tedrithornetunes

[tedrithornetunes]

i know that bandcamp's whole deal is that they are but a humble storefront, which cannot be expected to have Features of any kind, but also. do you know what i would give to be able to make playlists directly in bandcamp. and share them. and if someone sent me a playlist that fucking ruled i could just buy all the songs on it and have them forever. do they understand how bad it sucks that i cannot do this.

[tedrithornetunes]

I hate having to do this again but it's an emergency. I'm on the edge of a panic attack rn because I woke up to a surprise charge and my account in the red. I'm trying to get it reversed but there's no guarantee that will work and I need to survive in the meantime. if you can afford to help a disabled trans person please help me, I will also do art and music commissions. Every little bit helps!

[tedrithornetunes]

Linking Ableton Live and VCV Rack

These are instructions for sending MIDI and audio between VCV Rack 1.x and Ableton Live 10 without using any external devices--just a computer! Older versions of VCV Rack used the Bridge module for this, which is no longer updated--if you use a version of VCV Rack older than 1.x you should look for instructions to use the Bridge module online.

Before anything else, download and install these:

LoopMIDI- https://www.tobias-erichsen.de/software/loopmidi.html

NYSTHI plugin for VCV Rack (it’s the only one by NYSTHI in the library): https://vcvrack.com/plugins.html

From Ableton Live to VCV Rack (MIDI only):

Set up a MIDI channel in LoopMIDI.

Open Ableton Live.

Set MIDI channel output to LoopMIDI channel (go to preferences if needed and turn first part of the channel ON).

Open VCV Rack.

Add MIDI-CV module.

Change MIDI-CV input to LoopMIDI channel.

Create and play a MIDI track in Ableton.

MIDI instructions from Ableton Live can control VCV Rack devices!

From VCV Rack to Ableton Live (audio):

Add Master Recorder module by NYSTHI.

Link final audio output to Master Recorder.

Click or trigger Start.

Name the save file (this will be the name of the WAV you record to).

Play whatever you want to record.

Click or trigger Stop.

Import WAV file into Ableton Live.

WAV files can be the audio for a whole track, or a sample for an instrument!

From VCV Rack to Ableton Live (MIDI):

Set up a MIDI channel in LoopMIDI.

Open Ableton Live.

Set MIDI channel input to LoopMIDI channel.

Open VCV Rack.

Add CV-MIDI module.

Change CV-MIDI output to LoopMIDI channel.

Record MIDI in Ableton Live. (make sure the channel is armed!)

Play MIDI in VCV Rack.

MIDI instructions from VCV Rack can be transferred to/recorded in Ableton Live!

[tedrithornetunes]

Free Music Resources Masterlist

Notation

MuseScore

Free and open source.

Conventional notation.

Decent quality “instruments” that produce MIDI-based sound.

No dynamics or filters--any mixing requires separating the notation of each instrument into individual files, then exporting recordings of each one.

Might be able to send MIDI to other programs? Haven’t tried this yet.

LilyPond

Free and open source.

Both conventional and non-conventional notation (such as ClaireNote SN).

Very flexible text-based interface.

DAWs

Audacity

Free and open source.

Basically functions like Adobe Audition, but with fewer features.

Rosegarden

Free and open source.

Easy to learn and use.

Excellent for working with MIDI.

LINUX only!

Ocenaudio

Free, closed-source.

Pretty barebones but may work better on newer systems.

GarageBand

Free, closed-source.

May come pre-installed with your system.

Made for Mac OS/iOS and works best on those systems.

Many free instrument presets.

Reaper

Free-ish (will nag you to pay after trial finishes but you don’t actually have to).

Powerful and easy to use.

Familiar interface for people who have used other DAWs.

Works on both Windows and Mac OS.

LOTS of others! Every DAW has its own features and quirks, so it’s reccomended to do some research and find the one that best suits your particular needs and workflow!

Tracking

MilkyTracker

Free and open source.

A spiritual successor to the popular 1992 DOS tracker, Fasttracker II.

Users create custom instruments by using the built-in wave generator, drawing waveforms, or importing compatible sound files.

Very flexible volume envelopes for instruments.

Standard tracker effects with clear documentation.

No filters and limited note-by-note tweaking of things like panning.

Unlike the other trackers on this list, MilkyTracker does not emulate a specific video game console and cannot produce tracks compatible with video game sound cards.

DefleMask

Free, closed-source.

Very faithful emulation software for producing retro video game tracks

Actually compatible with the systems’ hardware.

Works for Sega Genesis, Gameboy, NES, Sega Master System, Commodore 64, Arcade, and NEC PC Engine.

