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You’re halfway up a muddy hill, rain slapping your visor, and your bike’s engine isn’t just roaring—it’s coughing, spitting, and sounding like it might quit on you any second. That’s the off-road spirit. It’s not polished or predictable; it’s raw, temperamental, and full of character. Today, we’re ditching the smooth racetrack purr and building something that sounds like it’s been dragged through a swamp. And yeah, I might’ve blown out a speaker testing this. Totally worth it.

Step 1: Start with Two Gritty Oscillators

First, turn on Oscillator A1, set its waveform to Saw, push the Voices knob to 4, and twist the Detune knob to 2.1. Then, jump to Oscillator A2, set it to Saw too, set Voices to 4, Detune to 2.1, and nudge the Phase knob to 93°. This makes the engine sound like two rusty pistons arguing inside a tin can — exactly how a dirt bike should sound after a day in the mud.

Step 2: Shape the Engine’s Attitude with the Amp Envelope

Move to the AMP ENV section. Dial the attack down to 0.03 for an instant, snarling bite. Set Decay to 0.4 so the sound dips like it’s gasping for air, hold Sustain at 9.5 to keep it almost roaring (but not quite), and set Release to 0.3 for a short, sputtering exhaust puff. This gives you that "stall-and-surge" feel when you tap a key quickly.

Step 3: Choke the Sound with Filter A

Now, click Filter A, set its type to Paint Paste, slam the Cutoff knob down to 1.8, and crank Resonance to 12. This strangles the high frequencies and leaves a muddy, mid-heavy growl — like your bike’s muffler is clogged with wet dirt.

Step 4: Make It Struggle with Filter Control

Head to Filter Control. Set Cutoff to 3.4, Resonance to 8.1, and flick Warm Drive ON. This makes the engine sound like it’s lugging up a hill, fighting for every rev. Twist the cutoff knob while playing low notes to hear it blub-blub-blub like tires spinning in sludge.

Step 5: Add Unstable Wobbles with Modulation Envelopes

For Mod Env 1, set Attack to 8.5 and assign it to Curve at -0.12. This makes the filter wobble like loose engine parts. Then, for Mod Env 2, set Decay to 4.8, Sustain to 4.0, and assign it to Phase at -7.2. This adds random sputters — like your carburetor’s full of sand.

Step 6: Create Bumps and Backfires with LFOs

Grab LFO 1, set its wave to Ramp, Rate to 1/128T, and Gain to 7.8, and assign it to Curve. This simulates suspension jolts over rocks. Then, take LFO 2, set wave to Lorentz, rate to 1/64T, and gain to 12.0, and assign it to phase. This triggers crackling backfires when you release keys.

Step 7: Pour on the Dirt with FX

In the FX section, crank Distortion to Overdrive at 6.8 and Dry/Wet to 62% for metallic crunch. Set Chorus to Dry/Wet 18% for a faint mechanical smear. For EQ, set Bass Freq to 22 Hz and Treble Gain to 6.0 dB at 2.8 kHz to emphasize grunty mids. Finally, add a noise oscillator (white noise, 15% mix) for tire spray and chain rattle.

Step 8: Play It Like You Stole It

Hold a low note (C1 or C#1 works great) and slowly open the filter cutoff via the mod wheel. Hear that? It’s your bike clawing out of a ditch. Perfect for soundtracks, game engines, or annoying your neighbors at 3 AM.

Why This Feels Alive
Where competition bikes purr, off-road beasts cough. This patch is all about instability: lower mids that sound muddy and thick, random sputters that mimic dirt in the carburetor, and filter sweeps that feel like the engine’s lugging under load. It’s not polished—it’s alive. I tested it while my neighbor was gardening. He yelled, “Sounds like my ‘84 Yamaha!” I grinned. Mission accomplished.

Grab the Preset (Because Knob-Twisting is Hard)
If you’d rather skip the tweaking and get straight to revving, download the off-road motorbike preset right here. Toss it into action scenes, racing games, or that track where the bassline needs to sound like it’s caked in mud.

Pro tip: Assign the mod wheel to filter cutoff. Slowly open it while holding a low note—that’s your bike digging its way out of a ditch. Pure drama. 🏍️💨

Not the shiny, turbocharged ones that purr like kittens, but the kind that sound like they’ve been fed a steady diet of gravel and resentment. You know—the clattering, wheezing, “I-survived-the-90s” vibe of an old car engine. Recreating that in Sylenth1 isn’t just about twisting knobs; it’s about channeling mechanical angst. Buckle up.

