THE HUMAN CONDITION

A hover car's engines, flown through Chongqing in 2077, a city grown like a megastructure. Every place you fly, you see.

An effect you play with your hands through a camera. Pinch to play, and a fist holds it. Six effects and four punch-ins locked to your song's tempo.

A plate reverb watched by an eye. Notes send rings across it; the tail swells its star; loud input tightens the pupil.

Six grains from a stereo buffer. A portrait flickers a column for each grain, and its tears follow the trail.

A tape echo locked to your song, with wow, hiss and dropouts. Each frame down the corridor is an echo from further back.

A saturator, clipper and wavefolder with a frequency shifter, made for drums. Loudness matched, clean below the crossover.

Two morphing oscillators and a sub through a resonant filter, sixteen voices. A rose window lights each note you play.

Huge held brass after the late-70s polysynths: three detuned saws that bloom slowly and scoop up into pitch. A paper unicorn turns in the light.

A larger-than-life Reese bass for witch house and hyperpop: up to seven detuned saws drifting against each other, drawn beating as they beat.

Wraith's partner: drifting delayed copies split left and right above a low cut, with drive and grit, so the low end stays whole and the top tears wide.

A melodic sampler that breaks, bends and repeats your sample on the beat, like a circuit-bent buffer. A field of waveform cracks as it plays.

A generative note player for the OP-XY, after Awake for norns. It is being rebuilt as a music box: struck tines, and a spring that slows as it winds down.