Probably the most widely used tracker, with decent documentation and active forums.

FamiTracker

Free and open source.

NES emulation with all soundcard extensions.

Faithful enough that some of the bugs from the original system are reproduced.

No info on if the tracks produced are compatible with NES hardware.

Sparse but clear documentation.

Misc

LoopMIDI

Free, closed-source.

Can be used to send MIDI signals between Ableton Live 10 and VCV Rack 1.x on a single computer (see posted tutorial).

UTAU

Free, closed-source.

Generates Vocaloids-style vocals using presets or your own voice recordings.

Very hard to set up due to language barriers (Japanese).

Forums are very slow/out of date, little-to-no support.

VCV Rack

Free with optional paid modules.

Very complex and realistic digital synth with tons of modules to play with.

Freesound.com

Archive of user-submitted sounds available to download.

Always free but use restrictions may apply (such as No Commercial Use).

Sound quality varies quite a bit and search function is not great.

[tedrithornetunes]

A song I wrote to accompany @mini-moss‘s animation, Botanist’s Window. Sorry it took so long!

[tedrithornetunes]

Since I mentioned it on my main blog, I figured I should upload it! ^^

[tedrithornetunes]

I’m a simple person: I hear a groovy bass line, I listen to the song 2359521706437821 times

[tedrithornetunes]

Reblogged from my main

Hey y’all, as some of you may know I have been job-hunting for the past 5 months with no success (being autistic and disabled makes that process a lot harder). Things have reached a critical point and I now have no money for food or rent. If you are willing and able to help me out and keep me from being homeless/hungry my paypal is paypal.me/TedriThorne . The minumum I need to be able to stay in my home is $385. I am also willing to take commissions making digital art, writing, or composing music; please PM me to talk about any of these but in general my price list is $15 per ~1 hour of work. I will draw any fandom (no underage/aged-up nsfw though) as well as D&D characters, OCs, fursonas, etc. I will write for any fandom I’m familiar with. Queer, trans, and neurodivergent characters/headcanons are my favorite so don’t be shy asking about those!

[tedrithornetunes]

@nina-thegamergirl mentioned wanting an extended version of this song, so here you go! This doesn’t quite loop but could probably be made into a looping version (I just haven’t figured out how). All songs used as the basis for this fan song were originally composed by Toby Fox.

[tedrithornetunes]

A translation of my Memory Wordplay poem for anybody getting cross-eyed looking at it XD :            She started it: while I was sleeping on my mother’s pregnant belly, a swift kick to my bald head woke me with tearful wails. When the nefarious, uncaring villain was first brought home in a swaddled bundle with an innocent look on her scrunchy face, I knew her at once, or rather my head knew her, and I reached over with one finger of my fat baby hand and poked her right in the eye. It was a declaration of war.              From then on we siblings were a quarrelsome duo. When I cut off my bangs with crooked snips, she lopped off her whole ponytail. If she pinched a bit of sugar, I gobbled butter and heaps of brown sugar. Determined not to let our opponent get the upper hand, we insisted that every toy, every item of clothing, that one got, the other must too--but in a different hue, one red, one blue. We both disdained pink.              Not all was ill between us, however. We used twinspeak to amuse ourselves and to confuse people into thinking we were identical twins. We sang to each other, "teeter-totter, teeter-totter", back and forth like a pendulum breathing. Most important, we stood fiercely against any enemy that wanted to pick a fight with either of us.              As we got older, our interests diverged to other things--she was like a sunny-eyed pup, I was like a skulking cat with wanderlust. She sequestered herself inside with our mother and Oma to decorate scrapbooks with stickers and embroider white pillowcases. I went outside in all weather to collect medicinal mushrooms and flowers (and to occasionally steal heads of wheat from the neighbor’s field). At the woodpile I ground up dirt and mixed grain with water and mashed vegetables. I wouldn't eat what I’d made, but I'd pretend and leave leafy bundles for fairies and brownies and other good neighbors. In thunder and lightning I'd dance wildly and sing at the top of my lungs to the storm clouds. I was a fey-fickle changeling of a child.              Nowhere was that more apparent (or a trial for my parents) than in the matter of baths. I locked horns, and stamped my feet, and made all kinds of excuses. The furrows left by my stubborn heels were wrinkles in the corners of my mother’s eyes (behind her glasses). I would not scrub my dirty body with washrags, or shampoo my tangled mop of hair. I would sneakily run a bath and not dip one toe in the water. I would craftily straddle the tub with my feet on the edges, hidden by the curtain, and attempt to lie and say I was clean.              One afternoon, elbow-deep in a ditch muck, I made a house of straw, sticks, and mud for friendly sidhe and gentle fey. Beaming in satisfaction with my artistic work, I started home--only to stop dead in my tracks when I thought of the [bath-related? idk I really like the original “baptismic” even though it’s not a real word] battle awaiting me. Thinking myself clever, I stomped through the soggy ditch until I spied a nice deep divot in the algae-filled creek. I scrambled in and fished out the floating algae, draping green spongey strands to dry on the gritty sun-warmed concrete. In the mostly-clear trickling water there were pebbles covered with fuzzy-looking algae. The stink of weed-clogged runoff rose up. I sank my mud-caked hands into the oily water and swirled them about until I was totally drenched. Then, feeling certain of my victory, I marched back home. My mother was most annoyed by the stench, and mirthlessly sent me straight to the bathroom.

