669, 775/669, 263/223, 269/223 and 828/669 (giving an ascending 167.590, 254.628, 285.622, 324.674, 369.149 in cents).
What can be done with these notes?
Well, the scale of this handheld flint encompasses less than four semitones (3.69, to be exact), which is a restrictive set of notes, but frequent exposure to the notes acclimatises the ear to soundmaking/melodic possibilities. This is something noted by the composer Susan Alexjander who derived scales from DNA bases. DNA bases’ tunings might as well be arbitrary, such is the inharmonic chaos – they seemed “so strange and alien that one at first despairs of ever creating a beautiful work of art, or making any coherent ‘sense’ out of them”, according to Alexjander. By constant exposure to the new scales “played over and over on the synthesiser, some arrestingly beautiful combinations began to appear”… so when dealing with such disorientating scales, perseverance is key! For the Silo, Dan Wilsen.
More can be heard on Wavelength, broadcast on Resonance 104.4FM on 19th June 2020. “A programme of multiple agendas presented by William English. This week: a tape sync with Oscillatorial Binnage member Daniel Wilson who, prevented from bin-diving during the Covid-19 epidemic, instead turns to “ground-diving” to dig out unusual stones from the earth. The potential for producing ‘rock music’ is showcased after a lengthy preliminary chat with William on the current state of the second-hand book trade.”
Inside Every Man Lives the Seed of a Flower (13.21)
Gardens was composed, performed, recorded and mixed spring 2011-autumn 2013. All instruments performed by Nick Storring. The work was designed as an informal tribute to arranger/ producer/ composer Charles Stepney. Its titles refer to the Come To My Garden by Minnie Riperton which Stepney co-wrote, produced and arranged. No musical materials were borrowed, however.
The creative processes which birthed this album was funded by the 2011 Toronto Emerging Composer Award, which is administered by the Canadian Music Centre and generously supported by Michael Koerner and Roger D. Moore. No effects processing was employed aside from simple dynamics, equalization, mixing, and spatialization. Other ‘processing’ is strictly through acoustic or electromechanical means.
Instrumentation: violin, cello, electric mandola, electric bass, guitalele, Strumstick, banjo, harpsicle, autoharp, esraj, kemence, rebab, ananda lahari, Hohner Pianet-T, Yamaha CP60M stage piano, glockenspiel, steel pan, thumb pianos, toy pianos, roto-toms, snare drum, djembe, khol, bells, thunder tubes, rainstick, woodblocks, cymbals, other found/ homemade percussion, jaw harps, melodicas, harmonicas (diatonic and chromatic), tuning reeds, harmonium, khêne, mey, hulosi, xaphoon, concert flute, bansuris, sulings, recorders (alto, soprano, sopranino), various other flutes, mijwiz, been, pan pipes, kazoo, found wind instruments, voice.
Many thanks to those who offered listening, feedback, instruments, support and exposure (through various channels) during the creation of this work. There are many of you, and I truly value your contributions.