it means every word
20 HP
Set word tiles down its spine and it sings them, a syllable a gate, on the note you send it. Nothing is recorded: the voice is made from nothing. Swap two tiles and the line says something else. It hears your clock and starts each consonant before the beat, so the vowel lands on it.
Turn a knob: drag it or tap either side of it, roll the wheel over it or use the arrow keys; a double click puts it back. STEP clicks between three stops. AGAIN is a button. The tiles are yours: drag one to another slot or off the panel, or click one and then another to swap them; with one picked, the up and down keys move it and Delete takes it off. The patches step on by themselves until you touch something.
the tin click a word, then a slot; or drag it on
example patches
Everything WORD FOR WORD does here is its engine as designed, running in your browser: the voice, its consonants before the beat, the choir. The tiles are drawn: on the module they're small black tiles you hold, each carrying its word, and writing one is done over USB. The band is a stand-in rack.
Eight small black tiles stand down the middle of the panel, held on by magnets, each with a word cut through it. It sings them in the order they stand. Take a tile off and the song closes up round the gap. Swap two and the line says something else. The word being sung lights up through its own letters.
Each tile carries its word, so it's that word in any slot. A tin of printed tiles comes with it, and blank ones: write a word onto a blank and it's that word until you write it again. A blank that's never been written sings "la". A tile with only a comma or a full stop is a rest.
Each gate at SING sings the next syllable on the note at NOTE. While the gate's high the vowel holds; when it falls the word ends with its last consonants. A singer starts a consonant before the beat so the vowel lands on it, and it does the same: it hears when your gates come, round the line, and starts each syllable's consonants that much early. The first time round it sings at sight, a little behind.
The voice is made from nothing: a pulse through a throat's resonances, and a hiss for the consonants. It's an old kind of singing machine, clear and a little uncanny.