Step 1: Start with Oscillator A1—The Cranky Foundation

Every engine needs a heartbeat, and ours begins with the Q-Pulse waveform in Oscillator A1. Set the octave to -2 and keep the voices at 1—this isn’t a choir, it’s a solo act with a smoking habit. The Q-Pulse gives you that raw, uneven throb, like a piston fighting for its life. Now, let’s talk envelopes. Crank the Attack to 0 because this engine starts immediately, no pleasantries. The decay sits at 0.2, a quick dip that mimics the sound of a engine reluctantly agreeing to run. Sustain stays maxed at 10—this car might be old, but it’s stubborn. Release is 0, because when you let go of the key, the noise stops dead, like someone yanked the battery cables.

Step 2: Shape the Filter—The Art of Controlled Chaos

Next, we’re slapping a band-pass filter on this bad boy. Set the cutoff to 3.9 and the resonance to 10, which adds a metallic screech, like a loose fan belt serenading a dumpster. Under Filter Control, nudge the Cutoff to 5.8 and dial the Resonance back to 0.5 to soften the scream into a grumble. The key track at 0.4 means higher notes sound slightly brighter, as if the engine is straining harder when you rev it—like climbing a hill in third gear with a trunk full of bricks.

Step 3: Modulation Envelopes—The Drama Queens

Time to introduce some mood swings. Modulation Envelope 1 starts with an attack of 0 because this engine doesn’t believe in slow starts. The decay of 2.8 lets the sound slump slightly, like a deflating air mattress, before hitting a sustain of 8.4—a wobbly middle ground where the engine pretends it’s fine. The release of 3.7 adds a dying sputter when you lift your finger, like the engine’s final gasp before silence.

Modulation Envelope 2 is simpler but equally dramatic. Attack stays at 0, because patience is overrated. The decay of 1.3 is a quick fade, like a driver slamming the brakes, while the sustain at 10 keeps the volume maxed out—no half-measures here. Release is 0, cutting the sound abruptly, as if the car just stalled in the middle of an intersection.

Step 4: LFOs—The Gremlins in the Machine

LFOs are where the magic (and the mechanical indigestion) happens. LFO 1 uses a saw wave at a 1/16T rate—a jittery, caffeine-fueled rhythm. Set the gain to 2.5 and assign it to pitch A-B at 2.7. This makes the pitch wobble like a misfiring spark plug, creating that “is-it-gonna-die?” tension.

LFO 2 also rocks a saw wave but slows things down with a 1/64T rate. A gain of 1.6 assigned to Volume A-B at 8.1 adds a slow, throbbing pulse to the volume, like the engine’s labored breathing. Drop the resonance to -6.8 to dull the edges, giving it that “buried under a tarp in a barn” texture.

Step 5: Effects—The Digital Junkyard

No vintage sound is complete without a layer of grime. Start with Bit-Crush Distortion set to 4.8 and 100% Dry/Wet. This isn’t subtle—it’s the sonic equivalent of duct tape on a cracked tailpipe. Then, slap on a chorus with 8.8 ms delay, 3.091 Hz frequency, and 40% depth. Keep the width at 100% and dry/wet at 45%. This chorus doesn’t sweeten the sound; it muddies it up, like exhaust fumes pooling in a garage.

Step 6: Play It Like You Mean It

Now, play. Hammer the lower keys for that rumbling idle, then climb up the keyboard to mimic revving. Don’t be too precise—real engines hiccup and stutter. Try uneven rhythms, like a driver pumping the gas pedal to keep the thing alive. Bonus points if you squint while doing it, as if you’re actually peering under a hood.

Final Step: Grab the Preset and Go

If all this knob-twisting feels like trying to fix a carburetor with a butter knife, I’ve got you covered. Download the ready-made preset here, and unlike an old car, it won’t leave you stranded.

There you have it: a synth patch that sounds less like a plugin and more like a midlife crisis on four wheels. Crank it up, and watch your DAW transform into a mechanic’s garage. (Optional: Add a screenshot of a rusty pickup truck to your project for maximum immersion.). Your fans will be so confused.)

Your music could use more dinosaurs. Not the cute, cartoonish ones that sell cereal, but the earth-shaking, tree-crushing, “why-is-the-ground-moving” kind of dinosaurs. The ones that make your subwoofer cry for mercy. I’ve been obsessed with these sounds since I was six, hiding behind the couch during Jurassic Park, convinced a T-Rex was going to bust through the wall. Spoiler: it didn’t. But now, years later, I’ve figured out how to bring that raw, primal energy into Sylenth1. Grab your headphones, and let’s turn your synth into a prehistoric monster.

Step 1: Building the Beast’s Vocal Cords (Oscillators)

Every dinosaur roar starts with the right foundation. Think of oscillators as the creature’s vocal cords. For Oscillator 1, select a saw wave. This waveform is gritty and raw, like the sound of a chainsaw chewing through a redwood. Crank the voices up to 8 and drop the octave to -2. This stacks multiple layers of the saw wave, thickening the sound until it feels like a herd of triceratops stampeding through your speakers.