[tedrithornetunes]

Holy panpipes, batman! A song about the changing moods of the fey. Title based on this wordplay poem I wrote for class (in the style of the book Finnegan’s Wake): Memory Wordplay            She started it: lay-a-bye new yet on a mumfortable babeswollen tumbelly, a swiftick to my bald loaf sparkled me wakesome with smearful wails. When the nay-care-ious villain swaddled up to me with an innosimpled look on her scrunchy face, I new her at bonce, or my bonce rather knew her, and I screeched over with one sausage of my roly hand and poked her right in her piggy sty. It was a declamation of sore.              From then on we siblinks were a warrelsome duo. Wend I rended me bangshorn with crookzaggy snips, she flopped off her whole ponytuft. If she pinched her a stinge of sweet switt'ner, I gobbed buds and reaps of brun sacchar. Determinated not to let the offender get the offend-hand, we instigisted that every toyamobob, every frillsom garbment, that one gottained, together mushtoo--but in a ditherment hue, one crimscarloon, one azaltlue. We twoth dibstained pink.              Not all wars ill twain us, howother. We twinspake twomuse and convivsomely confuse with sameseeming miskerchief. We sang two shudder, "teeter-totter, teeter-totter", back and mirth like a pendulung breathesync. Bothst in portent, we stwo'd fiercally gainst anyme that one-ted two prick a fight whether of us.              As we golderened, our interquests diveerged to hotter thinks--she a sunny-eyed tumblepup, I a fluff-ruffling skulkercat. She sequested herself at apronside to stickerate scrapaper-books and needlesswreck wait ploughcasings. I allwhetherways wind outside to magpie medicinful mushgrooms and petalbrides (and barley any stolen grown). At the wouldn't-pile I grounded dirt and watered grain and pounded beet. I would't eat, but I'd play-tend and leave leafy swindles for floweries and brewnies and utter good-neighborlies. In tinder and lifening I'd dunce in wildwhimsy and joysinging scream to the rumblegrey. I was a fey-fickle changeling of a child.              Nowhither was that more apparenting trial than in the madder of baths. I hornlocked, and hoofstamped, and goatscapered. The furrows left by my stubthorn heels were drinkles in my mudder's foureye corners. I would not sud-scrubble my mudself with slaprags, or shampew my ratnesty knot-locks. I would faucetiously run afoul tubsworth and not a bean dip. I would craftthinking wobble one footh two astride of the porcel-hell, curt-hiddened, and through grinny teeth call me squeaky-steam.              One haftneener, ell-beep in ditchmuck, I strawcted and stickted and slapdabbed a housk for fair-weather sillies and gentle fancies. Bleaming satispride with my dirtistic work, I smarted home--only to stop dread in my bracken when I fought of the baptismic bathle awaiting me. Sinking myself clayver, I stumphed and spurked through the sog until I spytted a nice deep div in the algaic creek. I skimbled and fisked out the floaties, drape-dribbling green spongely strands to dry on the gritted suncrete. In the clearish crickling water pebbles fuzzed and fronded. The stink of weedclogged runoff roused. I stank my cakey graspstenders into the oil-rainbowed water and sworled them about until I was terftolly trenched. Then, feeling shoretain of my mucktory, I marshed back home. My mudther was most annosed, and murklessly sent me strict to the bad room.

[tedrithornetunes]

A fan song I wrote for @zarla-s's Undertale comic, Handplates. The song mixes pieces of several relevant Undertale songs by Toby Fox, including Gaster's Theme, Here We Are, Bonetrousle, The Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans, and Megalovania. The instruments are mostly various broken tech/glitch sounds found on freesound.org, with some editing (mostly cutting tiny slivers out of larger recordings since I wanted the sounds to be short and "clicky").

