I saw an original Moog Taurus synthesizer in a magazine when I was a kid.

I didn’t know what it was. Given the bulk and odd shape — a black box sitting on the floor with horizontal slats sticking out — I assumed it was some sort of fancy shoe shine machine Geddy Lee used to polish his Mithril-tipped boots.

The older, wiser me can tell you it resembles, in both form and function, the array of bass pedals you’d see underneath a church organ. The musician can sit at the organ and play the bass lines with his feet, covering the low end and freeing both of his hands to play more complex chords.

Bob Moog’s creation, originally released in 1976, is a synthesizer version of the old organist’s foot pedals — you can play the bass with your feet while playing something else with your hands, though the companion instrument needn’t be an organ. Most players use bass pedals with stringed instruments or smaller keyboards.

The slowly pulsating lights and wooden tentacles make it look like an angry Mugwump or the glowing, metal-clad head of Cthulhu.

Moog’s original Taurus is a primitive beast. It plays just one note at a time, and it only plays bass notes in the lower octaves. It’s big, clunky and not at all portable. But absolutely nothing else can fully match the sound of its fat, gently pulsating bass tones, though just about everyone has tried. The synth tones it emits are huge and juicy, and about as subtle as a bear. When you step on a Taurus, the audience feels it.

The original Taurus was produced for just five years, from 1976 to 1981. Not long, but long enough to become a hit, especially among the progressive rock and space rock alchemists — Rush, Genesis, Yes, ELO, King Crimson — who were already experimenting with early analog synthesizers (and various substances).

The Taurus II arrived in 1981, changing the circuits and upping the number of foot-operated keys from 13 to 18. But it was discontinued after just a few years. Originals of both the Taurus and the Taurus II are rare these days, commanding top dollar on eBay.

Now Moog Music has revived the original design with the Moog Taurus 3, a 13-pedal array that looks a lot like the original Taurus, just beefier and shinier. But this isn’t some digital re-do. Moog has built a fully analog signal path and even recreated the same three original sounds (“Taurus,” “Tuba” and “Bass”) which are generated by two sawtooth oscillators. There’s a new sound (“Taurus 3?) that stays close to the old formula, and then 48 additional factory sounds, all analog. There are also pitch, filter and gate controls and a multi-waveform low-frequency oscillator.

It’s not entirely analog. There’s a MIDI interface to sync the Taurus 3’s built-in arpeggiator to other MIDI instruments, and a USB out, so you can use the pedals to trigger sounds and events in Abelton Live or some other performance software. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

All that swagger adds up — the Taurus 3 retails for $2,000.

When my test unit arrived, it came in a gigantic flight case that was considerably larger than the amplifier I was plugging it into. The synth weighs 45 pounds. Pulling it out and wrangling it into position is a chore (more so than should be necessary, since it lacks any real handles). But once it’s there, it looks and feels damn impressive. The metal chassis has wooden sides and wooden tone pedals. A neatly organized set of foot switches for selecting sounds and switching octaves runs along the face, and they are flanked by oversized wheels for adjusting volume and manipulating the tones. Between the two wheels, both big enough to be operated comfortably by your feet, are an LCD display and a set of smaller buttons (made for fingers, not toes) were you make finer adjustments.

Disembodied from the organ, a set of bass pedals is one of the weirder-looking musical instruments. The Taurus is particularly alien. The slowly pulsating lights and wooden tentacles make it look like an angry Mugwump or the glowing, metal-clad head of Cthulhu. Visitors to my home studio invariably said the same thing when they saw the Taurus splayed out on the floor: “What the hell is that thing?”

Funny looks aside, three things became apparent during my testing period.

First, this is the sound. That’s it — that’s the Taurus bass coming out of the amp. The warm, deep tone, the subtle growl of the phasing effect, the crackling highs that creep in when you roll the mod wheel away from you and open up the cutoff filter. The classic Moog sound is unmistakable, and to my ears, it’s almost identical to the original Taurus.

Second, this is not a toy. It takes some serious coordination to operate, and a lot of practice. Finding the right notes is easy enough. The pedals represent one full octave (C to C) and the chromatic steps are laid out just like a piano’s white and black keys. They are also spaced comfortably apart and the velocity-sensitive action is extremely precise. But playing them properly is a balancing act. I had to take off my shoes and sit on a chair until I got the hang of it. When I strapped on a guitar, stood, and played it while balanced on one leg, it was like I had to re-learn everything. Playing in rhythm is especially difficult. But that’s my problem, not Moog’s.

Finally, you will get lost. The Taurus 3 is a rabbit hole. Once you tire of playing “Squonk” and “Where The Streets Have No Name” using the original voices, there are four dozen new sounds to explore. Some are variations on the vintage Taurus’ synth bass, and some are entirely 21st century. There are some washy, rolling sounds that work best as ambient drones, just pick the proper key and hold it down. There are also arpeggiated patches, mid-range voices to compliment the bass, and all flavors of LFO treachery.

It’s enough fun to cycle through the presets, find some interesting textures, and augment them by manipulating the tone wheel. But by bending over and using your hands, you can start messing with the filters, adjust the percussive attack, the pulse, sweep and pitch of the oscillators. The tiny LCD screen should be larger, as the text readouts can be inscrutable. But if you’ve spent any time with other synths, or the newest Moog synths in particular, you’ll be able to find the sounds you want… eventually. Even if all this is new to you, the Taurus 3 is fun to explore. In fact, if you have anywhere important to be, set an alarm. The experimentation will keep you occupied for hours.

The original Taurus was a brute of a machine with limited capability. The new Taurus is equally beastly, but its expanded sonic palette, new-found versatility and intelligent construction make it nothing short of beautiful.

WIRED The fattest bass synth in the galaxy — a faithful recreation of the original Taurus sound that all synths since have tried to imitate. Digital connections add versatility. Giant, shiny wood-and-metal box looks, feels and plays like the real deal.

TIRED Hard to play. Hard on the back. Hard on the wallet. You will need to buy a road case ($500 extra) if you want to gig with it.

Top photo by Jon Snyder/Wired. Road case photo by Jim Merithew/Wired