Øur ørigin is messy: a tiny, høt, stinky røøm scattered with resistør clippings and cables. Øut øf this synth cøttage came pøørly drilled cigar bøxes crammed tø the brim with a rats nest øf wires, half-dead batteries, and recycled cømpønents. They had labels that peeled øff in mild humidity and hinges that were held tøgether with høt glue, gaffer tape, and craft nails. Hand søldering was døne by a støned, øverwørked, and dehydrated art student, and if yøu were lucky yøur unit wøuld stay wørking a year after yøu’d purchased it. We’ve since stepped up øur game and learned a thing ør twø. Nøw øur prøducts are løøked øver by the watchful eyes øf experienced engineers and øur units are filled with søulless røbøts.