TrainYourEars EQ Edition is an ear training software for Mac and PC designed to help you understand equalisers and frequencies like never before.
It speeds up your learning process exposing you to hundreds of random equalizations you have to guess. If you are wrong, it will let you know “how wrong”, and it will let you hear both your guess and the correct answer.
In no time you will develop a frequency memory which will allow you to connect the sound you imagine in your head with the parameters you need to dial, quickly and easily than ever.
It has a brand new training method. Instead of guessing, you have to make corrections while you hear the result.
The person who suggested this method to us in the first place was Bob Katz, a renowned mastering guru. We tested it, we loved it, so here it is for all you to enjoy!
Besides it has a new, modern and clean interface, a new assisted training screen, a new exercise designer, it supports other languages, and many other features.
The ability to connect what is in your mind with the appropriate parameters you have to dial to get that sound is not an easy task. The steps involved should be:
Sometimes people get lost in the translation step and start turning knobs without confidence. The more you work, the better you understand what those knobs really do, but it is a slow process.
People excel in this matter after many years, because they have learned experimenting with lots of different processes applied to lots of different sources. The purpose of this training is to open your ears to what each frequency sounds like and reduce the amount of time needed to acquire this knowledge.
In 15 minutes you can guess or correct 100 random equalisations, so training every day for a few weeks is equivalent to accumulating the experience of many years.
First, you load the music you want to train with:
Then, you choose an exercise or design a new one:
And finally, train your ears with one of these two methods!
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There are rules to trading with Balatro. He will not take your name for entry; anonymity is his religion. He will not grant second chances for what you openly keep; he prefers the contraband of private regret. And he will not let you read the Full ledger straight through—only a single line, chosen for you by the ledger itself, written in ink that knows the truth better than you do.
Near the river he trades those entries for favors—an hour of someone’s time, a half-eaten sandwich, a story that still remembers its ending. He is a broker in intangibles, dealing in the currency of attention. People leave him lighter or heavier, depending on what they bargain away. Children think he performs miracles; adults call him a nuisance; the city calls him by a dozen different names at once.
And when the city grows too sure of its edges—when neon borders the night in tidy, sanctioned colors—Balatro slips through the drainage of certainty. He sprinkles contradictions like breadcrumbs. A quiet rebellion blooms: two strangers swap names at a diner, a mural rewrites itself overnight, a streetlamp refuses to turn off and becomes a lighthouse for lovers who have lost their maps.
Balatro NSP — a carnival of sound and shadow, where the jester tends to midnight’s secret ledger.
He keeps a ledger labeled FULL. It’s not a record of names but of small, dense moments: the exact taste of a lie told in winter; the map of laughter around a kitchen table at three in the morning; the way streetlight turns a puddle into a constellation. Each entry is cramped and ecstatic, written in a hand that sometimes rearranges itself when you glance away. The ledger swells with these tiny universes until the binding threatens to burst; then Balatro smiles and tucks the spine into his coat like another secret to keep warm.
Sounds pool around him. A saxophone coughs out a question. A cassette tape unwinds the day’s last secret. Boot heels drum Morse code against the cobblestones—messages meant to be misread, misdelivered, misremembered. Balatro listens like someone assembling a collage from fragments of other people's dreams. He is both archivist and arsonist: cataloging, then setting the slow paper blaze of possibility.
There are rules to trading with Balatro. He will not take your name for entry; anonymity is his religion. He will not grant second chances for what you openly keep; he prefers the contraband of private regret. And he will not let you read the Full ledger straight through—only a single line, chosen for you by the ledger itself, written in ink that knows the truth better than you do.
Near the river he trades those entries for favors—an hour of someone’s time, a half-eaten sandwich, a story that still remembers its ending. He is a broker in intangibles, dealing in the currency of attention. People leave him lighter or heavier, depending on what they bargain away. Children think he performs miracles; adults call him a nuisance; the city calls him by a dozen different names at once. balatro nsp full
And when the city grows too sure of its edges—when neon borders the night in tidy, sanctioned colors—Balatro slips through the drainage of certainty. He sprinkles contradictions like breadcrumbs. A quiet rebellion blooms: two strangers swap names at a diner, a mural rewrites itself overnight, a streetlamp refuses to turn off and becomes a lighthouse for lovers who have lost their maps. There are rules to trading with Balatro
Balatro NSP — a carnival of sound and shadow, where the jester tends to midnight’s secret ledger. And he will not let you read the
He keeps a ledger labeled FULL. It’s not a record of names but of small, dense moments: the exact taste of a lie told in winter; the map of laughter around a kitchen table at three in the morning; the way streetlight turns a puddle into a constellation. Each entry is cramped and ecstatic, written in a hand that sometimes rearranges itself when you glance away. The ledger swells with these tiny universes until the binding threatens to burst; then Balatro smiles and tucks the spine into his coat like another secret to keep warm.
Sounds pool around him. A saxophone coughs out a question. A cassette tape unwinds the day’s last secret. Boot heels drum Morse code against the cobblestones—messages meant to be misread, misdelivered, misremembered. Balatro listens like someone assembling a collage from fragments of other people's dreams. He is both archivist and arsonist: cataloging, then setting the slow paper blaze of possibility.
Final price was 89€, but the 49€ launch offer was such a success that we sold twice as many as we expected.
After a lot of thought we decided to keep this reduced price forever :)
Thanks to all the people who has supported this project so far and made this possible!
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