What's your role as Composer & Sound Designer? How does music/sound contribute to the storytelling in this work?
As the Composer and Sound Designer, I shape the storytelling by creating atmospheres, underscoring key moments, and using music and sound to represent objects and actions on stage. Sound plays a crucial role in shaping the narrative arc, harnessing its emotional power to convey meaning beyond words. One of my key techniques is using recurring musical themes or motifs for different characters, allowing their sonic identities to evolve alongside their journeys. Another storytelling approach in this production is vocal manipulation, particularly for the characters of Hus and Dog, who are played by the same actor. To differentiate them, I’ve altered their timbres and subtly shifted their vocal pitches. This technique enhances the actor’s performance and highlights the distinct energies already present in the recordings. These digitally modified vocal lines are then triggered live by the stage manager in response to the unfolding action on stage.
What kinds of instruments/sounds are you using in this show?
I like to describe the sound palette of The Robot Dog as ‘future-folk’, drawing inspiration from synth pop and traditional Chinese ritual music. Most of the sounds are created digitally using Ableton, a digital audio workstation, which allows me to quickly adjust elements based on the director’s notes and swap sounds in and out with ease. I wanted the music to feel like it belongs to a near-future world—specifically, the year 2042. To achieve this, I’ve drawn from Cyberpunk-inspired sonic tropes, incorporating metallic synths, electronic drum loops, otherworldly sound effects, and video game-inspired tones. Alongside these synthesized elements, I’ve integrated recorded samples of bells, glassware, voice, and traditional Chinese percussion. This combination of organic textures and futuristic soundscapes creates a unique sonic world that feels both familiar and forward-looking.
Chun Yin Rainbow Chan in rehearsal. Photo: Tiffany Garvie
Could you tell us about the music/sound in a key moment from the show?
One of the most powerful moments in the show is the dance sequence between Janelle and the ghost of Wing Lam. This scene is charged with tenderness and intensity, as grief and pent-up emotions are released through movement, symbolising the struggle of overcoming addiction and self-punishment. The music in this sequence weaves together motifs from earlier in the show, transforming them into a euphoric, fast-paced electronic dance track—like a deep exhale after holding in so much. Joyous, rebellious, and cathartic, the music amplifies the emotional weight of this moment as mother and daughter reunite in the liminal space between life and death.
Do you consciously use music/sound to manipulate mood? If so, can you give an example?
Mood can be shaped through underscoring, where music or sound sits beneath the dialogue to enhance the story. This subtle layer of sound supports the actors while drawing on musical conventions associated with specific emotions, guiding the audience’s emotional response. Tonality plays a key role in shaping mood, as consonant, open harmonies can evoke a sense of calm, while dissonant, clashing harmonies create tension and unease. Rhythm also influences emotional impact; slow, droning rhythms establish a meditative, pensive atmosphere, whereas accelerating rhythms—progressing from quavers to semi-quavers and demi-semi-quavers—build a sense of urgency. Timbre, or the quality of sound itself, further enhances mood by evoking visceral responses. For instance, incorporating a rough, gritty texture, such as the sound of rubbing an object against sandpaper, can intensify a scene’s tension, making it feel raw and unsettling.
Do you consciously use music/sound to manipulate climax? If so, can you give an example?
One of the most climactic scenes occurs when Dog rebels and short-circuits Hus by infecting him with the ‘pink shimmer’. The music builds gradually to heighten this moment. A subtle rumbling sound begins beneath the dialogue, growing louder and faster until it erupts into a rebellious and euphoric soundtrack. This explosion of sound incorporates zaps, bleeps, and bloops—imagine musical confetti bursting into the air. The chaotic energy of the music mirrors Dog’s defiant act, reinforcing the dramatic climax.
Kristie Nguy and Ari Maza Long with the rehearsal robot dog. Photo: Tiffany Garvie
Is there a moment in the show where you use music/sound in a symbolic way? If so, can you give an example?
Bells play a symbolic role throughout the show, appearing in transition music, underscore, and technology-driven sound design. Growing up, I was surrounded by the sounds of Taoist temples—ritual music for worship, festivals, and mourning. I find a fascinating sonic crossover between traditional Chinese ritual music and the sleek, meditative sound design of corporate capitalism, such as the chimes used in Apple products. Bells, in this context, become a bridge between seemingly opposing worlds, representing the tension between old and new, past and present, love and loss. One poignant example is a line in the show about the warm echo of Wing Lam’s singing bowl, which continues ringing long after it has been struck. To me, this lingering resonance beautifully captures the complexity of grief—a single sound holding both presence and absence. This idea became a foundation for my conceptual approach to the show’s sound design.
Listen to some of Chun Yin Rainbow Chan's other music, not featured in The Robot Dog, on SoundCloud: