In an era where digital audio is ubiquitous, Benn Jordan excavates a forgotten analog frontier where the hum of a model train track once carried the roar of a locomotive. This piece is not merely a nostalgia trip; it is a forensic investigation into a $1,500 1965 technology that fused industrial engineering with high-fidelity sound synthesis, revealing a time when the cost of a Volkswagen bought you a custom-built audio engine. Jordan argues that these obscure devices represent a unique collision of history and technology that modern synthesizers have largely erased.
The Engineer Behind the Choo-Choo
Jordan centers the narrative on Robert Long Necker, an IBM engineer whose hobbyist obsession led to a breakthrough in audio engineering. The author writes, "Bob decided to take a break from inventing dram or whatever IBM was doing at the time and instead um make model trains sound like real trains." This framing effectively humanizes the technological leap, shifting the focus from cold specs to the eccentric drive of a single individual. Jordan notes that while Bob Moog was revolutionizing music synthesis on the other side of the country, Long Necker was quietly doing the same for the miniature world of model railroading.
The core of the argument rests on the sheer complexity of the hardware. Jordan explains that the Pacific Fast Mail (PFM) system was not just a speaker; it was a "clever redesign of the master Drive controller" that could synthesize audio in sync with the electrical power sent to the tracks. This synchronization allowed for dynamic sound effects like the Doppler effect and exhaust noise that changed with the train's speed. The author highlights the obscurity of this achievement, noting, "synthesizers weren't exactly popular and were pretty obscure when Bob was first developing this stuff." This context is crucial; it positions the model train synthesizer not as a toy, but as a parallel evolution of electronic music technology that went largely unnoticed by the mainstream.
"When you adjust that for inflation that's like 12 or $133,000 so it it would be reasonable to assume that anybody who owned this at the time was not hungry."
Jordan's observation on the pricing underscores the exclusivity of this technology. By comparing the original $1,500 price tag to the cost of a Volkswagen, the author illustrates that this was a luxury item for the wealthy, which likely contributed to its limited adoption and eventual obscurity. Critics might note that the high cost was also a barrier to innovation, preventing the technology from evolving into a more accessible format before digital synthesis took over. However, Jordan's point stands: this was a niche, high-end product that required significant resources to maintain.
The Hardware and the Hazards
The commentary shifts to a hands-on analysis of the hardware, where Jordan's expertise in electronics shines. He describes the "quadr tape unit," a device capable of running nine tape loops simultaneously to reproduce virtually any sound. "It's been really hard to verify what the original pricing was but I believe that the pfm Mark I had originally retailed for $1,500," Jordan writes, emphasizing the difficulty in reconstructing the history of these devices. The author's willingness to open the units and solder new connections demonstrates a deep engagement with the material, moving beyond passive observation to active restoration.
Jordan provides a stark warning about the dangers of working with vintage electronics. "When I first opened this up I saw these capacitors and was like nope absolutely not not touching this at all," he admits, before explaining that the components were actually safe compared to modern equivalents. He clarifies that while the capacitors in this 1960s unit were large, they were rated for only 35 volts, unlike the dangerous high-voltage capacitors found in modern HVAC systems. "If you touch it when it's charged you will meet your maker," Jordan warns, offering a practical lesson in electronics safety that adds a layer of urgency to the historical exploration.
The author also touches on the legacy of Long Necker, revealing that the engineer's grandson is a popular YouTuber named Heist who continues to explore his grandfather's work. "I reached out to Heist to see if he wanted me to send this stuff to him CU it is his grandfather's Legacy after all," Jordan writes, highlighting the personal connection that ties this obscure history to the present day. This connection adds emotional weight to the technical analysis, reminding readers that behind every piece of vintage technology is a human story.
"I love things like this because it's such a good Testament to how much more efficient electronics are now a capacitor with similar specs now would be like maybe that big."
This reflection on technological efficiency serves as a poignant reminder of how far electronics have come. Jordan's comparison of the massive 1960s capacitors to their modern, miniature counterparts illustrates the rapid pace of innovation in the field. It also underscores the fragility of this history; without enthusiasts like Jordan and Heist, these devices and the knowledge of how they worked could easily be lost to time.
Bottom Line
Benn Jordan's exploration of model train synthesizers is a masterclass in connecting niche history to broader technological trends. The strongest part of the argument is the revelation that high-fidelity audio synthesis was being developed for model trains in the 1960s, a fact that challenges the standard narrative of electronic music history. The piece's biggest vulnerability is the lack of concrete documentation on the devices' commercial failure, leaving some questions about why they didn't gain wider traction unanswered. Readers should watch for further investigations into how these forgotten technologies influenced the broader landscape of electronic sound design.
"This is a video about history and technology and culture all colliding in the fascinating vessel of little tiny choo choo trains."
Jordan's final assessment is that these devices are more than just toys; they are artifacts of a time when the boundaries between hobbyism and professional engineering were fluid. By bringing these obscure machines back to life, the author ensures that the legacy of Robert Long Necker and his unique contribution to audio technology is not forgotten.