Software Defined Remote Control

A number of months ago I spoke about trying to control a number of TV features in Python. While I did manage to get some of the adapter boards that I thought I would use printed, I hadn’t had the time to go and work on the software to control this before we started looking for a new place, which meant I shelved the project until we could get to the new place, and once we got there it was a matter of getting settled down, and then, … you got the idea.

As it turns out, I had one week free at the end of November — my employer decided to give three extra days on the (US) Thanksgiving week, and since my birthday was at the end of the week, I decided to take the remaining two days off myself to make it a nice nine days contiguous off. Perfect timeframe to go and hack on some projects such as that.

Also, one thing changed significantly since the time I started thinking about this: I started using Home Assistant. And while it started mostly as a way for me to keep an eye on the temperature of the winter garden, I found that with a bit of configuration, and a pull request, changing the input on my receiver with it was actually easier than using the remote control and trying to remember which input was mapped to what.

That gave me finally the idea of how to implement my TV input switch tree: expose it as one or more media players in Home Assistant!

Bad (Hardware) Choices

Unfortunately, as soon as I went to start implementing the switching code, I found out that I had made a big mistake in my assumptions: the Adafruit FT232H breakout board does not support PWM outputs, including the general time-based pulsing (without a carrier frequency). Indeed, while the Blinka library can technically support some of the features, it seems like none of the Linux-running platforms would be able to manage that. So there goes my option of just using a computer to drive the “fake remote” outputs directly. Well, at least without rewriting it in some other language and find a different way to send that kind of signals.

I looked around for a few more options, but all of it ended up being some compromise: MicroPython doesn’t have a very usable PulseOut library as far as I could tell; Arduino-based libraries don’t seem to allow two outputs to happen at roughly the same time; and as I’m sure I already noted in passing, CircuitPython lacks a good “secondary channel” to be instructed from a computer (the serial interface is shared with the REPL control, and the HID is gadget-to-host only).

After poking around a few options and very briefly considering writing my own C version on an ATmega, I decided to just go for the path of least resistance, and go back to CircuitPython, and try to work with the serial interface and its “standard input” to the software.

The problem with doing that is that the Ctrl-C command is intended to interrupt the command, and that means you cannot send the byte 0x03 un-escaped. At the end I thought about it, and decided that CircuitPython is powerful enough that just sending the commands in ASCII wouldn’t be an issue. So I decided to write a simplistic Flask app that would take a request over HTTP and send the command via the serial port. It worked, sort of. Sometimes while debugging I would end up locking the device (a Trinket M0) in the REPL, and that meant the commands wouldn’t be sent.

The solution I came up with was to reset the board every time I started the app, by sending Ctrl-C and Ctrl-D (0x03, 0x04) to force the board to reset. It worked much better.

Not-Quite-Remote Controlled HDMI Switch

After that worked, the problem was ensuring that the commands sent actually worked. The first component I needed to send the commands to was the HDMI switch. It’s a no-brand AliExpress-special HDMI switch. It has one very nice feature for what I need to do right now. It obviously has an infrared remote control – one of those thin, plasticky domes one – but it particularly has the receiver for it on a cord, which is connected with a pretty much standard 3.5mm “audio jack”.

This is not uncommon. Randomly searching Amazon or AliExpress for “HDMI switch remote” can find you a number of different, newer switches that use the same remote receiver, or something very similar to it. I’m not sure if the receivers are compatible between each other, but the whole idea is the same: by using a separate receiver, you can stick the HDMI switch behind a TV, for instance, and just make the receiver poke from below. And most receivers appear to be just a dome-encased TSOP17xx receiver, which is a 3-pin IC, which works great for a TRS.

When trying this out, I found that what I could do would be to use a Y-cable to allow both the original receiver and my board to send signals to the switch — at which point, I can send in my own pulses, without even bothering with the carrier frequency (refer to the previous post for details on this, it’s long). The way the signal is sent, the pulses need to ground the “signal” line (that is usually at 5V); to avoid messing up the different supplies, I paired it on an opto-coupler, since they are shockingly cheap when buying them in bulk.

