200 tonnes in 1893: The world’s first synthesiser
When thinking of synthesisers, ubiquitous modern brands such as Moog, Korg, and Clavia immediately come to mind. A fixture of popular culture for decades, these machines have had a significant hand in establishing the technicolour environment that is contemporary music. Yet, as with anything of historical consequence, the synth needed to start somewhere, and much of its tale can be traced back to one man: Thaddeus Cahill. He is the inventor of the Telharmonium, the first electromechanical instrument.
In 1893, the child prodigy-turned-scientific genius learned that tones generated from an electric dynamo could mechanically simulate the qualities produced on instruments such as pianos and violins. His mindset was majorly impacted by the pioneering work of German scientist and philosopher Hermann von Helmholtz in the 1862 book On The Sensations Of Tone.
Von Helmholtz established that the existence of musical notes went far deeper than merely a squiggle on a sheet, the relatively simplistic understanding of music that went back centuries. He affirmed that they comprise components, now commonly known as harmonics, that create tone colours, which, in turn, cause different instruments playing the same note to sound distinct. To show that this was an objective truth, Helmholtz constructed the Helmholtz Resonator, which he used to identify the multitude of frequencies and pitches that occur in music and other complex sounds. A mathematical breakthrough, it provided Thaddeus Cahill with the blueprint with which he would pull music into its electronic future.
Following Cahill’s work, music would gradually leave the arena of the rich and the specially trained by fusing science and engineering. This marriage would be the start of music becoming attainable as a profession or hobby for consumers. While synthesisers as we know them would not be a ubiquitous fixture of culture until well into the 1970s, scientific advancements made music considerably more enjoyable and exciting for anyone interested in playing. Synthesisers in their current form are relatively uncomplicated to play in comparison to the traditional and rather stuffy classical instruments. They also offer much more sonic possibilities.
In a show of the breadth of Cahill’s vision, he envisioned that Alexander Graham Bell’s new and groundbreaking telephone innovation could be fused with his concept for the synthesiser. He envisioned his instrument slowly replacing orchestras and being broadcast across the country, bringing music to the homes of the masses. While the rollout of this notion would ultimately take decades, Cahill’s foresight even rivals that of the great seer, Nostradamus.
Cahill’s version of the synthesiser was the Telharmonium, an early electrical organ. Patented in 1897, the electrical signal from the instrument was transmitted over wires and heard on the receiving end by horn speakers. As with the Hammond Organ, which arrived much later in 1935, the Telharmonium used tonewheels to generate sounds as electric signals by additive synthesis. This sound synthesising technique creates timbre or tone colours by combining sine waves.
Because of this, the Telharmonium is considered the first electromechanical musical instrument. Cahill built three versions of the machine, with the first weighing seven tonnes and the second and third nearly 200, a stark difference to the mobile and lightweight synthesisers we see so ubiquitous today. Notably, each model improved considerably on its predecessor. Reflecting just how far the synth has come, the Telharmonium required 671 kilowatts of power to run and had a tremendous 153 keys. Bringing this into context, on average per month, the average house in the UK uses 225kWh. That’s seven and a half kWh a day. Commonly, a modern synthesiser uses between ten and 20 and is powered by a simple plug.
To showcase Cahill’s instrument of the future, a small number of performances were held for live audiences, alongside multiple goes of the telephone transmissions that the inventor had conceived, which were broadcast into hotels, restaurants, theatres, and even some houses. A selection of the live performances were presented at New York City’s Telharmonic Hall on the corner of 39th and Broadway in 1906. In these, the performer sat behind a console that controlled the instrument. As the mechanism was so large, it occupied an entire room, with wires from the console fed through holes in the auditorium floor into the space housing the Telharmonium below. It was like an otherworldy device from a classic science fiction movie.
While not everyone enjoyed the sound of the Telharmonium, with many highly critical of the development, one forward-thinking audience member present who appreciated what it represented was the eminent author Mark Twain. He said: “The trouble about these beautiful, novel things is that they interfere so with one’s arrangements. Every time I see or hear a new wonder like this I have to postpone my death right off. I couldn’t possibly leave the world until I have heard this again and again.”
Regardless of the Telharmonium’s significance in the history of music and science, its time in the limelight would be brief. By 1907, Cahill and his company weren’t making enough money to cover salaries or maintenance costs, as what was once the instrument of the future was quickly surpassed by more refined and, crucially, smaller models. The advent of more convenient musical instruments, such as Wurlitzers and pianos, with wireless radio not far in the distance, made the Telharmonium obsolete.
Additionally, the hotly-anticipated telephone broadcasts devised by Cahill encountered problems when crosstalk occurred, and telephone users were interrupted by the surreal electronic music of the Telharmonium. While this might have been a rather comedic mishap, it summarised the unavoidable flaws in the technology.
Naturally, Cahill’s company could not stem the tide of the changing times and was declared bankrupt in 1914. He passed away in 1934, with the ownership of the Telharmonium Mark I going to his brother. This was the last version of it to be scrapped, with it finally ripped apart by the mechanical compulsion of the shredder in 1962, an apt analogy for the ruthless nature of time and technological development.
Despite the sad end of the Telharmonium, its significance is foolproof. Cahill spread von Helmholtz’s findings to the masses, and by the 1930s, with the invention of related synthesisers such as the Trautonium and Ondes Martenot, the synthesiser would edge ever closer to the form we know today. Before this sea change occurred, though, it was up to a small set of pioneers of modern music to demonstrate that the synthesiser was indeed a viable musical tool and not, as Mark Twain put it, merely a novel outlet.
