Junoparts and how it came to be

It all began in the late seventies. I liked music. I played the piano and sang in a choir, but things really started to get interesting at Christmas 1978, when my dad—sorry, Father Christmas—gave me a synthesiser kit from Hobby Electronics magazine.

By Boxing Day it had been soldered together and assembled, and I was squelching and whooshing like a professional. Or so I thought.

Around the same time, the first album I could call my own was ELO’s Discovery. Between the music and that homemade synth, the seeds of a lifelong fascination had been planted.

Fast-forward to my teens and my dad, once again demonstrating an uncanny ability to sense the zeitgeist, bought me a Teisco 60F for my birthday. There was more whooshing, more squelching and, with the help of a cassette recorder that allowed me to record sound-on-sound, plenty of Visage-inspired tracks being created in my bedroom.

Eventually, my passion for making music waned. There were simply too many other things to get excited about—girls, beer and gigs—and a few things to be considerably less excited about, including A levels.

By the early nineties, art college had introduced me to an entirely new world of creativity. I began writing soundtracks for my films and animation experiments, using the college computers, Cubase and a keyboard whose identity still escapes me to this day. Once I started earning and had some proper adult money, I bought an Alesis QS6. I connected it to my Mac, put together a MIDI setup and began making music again.

Then life intervened. A growing family, work and far too many other distractions meant the music—and the keyboards—ended up gathering dust in the loft for much too long. It took lockdown to rekindle the flame. I spotted a Korg M1 on eBay for £150. It needed repairing, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a technical challenge. I bought it, traced and fixed the faults, refurbished it and sold it for twice what I had paid.

So I did it again. And again. I was hooked.

I loved the refurbishment, the reconfiguring and, most of all, tracing the source of a problem. There’s something wonderfully satisfying about it—it’s a little like being a detective. The Korg was digital, though, with much of its functionality hidden behind buttons and menus. What I really craved was the immediacy of those old analogue synthesisers, like my Teisco.

I’m still not entirely sure what made me fall so completely for the Roland Juno-106. Perhaps it was the graphic designer in me. Its interface is a masterclass in visual communication: strong typography, clear colour coding and an inviting layout that makes you want to reach out and start moving the controls.

Then there’s the sound. Warm, rich and immediate, crowned by that unmistakable Juno chorus. Add the build quality and it becomes more than an instrument—it’s a beautifully designed object in its own right.

Without question, it is my favourite synthesiser. I became so fond of it that I decided to build a business around it.

While browsing forums, listings and sales adverts, I began noticing the same problem again and again: the Juno’s buttons frequently became yellowed or discoloured with age. There appeared to be no reliable source of new replacements, while the used ones being offered for sale could be surprisingly expensive for what they were.

Through my day job, I had contacts in manufacturing who could help me explore a solution. That began a long—and far from straightforward—project to produce completely new injection-moulded replacement buttons.

Injection moulding is neither simple nor inexpensive, particularly when you care about getting the colour, fit and finish right. But the buttons are now in the closing stages of production.

Alongside that project, I realised there were other small but important parts that could be remanufactured. The original foam gaskets inside many classic synthesisers deteriorate over time, yet replacements can be surprisingly difficult to obtain in the UK. They often have to be ordered from the US or Europe, with shipping that can cost far more than the parts themselves.

Junoparts offers three sets of replacement gaskets: for the Juno-106, Juno-6 and SH-101.

And this is only the beginning. Junoparts grew from a love of music, design, fault-finding and beautifully made electronic instruments. Our aim is simple: to create carefully considered, sensibly priced replacement parts that help keep classic synthesisers looking good, working properly and making music for many years to come.

So here we are. The gaskets are ready. The buttons are on their way. And there’s plenty more to come.