All done with the latest sunvox 1.9.6

Krome, voice and Portastudio

KORG Krome

All in sunvox

Renoise took 20 minutes to render this. I don't know why.

Sunvox

Multitracking by Tascam

Blofeld

All done in sunvox, mastered in Audacity.

In the end, there might just be one.

The simple truth.

Nintendo Switch. Gadget. It's not that great.

You feel the icy calm spread through you.

It's a mating dance, of course. Pretty and precise.

And very, very sexy.

All done in renoise. The story of tracker life.

The streets are broken. Babylon has fallen. Listen to dub.

Gadget on Switch is not a good tool for this.

This will surely end well.

It's the way of truth.

Lots of additive synthesis, mostly.

Thighs tremble and breasts sway.

All done in sunvox.

All analogue

It has been many years, but she finds no rest.

All on KORG Kross.

All in hardware. Volcas rule (with a little help from Waldorf and Roland boutique).

We found the truth after our Naruto Run, and our rescuers come for us at last.

Engine and Blofeld

It will be a long commute home.

The shuffle of feet in the sand. The flash of a calf and thigh in the light. The stars above.

A pure beauty that belies the risks with delights.

You look outside, and it's a distraction from what you new all along.

Tried a new approach on this.

Down there you can still hear them digging away.

All done in Sunvox.

Try this, but not at home.

A slice of what I'll be doing live.

It was inevitable, really.

Someone had to love that reverb, way back when.

You hear the song. You feel the portent.

They are masters of material science.

All done in sunvox

Feel the relaxation. Things get a little fuzzier, a little warmer. The ice clinks in the glass.

All done with semimodular desktops, through digital effects, into Portastudio.

Done in sunvox. Enjoy!

Done on KDJ-ONE.

Not worth a vote, just a learning experience.

As the winds sweep in, they bring solitude, and with it, insanity.

All done in Pixitracker

It's behind it all. The thrum of traffic. The hiss of communications. There is no escape.

It doesn't matter, you still don't sleep well.

The atmosphere is your sac.

Oh God, my head ...

You can't unfire the rifle.

Short, but all software as requested. Done in Caustic.

I just did it.

It keeps playing, and nothing you can do will shut it up.

Perfection is death

I took this one very literally.

One-handed on pixitracker from under a toddler

It's just you and the old record player, in a room.

The virus is eating me alive.

Water embraces me.

I can feel the graphics nibbling at my sanity.

Living in the cracks, under the frost.

Even the ice cream headache is a welcome relief.

Just let it happen, Sweet Thing.

They sing in Welsh.

You could never love me the way you love electricity.

So much more that I wanted to do ...

Earth below, air above, striving in between.

Like two watermelon in a sack.

I hate myself sometimes.

Lyrics by David Richfield
Music by Jan Koekepan

It's all over. It's all gone ...

Obviously, a school of rugged individualist, nonconformist luminous fish.

Lying on the lawn at night.

I never said this made sense. All done in Caustic.

Single Instrument Ambient

They sift down like feathers from the sky, a gentle hint of what is to come.

Space tanks. It's kind of what they look like. Floating. Armoured. Space tanks.

Who's left behind?

... it's just you, the fruit and the wine.

Childhood is over now.

These chips be funky.

The leaves flutter down to enrich the soil and lake.

Even the stone formations of mankind crumble away.

This is different.

A sweet end.

Who will answer?

They wait among the trees to enfold you

It's inside you, deep inside.

They came for you, but you remember nothing.

Eventually they shall find my remains, frozen and clutching what is left of my camera.

They're pink. They're pretty. Hope she likes 'em!

They are watching you from all angles.

You can hear them coming ...

Slowly the hangover recedes, and regret turns the pancakes to ashes in your mouth.

I still have a few bullets left.

This is how the robots will hypnotically control us.

... said the zen monk to the hotdog vendor ...

She's only a slave girl

It has come to this.

Boy, what a party ... where are my pants?

All done in KORG Krome, under 1 hour.

How much time has passed? Does it matter?

It speaks for itself.

This track was written as a response to Rage Against the Machine's Parade of Bulls. After the battle, when the dead and dying lie in ditches and gutters, comes the peace, and a time to look inside oneself.

This is based on my live rig, an improvisation with keyboard and sequencer. I make no pretence to particular originality.

This was my entry for the third week of the MasterClass challenge.

They know that they are the last, but they keep marching.

An entry for a MasterClass compo.
Sorry, I can't otherwise participate, I have to write other music.

There's a boss fight inside

Eventually you land in the well

You can hear his voice on subspace radio, through the noise of the dark matter clouds.

I have no idea what I'm doing. Or how these vials got here, officer.

The bright displays stare at you through the rain.

You're not here for long. Soon you're all gone.

Dressing for success.

Running, trying to stay ahead of the meanies.

VirtualANS and Audacity

All the business comes to an eventual end.

It was a simpler time. Or so it seemed.

When the city gets you down and you have to leave...

Have you ever seen the aurora of Saturn?

Do you recognise these people?

You can hear the chant over the waterfall.

Not allowed to kill them...

For the first time, I saw her beauty.

The whine and clank of machinery is every robot's first memory.

Beyond the Threshold

I want it. Give me that.

You have to run far to escape the chopping block.

The leaves are too happy to dance smoothly on their way down to the gutter.

Reinforcements came too late.

They swim through the aether to infiltrate your optic nerves and fructify your intellect.

Hey. Dude. Have you ever looked at your hands? I mean, really looked. It's so cool. Just look at them, man, you have to do this ... what was I saying?

Nothing lasts forever. The technological treadmill catches us all.

There comes a point where the laughter dies down, and you can't ignore the winds outside any more.

Every day he would drive by, and my parents would hand me some money to buy whatever I wanted. And I went there.

I have no shame.

No stopping the water, man.

I sit beneath the trees and play my flute to the spirits of heaven.

She's so beautiful ... soft skin deep in soft fur ...

In London the old and the new coexist. Cobbles that ran with blood and ash have been washed clean by the rain.

The experience isn't complete without the attitude.

Eventually it all returns.

Their very perfection is their doom.

The windows are mere holes and the doors open portals to the wind.

The oceans are rising. The tide is coming. It is only a matter of time.

Watch the light show. Feel the acid wash through you.

The pyrotechnics are known to the state of California to induce carcinogenic levels of patriotism.

After a few glasses of Sangria it doesn't sound so bad.

Aliens come to visit me, use me, then leave. They always leave me in the end.

He has moved on, singing his last song. Forever.

The other crystal ball lies fallen in the grass, but through its eye one can see enough.

You took too many. You know it. You don't care.