But now that I tried setting this up with an input selection, I found myself not able to get the switch to see my signal. This turned out to require an annoying physical debugging session with the Saleae and my TRRS-to-Saleae adapter (that I have still not released, sorry folks!), which showed I was a bit off on the timing of the NEC protocol the switch used for the remote control. This is now fixed in the pysirc library that generates the pulses.

Once I got the input selector working for the switch with the Flask app, I turned to Home Assistant and added a custom component that exposes the switch as a “media_player” platform. In a constant state of “Idle” (since it doesn’t have a concept of on or off), it allowed me and my wife to change the input while seeing the names of the devices, without hunting for the tiny remote, and without having to dance around to be seen by the receiver. It was already a huge improvement.

But it wasn’t quite enough where I wanted it to be. In particular, when our family calls on Messenger, we would like to be able to just turn on the TV selected to the right input. While this was partially possible (Google Assistant can turn on a TV with a Chromecast), and we could have tried wiring up the Nabu Casa integration to select the input of the HDMI switch, it would have not worked right if the last thing we used the TV for was the Nintendo Switch (not to be confused with the HDMI switch) or for Kodi — those are connected via a Yamaha receiver, on a different input of the TV set!

Enter Sony

But again, this was supposed to be working — the adapter board included a connection for an infrared LED, and that should have worked to send out the Sony SIRC commands. Well, except it didn’t, and that turned out to be another wild goose chase.

First, I was afraid that when I fixed the NEC timing I broke the SIRC ones — but no. To confirm this, and to make the rest of my integration easier, I took the Feather M4 to which I hard-soldered a Sony-compatible IR LED, and wrote what is the eponymous software defined remote control: a CircuitPython program that includes a few useful commands, and abstractions, to control a Sony device. For… reasons, I have added VCR as the only option beside TV; if you happen to have a Bluray player by Sony, and you want to figure out which device ID it uses, please feel free.

It might sound silly, but I remember seeing a research paper in UX from the ’90s of using gesture recognitions on a touchpad on a remote control to allow more compact remote controls. Well, if you wanted, you could easily make this CircuitPython example into a touchscreen remote control for any Sony device, as long as you can find all the right device IDs, and hard code a bunch of additional commands.

So, once I knew that at least on the software side I was perfectly capable of control the Sony TV, I had to go and do more hardware debugging, with the Saleae, but this time with the probes directly on the breadboard, as I had no TRS cable to connect to. And that was… a lot of work, to rewire stuff and try.

The first problem was that the carrier frequency was totally off. The SIRC protocol specifies a 40kHz carrier frequency, which is supposedly easier to generate than the 38kHz used by NEC and others, but somehow the Saleae was recording it as a very variable frequency that oscillated between 37kHz and 41kHZ. So I was afraid that trying to run two PWM outputs on the Trinket M0 was a bad idea, even if one of them was set to nought hertz — as I said, the HDMI switch didn’t need a carrier frequency.

I did toy briefly with the idea of generating the 40kHz carrier wave separately, and just gating it to the same type of signal I used for the HDMI switch. Supposedly, 40kHz generators are easy, but at least for the circuits I found at first glance, it requires a part (640kHz resonator) that is nearly impossible to find in 2020. Probably fell out of use. But as it turn out it wouldn’t have helped.

Instead, I took another Feather. Since I ran out of M4, except for the one I hardwired already an IR LED to, I instead pulled up the nRF52840 that I bought and barely played with. This should have been plenty capable to give me a clean 40kHz signal and it indeed was.

At that point I noticed another problem, though: I totally screwed up the adapter board. In my Feather M4, the IR LED was connected directly between 3V and the transistor switching it. A bit out of spec, but not uncommon given that it’s flashed for very brief impulses. On the other hand when I designed the adapter, I connected it to the 5V rail. Oops, that’s not what I was meant to be doing! And I did indeed burn out the IR LED with it. So I had to solder a new one on the cable.

