#yamaha cs-80

[mudwerks]

FB theft

[benjamindehli]

Yamaha CS-80 Blade Runner sound on a DX7

The Yamaha CS-80 and Yamaha DX7 are probably polar opposites in both operation and sound. The CS-80 is an analog subtractive synthesizer, whereas the DX7 is a digital synthesizer that uses frequency modulation (FM) synthesis. The only thing they really have in common is the Yamaha brand name.

This experiment was an attempt to see if I could make the DX7 sound somewhat close to the iconic CS-80 sound famously used by Vangelis in the Blade Runner soundtrack.

The DX7 patch will soon be available for download at store.dehlimusikk.no as part of a DX7 bank/cartridge I'm currently working on.

Instrument:

Yamaha DX7 

Effects: 

Fulltone Tube Tape Echo

Chase Bliss Audio & Meris CXM 1978 

Music: Main Titles from the Blade Runner soundtrack by Vangelis

[vizreef]

cgi renders for the Xils Lab The Eighty soft synth clone of Yamaha's CS-80 (France, 2025)

[rubbish-audio]

Moog 3p modular, Synclavier II, Yamaha CS 80, Minimoog, Korg MS-20 and various other instruments at the Deutsches museum

[daddysmusicblog]

The mighty Yamaha CS-80. Produced from 1977 to 1980 for a hefty price of $6900 US. Not many are left in working condition. Mint examples of this glorious machine will set yet back about $60k US. The CS80 was a favorite of the late great composer Vangelis.

This massive machine was also a big part of making Michael Jackson's Thriller album and Toto IV. A very complex marvel of the state of art in electrical components like silicon chips and microprocessors.

You can also hear the CS-80 in the 1980 revision of the Doctor Who theme.

[acidmoustache]

Vangelis - Yamaha CS-80

[drwhosoundtrackshowdown]

Doctor Who Theme: Round 1

Seasons 18-22

"The new theme was arranged by Peter Howell using his Yamaha CS-80, ARP Odyssey and Roland Jupiter 4 synthesisers as well as his EMS Vocoder, and some additional processing to that recording. [...] The opening and closing themes followed the pattern set in 1970 [...] However, Howell's theme began in the key of F-sharp minor. This obligated incidental music composers to end their final cue of the episode in the highly unusual key, or something complimentary. Howell therefore has called himself "the guy who just made it difficult for everybody". (DCOM: Meglos) Beyond this unusual feature, his opening remained unchanged aside from some very minor alterations to coincide with the revised Sixth Doctor opening sequence from The Twin Dilemma and his closing included the "middle eight" and ended with an explosive sound (nicknamed the "sonic boom" and complimented by the white-out effect at the end of the credits). This theme was used from Season 18 through Season 22."

Season 23

"Season 23 saw another new arrangement by Dominic Glynn. It was more haunting and ethereal than the previous themes, but very similar to Peter Howell's arrangement in most respects (enough so that the opening graphics remained unchanged from the final Howell season). The theme was in the E Minor key."

[randomstranger24]

The synths used in Sweet Dreams of the Thrift Shop Tape reminds me a lot of the Blade Runner soundtrack with the brass synths from the Yamaha CS-80. Is it true that both of these synths are similar and sound the same or are they different from each other?

For that track, surprisingly, I believe The Yamaha Reface CS. I think and I don't remember what else because of how long ago I recorded it plus the hundreds of tracks I made. It's truly ridiculous lol. I know for a fact, no like old school vintage collectable synth was used. But man,,,it would be fucking amazing to get my hands on the "Yamaha CS-80". I can dream though lol.

[sky-the-alt]

Well, okay, ik I said I quit but fffuck. 222 lbs. I'm officially heavier than a Yamaha CS-80. Fuck yeah

[alanbates]

Spiral (1977)

“Going on means going far — going far means returning”

It is Vangelis' first album on which he used the Yamaha CS-80. He played every single instrument on it too.

[nervoussystemmusicreverence]

Pages - You Need A Hero

Music

Artist

Pages

Composer

John Ross Lang Richard James Page Steven Park George

Lyricist

John Ross Lang Richard James Page Steven Park George

Produced

Bobby Colomby

Credit

Neil Stubenhaus - Bass Jeff Porcaro - Drums Steve Khan - Electric guitar Steve George - Electric Piano [Fender Rhodes], Synthesizer [Yamaha CS-80 & Minimoog], Backing Vocals Paulinho DaCosta - Percussion Richard Page - Vocals, Backing Vocals

Released

1981

[larissaligus]

Photos by mess_ltd

Legendary guitarist John Frusciante dropped in for a studio tour and a jam on the Yamaha CS-80 🌶 Thanks for dropping by John, hope to see you again!

