As digital music becomes increasingly weightless, a new wave of hardware is re-grounding how we interact with sound
A USB stick carved from stone, a turntable sculpted from weathered basalt, headphones encased in fossils. These aren’t relics of a retired DJ, but rather totems of a new wave of music tech that centres the musical experience around objects with texture, weight and permanence. It’s a trend gaining traction across multiple fronts: artists like Max Kuwertz cast synths in fossilised cases, Yont Studio imagines a DJ booth hewn from pink stone, and brands like SOMA Laboratory have released Terra, a semi-organic synthesiser designed to feel alive in your hands. It’s all about music hardware composed of elemental materials; enter: litho-tech.
In the 21st century, music has become increasingly weightless. Files have shrunk into waves, pixels and disappeared into the invisible cloud. Soundbytes are airdropped with ease, and live music experiences unfold inside virtual servers. As a byproduct of our longing for connection in an immaterial age, tactile forms of technology are breaking through the ground of minimalist design. These interfaces are pulling sound back to earth and challenging how we interact with it.
In an age obsessed with seamlessness and polish, litho-tech hardware pushes us towards a more visceral, grounded experience of sound. In a recent interview, Lorde described her digital devices as artefacts, reflecting on the similarities between her first iPod and anodised metal, the weathering of her headphones, and describing her phone as “a tool that has liquid crystal inside it that I command to summon up pictures and words.” This techno-animistic connection with music hardware is exactly what litho-tech aims to revive, restoring a physical, emotional bond with sound by demanding active engagement with its rugged, tactile forms rather than just passive streaming.
While this trend may seem like a nostalgic pushback against hyper-advanced technology, Jussi Parikka, professor of Digital Aesthetics at Aarhus University, argues that these materials nod to alternate timelines and technological histories beyond today’s standardised formats. After all, the earliest tablets were carved from stone. These new designs, he suggests, are less a rejection of the digital and more a sideways leap, towards imagined timelines where music hardware is shaped by geology, not just engineering.
They resemble remnants of alternate tech histories: devices that carry memory not through cloud syncing, but through physical presence. “Advanced technologies are already stones and rocks – in a way, they are made from minerals and other materials,” Parikka explains. In this sense, litho-tech is simply music hardware in a post-digital age.
Across culture, there’s been a growing rejection of music’s digital convenience. People are logging out of Spotify, switching off screens and putting devices aside in search of more physical, immersive experiences. We’re seeing a renewed desire for tactile interaction, bringing us back to a time when music was something you actively engaged with, not just consumed with a tap or swipe. Take any artist's run of ‘exclusive’ vinyl variants or the wired earphones renaissance. But unlike simple nostalgia, litho-technology moves hardware forward, despite its ancient aesthetics. It’s a physical manifestation of this intention that we're seeking.
In live events, too, people are re-centring litho-materials. While stone has always made up some of the world’s most brutalist clubs and industrial venues, these materials are now being interacted with more purposefully. Take Stonehenge’s solstice parties, where people gather and dance around the ancient megaliths, or the Stone Techno Festival – held at Zeche Zollverein, a former coal mine in Germany – where techno tracks are made using samples from stone itself. The relationship between stone and sound also shapes many experimental projects like Fríctico, a live collaboration between producer Isaac Soto and visual artist Sofía Tormenta, where a rock is sculpted onstage and its mineral moans are channelled through modular synths.
Such close attention to the materials themselves can lead to a more ritualistic way of engaging with sound. Minerals and crystals have long carried spiritual weight, and Lorde’s observation that technology is just ‘liquid crystals’ reframes this ancient belief in a modern context. While the stone synths and limestone turntables might stem from design aesthetics, their elemental origins give them another layer – reminding us to treat music hardware less like tools and more like ritual objects. At its core, litho-tech aims to reshape how we experience music, slowing us down and pulling us out of seamless consumption and into a more deliberate and conscious space.