The Greengate DS:3 had been re-created in the form of the Goodgreat. Now [Bea Thurman] had to put it to use. If the Greengate DS:3 card was rare,  the keyboard was nearly impossible to find. After a long search, [Bea] bought one all the way from Iceland.  The card of course came courtesy of [Eric]. 

It was time to connect the two together.  But there was a problem — a big problem. The GreenGate has a DB-25 connected via a ribbon cable to the board’s 2×10 connector. The keyboard that shipped with those cards would plug right in.  Unfortunately, [Bea’s] keyboard had a DIP-40 IDC connector crimped on its ribbon cable.  What’s more the connectors for the sustain and volume pedals were marked, but never drilled out. The GreenGate silk screen was still there though. 

Maybe it was a prototype or some sort of modified hardware. Either way, the 40-pin DIP connector had to go if the keyboard ever were to work with the card. What followed were a few hours of careful wire tracing 

Tracing out pins is always a pain.  To make it worse, the only DB-25 connector [Bea] had on hand was an Insulation Displacement Connector (IDC). It’s the right part to use for the ribbon cable attached to the keyboard, but not what you’d want to use to test pinouts. These connectors are generally crimped once.

The GreenGate keyboard and foot pedals are matrix scanned – much like a standard alphanumeric keyboard. The keyboard also needed some internal cleanup after 40 years. Like many ‘boards of the day, it used small spring wires that made contact with a common bar. After some painstaking debugging, working directly with [Eric] on video chat, [Bea] had the system working.  Now came the fun part — using the keyboard to make music.  

The Greengate hardware is impressive, but the software is stunning. [Bea] got in touch with [Colin Holgate], who wrote it. He’s also the “gate” in Greengate. With [Colin’s] software, Waveforms can be edited in an oscilloscope view, much like one would find in a modern DAW. The software even includes a pattern editor, which can be used for arpeggios.  

The GreenGate has 4 notes of polyphony, is multitimbral, and can layer multiple samples across the keyboard. Considering this is all handled on an Apple II+ with a green screen monitor for a UI, impressive is an understatement.

[Bea] gives us a great walkthrough using the system. She starts by sampling audio from a cassette. With the audio in memory, she uses this to build a simple song. The entire setup made an appearance at VCF MidWest, so if you saw it in person let us know in the comments!

[Bea Thurman] had a retro music conundrum. She loved the classic Greengate DS:3 sampler, but couldn’t buy one, and couldn’t find enough information to build her own. [Bea’s] plea for help caught the attention of [Eric Schlaepfer], aka  [TubeTime]. The collaboration that followed ultimately solved a decades-old mystery. 

In the 1980s, there were two types of musicians: Those who could afford a Fairlight CMI and everyone else. If you were an Apple II owner, the solution was a Greengate DS:3. The DS:3 was a music keyboard and a sampler card for the Apple II+ (or better). The plug-in card was a bit mysterious, though. The cards were not very well documented, and only a few survive today. To make matters worse, some chips had part numbers sanded off. It was a bit of a mystery until [Bea and Tubetime] got involved. 

While [Bea] didn’t have the card itself, she had a photo of the board and a picture of an album that contained the key to everything. The Greengate came packed with a vinyl album, “Into Trouble with the Noise of Art.” An apt title, since the album art was the Greengate PCB top layer. Now if you know [Eric], you know he wrote the book (literally) on taking things apart and taking photos of them, even producing replicas. 

Thoroughly nerdsniped, [Eric] loaded the photos KiCad and started tracing. With the entire top layer artwork and most of the bottom layer, the 8-bit card wasn’t too hard to figure out. The sticky point was one chip. A big 40-pin part with the numbers scrubbed off. One owner pulled the chip to check for fab information on the back, only to be greeted by a proper British “You Nosey S.O.B.” penciled on top of more sanded part numbers. 

If the chip was an ASIC, the project would be blocked until they could get their hands on an actual board for analysis. An ASIC would have custom part numbers on it from the fab though – no need for sanding. It had to be something off the shelf. [Eric] used some context clues to determine that the Mystery chip had to be a DMA controller. This narrowed the field down. From there, he had to compare pinouts until he had a match with the venerable MC6844. 

With the mystery part out of the way, [Eric] put the finishing touches on the PCB, saved it to his GitHub as the GoodGreat DS:3, and sent it off.  A few days later, the bare boards arrived and were quickly populated with vintage parts. [Eric] ran a few tests and sent the card off to [Bea], where we will pick up with part 2. 

At least the device wasn’t protected with a self-destruct code.

Ever been working on a project and get stuck on one of those last little details?  That’s what happened to [Empire of Scrap].  He’s building an Ohio Scientific (OSI) superboard II replica. He wants it to be accurate down to the dates on the chips. It is quite an impressive build.  The problem is the crystal. OSI used large crystals, even by early 1980s standards. The crystal is in a large can with thick pins, like something you’d expect to find in old radio equipment. The problem is that this crystal package isn’t made anymore. 

The crystal had to be exactly 3.932160 MHz, and while [Empire] has a huge collection of vintage crystals, he didn’t have the right one from the 70s. He did, however, have that value in a modern crystal.  

The solution? Hide the new crystal in the can of an older one. The only problem is that crystals are sealed. The bottom appeared to be some sort of plastic or resin.  Gong after it with a side cutter, [Empire] realized it was glass!  Thankfully, none of it got in his eyes, though his hands may have taken a bit of a beating. 

With the old crystal’s shell hollowed out, [Empire] installed the modern device and potted everything in resin. The transplant worked. Now, all that’s left is to fire up the OSI and start hacking. 