Next, Oscillator 2 gets a triangle wave. Despite being smoother than saws, triangles still produce a powerful sound, akin to a deep, resonant growl. Set this to 7 voices and -2 octaves too, but shift the phase to 16 degrees. This tweak creates a slight delay between the waves, mimicking the way sound bounces off cave walls or gets muffled by thick jungle air. Together, these oscillators form a roar that’s both massive and textured—think “angry whale meets volcano.”

Step 2: Controlling the Roar’s Shape (Amplitude Envelope)

A dinosaur doesn’t whisper. It doesn’t politely clear its throat. It explodes. Set the amplitude envelope to attack 0.05—this means the sound starts instantly, like a roar that catches you off guard when you’re just picking berries. Decay 5.8 lets the roar fade slowly, as if the dinosaur is pacing around your track, deciding whether to eat the snare drum. Sustain 0 ensures there’s no lingering hum, and release 0.5 gives it a quick tail, like the echo of a roar that’s already stomped away. This envelope makes the sound feel alive, not like a static sample looped to death.

Step 3: Muffling the Monster (Filter)

Even dinosaurs have bad days where their roars come out scratchy. To replicate that muffled, “roaring-through-mud” texture, use a low-pass filter. Set the cutoff to 5 and resonance to 3.3, then flip on Warm Drive. This combo dulls the sharp highs while emphasizing the gritty lows, like the dinosaur’s mouth is full of leaves (or your last mix). The Warm Drive adds a subtle distortion, giving the roar a snarling edge—perfect for when the T-Rex realizes you’ve run out of snacks.

Step 4: Making the Roar Evolve (Modulation Envelopes)

Dinosaurs didn’t scream in monotone. Their voices wobbled, shook, and probably scared the scales off each other. Modulation Envelope 1 is your tool here. Assign it to cutoff (-4.3) and resonance (-2) with an attack of 4.1, decay of 0.091, sustain of 0, and release of 8.7. This makes the filter start closed, slowly open with a growl, then snap shut—like the dinosaur is testing its voice before unleashing hell.

Then, Modulation Envelope 2 takes over. Assign it to pitch (3.2) and distortion amount (3) with attack 2, decay 10, sustain 0, and release 10. This envelope bends the pitch upward and cranks the distortion as the note plays, mimicking a roar that starts as a rumble and erupts into a scream. It’s the audio equivalent of a dinosaur tripping over a log and taking it personally.

Step 5: Adding Grit and Chaos (Distortion & LFO)

No dinosaur screamed cleanly. They had dirt in their teeth, okay? Slap on a bitcrusher with amount 3.8 and dry/wet 100%. This smashes the sound into a crunchy, digital mess, like the roar’s being transmitted through a broken walkie-talkie. Bitcrushing turns polite bass into something that belongs in a tar pit.

Now, the LFO. Set it to a sawtooth wave at rate 2/1 and gain 6.3, then assign it to cutoff (3.5). This LFO slowly sweeps the filter open over time, creating a roar that builds intensity like a predator spotting its lunch. It’s the sonic version of the “Jaws” theme, but with more scales and less ocean.

Step 6: Finishing Touches (Chorus & Reverb)

Even dinosaurs need ambiance. Add a chorus to widen the sound, making it feel like the scream is coming from three dinosaurs harmonizing badly. Then, drench it in reverb—set it to mimic a massive cave or an ancient forest. This gives the roar space to breathe, decay, and haunt your listeners’ dreams. Without reverb, it’s just a loud noise. With reverb, it’s a warning.

Step 7: Download, Save, Tweak, Roar

Download, drag the “Jurassic Thunder” .fxp file into Sylenth1, and watch your synth transform into a prehistoric megaphone. It’s royalty-free, stupidly easy to install, and guaranteed to make your basslines sound like they’ve been stomping through tar pits.

Name your preset something clever, like “Raptor Rampage” or “Brontosaurus Blues.” Experiment with small adjustments: nudge the LFO rate faster for a panicked dinosaur, or dial back the distortion for a sad, lonely roar. My first attempt sounded like a goose trapped in a guitar amp, so don’t sweat it if yours isn’t Spielberg-ready right away.

Final Note: If your neighbors bang on the wall, just yell “ARTISTIC INTEGRITY!” and keep screaming. Dinosaurs didn’t apologize, and neither should you. Now go make something that would’ve scared six-year-old me back behind the couch. 🦖🎛️

I once spent three hours trying to recreate a weird, crunchy sound I heard in a track. I accidentally unplugged my headphones mid-session, and boom—the glitchy chaos that erupted from my speakers became my new obsession. That accidental "jack connect failure" vibe is a thing in electronic music. It’s that sound you’d hear if robots had a heated argument while chewing on broken cables. We’re building it step-by-step in Sylenth1. No PhD in sound design required.

