Keith Emerson Moog Synth Letter: How He Bought It Anyway

When keyboard titan Keith Emerson was forming Emerson, Lake and Palmer and preparing to record their debut album in 1970, he set his sights on a revolutionary piece of gear: the Moog synthesizer. Developed by American engineer Bob Moog in 1964 and popularized by Wendy Carlos’s Switched-On Bach, the instrument was on every progressive musician’s radar—provided they had deep enough pockets.

Figuring he could leverage his status, Emerson reached out to the company directly. “I thought, ‘I really need one of these,'” Emerson recalled in 2014. “I got hold of the Moog company and I said, ‘I thought I might get one of these for free. I could promote this—I’ll endorse it.'”

The Letter That Shut Down Emerson’s Free Synth Request

Keith Emerson in the 1970s with his Moog synthesizer.

It was a bold pitch, but the reply from Moog was blunt. The company rejected the endorsement offer, noting first that the synthesizer was “not generally recommended for live stage use.” Then came the kicker: “Furthermore, if your request is that you want one for free, seeing as the Rolling Stones paid for theirs and The Beatles also paid for theirs, I see no reason why you shouldn’t pay for yours.”

Chastised but determined, Emerson bought one. A custom-shipped Moog Synthesizer Model I-CA arrived on July 10, 1970, running a hefty £4,000—an amount equivalent to roughly £55,000 today.

Defining a New Sound

Keith Emerson in London during the 1970s.

“It was a lot of money,” Emerson admitted years later, “and I don’t think the rest of the band were that enthralled. But I made the right decision, because it did define the new way of sound. It opened up the possibilities of keyboards.”

The investment fundamentally changed the landscape of rock music. Frost*’s Jem Godfrey later noted that Bob Moog gave keyboardists a malleable voice to bend notes, change tones, and overdrive, allowing them to finally compete with guitarists in both style and volume. Rick Wakeman similarly praised the instrument as “an instrument that could cut through concrete,” which Emerson embraced brilliantly.

Of course, Emerson’s knack for provocation didn’t stop with the gear acquisition. Early on, he boldly told Melody Maker that the synthesizer could “replace most members of the classical orchestra,” a boastful claim that promptly got him banned from the Musicians’ Union for a spell.