The first time you play with the Oscillating Temporal Tessellation Repeater (OTTeR), it feels comfortingly intuitive. It has eight sliders that you can quickly flick into a sequence, a clock input, and a CV output. Set it running and you’ve got a range of voltages that you can use for modulation, or if you have a quantiser to hand, turn them into notes. It’s simple, easy, and the LEDs are a nicely subversive shade of green. However, there’s something odd going on. The steps are not necessarily running in a regular sequence; instead, they seem to dance about the place, shuffling here and there, repeating before setting off on another twisted cycle. As you adjust the three knobs, A, B and C, those green LEDs chase each other into all sorts of repeating patterns.
I would love to say that I know what’s going to happen with a specific combination of A, B and C, but for the life of me, I can’t. On one turn, you get steps 1 and 2 alternating with 7 and 8, on another, it wanders through steps 1‑4 a couple of times before doing the same to 5‑8. Another turn halves the speed, another doubles it, and every now and again, you hit upon a classic sequence of eight different steps in a row. It’s disconcerting but also brilliant in how it’s reworking the eight chosen pitches into different versions of itself. Having no idea what’s going to happen next doesn’t seem to take anything away from the enjoyment of the melodies and remixes that pour out of it.
I made the mistake of asking Otter Mods about the purpose and intention of the knobs. What you don’t really have to understand (I think) is that the three knobs control the clock division of three bit‑counters. The bit‑counters are fed into a multiplexer where the binary sum dictates the order of the steps. For example, set A to 1, B to 2 and C to 3, and you get all eight steps in sequence because A is running at the clock/2, B is clock/4, and C is clock/8. Easy right? Well, no, not exactly, but if you understand a bit about binary, it all starts to add up. All you really need to know is that through different combinations, you get different patterns. It reminds me of the Triadex Muse, which generates patterns in a similarly baffling way. However, with the OTTeR, you have complete control over the pitch of those steps, which is something the Muse would never allow.
There are other subtle moments of brilliance in the OTTeR that make it feel even more elaborate. You have a ‘Half CV’ output that gives you a scaled‑down version of the ‘Full CV’ output, meaning you could be running two related sequences or use one for notes and another for modulation. A Transpose input lets you push the sequence up in pitch, while an Inhibit input makes it skip or trip into steps in response to a gate input. This produces some rather lovely rhythms. The three knobs have CV inputs that, when fully clockwise, allow external clocks to mess with the binary multiplexing. Once you start getting into unrelated clock divisions, the patterns become far less predictable. If blitzing things with audio rate modulation is your thing, then the OTTeR will reward you with some rather great textures that you can shape with the step sliders.
I like how the notes are mine, but the patterns are the OTTeR’s, and I’m just there making suggestions rather than being in charge.
What I’m really enjoying about the OTTeR is how it starts off in a familiar place, and then, as you play, it runs off in all sorts of interesting directions. I like how the notes are mine, but the patterns are the OTTeR’s, and I’m just there making suggestions rather than being in charge. So, while the OTTeR may seem on first glance like a regular slider‑based sequencer, it’s so much more interesting, more playful, and unexpected. Paired with the right quantiser, it’s a superbly musical experience.