Once I fixed that, I found myself hitting another issue: I could now turn on and off the TV with my app, but the switch stopped responding to commands either from the app or from the original remote! Another round of Saleae (that’s probably one of my favourite tools — yes I splurged when I bought it, but it’s turning out to be an awesome tool to have around, after all), and I found that the signal line was being held low — because the output pin is stuck high…

I have not tried debugging this further yet — I can probably reproduce this without my whole TV setup, so I should do that soonish. It seems like opening both lines for PWM output causes some conflicts, and one or the other end up not actually working. What I solved this with was only allowing one command before restarting the Feather. It meant taking longer to complete the commands, but it allowed me to continue with my life without further pain.

One small note here: since I wasn’t sure how Flask concurrency would interact with accessing a serial port, I decided to try something a bit out of the ordinary, and set up the access to the Feather via an Actor using pykka. It basically means leaving one thread to have direct access to the serial port, and queue commands as messages to it. It seems to be working fine.

Wrapping It All Up

Once the app was able to send arbitrary commands to the TV via infrared, as well as changing the input of the HDMI, I extended the Home Assistant integration to include the TV as a “media_player” entity as well. The commands I implemented were Power On and Off (discrete, rather than toggle, which means I can send a “Power On” to the TV when it’s already on and not bother it), and discrete source selection for the three sources we actually use (HDMI switch, Receiver, Commodore 64). There would be a lot more commands I could theoretically send, including volume control, but I can already access those via the receiver, so there’s no good reason to.

After that it was a matter of scripting some more complicated acts: direct selection of Portal, Chromecast, Kodi, and Nintendo Switch (which are the four things we use the most). This was easy at that point: turn on the TV (whether it was on or not), select the right input on either the receiver or the switch, then select the right input ion the TV. The reason why the order seems a bit strange is that it takes a few seconds for the TV to receive commands after turning on, but by doing it this way we can switch between Chromecast and Portal, or Nintendo Switch and Kodi, in pretty much no time.

And after that worked, we decided the $5/month to Nabu Casa were worth it, because that allows us to ask Alexa or Google Assistant to select the input for us, too.

Eventually, this lead me to replace Google’s “Turn off the TV” command in our nightly routine to trigger a Home Assistant script, too. Previously, it would issue the command to the Chromecast, routing through the whole Google cloud services between the device that took the request and the Chromecast. And then the Chromecast would be sending the CEC command to power off… except that it wouldn’t reach the receiver, which would stay on for another two hours until it finally decided it was time to turn off.

With the new setup, Google is triggering the Home Assistant script, and appears to do that asynchronously. Then Home Assistant sends the request to my app, that then sends it to the Feather, that sends the power off to the TV… which is also read by the receiver. I didn’t even need to send the power off command to the receiver itself!

All in all, the setup is satisfying.

What remains to be done is to try exposing a “Media Player” to Google Home, that is not actually any of the three “media_player” entities I have, but is a composite of them. That way, I could actually just expose the different input trees as discrete inputs to Google, and include the whole play, pause, and volume control that is currently missing from the voice controls. But that can wait.

Instead, I should probably get going at designing a new board to replace the breadboard mess I’m using right now. It’s hidden away enough that it’s not in our face (unlike the Birch Books experiments), but I would still like having a more… clean setup. And speaking of that, I really would love if someone already contributed an Adafruit Feather component for EAGLE, providing the space for soldering in the headers, but keeping the design referencing the actual lines as defined in it.

CircuitPython-powered Birch Books

This past April, after leaving one bubble and before joining the next, I found myself deciding to work on some basic electronics, to brush up my down-to-hardware skills and learn new stuff. And since I just had assembled the Lego Bookstore (Birch Books), I thought I would improve on that by adding LEDs and controlling them with a programmed microcontroller.

I’ve been back and forth on choosing which MCU to use, settling on an 8051 clone, which was not entirely straightforward to get to work, but eventually I thought I did. Until I got the actual boards to mount it on, and found out that I couldn’t get any new code on my chips, for some reasons I still haven’t figured out. Instead I decided to take a different approach and use a higher-level programming language and higher-level board, too.