Step 1: Oscillator A1—The Angry Pulse

First, open Sylenth1 and reset the preset so we’re starting fresh. Head to Oscillator A1. For the "Shape," select H-Pulse. This isn’t your gentle, church-bell pulse—it’s sharper, like a microwave beeping at 3 a.m. when you’re trying to sneak leftovers. Set Voices to 8. This stacks multiple copies of the sound, creating a messy, unstable texture—think eight microwaves beeping in different rooms. Crank the Octave knob to +1 to give it depth without turning it into a sub-bass earthquake.

Now, imagine this oscillator as a choir of robots singing off-key. The goal here isn’t harmony; it’s controlled chaos. If it sounds too clean, you’re doing it wrong. Adjust the detune slightly if your brain can handle it, but don’t overthink. We’re aiming for "broken," not "perfected."

Step 2: Amplitude Envelope—The Snappy Start and Slow Death

Next, the amplitude envelope (that’s the "Amp Env" tab). Set Attack to 0.05. This means the sound hits instantly, like a surprise slap from a friend who thinks they’re hilarious. Decay goes to 10, which lets the sound fade out slowly, like the last guest at a party who won’t stop talking about their pet lizard. Sustain stays at 0—no lingering, just a sharp drop after the decay. Release at 0.3 keeps the tail short, so it doesn’t overstay its welcome.

This envelope is key. Too much sustain, and the sound becomes a droning nuisance. Too little decay, and it vanishes before you can say, “Wait, was that it?” Play a note and listen: it should punch in, wobble, then vanish like a bad TikTok trend.

Step 3: Filter—The "I’ve Seen Things" Effect

Click over to the Filter section. Choose bandpass mode. Bandpass filters are like that friend who only lets you hear half the conversation—they carve out everything except a narrow midrange. Set cutoff to 5 and resonance to 9.6. Resonance here is like turning up the drama—it emphasizes the frequencies you’re focusing on, making the sound nasal and tense, like a teenager arguing about curfew.

Now, under Filter Control, adjust the Cutoff to 1.6 and Resonance to 6.7. This tames the harshness slightly but keeps that edgy, “I’m-not-okay” vibe. Enable Warm Drive. This adds subtle distortion, like running the sound through a walkie-talkie found in a 1998 minivan. It’s not clean distortion—it’s the kind that makes your neighbors side-eye you.

Step 4: FX—The Digital Grit

Head to the FX tab. Select Bitcrush. Bitcrushing is the audio equivalent of taking a photo, printing it, scanning it, and then faxing it to your grandma. Set Amount to 4.3 and Wet to 100%. This smears the sound with digital grime, making it crunchy and lo-fi, like a YouTube video uploaded in 2007.

If your ears aren’t bleeding yet, you’re close. Bitcrush here isn’t subtle—it’s the sound of a robot coughing up static. But paired with the bandpass filter, it creates that “broken cable” texture we’re after.

Step 5: Play It Like You Mean It

Now, play some notes. Use short, staccato patterns—this sound isn’t meant for long, emotional chords. It’s for glitches, fills, or that moment in a track where everything falls apart (in a good way). Try automating the filter cutoff while playing to mimic the randomness of a faulty connection.

Pro tip: Layer this patch with a sub-bass or a clean pluck to balance the madness. Alone, it’s like eating a spoonful of chili flakes. Mixed right, it’s the hot sauce that makes the dish.

Why This Works (And Why My Cat Hates It)

The magic here is in the clash of elements: the aggressive pulse, the slow decay, the narrow bandpass, and the unapologetic bitcrush. It’s a sound that says, “I’m not here to soothe you.” My cat, however, disagrees. She once knocked over my coffee trying to escape the room when I tested this patch.

But that’s the point. Music doesn’t always need to be pretty. Sometimes it needs to jolt you to make you wonder, “Is this broken? Or is it genius?” Spoiler: It’s both.

Final Thought: Embrace the Glitch

Creating intentional "failure" sounds is oddly satisfying. It’s like reverse psychology for synths—tell them to malfunction, and they suddenly become interesting. Next time you’re stuck, unplug a cable, twist a knob too far, or let Sylenth1’s grit take over. The best sounds often come from happy accidents… or from annoying your pets.

Now go break something. (But maybe save your project first.)

Download the Preset (Because Life’s Too Short to Start From Scratch)

Look, I get it. Maybe you’re lazy, maybe you’re busy, or maybe you’re just skeptical that my “microwave beeping at 3 a.m.” analogy actually translates to a usable sound. Whatever the reason, I’ve uploaded the preset for you right here. Download it, load it into Sylenth1, and prepare for your cat to judge you.

A few disclaimers:

• This preset works in Sylenth1 version 3.041 or newer. If you’re using a version older than your grandma’s flip phone, update first.

• The bitcrush might make your speakers sound like they’re having a crisis. That’s normal.

• If it doesn’t sound “broken” enough, twist the filter cutoff manually while playing. Sometimes chaos needs a nudge.

