When the Gear You Love… Doesn’t Love You Back

In my last post, I mentioned that I like sets of things—and when gear comes in a series, I have to actively fight the urge to buy the entire line. One of the earliest examples of this internal struggle was with the Korg Volca range of synths.

Before going any further, a quick clarification. I often say my first hardware synth was the Yamaha MODX7, but that’s not entirely true. Technically, my first hardware instruments were two Yamaha PSR keyboards. That said, while I have a real soft spot for them, they’re not synths in the traditional sense. They’re home keyboards—select a sound, choose a rhythm, and play. So for the sake of this discussion, I think it’s fair to set them aside.

My First Step into Hardware

When I first made the decision to transition my studio from software to hardware, the actual first synths I brought in were the Korg Volcas. Around that same time, I was also starting to look seriously at Eurorack. I wanted something modular, something tactile—but I wasn’t quite ready to take that leap.

The Volcas felt like a reasonable middle ground. How similar they are to Eurorack is certainly debatable, but at the time, they scratched that itch just enough.

The first ones released—the ones I own—were:

• Volca Keys
  
• Volca Bass
  
• Volca Beats
  
• Volca Kick
  

Later came the Volca Sample, Drum, FM (and FM2), and Nubass. And because I’ve already admitted my weakness for sets, there were many nights where I went back and forth on whether I should just complete the collection. Even now, that nagging feeling resurfaces from time to time.

So Why Didn’t I Buy More?

Here’s the honest part.

I’ve owned those four Volcas for over a decade now, and despite playing around with them here and there, I’ve never used them in any meaningful way. My intention has always been to set them up properly and integrate them into my workflow—but that moment just hasn’t arrived yet.

As much as I wanted to gel with them, something never quite clicked. On paper, they were everything I thought I wanted. In practice, they just weren’t right for me—at least not in the way I expected.

I could sell them. They’re in excellent condition, and realistically, I could probably get $400–$500 for the set of four and put that money toward something else. And yet, I haven’t done that. I still believe they have a place in my studio—I just haven’t figured out what that place is yet.

The Gear That Doesn’t Click

This experience got me thinking, because I know I’m not alone.

I’ve seen and read countless stories from others who go through the same thing:
You research a piece of gear endlessly. You read forums, watch videos, study the manual. You finally get it into your studio, set it up, start using it… and then realize you just don’t feel it.

It’s not what you imagined. The workflow doesn’t flow. The excitement fades faster than expected.

For many people, the next step is obvious: sell it and move on. That’s logical—and often financially sensible. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to do that.

It’s not about pride or refusing to admit defeat. If I’m not in love with a piece of gear, I’m fully aware of that. Still, something in me wants to hold onto it, with the promise that someday it will find its role. That mindset is exactly how I ended up with a growing collection of controllers I’m actively trying to repurpose—and genuinely believe I will.

What Do You Do When It Doesn’t Work?

That leads me to a question I’ve been sitting with lately:

What do you do when a piece of gear doesn’t click the way you thought it would?

• Do you sell it and recover as much cost as possible?
  
• Give it to a friend or someone who might actually use it?
  
• Keep it and force yourself to discover what you originally saw in it?
  
• Or find a completely unexpected role for it in your setup?
  

None of these answers are wrong. Each approach represents a different way of moving forward—and each has its own kind of honesty.

Whether you let go quickly or hold on patiently, the important thing is that you keep creating, experimenting, and learning what works for you.

Happy creating.