The world was still under the shadow of the COVID-19 pandemic. Travel had just re-opened, but complicated. We managed to get to NY for a first look at the venue, then I headed south for a few weeks to see old friends in Florida.

I managed to record some ambient sounds in Florida, and pieced together an interesting "musique concrète" piece which I would use as a backing to The Machine. I got prepared as much as I could while enjoying the welcoming hospitality of my friends who I hadn't seen in years. After the stress of the pandemic, this was a welcome trip.

I then headed back up to NY for the gig...

We set up during the day and returned later to open the show. I was positioned in the centre of the rear room space, surrounded by the visitors. I've played to audiences of 5,000 before, many years ago, but this was a totally different experience. Maybe no more than 100 people, but I was exposed. On display in this gallery space, for my book-end performances, and alongside my brother's paintings — was also The Machine and me.

My brother's original instinct was that The Machine should stand alone. Looking back, I think I would have preferred that too, but this was still a very early iteration of what would eventually become The TMA Device. There was no way this thing was capable of operating autonomously at that point. This thing needed to be played. "The Machine" was built on veroboard, with wires everywhere. An LED matrix panel was held on with Blu Tack, housed in a black foam case, with the screen area covered in car window tint film. It actually looked awesome, but was very temperamental and had a tendency (back then) — albeit rare — to crash and reset with no warning. This was stressful.

While we were setting up, I got chatting with the person who had built the incredible hand-built PA system we were playing through that evening. A real "work of art" quite fitting considering we were in one of New York's premier art galleries. During the conversation, he casually mentioned that his neighbour and friend had been none other than Douglas Trumbull. If you know that name, you'll understand why that stopped me in my tracks. The original visual inspiration for The Machine reached back to one of his most significant contributions to cinema, and here I was, standing beside my own strange creation, talking to someone who knew the man responsible for bringing so much of that world to life. It was one of those moments that felt almost impossible.

There was a sadness to it, though. Douglas had passed away only a few months earlier, in February. I couldn't help thinking what an extraordinary conversation that might have been, to place The Machine in front of the person whose work had unknowingly inspired it all those years before.

After my first set, I managed to relax and enjoy Rob and Rose's brilliant set. For my set, I had to rely on simple VST instruments from a laptop — that's fine — but the sound from the Eurorack and Rob's interesting sound-making contraption were fantastic. Rich, layered, textured. Where my set focused on generative, theirs was a kaleidoscope of the most detailed sounds. Wonderful!

The closing came and I set The Machine to play out the night with its second set.

Unfortunately, the sound engineer had apparently forgotten to record the set off the main console. The video featured here uses a re-recording of The Machine in exactly the same configuration, captured shortly after the show. Once that was done, The Machine went away and has never been switched on again. The mad months before the show, trying to have something that worked, was draining. I was unsure if what I had built was any good.

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About four months later, I booted up the other machine I had built and had a play. I suddenly remembered all the ideas, the vision, and realised it was good. I played for hours just getting lost in it. I used those two Machines to develop the initial code and electronics, and from that came the first prototype design of a proper SMD PCB and got a batch ordered. Once they arrived, I no longer had to waste time checking jumper wires and dodgy solder joints on boards held together with cardboard and glue. A proper PCB! SMD components, all assembled. Perfect.

Looking back, that performance was the end of The Machine as a prototype and the beginning of The TMA Device. The ideas survived, but the fragile collection of wires and boards eventually became a proper instrument. It's been quite a journey.

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