There you go! Now you’ve got no excuse not to add some glitchy rebellion to your tracks. Just don’t blame me when your roommate asks, “Is your computer possessed?” Happy sound designing! 🎧🔌

You see, those feathery city-dwellers who strut around like they own the sidewalk and coo like they’re gossiping about your gardening skills. Their signature sound—soft, rhythmic, and just a little bit judgy—is weirdly charming. Maybe you want to add that organic, urban vibe to a track, or perhaps you’re just curious how to turn synth beeps into bird noises. Either way, grab a coffee (or a breadcrumb snack, if you’re feeling avian), and let’s recreate that pigeon coo using Sylenth1.

Step 1: Setting Up the Oscillators (Or, “Why Sine Waves Are a Pigeon’s Best Friend”)

Pigeon coos are smooth, rounded, and slightly wobbly—like a hum that’s had too much espresso. To nail this, we’ll start with Oscillator 1. Set the waveform to sine. This gives us that pure, soft tone, like the pigeon’s voice before it remembers it’s late for a rooftop meeting. Crank the voices up to 5 and detune them just enough to create a subtle chorus effect. Imagine five tiny pigeons harmonizing in your synth.

Now, hop over to Oscillator 2. Same deal: sine wave, 5 voices, but this time, shift the phase to 62 degrees. This adds a slight timing offset between the oscillators, mimicking the natural waver in a real coo. Think of it as one pigeon starting the gossip and another chiming in half a beat later.

Step 2: Shaping the Sound with Envelopes (Or, “How to Make a Synth Sound Like It’s Breathing”)

Pigeon coos don’t just start—they swell in, linger, and fade out like a nosy neighbor slowly closing their window. Head to the amplitude envelope and dial in these settings:

• Attack: 0.777 (a gentle rise, like the pigeon inhaling dramatically).

• Decay: 4.791 (the coo peaks, then mellows out).

• Sustain: 0.610 (it holds that mid-volume hum).

• Release: 0.782 (the sound trails off like a pigeon realizing you’re out of crumbs).

This envelope gives the coo its “living” quality. Without it, you’d have a flat beep—and pigeons are anything but boring.

Step 3: Filters—Because Pigeons Don’t Sing in Hi-Fi

Real pigeon coos aren’t crystal clear. They’re muffled, mid-focused, and slightly gritty, as if filtered through a layer of feathers and existential dread. Click on Filter A, set it to band pass, and adjust the cutoff to 4.9 and resonance to 2.2. Choose the 12 dB option to keep things smooth. This carves out the harsh highs and rumbly lows, leaving that signature mid-range “murr” sound.

Now, under Filter Control, nudge the cutoff to 4.753 and resonance to 4.467. Activate Warm Drive to add a touch of analog-style grit. It’s like giving your pigeon a cup of strong coffee—suddenly, its coo has attitude.

Step 4: Modulation—The Secret to Pigeon Drama

Pigeons aren’t robots (though they do have a killer poker face). To add movement, we’ll use Modulation Envelope 1. Assign it to the filter’s cutoff at -5.067 and set the envelope:

• Attack: 1.965 (the filter opens slowly, like a curious pigeon peeking around a corner).

• Decay: 2.000 (it settles into the main tone).

• Sustain: 5.227 (it holds that open-filter warmth).

• Release: 10 (the sound closes gently, like a pigeon tucking its head under a wing).

Next, Modulation Envelope 2 gets assigned to pitch at -5.6. Set the attack to 0, decay to 0.045, sustain to 0, and release to 10. This creates a quick pitch drop at the start of each note, mimicking the “gurgle” in a coo. It’s the audio equivalent of a pigeon tripping over a twig but playing it cool.

Step 5: LFOs—Because Even Pigeons Have Mood Swings

Time to wobble. LFO 1 should have a rate of 1/8, a gain of 3.933, and a sine waveform. Assign it to pitch at 4.6 for a gentle vibrato. This mimics the tiny fluctuations in a pigeon’s voice when it’s debating whether to fly away or demand your sandwich.

LFO 2 uses a ramp waveform at a 1/16 rate and 9.7 gain, assigned to cutoff at -4.4. This creates a rhythmic “pulsing” in the filter, like the coo is bouncing off brick walls. Pair this with a smirk, because you’re basically giving your pigeon synth a heartbeat.

Step 6: FX & EQ—The Urban Grit

Pigeons aren’t recording in pristine studios—they’re out here surviving city life. Add a Bit Crusher with an amount of 3.5 and dry/wet at 38%. This grates on the sound, like your pigeon coo is coming through an old intercom.

For the EQ, use a 2-pole curve. Boost the bass by 0.3 dB at 75 Hz (for a subtle chestiness) and the treble by 3.2 dB at 1.5 kHz (to highlight the coo’s “texture”). Now it sounds like your pigeon is perched on a fire escape, not trapped in a synth plugin.