Want to build a replica computer but don’t want to hunt down the parts? Check out [Taylor] and [Amy’s] build of this minipet. Regardless of the size of the case, crystals all work in the same way.

There’s something inspiring about echos. Who among us hasn’t called out or clapped hands in a large space just to hear the sound reflected back? Radio takes this to a whole new level. You can bounce signals from buildings, aircraft, the ionisphere, or even the Moon itself. Humans have been bouncing radio waves from the moon for decades. It’s been used at war, and in peacetime. But [Hainbach] might be the first to use it for music.

Earth Moon Earth or EME communication is quite popular with amateur radio operators. With the right equipment, you can bounce a signal off the moon and hear the echo around 2.5 seconds later. The echo isn’t quite normal though. The moon and the earth are both rotating and moving in relation to each other. This causes Doppler shifts. At higher frequencies, even the craters and surface features of the moon can be heard in the echo.

[Hainbach] spent some time learning about moonbounce at a large radio telescope, and wanted to share this strange audio effect with the world. Unfortunately, most of us don’t have the large microwave dish required for this. The next best thing was to create an application which emulates the sound of a moon bounce. To this end, [Hainbach] created a Moon Echo, an audio plugin that emulates a moonbounce.

Moon Echo was created using sounds from a soprano signer and a double bass. [Hainbach] had to be careful not to be too musical, as ham operators are not allowed to broadcast music. This meant all the tests had to be broken into short non-musical clips. Rolling all this empirical data into a model took quite a bit of work, but the end result is worth it.

If you’d like to learn how to moonbounce yourself, check this article out.

The QN8066 is a fun little FM transmitter chip. It covers the full FM broadcast band and has built-in DSP. You would find this sort of part in car cell phone adapters before every vehicle included Bluetooth or an AUX port.  [Ricardo] has created an Arduino library to bring the QN8066 to the masses.

The chip is rather easy to use – control is handled with a common I2C interface. All the complex parts – Phase Locked Loop (PLL), RF front end, power management, and audio processing are all hidden inside. [Ricardo’s] library makes it even easier to use. One of the awesome features of the 8066 is the fact that it handles Radio Data System (RDS). RDS is the subcarrier datastream that allows FM stations to inject information like song title and artist into the signal. The data is then displayed on your radio screen.

You can find the source to [Ricardo’s] library on GitHub. Using it is as simple as picking it up from the Arduino IDE.

If you are looking for an RDS-enabled radio to test out your QN8066 design, you wouldn’t do too bad with this Gameboy cartridge receiver.

Click through the break for a video from [Ricardo] explaining his QN8066 design.

[Usagi Electric] is breathtakingly close to having his Bendix G15 vacuum tube computer up and running. This week he is joined by a new friend, [Lloyd] who is restoring a G15 as well. [Lloyd] used to repair the Bendix Computers back in the 1970s, so he’s privy to lots of practical knowledge you can’t find in the manuals.

The goal this week was to apply DC power to the G15.  The AC power spins the fans and makes the tubes start glowing. But DC makes the magic happen.  That’s when the boot sequencers start running, sending data to the drum, testing various parts of the machine, and finally, loading software from the paper tape reader.

Since this was a computer from the 1950’s, powering up DC might work, or could let the magic smoke out.  The only way to find out was to push the big green “Reset” button.

The first attempt was stymied by a blown fuse. The second attempt resulted in real live blinkenlights. The data and status lights on the Bendix lit up for the first time in decades. The only thing missing was the sound of the tape drive.  A bit of digging proved that the problem wasn’t in the computer, but in the typewriter user console. The typewriter is supposed to connect the SA line to the -20 volt DC rail. That wasn’t happening though. Since that expected voltage wasn’t present on the SA line at the Bendinx, the boot process halted.

Unfortunately, the typewriter has “somebody’s been here before” syndrome – in addition to age, there are a number of odd modifications.  It’s going to take [Usagi] a bit of time to dig into it and figure out what’s wrong.

The good news is that the computer is using its massive spinning drum drive. [Usagi] was able to verify this with the test panel inside the machine. One button will write a pulse to the drum, and another will erase it. Manipulating these buttons, [Usagi] could see the results on an oscilloscope.  This may sound simple – but just getting to this point means an incredibly complex chain of tube, relay, and mechanical logic has to work.  Bravo [Dave] and [Lloyd]!

In the 60’s and 70’s there were many ways to display numeric data. Nixie tubes, Vacuum Florescent Displays (VFD), micro projection systems, you name it. All of them had advantages and drawbacks. One of the simplest ways to display data was the RCA Numitron. [Alec] at Technology Connections has a bit of a love/hate relationship with these displays.

The Numitron is simply a seven-segment display built from light bulb filaments. The filaments run at 5 V, and by their nature are current limited.  Seven elements versus the usual ten seen in Nixie tubes reduced the number of switching elements (transistors, relays, or tubes) needed to drive them, and the single low-voltage supply was also much simpler than Nixie or even VFD systems.

Sounds perfect, right? Well, [Alec] has a bone to pick with this technology. The displays were quite dim, poorly assembled, and not very pleasing to look at. RCA didn’t bother tilting the “8” to fit the decimal point in! Even the display background was gray, causing the numbers to wash out in ambient light. Black would have been much better. In [Alec]’s words, the best way to describe the display would be “Janky,” yet he still enjoys them. In fact, he built a fancy retro-industrial-themed clock with them.

The Numitron was not a failure, though — we know variants of this display ended up in everything from gas pumps to aircraft cockpit gauges. You can even build an LED-based replica clock — no glowing filaments necessary.