[bluebirdofturtles]

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Steve Porcaro and the Yamaha CS-80.

[captaindidiermanchione]

YAMAHA CS-80, Space Ambient Music, Beautiful And Powerful Synth Music 2025

[datingcentralauckland]

Dwell in spells

Strange to distill

All the horrors into a Hiku

A statement of fate

To free one’s self from fate

Perhaps a good intro is Late Night Alumni, Empty Streets, with Jay Aliyev, I Can High, “I always used to feel like, a lonely soul without a home, but now I’ve come to realize, I’m right where I belong.  The city feels clean this time of night, just empty streets and me walking home to clear my head.” It has an Edward Hopper stillness to time, like Nighthawk 1942, is an eternal haunting from a previous life, for something I did.  It reminds me of the nightclub I used to work at, techno and hip hop. Time has seemed to forgotten about me.

Music anthology- bare feet, 1960-70’s records in the 1980’s electronic age. Tapes, compact disks, radio stations, Deep Forest, pirate hip hop, Hendrix, bonfires, beer kegs, Eagles, and beach guitars. Night club bar work, London Techno, West Coast Rap, hard rock and heavy metal hang-out clicks.

A re-popped vintage home audio system, guitar amp conversion, has been on my mind a lot lately. Grateful Dead’s Wall of sound used MacIntosh MC-2300, Pioneer and Marantz sound very good as vintage receivers. Audio interface, and network music streamers can modernize vintage audio with Bluetooth and Wi-Fi receivers. Holy grail synthesizers include the Yamaha CS-80 that was used in blade Runner. More modest synthesizers would include The Roland JD-800 & Jupiter 8, and Korg 8 & M1, Yamaha CS-80 & DX-7, Waldorf Wave, and Minimoog.

High end Vintage table top wood case tube radio amp conversion with amp input jack and vintage microphone input jack for wind, wood and wire, and classical guitars would make a nice complement. The warm tones would suit a Cajon Drum Box and Handpan Drum. The high-end live grunge mid-range hang-out would include a nice Arabian rug, 80’s décor, bean bags, and perhaps even a lava lamp. Tape decks can record and provide backing music and a tactile interplay with live sound as a total vintage home audio aesthetic. Old equipment can be reconditioned with high-quality materials, including higher-quality insulated wires, and silver, as it is a better conductor and relatively cheap to source.

Japan came out with some Vintage Techno Hardware along the time dance music was kicking off in England and Germany. Echo units, drum machines, effect units, have a range of interactive uses and you could play electric guitar through a techno effects unit. This would all centre around a vintage analogue mixer, with complete system synthesis in functionality, style, and aesthetics.

Café Gossip

Working in the clubbing scene on a bar, looks like slave work, but I do miss the old version of me, it seems to have rotted with this idea of young love. All the relationships are broken like tea cups in a fine China shop. I may be romanticizing the potential. Sasha Alex Sloan version of Two Pilots, Dancing with Your Ghost reminds me of this lost world. An afterthought would be Zonoma & Sara Farell – Somebody Else, which is such a beautiful song. Perhaps it is in the wrong order, perhaps it is not. MollonoBass & Ava Asante - Feeling Good reminds me of the sunshine of nightwork, when the violin breaks through the clouds.

How did these beauties fall into my arms, Reflekt Feat. Delline Bass - Need to Feel Loved (Adam K & Soha Vocal Mix). Perhaps a little rain-soaked bodies under the street lamps, SOEL & Rinzen – Meliora. My love has always been greater than my reality, my mind, has always been quieter than the hope. Now it is dating by smartphone brands and credit card access. I think I am a ghost to all the love around me, or perhaps I am a god, lost in the wrong world.

It wasn’t the college experience I got, but now all the empty people of the past are stuck on Deadmau5 & Kaskade, I Remember, and apparently, it is called reflective glory. I really need to insert 4 Strings, Take Me Away here, an oldie but a goodie.

I should be more interested in things, Delerium feat. Sarah McLachlan – Silence. What does all this silence do in the end anyway? Internal narratives are a form of hell looking at itself, Sneaker Pimps - 6 Underground. When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the memories. There are three major fracture points in fate, high school and leaving, nightclubs and leaving, family and leaving. If I could sum it up its optimism of opportunity lost reminds me of, DJ Rui Da Silva, Touch Me.

I don’t mind losing me, I’m good, I don’t even know me. Some songs kind of remind me of being a kid, like Enya, Caribbean Blue, but its all just embellishments on stuff. I guess imagination and possibility has a high brain spark imprint, not the physical reality recall, just the feeling.