[tedrithornetunes]

This song was an experiment in a few different ways. It was my first attempt at writing something using a Polska asymmetrical rhythm--a complex traditional fiddling rhythm in Scandinavia that uses 3 beats of different lengths per measure, often (but not always) in a ratio of 5:7:6, and usually with at least one change in the rhythm somewhere in the song. For this song I alternated between 5:7:6 and 2:9:6. I also created my own digital instruments, my favorites being Saxafrass (a saxophone-like instrument), Woden Nyckel (based on the sounds of a nyckelharpa), and Sitari (a plucked-string instrument using Ableton’s sitar oscillator). The “Scarlip” part of the name is a kenning for Loki, who is often depicted with scarred lips as his mouth was sewn shut in one myth. It felt appropriate for a song that feels so off-balance and strange, but the song isn’t about Loki (or anything, really).

[tedrithornetunes]

A song inspired by this short story I wrote for class (tw suffocation, claustrophobia, body horror, starvation, drugs, just a whole bunch of bad shit including literal shit ok): Sullatulla

THEY entered the dead city. Bones of unburied corpses were tucked under eaves and dense pines, safe from the rain that had ground the others to nothing. The air was thick with ghosts: fragile things like strands of egg in soup, fraying at the edges, forgetting. The ghosts drifted towards them, drawn like bees to rotten fruit.

THEY picked THEIR way between the peeling skins of houses, over sidewalks broken apart by patient winters; concrete glaciers in a muddy sea. Color had long ago washed from the ruined buildings, but here and there some garish remnant caught THEIR eye: a doll, with wide glass eyes and plastic hair more enduring than the hand of the child still clutching it; a crock pot that must have simmered and simmered til the power lines went cold; a dog collar, sans dog.

More and more of the misty wraiths clung in a swirling sphere around THEM, crushing close, tasting THEIR warmth. Craving it.

Ignoring the fog of almost-touches, THEY shuffled forward, feet numb in shoes full of water, driven more by momentum than any desire to move. Clumps of red hair drooped in front of THEIR eyes, dripping rain. If THEY didn’t find shelter soon, hypothermia would finish THEM off; then THEY’d be as cold as everyone else here.

Then the ground beneath THEM was just gone. A hole. THEIR heart forgot to follow THEM as THEY dropped, pitch-black hole, dirt and water pouring in. Crumbled bits of concrete. The rain seemed still, and each droplet reflected one face, open-mouth shut-throat, too shocked to scream. After a terrible moment of hanging in air THEY struck the earth below.

Breath. Sight. Thought. All took a moment to return to THEM, and in that moment THEY were steadily buried in mud. With the kind of strength and fury that only comes from fear of death, THEY dug and struggled, hands sinking into the soft dirt, crawling from beneath the suffocating weight inch by inch. THEY heaved a rusty breath and choked on mud.

Finding a metal bar with their fingers, THEY pulled. The soil gave a little, then with a wet pop like suction releasing, THEY lurched forward into the darkness.

Even ghosts were afraid to enter this place.

Coiling back--no. Cautiously turning the parts that could turn, one vertebra at a ow fuck not that one, pretending not to hear that grinding sound, looked back. The shaft, up and up and oh god that’s too high. If THEY’d landed on solid ground. If THEY’d twisted their body the wrong way. If, but somehow, not. The light seemed to sprinkle down with the rain, a childish beam that feigned innocence badly. The edge, tracing a broken shard of grey sky, crumbled slowly--a threat of more to come.

No way up. Too dangerous to stay.

THEY shook, less from cold than from the absoluteness. Half a worm wiggled helplessly on THEIR leg, curling around itself as if searching for its missing half. Me too, friend. The shaking turned to rising, half-sobbing laughter as THEY flicked the worm off with one finger.

 They moved carefully to avoid the jolts of pain. It took so long just to get a few feet of progress. A many-legged something skittered over THEIR hand as THEY traced the wall. Old sewage oozed by from somewhere; the smell brought up bile at first, but was eventually memorized, relegated to things known and ignored. At least it’s giving off some heat. No exits.

Hours yawned into days of feeling THEIR way through moldering funk, days that ran together like a slow river of ink. As THEIR injuries healed, further exploration became both easier and more frustrating. The network of tunnels was far more extensive than THEY had initially thought. Iron rungs leading upward were more rust than metal, and crumbled or snapped in THEIR hands.

THEY grew accustomed, familiar. There were three different systems here, comingling in a slapdash arrangement that spat in the eye of every code in the book. Cleaner water was carried in round arteries, lined with bricks and narrow pipe ends where runoff trickled in from above. Other tunnels, especially the deep ones, were of rough-hewn rock with rotting wood supports. The air of the mines tasted older, quieter, disturbed by every breath. By contrast, the sewers, woven around and through them, held the damp aromas of growth and decay.