Step 7: Save, Tweak, and Release Your Inner Pigeon

Once everything’s set, save your preset as “City Pigeon Supreme” or something equally ridiculous. Play with the knobs—maybe nudge the LFO rate faster for a nervous bird or slower for a zen pigeon meditating on a power line.

And if your first attempt sounds more like a squeaky door than a bird, don’t panic. My cat once hissed at my early version, so you’re in good company. Practice, tweak, and remember: pigeons aren’t perfect, and neither does your sound need to be.

Preset Download: If you’d rather skip the tweaking and get straight to cooing, download the preset HERE. Load it into Sylenth1, and prepare for your tracks to sound like a rooftop symphony.

Now go forth and make some pigeon magic. And if anyone asks why you’re obsessed with bird sounds, just say you’re “exploring urban soundscapes.” They’ll nod respectfully, and you’ll know the truth. 🐦✨

I tried to recreate the sound of my neighbor’s leaf blower fighting a hairdryer. Why? Because I needed a whoosh-clank-hiss noise for a video project, and nothing in my sample library sounded "angry" enough. After three cups of coffee and one accidental synth preset that made my dog bark at the speakers, I finally figured it out. This "Cyclone Air Violence" effect is the kind of noise you’d use for robot tantrums, sci-fi machine glitches, or making your Zoom meetings sound like they’re happening inside a broken spaceship. Let’s get into it.

Step 1: Pick the Noisiest Oscillators

Open Sylenth1 and reset everything. For Oscillator A1, choose the Noise waveform (not a typo—it’s that gritty one in the list). Set the voices to 4. This isn’t for harmony; it’s for layering static, like four radios tuned to different dead channels. For Oscillator A2, also grab Noise, but bump the voices to 6 and set the phase to 94 degrees. Now it’s six radios arguing with each other. Perfect.

Step 2: Make It Loud, Then Quiet

Go to the Amp Envelope. Set Attack to 0.05 (so it starts immediately, like someone slamming a car door), Decay to 10 (so it fades out slowly, like a car alarm dying in the distance), Sustain to 0 (no lingering), and Release to 0.6 (so it doesn’t cut off suddenly). This shape makes the sound burst in, overstay its welcome, then leave without saying goodbye.

Step 3: Filter Out the Annoying Bits

In Filter A, set Cutoff to 4.5 kHz and Resonance to 3.8. Crank Drive to 3.1. This turns the noise from "static mess" to "angry robot clearing its throat." Under Filter Control, set Cutoff to 4.6 kHz and Resonance to 7.1, then flip Warm Drive ON. Now it sounds less like a robot and more like a robot that’s been oiled.

Step 4: Make It Move (So It Doesn’t Sound Flat)

Use the Modulation Envelope. Assign it to Filter Cutoff with a value of -2.7. Set Attack to 0, Decay to 3.2, Sustain to 0, and Release to 0. This makes the sound start sharp and get muffled over time, like someone throwing a blanket over the angry robot.

Step 5: Add Two LFOs for Chaos

LFO 1: Choose SmpHold, set Rate to 1/1 (synced to your project tempo), Gain to 2.7, and assign to Cutoff at -3.4. This adds a jerky, stuttering effect—like a CD skipping inside a microwave.
LFO 2: Pick Lorenz (the wobbly one), set Rate to 1/8, Gain to 6.6, and assign to Cutoff at -2.6. Now the sound wobbles unpredictably, like a washing machine walking down stairs.

Step 6: Rough It Up (But Not Too Much)

Add Bitcrush distortion: Amount at 5, Wet at 0.2. This gives the sound a crunchy edge, like stepping on dry leaves. Then turn on the Chorus: Time at 8.8 ms, rate at 0.6 Hz, depth at 40%, dual mode ON, width at 100%, wet at 30%. This makes the noise feel like it’s spinning around your ears.

Step 7: Test It (And Scare Someone)

Hit a note. If it sounds like a vacuum cleaner having an existential crisis, you’re done. If not, tweak the decay time or LFO rates. Too harsh? Lower the resonance. Too boring? Turn up the drive.

Download the Preset
Don’t want to build it yourself? Grab the preset here and drop it into your project. Use it for game sound effects, video transitions, or to prank your roommate when they’re trying to nap.

Final thought: Pair this with a deep bass "boom," and you’ve got instant drama. Or just use it to announce your coffee breaks. Either way, it’s a win. 🍃💥

May your noise always be noisy.

I thought DJing was all about spinning records and looking cool: I was wrong. There’s a lot more to it than just waving your hands around like you’re conducting an invisible orchestra. It all started with a cheap MIDI controller, a dream, and a whole lot of confusion.

