Memories of Moog

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Bob Moog asked me for directions once. Which was pretty ironic, seeing as he blazed the path in my field, electronic music. But we were simply waiting for a bus outside a trade show. When I looked up to see who’d asked, I was shocked that the man whose name is synonymous with synthesis would be talking to me. (“We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”) I admitted that I had no clue if we were lined up for the right bus either, but he just smiled.

I think it was at that same trade show that Moog jumped up on stage during a Keith Emerson concert to perform a wonderfully raunchy theremin solo. The theremin, of course, is an instrument you play by waving your hands near two antennas—one for pitch and one for volume. Dr. Moog, grinning devilishly, white hair flapping, played the upright antenna like a...well, let’s just say the mostly male audience roared with laughter.

But that was Moog’s amazing gift: transforming seemingly soulless electronics into living musical instruments. I learned synthesis on a monstrous Moog 55. Even though you could hear the pitch of the oscillators drift across tape splices, even though patches were literally made with fistfuls of patch cords and “saved” by scrawling flow charts on paper, that towering instrument was hypnotic. Some of its circuit boards were built in 1969. Many of us have far newer instruments—especially digital ones—gathering dust in closets.

A few years back, I sat in the front row as Moog gave a lecture contrasting analog and digital synthesizers. No surprise which side he came down on: His life’s work had been building investment-quality analog instruments—unique, creative partners that could support a lifelong relationship. Digital synths, Moog said, were inexpensive, consistent, and offered a vast sound palette, but didn’t really raise his antenna.

So I was surprised later to see that he had written the foreword to Jim Aikin’s book Software Synthesizers. When I read it, I had to admire the line Moog drew, and it made me think again about the digital detritus in my closet. “My current laptop bristles with software emulations,” Moog wrote. “At times, all of this capability has a bittersweet flavor for me. My present laptop replaced a computer that was five years old and hopelessly obsolete. All my software is new too. No matter how wonderful my current software is, I don’t think I should become too attached to it, because I will soon abandon it in favor of the Next Big Thing. But then I realize that today’s technology is not about permanence. It’s about constantly learning and exploring.”

Then last fall, my co-author Kelli Richards bumped into Moog at the AES convention and asked him if he’d consider writing a testimonial for our book, The Art of Digital Music, which was about to go to press. I thought that was an odd choice, but the point of the book is not to praise digital technology; it’s to explore technology’s effect on artists and music. So it could be seen as an extension of Moog’s lecture.

Surprisingly, Moog agreed to look through the manuscript. He sent us a gracious note several days later, saying he’d spent quite a bit of time with the text, but felt the subject was so far outside his area of comfort and expertise that a quote wouldn’t be appropriate.

I wrote back, thanking him for taking the time to examine the manuscript and agreeing that a testimonial from him would have looked strange. I also told him that I’d enjoyed his foreword to Software Synthesizers and noticed that he was endorsing the Arturia software Moogs, so I thought asking had been worth a shot. Moog replied,

Jim Aikin is an old friend. The Arturia is an emulation of an analog entity, and we evaluated and licensed it accordingly. It was a tough decision, at least for me. However, I did understand what it was SUPPOSED to do, which is more than I am able to say about most of the contents of your book.

I still smile when I read that. Because as much as I enjoy digital music-making—for the very reasons Moog mentioned: accessibility, power, and the thrill of exploration—I know in my heart that he’s right. It’s the analog things that really matter in the end.

Bob Moog signed his e-mail “Chief Technical Kahuna,” but to me and untold thousands of others, he’ll always be the consummate artist. Thanks, Bob. Thanks for showing us the direction.

What was your brush with Bob Moog’s greatness?