Though warm enough now, and not lacking water, as time went on THEIR stomach twisted itself in empty, empty knots. THEY slipped into a haze, forgetting everything but the pain of hunger.

Senses sharpened to pinpoint every flutter of movement, and the category of “edible” quickly expanded. Beetles and spiders snatched up like popcorn, legs prickling THEIR lips. Strands of algae scraped from the walls. With rats THEY had little luck; the squeaks and paw-patterings were a constant, but the red-eyed rodents were quick and clever. Once, THEY snatched one up as it scurried over THEIR foot, and bit into it, heedless of hair or bone, with a hunger so urgent the creature was gone almost before it stopped twitching. Its blood left a trail through the layer of dirt on THEIR chin. THEY smiled for the first time since the fall, sank to the ground with a gasping sigh as if THEY’d been holding their breath, briefly content.

Time passed, and though THEY got better at catching rats, THEY were always, always hungry.

Time passed, and was meaningless in the dark. With no one to speak to, and a voice too burnt and hard to speak much anyway, THEY began to listen; THEY heard the quiet, lethargic rhythm of water, of strong, slow roots, of tiny creatures whose eyes, if they had eyes, had never seen daylight. As THEIR body grew thin, THEY felt that rhythm seep into THEIR marrow. THEY began to move like a wisp of fog, like something that had always been in this forgotten hole.

Searching for food at some point became more important than searching for a way out. Memories faded and became distant, irrelevant. Every so often THEY would spot THEIR reflection in the dim: cadaverous with thinning hair. Like a bog mummy. Every so often THEY would lose a tooth, and stare perplexed at its long, bloody root. THEY kept these teeth, afraid to lose any part of THEMSELF.

THEIR clothes rotted off THEIR body. THEY didn’t notice at first. Mud and shit look the same whether cloth or skin lies beneath it. But when THEIR shirt finally fell off, and disappeared into the water with a splash that cut through the silence, THEY were shocked for a moment…then gave a hoarse giggle as THEY realized what had happened. THEY waded into the stygian channel, and fished around blindly to retrieve the filthy rag, though without knowing what, if anything, it could be used for now. Knee-deep in waste, THEY refused to waste anything THEMSELF.

 Slowly, THEY became aware of a change, too vague to discern at first, but as THEY moved down one of the tunnels, THEY realized it was light. Filtered down through a weathered grate, perhaps? An…exit?

THEIR heart pumped painfully, weak and unaccustomed to excitement. THEY clutched the shirt-rag tied over their shoulders with bony fingers, tilting THEIR head hugely, THEIR whole body following the motion in almost a caricature of curiosity. THEY continued twisting until THEY were lying on THEIR back staring at the light upside-down, just staring, sunken eyes not comprehending. Minutes passed, and the light was still there. THEY flipped THEMSELF over and crawled toward it, cautiously.

It was not an exit. The tunnel opened onto a deep reservoir of fresh water, with many sources trickling in from above. A bridge crossed the center of the cylindrical room, and the outer rim had a narrow walkway as well. This walkway was lined with strange growths, like termite mounds or lumps of white coral. The growths in turn supported hundreds upon hundreds of tiny green mushrooms--delicate parasols that glowed faintly. If THEY hadn’t been living in total darkness for so long, THEY would never have seen the whisper of light the mushrooms cradled.

Hunger, having laid a long siege against THEIR dignity and common sense and conquered both, easily overtook all other thoughts. THEY approached without hesitation and grabbed mushrooms by the fistful, stuffing them into THEIR mouth so fast THEY barely had time to swallow. THEIR stomach, unused to such a large and sudden meal, revolted and sent it back up again. THEY ate the vomit, which was mostly just water and mushroom anyway, and slowed down enough to keep it down. Barely.

This continued until, by chance, they sliced their hand on the ridges of the coral mounds. The cut felt strange, as if heat or cold spread from it but THEY couldn’t tell which--then time began to dilate. THEY collapsed on the walkway, spasming, eyes darting over the ceiling which seemed to fragment into sharp geometry, like broken shards of stained glass. After an unknowable stretch of time, the hallucinations faded, and THEY returned to themselves to find that THEIR stomach was empty again. THEY returned to the mushrooms, carefully this time so as not to touch the coral mounds. Static danced in THEIR peripheral vision still. And something more…

THEY froze, as for the first time since the fall, THEY were suddenly not alone.