One lazy Sunday afternoon, I was sitting in my tiny home studio, staring at my computer screen, trying to figure out how to make my beats sound less…robotic. I wanted that raw, gritty texture you hear in hip-hop tracks—the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing in a dimly lit club, surrounded by people who actually know how to dance. But here’s the thing: I didn’t own turntables, and my scratching skills were, well, nonexistent.

That’s when I stumbled upon Xfer Serum. If you’re not familiar, Serum is this magical synth that lets you create sounds so rich and detailed, it’s like having a full orchestra in your laptop. But I didn’t just want any old sound. I wanted that sound—the one that makes people stop and say, “Wait, is that real vinyl?”

I discovered a way to make Serum produce hyper-realistic vinyl scratches without needing a turntable or a degree in sound engineering.

HERE’S HOW IT WORKS:

First, forget everything you’ve seen online about using the noise section to create scratches. Sure, it works, but it sounds about as authentic as a plastic tree. Instead, I dug deeper into Serum’s capabilities, using its powerful wavetable and modulation features to replicate the gritty texture of real vinyl. That gives scratches that feel like they’ve been ripped straight from a DJ’s turntable.

These presets aren’t just for one genre—but for hip-hop, EDM, or even turntablism-style production. These sounds adapt effortlessly for adding a subtle scratch to a beat or going full-on DJ mode. Also, the HS-crush effects, which add that essential distortion and character to your scratches. It’s like giving your tracks a pair of worn-in sneakers—they just feel right.

The best part is that you don’t need any fancy equipment. No turntables, no vinyl, no mess. Just load the presets into Serum, tweak a few knobs, and you’re ready to scratch like a pro. It’s instant playability at its finest.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “This sounds too good to be true.” But don’t just take my word for it. Here’s what DJ X had to say: “I’ve been using DJ scratch sounds for years, but nothing compares to the realism of these Serum presets. They feel like real vinyl, adding that authentic DJ vibe to my tracks!”

So, if you’re ready to take your music to the next level, head over to my Serum Vinyl DJ Scratch Presets download section. These presets are exclusive, unique, and designed to bring the turntable experience straight into your DAW. Trust me, your tracks will thank you.

Probably creating from scratch is what you're looking for, then go here to learn how to make Serum Vinyl DJ Scratch Presets now!

Happy scratching!

A few years back, I fell in love with a song that felt like it’d been made by musical wizards. You know the type—the kind of track that makes you wonder, "Who even thinks of these melodies?" But it wasn’t magic. It was a producer named Clara, a songwriter named Diego, and a session guitarist who probably drinks way too much coffee. But figuring that out was its own adventure.

See, I used to think musicians only earned cash by playing live shows. Then I learned about royalties, sync deals, and that mysterious thing called publishing. Suddenly, credits mattered. If Clara, Diego, or Coffee Guitarist weren’t properly listed, they’d miss out on earnings every time someone streamed, covered, or hummed their song in the shower. But how do you even find those names? Here’s what I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way to check song credits or to know who else produced a song.

Spotify’s Hidden Treasure (No, Not the Music)

One lazy afternoon, I clicked the three dots next to a song title on Spotify out of sheer boredom. Lo and behold, “View Credits” popped up like a secret door. Inside, there is a list of names: writers, producers, even the studio engineer who probably tweaked the snare drum for three hours. It’s like finding the “Special Thanks” section of a movie but for your ears. Now I check it constantly. (I once discovered my neighbor’s cousin co-wrote a viral TikTok hit. Small world.)

It's also where you’ll spot ghost producers—the unsung heroes who make tracks in the shadows. Take David Guetta’s early EDM bangers. Tracks like “Titanium” or “Where Them Girls At” list collaborators like Giorgio Tuinfort or Frédéric Riesterer in the credits, even if their names aren’t splashed on the album cover. Or KSHMR, who ghost-produced for massive artists before becoming a festival headliner himself. These folks might not show up on the master recording’s label, but they’re hiding in plain sight in the credits.

When In Doubt, Ask a Music Nerd (Or Visit Discogs)

Discogs is where music lovers go to geek out. Think of it as Wikipedia’s cooler cousin who owns every vinyl ever pressed. I’ve spent hours there digging through credits for obscure ’80s synthpop bands. It’s user-curated, so details can get wildly specific. Ever wanted to know who played tambourine on a B-side from 1997? Discogs knows. It’s also a goldmine for indie artists—I once found my friend’s basement-recorded EP listed next to a Madonna album. Surreal, but proof everyone gets a seat at the table.

Lyric Sites: Not Just for Karaoke

I used to visit lyric sites to avoid butchering high notes in my car. Then I noticed tiny text at the bottom: “Written by [Name], Produced by [Other Name].” Sites like Musixmatch or LyricFind don’t just help you nail (oops—land) the chorus. They’re low-key credit detectives. I once googled a producer listed there and found out he’d also worked on my childhood favorite TV theme song. Life came full circle that day.

Jaxsta (Or, “Why Can’t I Have Nice Things For Free?”)

