CZ-1000: Machine Love

I became the proud owner of my first (and only) synthesizer—a Casio CZ-1000—for my 16th birthday during May 1987 (read about the history that lead to this event here). And though branded “Casio,” it was no toy. This Japanese consumer electronics giant known for its cheap-cheap digital watches, calculators and home keyboards had decided to go pro. Spurned on by the first generation of commercially available digital synthesizers that emerged during the early-’80s—like Yamaha’s soul-sucking DX-7 which listed for $2,000—Casio developed a product line that was relatively inexpensive but offered professional features. Sort of.

At the time, I had paired down my selection of “budget” synths to two finalists: the older analog acid of the Roland SH-101 or the new digital noise of the CZ-1000. The later won out because it was programmable—it could store 16 patches (sounds) in memory—and it was fully MIDI-capable. However, it did not offer real-time control via knobs or sliders as all actual sound programming was done via flimsy membrane-overlaid buttons.

The CZ itself was certainly not built to last—its case was made of freakin’ plastic—but for a mere $500 I had then state-of-the-art digital Phase Distortion (PD) synthesis in my oily teenage hands. Eight waveforms, an eight-step envelope generator, two digitally-controlled oscillators (DCOs), four- to eight-voice polyphony, white noise, a primitive digital low-frequency oscillator (LFO) function labeled “vibrato” and a ring modulator.

The downside: no filters. But you could use one of the resonant waveforms and the envelope generator to simulate some nasty squelch. Again, sort of.

The interface did suck. Everything was entered as numerical values. If you played a whole-note as you adjusted the waveform selection or envelope stage by tapping on the membrane buttons, the sound continued but would be briefly interrupted as you entered in each step. But it did offer a small LCD to view all parameters as you keyed them in, which I thought was really cool at the time (OK, I was stupid in retrospect).

How did it sound? The presets loaded into the machine were horrendously shitty, and I think that’s why many never even thought of touching one of these. But it was more than capable with a little creative programming (and patience). If you understood basic analog synthesis—yes, analog—and were willing to apply that knowledge to this button-squashing model, the CZ series could generate some really cool textures. Great synth strings, buzzing leads, ghostly ambient pads, sweeps, basses, treated electric pianos, tremolo’d instruments, evolving morphing effects and pure noise. Very analog but with digital complexity (and harshness).

It lasted through high school where it eventually joined an Yamaha RX-21 drum machine—whose sterile sampled beats had no redeeming qualities other than keeping time—and into college. However, I ended up loaning it to a friend-of-a-friend around 1992 and never saw it again. Seems he got a girl pregnant and skipped town with my
CZ-1000.

Fucker—I loved that machine.