Due to the new job having different set of contribution guidelines, I had to wait a bit before making the new boards and code available, but I have described most of the plans for it in the previous blog post. The code is now dropped in the repository. And I also spent some time to tidy up some of the other boards based on the various bits and pieces I learned from the past few months of trials and error.

The CircuitPython-based implementation relies on either the MCP23016 or the MCP23017 GPIO expanders. The trick for that is that the code is looking for the former at address 32 and the latter at address 33. The pull request to support the older, clunkier ’16 expander is approved but hasn’t been merged yet at the time of writing. I briefly considered making yet another alternative board based on the MCP23018 just to add support for it to the Adafruit library, but… I’ll leave that to someone else for now.

And while I used a Feather M4 to have it working at first, I ended up building the boards to the tinier Trinket M0, which turned out not just to be a good fit for the project, but also a good way to make sure the code would work on more boards. Turns out that on the Trinket, there’s no time.time() and I had to switch to monotonic() instead, and that lead to me finding a bug in CircuitPython.

In truth, you can hotwire anything to these boards as long as they have I²C and can talk to the MCP23016/7. And while the connector on them is designed with my actuator board in mind, what it has is pretty much the whole 16 I/O lines coming from the expander. Were you looking for an easy way to connect a Trinket M0 with 16 I/O lines to a breadboard? There you go — you might just have to connect the top header as a male pin header on the bottom of the board. Making an adapter to use this with a Feather would be relatively straightforward.

The (nearly) end result is fairly pleasing:

The version you see there is not the most recent design that you’ll find in the repository, but rather the first prototype of this version of the board that, surprisingly, managed to work the first time — nearly. The actuator board needed some work after I set up the Trinket: at first it kept blinking really fast, because it kept going in and out of test mode (which turns on all the LEDs), and in and out of “fast forward” mode (I’ll get to that in a moment). The reason turned out to be that the inputs needed an explicit pull-down. Which is why the new version of the actuator has three resistors to the side of the buttons. I also learnt that I really should pay attention to the orientation of components on the design, since at first I messed up and pulled up one of the inputs constantly.

Let’s talk a moment about the “fast forward” mode. When I originally came to design the inputs for the project, I decided I would want to have a way to run the whole cycle faster, to make videos out of it without needing to use a time-lapse or something like that. This turned out to be a good idea for testing, as well. But it’s implemented in fundamentally different ways between the 8052 firmware and its CircuitPython counterpart.

In the 8052 version, the time is kept as a number of ticks increased by a timer interrupt. When the fast-forward mode is engaged, instead of adding one tick per interrupt, it adds sixty four. Which is the speed up time of the fast forward. It also means that fast-forward works similar to a fast-forward on an old cassette tape, as it speeds up time while pressed, but it starts and end with normal time.

In the CircuitPython version, the “virtual hour” (as in, which scene we’re at) is wholly dependent on the monotonic time since start up, and the fast forward mode just changes the divisor between real time and virtual time. Which means that pressing fast-forward completely changes the virtual time. Oops. I couldn’t find a decent way around that that would have made the firmware overly complicated, so I pretty much gave up.

On the bright side, since I already have a repository for flame effect code for CircuitPython, it might be a good time for me to include the design for the fireplace, since it should be trivial to do so with the boards as they are right now!

Overall, I’m fairly happy with the result, although it feels less “self-contained” than I originally planned. I was honestly afraid at first that the Trinket M0 would be more power-hungry than the STC89, but it might be the opposite. Indeed I’m now having some issues with at least one one of the LEDs that I put in the bookstore being “burned down” — I fear my current limiting calculation was too tied to the STC89, as noticed when the ground floor LEDs turned out to be much brighter than with the breadboard. I need to make sure I got my numbers right — and if I need to, I have some new, fancier LEDs I can install, although those were rated for 12V, in which case I might need some rethinking of the whole setup.