Where am I now in this reality and does it really matter, are we not all just characters in the movies and books of time, whether win or lose, we are still, just a story. Loves twisted roots, this hollow numbness, of a well-worn mask of family, writing dear life letters to the fractured truth, behind the stars singing to the clouds. Even deep inside, there is no shared shame, no teamwork, just a train wreck of lies, which becomes so firm in its roots, that to doubt it, is to hallucinate the raw reflection of time eating itself. Innocence is consumed by lies, optimism is diluted by acts, and habit is broken for momentary survival. A soft chime echoes out in the darkness; a dating app, I’m not in the mood to read it now.

Road Trip to a Small Town with a Muddy River

Life had reached some kind of climax years ago and now it resided in a manicured lawn of local emptiness. Imperial charms attract the most backwards-thinking locals, high on the notion that a building with pillars, is worth its architectural weight in gold coins, regardless if its foundations trembled from earthquake or cattle truck. It is difficult to criticize a personas mental prison over, the general pull of the town to congeal locals into a routine of, existence surrender. The dying age of several local food shops a couple decades past their due, sprung insects off the soft jelly sweets with their unnaturally hard, air-dried, outer shells. This signalled the gradual death of an old world, without a new world to embrace it.

Existence convenience was just technology from the city filling the same old tired buildings coated in white paint and rust. Life parades people like some kind of promotional tool of citizenship, in a nightly mini-series upgrade, on each new work shift, of melancholy time signature. The extroverted popular carbon copies wear well-cared-for masks, enjoying brief moments of love's fairytale, together.

Leverage intellect is a kind of revenge arch, manifesting a karmic environment of absolute control over their damaged ego. The internet created a middle ground, career-focused variant; popular culture typified as an ecosystem of fake on fake, built from a lack of participation. But in dreams, I dream of something love. I am illiterate of love, fake on fake, a tourist of my hometown, a beggar, and perhaps worst of all, a storyteller between compensation and denial, but still, I dream in curses. Love is a non-provider; a non-provider of party supplies, a non-provider of money, a non-provider of style and class, a non-provider of gifts made from all the big lies, or real love, told of other people.

Love is a toy, time is attention, hope is a deficit of promises in the hyperactive, for avoidant attention swims in symptoms of trend fantasies. Life’s still a show, and I am an unwilling actor who enjoys it from time to time, the acting that is, even when something is dying on the inside. The tragedy is a voyeur of the cultured fearful, which is almost trendy if it wasn’t replicated in every other cultural artefact. Reality is a bit of a meat grinder, but nothing makes the numbness of reality disassociate spirit from time, more; than when people chase a normal lifestyle and celebrate it as success. A muddy river runs through the old small hometown like a permanent curse, making it esthetically stagnant. Voids are character-building, but so is escapism; she is a tainted soul, with a post office in the middle, like a beacon of lost time. Pretty quickly you know it as intimately as the back of your hand and you outgrow that town quicker than others are consumed by it. It has a horror story quality to it, but for the most part, its just a museum of memories wishing for different endings.

Small Town in the Rear Vision Mirror

The world is a prison you cannot escape from, and life is a zoo that everyone can look in at. When your days are over, capitalism consumes you more efficiently as waste, than capitalism can provide a meal to the wasting bodies in waiting, wishing for the end of days.  Time just gets worse and worse, spiralling out of control, and hate becomes what time sees in you, but in total delusion, love keeps telling you, fate gets better. Prettier co-workers get all the free party supplies, like trash on the side of the road, dying to some social voyeuristic curse. Admitting lost moments is a kind of naivety linked to intelligence, like the worst idea of romance, as a social trade-off to sacrificed passion, for lost normality.

Thought is just the speed of light voyeuristically living in hindsight, bizarre reality stabilizes memories as existence erodes into this pretty night, ugly day; like a soulless vampire that puts on makeup. You say to yourself, that is one of the most devious, cunning, and ruthless things, I could ever imagine; being the private joke among a group of superficial soft living types. Party kingpins to all their adventures without getting a ticket to go on anywhere wild and free, the synthetic metamorphism of adventure itself with a safety rating, old and broken.

Sun vibes and tree shade, quick winks and old buses, deluded fantasy, and road trips of make-believe, a peasant of moments, a motorbike for every thundercloud. Every animal spirit is its own island and the death of the soul is not death, but, a transition in the immortality of self-identity, as to discover a new world requires, a death in the old one. I ruled my own interpretation of life once, now the deeper dimension of the stars was the reflection of our own thoughts imagining itself to the cosmic sky never revealing good or evil, before opportunity becomes its willing sacrifice.