I’m drawn to instruments and interfaces that feel intuitive and inviting, but not so clean that they lose their character. Design should have a bit of soul, something that moves you. It shouldn’t be too polite. Even if you can’t quite explain why, it just needs to have presence. When an instrument has that, it pulls you in. Even the smallest details, the shape of a knob, the glow of a light, can make you want to explore further.
I’ve always admired musicians who have a recognizable sound, when you hear just a few notes and instantly know it’s them. That identity comes from their choices, the tones, textures, and imperfections that make their work feel personal. I think design can do the same thing. An instrument can have an identity, a voice of its own. It can carry a certain energy or mood, offering a glimpse into the world that inspired it.
The design of Astrax grew out of that idea. It ended up with an unusual faceplate, with two large cutouts, almost like wounds, revealing parts of the PCB beneath. Some might see that as impractical, but it felt right to me. I wanted to recreate as closely as possible the vision I had in my mind, a futuristic design with that weird look.
In the end, design, like music, is about following a feeling. Sometimes that means taking risks or breaking from what’s expected. If it makes someone stop, look, and feel something, then it’s done its job.