Now to wrap this up a few words about this whole experience: I have worked on hardware before, but never down to this level. I have worked on firmware for very tiny systems that go into HVAC control planes, and for bigger systems built with COTS components but treated and sold as embedded solutions. But the closest to anything like this for me has been high school, which is over fifteen years ago!

This journey has been a learning experience, and I want to thank the folks over on the Adafruit Discord server. I also welcome any comment and critique on the code or the board designs — the latter particularly because I really have no idea what I was doing, and I had to improvise.

I also want to keep talking about mistakes as I make them, and even wonder out loud when I think I did something wrong, for two reasons: first of all, as I just said, I welcome more critiques of my thought process — if I’m going around something the wrong way, please let me know. The second reason is a bit more “squishy”: while making these mistakes is a sure way to learn more, they are not cheap mistakes. Ordering another set of five prototypes is around £5, but then you need to batch a few and spread over the shipping costs, plus the “bill of materials” tend to add up, even if the single components are just a few cents. I hope I’ll be saving someone else’s money when they look around to “how did someone else do this for this stuff?”

Art Projects Setbacks: Birch Books’ New Brain

You may remember that two months ago I declared my art project completed, and posted pictures of it. I have asid back then that it wasn’t quite all done and dusted, because I have been waiting for PCBs to arrive from PCBway, an online PCB ordering service that has been heavily advertising on YouTube makers’ videos for the past year or so. I ordered those back in April and, now that it’s July, they still haven’t turned up! I decided instead to follow again the advice of bigclive, and tried JLCPCB instead, which turned out to be a very good idea: ordered on Sunday, the boards arrived on Friday!

So on Friday I set myself to spend some of the time listening to training talks, and solder on the boards, which turned out to be a bit less practical than I intended — I might try again to solder microUSB connectors, but then I’ll follow Richard’s advice and try without the shielding in the back. After some screwups, I managed to get working boards, programmed a new STC89, and went on to connect it to the LEGO set — and it all turned up at once, which it wasn’t meant to!

After trying a few combinations of different Darlington arrays, and flashing a new build of the firmware, I ended up figuring that all the micros I flasked anew were completely stuck, with all the I/O ports staying at 5V with an occasional momentary pull down. At first I thought I screwed up the R/C network for the reset line, but no, I managed to check it with the Saleae Logic Pro and the reset line behaves exactly as it should have. I also popped in the original STC I used, before the ones I ordered on AliExpress arrived from China. And it worked fine, if a bit misconfigured (the new firmware has a few fixes). I also tried it and one of the “pristine” ones on the programmer, and they all work fine, but anything I program anew fails the same way.

It’s not a firmware problem either: I tried going back in time and build even the first draft version; I tried demos written by someone else; I tried four different versions of SDCC — all to no avail. Nothing changed in stcgal so it doesn’t sound like it’s a problem there… I’m at a complete loss of what’s going on there. I honestly felt desperate about that, because it worked perfectly fine two months ago, and now it suddenly stopped.

So instead, I spent Saturday working on my plan B: using CircuitPython for the main scenes logic, with an Adafruit board — in particular I decided to start working with the Feather M0, but I’m targeting the Trinket M0, which is cheaper, smaller, and still plenty powerful for what I need. This was also fun because, since I designed the actuator board to be separate from the MCU and in particular to be possible to plug it into a breadboard, which means that half of the design was already known working and didn’t need redesign.

Unfortunately what I didn’t think of was to produce a test board that would just plug into the pins on the actuator board to test it, without connecting it to the bookstore… so I ended up having to manually wire a lot of LEDs on the breadboard to turn them on. I’m going to use this as a visible example of why you should always build a fake of your service if you’re writing a client, to run integration testing with! I am addressing this by ordering an explicit testing board to connect on top of the actuator, so that I can just use it. Also fun fact: it looks like the LEDs that I have used in this pictures are… more sensible than the other ones, and Sparky the Blue Smoke Monster came to visit me again when I gave it a straight 5V.