Jaxsta was my gateway drug into music credits. I signed up, marveled at its sleek database, then promptly learned it’s now subscription-only. Cue sad trombone. But their partnership with Vampr means some features live on. Still, it’s a reminder that accurate credits are valuable—literally. Professionals use tools like this because missing a name can mean missing a paycheck. Case in point: ever heard of Avicii’s breakout hit “Wake Me Up”? The credits quietly include Dutch producer Michael Aaron Einziger, proving even chart-toppers often have hidden architects.

Muso.ai: For When You’re Fancy (But Not Too Fancy)

Muso.ai is the future, minus the robot overlords. It’s a hub for credits, collaboration, and—yes—even some AI magic. For serious creators, it’s a solid way to track who did what, especially if you’re working with folks across time zones. Just don’t let the AI steal your job.

Why This All Matters (Besides Bragging Rights)

Credits are legal proof you helped make the thing. If you’re a songwriter or producer, proper credits ensure you get paid when the song’s on the radio, in a commercial, or soundtracking someone’s questionable dance moves. But even if your distributor lists your name, you still need to join a Performance Rights Organization (ASCAP, BMI, etc.) and a publishing administrator. Otherwise, royalties might as well be hiding in your couch cushions.

This is doubly true for ghost producers. Imagine creating a track that becomes the backbone of a Billboard hit, only to miss out on royalties because your name wasn’t in the credits. Oof. That’s why platforms like Spotify’s credit section or Jaxsta matter—they’re the paper trail that connects your work to your wallet.

So, next time you’re vibing to a track, peek behind the curtain. See who’s there. And if you’re creating music, double-check those credits, then get yourself registered. Because Coffee Guitarist—and every behind-the-scenes beat wizard—deserves their latte money.

P.S. If you’re ready to stop losing track of your royalties, check out Songtrust. They handle the publishing admin stuff so you can focus on making music—or, you know, figuring out how to program that synth loop without owl noises.

Monsters are real.

Not under your bed, maybe, but definitely in movies, games, and that podcast your cousin won’t stop talking about.

Hi, I’m Hewlaq, a sound designer who’s spent the last decade making growls, howls, and unidentifiable screeches that’ll make your hair stand up. Monster sounds so raw; they’ll have you checking the closet before bed.

Why Monster Sounds Are Every Creator’s Secret Weapon

Monsters aren’t just for jump scares. They’re the heartbeat of tension in horror films, the “oh no” moment in video games, and the reason audiences lean closer. A great monster sound is a character. Think about the last time a movie creature made your spine tingle. Chances are, it wasn’t the CGI claws. It was the guttural rumble you felt in your teeth. That’s the magic we’re chasing.

Why My Sounds Don’t Sound Like Your Uncle’s Garage Band

I don’t use samples. Or even presets, most days. Every growl, roar, and eerie whisper in my library comes from analog synthesizers (plugins)—the kind with knobs, and a bad habit of shocking me when I forget to ground them. These virtual machines are finicky, unpredictable, and glorious. Because they’re analog, no two sounds are identical. That demonic purr you hear is a one-of-a-kind recipe of oscillators, filters, and my questionable life choices during a 3 a.m. recording session.

Where These Sounds Come Alive

Imagine an indie game developer using my “Swamp Beast Howl” to make players drop their controllers. Or a haunted house team syncing my “Alien Hive Drones” to a flickering light. I’ve even had a baker use my “Ghostly Wail” in a Halloween cookie ad (true story—those cookies sold out). These sounds aren’t just for “scary” projects. Throw a distorted growl under a corporate training video, and suddenly, compliance guidelines feel way more intense.

“Wait, you made that noise?!”–Happy Clients

A filmmaker once emailed me, “Used your ‘Dragon’s Cough’ sound in my short film. The lead actor thought we’d mic’d up an actual bear. We didn’t correct him.” Another client, a game developer, joked that my “Robot Zombie Chitter” caused their playtesters to develop a new phobia of ceiling vents. My favorite? A teacher who used my “Gentle Giant Whimper” to teach kids about empathy. Monsters have layers, people.

How to Grab These Sounds (Without Summoning Actual Demons)

• Head to my Pond5 "Monsters" section here.
• Browse the growls, clicks, and things that go thump in the night (Pro tip: don’t do this at 2 a.m. with headphones on.)
• Download the ones that make your project’s hair stand on end.
• Blame me when your audience starts sleeping with the lights on.

Go Make Something Unforgettable

Monster sounds are more than background noise—they’re the secret sauce that turns “meh” into “WHAT WAS THAT?!” Whether you’re crafting a game, film, or experimental polka album, my analog synth creations are here to add a little chaos. Refer to the collection, and remember: if your neighbors hear growling through the walls, tell them it’s just the microwave.

Click here to raid the monster vault. (No actual microwaves were harmed in the making of these sounds.)