If you follow my work online, you’ve probably seen the small motor drones I make. They’re simple wooden boxes with a hobby motor inside and an instrument output that carries the sound of the motor as I slow it down and speed it up.

On its own, the signal isn’t especially exciting, but things change once it runs through effects like reverb and harmonizers.

And that’s what I’m playing here on this episode. A 60 minute excerpt from an upcoming album called "Wherever You Are", featuring a slowly shifting wall of gentle, melodic drone.

While the full album runs three hours and forty minutes, this podcast version is slightly shorter due to hosting limits. The complete, unedited version will be released on all major streaming platforms later this week.

Want to recreate these sounds on your own projects?

Starting in March of 2026, I’ll be offering these drone boxes to my Patreon subscribers. Members at the "All-Access" tier will get details on availability, and they’ll also be able to download the full album to use as they wish.

Check it out at Patreon.com/thesoundofmachines

This second episode drops us back into one of the Sound of Machines community meetups — the kind of space where unfinished ideas are welcome, strange tools are encouraged, and nobody feels pressure to explain themselves too much.

We start with Thad, who describes himself not as a musician or sound artist, but as someone who likes to make toys. What he puts on the table is a series of small, handmade noise boxes built around contact microphones and simple materials: springs under tension, bits of metal, wood, and anything else that responds well to vibration. It’s a reminder that contact mics don’t just amplify sound — they reveal what’s already happening inside an object. Springs scrape. Wood creaks. Metal rings in ways you don’t hear until you’re listening from the inside.

Thad’s setup extends into software as well: an old, exposed laptop running Linux and Guitarix, paired with a custom MIDI controller. Physical knobs control digital effects, loops can be recorded and warped, and visitors are invited to interact with the system like a kind of sonic zen garden. The sound quality isn’t the point. The interaction is.

There is a short aside about apprehension engines.

That theme carries into Jey’s work, which moves sharply toward performance art. Jey uses contact mics as part of a live, physical, and intentionally unsettling practice. Objects become props. Sound becomes gesture. A contact mic in the mouth captures screams without the feedback problems of a traditional microphone, while also reinforcing the visual intensity of the performance. Horror isn’t an aesthetic add-on here — it’s the structure.

Jey talks about noise as a spectrum rather than a category, and about boredom as a creative enemy. Standing still behind a table isn’t enough. The body has to be involved. Objects carry meaning. Even something as simple as a head scratcher becomes an instrument when amplified and performed with intention.

We also learned about the genre called Trash Core.

As the conversation opens up, we hear from Henry, who offers one of the quiet insights of the episode: when you loop noise long enough, it stops sounding like noise. Not because it becomes prettier, but because your brain starts to recognize patterns. Familiarity replaces confusion. Listening changes.

There is a brief aside about Radio Garden.

Henry demonstrates this way of thinking through experiments with frame drums, magnets, cinnamon, and resonance. By adding small amounts of mass in precise locations, he reshapes how surfaces vibrate. Singing...