There’s more jankiness going around with this board, though. When I was looking at expanding the I/O capabilities of the Feather, I ended up buying a few MCP23016 expanders. These are I²C chips that provide access to 16 input or output lines while only requiring two wires on the MCU. I can’t for the life of me remember or figure out why I went with this particular model, that currently sports a «Not Recommended for new designs.» warning on the top of the Microchip product page. I might as well have mistyped the MCP23017, which is the modern version of the same chip.

Beside not being (at all) pin compatible, the documentation on Adafruit’s website is designed for the later (’17) variant, and indeed the older (’16) version is not currently supported by CircuitPython (although I’m addressing this). It doesn’t stop there: 16 requires an additional R/C network, which turned out to be very unreliable: it ended up working better with a single resistor on the CLK line, and I’m not at all sure on why. So in general, the difference between MCP23016 and MCP23017 is that the latter is much nicer to use. Since I do have a few 16, and the components needed for the RC network, I’ve started writing the CircuitPython code based on that first, but also designed a separate board to fit the ’17, using a non-default address, so that I can distinguish between the two at startup.

Part of the reason for that is also that the ’16 is very finnicky, and when it receives a command it doesn’t entirely like, it decides to simply crash, and requires a full power cycle (not just a reset), which isn’t very good.

There’s another jankiness that you can possibly spot on the right side of the board: why is there a transistor, in this fairly minimalistic design? I mean okay, the pull-up resistors for I²C lines, and the RC network already ruined the idea of having the daughterboard and the expander only. But a transistor? Well, it turns out when I designed the actuator board I made a silly mistake: I didn’t consider that reset lines (RST) are not always active high (as they are on the 8051), but are sometimes actually ¬RST — and as you can imagine now, both the Feathers and the Trinket M0 are indeed active low.

And since pushing the Reset button is bridging the RST line of the actuator board to VIO (hey, at least I did realise that if I went to a different platform I would need a different “logic high”!), it wouldn’t work at all. Instead, it now activates the transistor, so that it bridges the RST line to ground. Basically, a NOT gate implemented with a single transistor — which I might have remembered thanks to Richard Feyman Lectures on Computation, which is a book I actually would recommend for those interested.

And if you’re wondering why the I/O lines are all orange, I checked which equipment wire roll I had the most of, turned out to be orange.

Also, a word of advise that I found out by complete random chance as well: the default for “quote dimensions” in Eagle is to put them in as traces at the top of the board! When I sent the generated gerber files to JLCPCB this time, they noted some dead shorts and asked me to confirm if that was intentional — so kudos to them for noticing. They allowed me to upload new, fixed gerber files after that.

Controlling Your TV via (Circuit)Python

This is yet another of the pre-announced projects, and possibly one of the most procrastinated ones. I own a Sony Bravia TV I bought in Ireland in 2013, and is still working very well for our needs (we don’t watch that much TV). It’s connected to a Yamaha RX-V475 receiver on one input and a cheap HDMI switch on the other input, because there’s too many devices, although we only use three or four of them most of the time: Chromecast, Portal TV, HTPC, and PlayStation 4. They are split equally between the two inputs. So far, so good.

The problem starts with the fact that sometimes if the TV is turned on by the Chromecast or the Portal, the ARC does not initialize properly, and we hear no audio. The solution is worthy of The IT Crowd: tell the TV to use the internal speakers, then tell it to use the external speakers again — turn off and on the ARC itself. It’s annoying and takes a few keypresses.

What I have been wanting for a while is a way to ask Assistant (or Alexa) to “unfuck the TV” — that is to reset the audio channel for us, recording a macro to do that ARC off/on dance. It was for this reason I bought the Feather M4 last year, but I only ended up starting to work on it just this month.

To make this possible, the first thing I needed was to know the commands sent by the remote, and have a way to replicate them back to the TV. I already had some experience with infrared receivers as, a long time ago in a different life, I maintained the LIRC patchset for Linux 2.6, for a while. I even tried writing Qt (3) bindings for LIRC. I wonder if I can find the source code anywhere. But that was not as useful as I thought.

