A choir in eight parts, carved from wood and wired for wonder
Teenage Engineering, the Swedish design studio famous for turning everyday gadgets into objects of desire, has built a choir.
Not a digital playlist or a Bluetooth speaker, but a set of eight hand-carved wooden dolls that actually sing. They are speakers with a ~4-hour battery charge.
Each has its own vocal range—bass, soprano, alto—and when you place them together, they form a living a cappella group on your table.
Take direction over Bluetooth MIDI, and respond when you tap, tilt, or—if you must—give them a gentle smack.
Each figure hides a “magical” speaker module that doubles as CPU and BLE transmitter, delivering up to four hours of performance on a charge.
Handcrafted from solid beech and finished with hard wax oil, they feel less like gadgets and more like design objects that happen to harmonize.
How do they work: tap, tilt, compose
There’s a playful ritual to the control scheme. Tap a head or the table to play/pause. Tilt left or right for volume. Line up any mix of dolls and they auto-recognize who’s in range, splitting parts to build a full choral stack.
Each figure comes pre-programmed with classic songs, from Beethoven’s Ode to Joy to folk ballads, but they can also be controlled wirelessly with a keyboard or Teenage Engineering’s own instruments. Put a few side by side and they recognise each other, joining in to create harmonies.
Algorithmic counterpoint, surprisingly moving
Out of the box, the dolls ship with a pre-programmed repertoire—Baroque to folk—generated via an algorithm rooted in counterpoint.
That sounds academic until it isn’t: the choir can shift from “Gaudeamus Igitur” to “Carol of the Bells” to Beethoven’s “An die Freude” with a warmth that outgrows the gimmick.
The magic is in the blend—individual voices are characterful, together they’re an a cappella wall of sound.
Meet the wooden cast (and their ranges)
Each doll ($249 each) is styled after a different persona and voice type; solo they cover dynamic lines, together they behave like a small chamber choir.
Drop two or eight on a table and they negotiate parts automatically.
- Carlo (Italy): Baritone — G2–D♯4
- Bogdan (Cossack): Bass — E2–C4
- Miki (Japan): Tenor — B2–G4
- Olga (Russia): Contralto — E3–C5
- Ivana (Netherlands): Alto — F♯3–D5
- Gisela (Germany): Mezzo-soprano — B3–G5
- Hatshepsut (Egypt): Mezzo-soprano — A3–F5
- Leila (Palestine): Soprano — C♯4–A5
Stack a bass with a contralto for velvet; add the soprano and mezzo for sparkle; sprinkle tenor/baritone for glue. It’s Lego, but for timbre.
For synth heads and living rooms
This is peak Teenage Engineering: equal parts whimsical art object and serious instrument. As a living-room conversation piece, it’s instant serotonin.
In a studio, BLE MIDI (a wireless way for instruments and apps to talk to each other over Bluetooth, no cables needed) turns it into a textural layer you can arrange like any other software instrument—except the sound comes from a wooden figurine staring you down while it sings.
Connect the OP–1 (a portable, all-in-one music machine that lets you play, record, and create anywhere) field and you’re essentially conducting physical voices from a pocket workstation.
The playlist, preloaded
Expect a 22-track set that nods to choral chestnuts and folk standards—Bach (“O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden”), Attaingnant’s “Tourdion,” “Auld Lang Syne,” “Deck the Halls,” Scandinavian summer hymns, American railroad tunes, and warm-up exercises. It’s eclectic, clever, and—because of the counterpoint engine—remarkably cohesive.
Design that earns its space
The beech bodies are weighty and tactile; the modules pop out for charging; the finish is furniture-grade. Teenage Engineering has always made beautiful things you want to leave out. This is no exception, and it doubles as a gentle argument against plastic-boxed smart speakers.
Is it a good gift?
That depends who you’re buying for. If your friend is a music producer or owns Teenage Engineering’s cult-favorite OP-1 synth, the choir plugs neatly into their creative setup. But even if you’re not into composing, the dolls work as a whimsical home object—half speaker, half sculpture—that can break into song on a whim.
They’re expensive (about $249 each), but they sit in that rare category of tech gift that feels both personal and strange enough to be unforgettable.
It is not a gadget you would travel with, but as a gift for someone you visit – why not?