Thankfully, Ken Shirriff wrote good documentation on the protocol, and linked to further details, and even to a full archive of all the Sony command codes. Which made my life much easier, but not completely easy. While Adafruit has an IRRemote library, it does not correctly interpret Sony SIRC commands. I considered adding the support directly into it, but it turned out to be a bit more invasive than expected, so I ended up instead writing a separate package that included both the decoder and the encoder (this was before I started the new job, so releasing it was easy — but now I’m having to wait a little bit to continue on it.)

Now, once I managed to decode the commands, I need to be able to send them. And here’s where things get interesting. What we usually refer to as commands are a bunch of bits. These are encoded, based on the protocol, as a series of pulses, which are modulated on top of a carrier wave with a certain frequency.

Unfortunately, it turns out that talking to a Sony TV is nowhere near as easy as it might sound. Let’s try to figure out what’s going on by providing a bit of vocabulary. An infrared signal as used by most remote controls usually carries a command and, in most cases, an address to specify which device should take the command (since they are usually used in place where there are multiple devices using infrared remote controls). These are encoded in bits according to the rules of the protocol, and then converted to pulses. These pulses are then applied to a carrier wave of a certain frequency, which defines the speed at which the infrared LED is “blinking” on and off. The LED itself has a wavelength which represent the “colour” of the light in the infrared spectrum.

For Sony’s SIRC, the TV expects a 40kHz carrier, and it seems a 950nm wavelength. It seems like you can use 940nm LEDs but they have worse reception, and only works if they are bright enough. The first batch of LEDs I bought, as well as the pre-soldered module from DFRobot, turned out to not be bright enough for my TV to recognize — so I decided to try with desoldering the LED from a replacement remote control from eBay, which worked fine, so I thought I needed 950nm LEDs — but no, it works with good enough 940nm LEDs, just not with the tiny ones I originally bought from Mouser.

So once I had a way to send arbitrary Sony commands to my TV, I started looking for options to trigger the ARC reset — unfortunately this is proving more complicated than I expected: there’s no command that I could send that would provide me with the ARC menu. Instead I can only bring up the Sync menu reliably — but that menu has different entries depending on whether the selected input has working HDMI CEC, which is extremely annoying.

On the other hand, I did find commands that select directly the different inputs directly, instead of showing up the input selection menu and choosing from there. Which gave me a different idea to start with: while I haven’t given up on the macro for fixing the audio, what I can do is to script input selection across the two-level mux.

I started by wondering if I could send the IR command to the HDMI switcher as well, so that I could select between those two easily — that turned out to be another pile of yaks to shave. The switcher uses the NEC protocol, which has a 38kHz carrier wave, but that turned out not to matter as much (the decoder it uses seem to accept 40kHz just as well) — instead I had a hard time to get it to receive the command because it expected a NEC “repeat signal” to seal the command. I guess that’s going to be a blog post in and by itself.

Now, my original plan was to get something running on the Feather, attach an AirLift wing to give it WiFi, and control that… somehow. I also considered re-coding this with ESP32 and ESPHome, despite it not having an obvious way to send SIRC commands while making sense — it doesn’t represent the commands the way the protocol expects, and the most reasonable way I could find was to generate the pulse sequence, and just sending that raw.

But then I thought it over and realised that, at least for the moment, it makes more sense for me to use an USB-to-GPIO bridge, and control this from a full blown computer — the reason for that is that I would want to be able to open a webpage on my phone, or my wife’s, and select the right input altogether. And while there’s a Python module for controlling the receiver, using that from CircuitPython or MicroPython would probably take some work. And even though I could just control the Feather remotely, via MQTT or USB-Serial, it would still likely be more work than driving this all from the same Flask app locally.

Unfortunately, I don’t have code to show you yet. While my new dayjob has much simpler policies than the last, I need to complete the training before I can start releasing new projects. Hopefully next update will come with code and demos.

Fake candles, and flame algorithms

The Birch Books LEGO set that I have been modifying has an interesting “fireplace” at the first floor of the townhouse. I have been wanting to wire that up to light up for the evening scenes in my smart lighting board, but I want it to look at least a bit realistic. But how do you do that?

As I previously noted, there’s flame effect LED lamps out there, which were looked at by both bigclive and Adam Savage, this very year. But those are way too big for the scale we’re talking about here. Simplifying this too much, you can think of those lamps as round, monochrome LED panels showing a flame animation, like an old DOS demo. Instead what I have to work with is going to be at most two LEDs — or at least two independent channels for the LEDs.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to look far to find something to learn from. A few months ago a friend of my wife gave us as a present a very cute candle holder, but since we’re renting, that’s not really a good idea. Instead I turned on Amazon (but AliExpress would have done the trick just as well) for some fake candles (LED Candles) that would do the trick. These are interesting because they are not just shaped like a candle, but they have a flickering light like one as well. Three of them in the holder fit fairly nicely and did the trick to give a bit of an atmosphere to our bedroom.

I was full ready to sacrifice one of the candles to reverse engineer it, but the base comes off non-destructively, and that the board inside is very easy to follow. Indeed, you can see the schematic of the board here on the right (I omitted the on/off switch for clarity), even though the board itself has space for more components. The whole of the candle is controlled by a microcontroller, with a PIC12F-compatible pinout (but as Hector pointed out, much more likely to be some random chinese microcontroller instead).

It’s interesting to note that the LED starts in “candle” mode once turning the switch to the “on” position, without using the remote control. My guess is that if you buy one of the versions that does not come with a remote control, you can add that functionality by just soldering a TSOP381x decoder. It also shows why the battery on these things don’t really last as long as you may want it to, despite using the bigger, rarer and more expensive CR2450 batteries. The microcontroller is powered up all the time, waiting to decode some signal from the remote control, even if the LED is off. I wanted to record the current flowing through in standby, but it’s fairly hard to get the battery in series with the multimeter — maybe I should invest on a bench supply for this kind of work.

So how does this all work? The LED turns out to be a perfectly normal warm white LED, with a domed form factor that fits nicely in the carved space in the fake candle itself, and that helps it diffuse it. To produce the flame effect, the microcontroller uses PWM (pulse-width modulation) — which is a pretty common way to modulate intensity of LEDs, and the way most RGB LEDs work to produce combined colours, just like on my insulin reminder. Varying the duty cycle (the ratio between “high” and “low” of the digital line) allows changing the intensity of the light (or of the specific colour for RGB ones). If you keep varying the duty cycle, you get a varying intensity that simulates a flame.

The screenshot you can see is from Saleae Logic software. It shows the variable duty cycle in span of a few seconds, and it’s pretty much unreadable. It’s possible that I can write code for a decoder in the Saleae logic, and export the actual waveform it uses to simulate the flickering of a flame — but honestly that sounds a lot of unjustified work: there’s not really “one” true flame algorithm, as long as the flickering looks the part, it’s going to be fine.

Example of a generated Perlin noise waveform for the LED flickering

So, how do you generate the right waveform? Well, I had a very vague idea of how when I started, but thanks to the awesome people in the Adafruit Discord (shout out to IoTPanic and OrangeworksDesign!) I found quite a bit of information to go by — while there are more “proper” way to simulate a fire, Perlin noise is a very good starting point for it. And what do you know? There’s a Python package for it which happens to be maintained by a friend of mine!

Now there’s a bit of an issue on how to properly output the waveform in PWM — in particular its frequency and resolution. I pretty much just thrown something at the wall, it works, and I’ll refine it later if needed, but the result is acceptable enough for what I have in mind, at least when it comes to just the waveform simulation.

The code I thrown at the wall for this is only going to be able to do the flickering. It doesn’t allow for much control and pretty much expects full control of the execution — almost the same as in the microcontroller of the original board, that literally turns off the moment the IR decoder receives (or thinks it’s receiving) a signal.

I was originally planning to implement this on the Adafruit M4 Express with PWMAudioOut — it’s not audio per-se, but it’s pretty much the same thing. But unfortunately it looks like the module needed for this is not actually built into the specific version of CircuitPython for that Feather. But now we’re in the business of productionizing code, rather than figuring out how to implement it.