Polyphonic ringtones (from 1 to 5 channels) - Last Update: July -2006
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Follow this steps to get a ringtone directly to your phone: |
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1. Check the file name of midi file U want from the list of ringtones below, 2. Connect your phone via WAP or GPRS to the following address: http://www.novagorica.com/m4dj/poly/"file name" 3. When the ringtone is downloaded, you can open/play or save it to your phone. |
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(TA) - midis taken from members of TA midi site with permisssion and EDITED by M4DJ. |
Warning: The Linux satellite scene can be a minefield of dead links and malware. Follow these rules.
Safe Forums (High trust):
What to avoid:
Search string for Google:
"vu solo2 backup image hot" site:linuxsat-support.com
Flashing a backup image is a massive time-saver. Here is why users search for "Hot" backups:
The first time Eli saw the Vu Solo2, it looked like an old friend packed into a new coat — the soft matte plastic, the familiar cluster of LEDs like constellations waiting to tell tales. He had pulled it from a box on a rain-streaked Tuesday, the kind of day when the city’s skyline blurred into a watercolor haze and the only certain thing was the hum of servers downtown. He’d bought the recorder for a project that had turned inward: recording the small evidences of living well enough to call it living. Family dinners. A neighbor’s lullaby in a hallway. The sliver of sunlight that validated his morning.
He learned the device’s temper quickly. It liked neat microSD cards and clean file systems. It wanted power and a breeze of patience. But above all, it lived for images — packets of time burned into tiny sectors, each one a promise that nothing would vanish completely. He loved how the Vu stored a day as a stack of tiny, intimate truths.
When the backup failed, it was the smallest thing that first tipped him off: an orange LED blink he didn’t recognize and a note in the logger that read, in neutral text, “backup image: hot.” Hot meant the device had tried to write a mirror while still holding a file, an overlapping handshake between memory streams that could scramble everything. Hot meant risk. Hot meant urgency.
He’d been negligent. For weeks, work had stretched with evening shifts, and he had kept the Solo2 plugged in like a sleeping animal — a device that would, at some point, wake and deliver. He told himself the redundancy was implicit: the cloud copy, the archival drive under the bed, the mirrored thumbdrive in his drawer. But redundancy is not a philosophy; it is a set of acts. He had not acted.
The error compounded. When he inserted the SD card into his laptop, the file tree looked like a deranged city map: fragments strewn between numbered folders, timestamps that went backward, thumbnails that refused to render. A single folder named BACKUP_IMAGE_HOT sat like a rumor, glowing faintly in the file manager’s shadow. He tried recovery software — polite, patient programs that promised miracles for a price — but each attempt produced files that were something other than what he had expected: a blurred dinner face with a spike of static through the mouth, a sequence of a street at dusk with missing frames where a boy had once run.
Eli sat with the ruined images as if they were people in shock. He scrolled and paused. The Solo2 had recorded more than the obvious: the hesitation of his sister’s eyes when she spoke of leaving town, the way the landlord’s dog cocked its head at midnight when thunder crawled in. All those micro-movements, once discrete and recoverable, now flickered like damaged film. The “hot” backup had braided them together into a new narrative, and maybe — he told himself as much to stay upright — maybe that narrative had value, even if it was not the one he had intended.
He began to rebuild.
Step one was surrender. He copied everything, fragments and corrupted sectors, into a working folder and left the originals alone. Step two was classification — images that could still be parsed, frames that had intact audio, files that were dead. He treated the corrupted photos as archeological shards, not objects to be mourned but clues to be rearranged.
It became a method and a ritual. He opened an image that showed his neighbor watering plants on a fire escape, the image cut by a diagonal band of static that turned the scene into a split memory: half a mundane chore, half an impressionistic smear like paint dragged across glass. Eli separated the halves, duplicated each, and fed them into different software — one designed to clean noise, another to amplify edges and enhance contrast. He found patterns in the corruption: where the Solo2’s processor had been interrupted, the noise favored warm tones. Hot, he realized, did not only denote temperature; it left a palette. Reds and oranges survived better than pale blues. Faces stained warmer, backgrounds cooler. If loss was inevitable, its shape could be guided. vu solo2 backup image hot
Night after night he crafted. He stitched a child’s laugh from three partial audio files, smoothing the seam with a copied breath from another clip. He spliced a sequence of the city’s river at dawn from frames scattered across different folders, harmonizing their exposure, letting the defects become a cinematic grain. His friends began to notice messages: “Have you seen this? It’s weird—like a memory dream.” They sent back half-jokes, half-concerned emojis. Eli, who had been careful with his excitement, sent them artifacts: a rooftop sunset that bled into a kitchen argument, a dog mid-bark whose mouth linearly deformed into a streak of orange.
The more he repaired, the more the Solo2’s failure felt less like loss and more like a translation. The corrupted files were not simple breakages; they were collisions of time — overlapping bits that had tried to commit to two moments at once. In them, two possibilities existed simultaneously. A boy on a bike both turned the corner and did not. A woman both reached for a phone and turned away. Each frame folded choices into one image.
He cataloged these dualities, naming them: The Turn That Wasn’t, The Glass That Never Broke, The Laughter Underwater. The names were crude, but they held place. He arranged them into sequences, not by chronology but by resonance. A table of three photos became a small essay about decision — a moment split by an error into what-happened and what-did-not.
Word of his project leaked when a friend — Mara, a documentary editor — asked to see what he’d been doing and walked out of his apartment with a USB drive that contained a short loop. She showed it to a curator at a small gallery who loved the idea of “misremembered truth” and offered a slot in an experimental show. The solo title was easy: Backup Image — Hot.
The opening was rainless, lit with cool gallery lights. People murmured, glasses clinked. The wall screens showed sequences where the Solo2’s corruption had been curated into meaning: a child’s spoon hovering between mouth and bowl, a commuter’s shadow both present and absent, a bedroom window that opened into two twilights. The audience moved slowly. Some wept quietly at images that refracted their own lives. Others laughed and asked practical questions about the device.
Eli stood near the back and watched. He watched a woman who’d come for the photography see her face in a screen — her own hands folded in two different ways — and flatten with recognition. He watched a young man point at a piece called The Turn That Wasn’t and tell his companion about a choice he’d made to leave a city and never return. People saw their own undecideds inside the fragments.
One night after the show closed, an old file surfaced on the backup directory he had never managed to reconstruct — a short, corrupted video labeled with yesterday’s timestamp. He had no memory of recording it. He opened it because it was there, because the Solo2 had decided to give up one last secret.
The video presented a corridor, the camera fixed at an angle that suggested someone set it down. The frames jittered between focus and blur, but centrally there was a small, steady thing: a hand, older than his own, placing down a small box with careful, reverent fingers. The audio was a whisper of breath and the rustle of paper. For a moment, the file lapsed into static and then returned — but the returned portion showed the corridor empty, the box gone. The label read: BACKUP_IMAGE_HOT_0423_23:51.mp4. No date, no year.
Eli realized, with the simple, cold clarity of a man who is finally awake, that the Solo2 had been saving more than images. It had been saving possibility. The hot backup had folded presence and absence until they could not be told apart. Objects were both placed and not placed. Faces were both spoken to and remained silent.
He copied the final file, turned it into a still, and enlarged the frame of the hand. In the grain he saw the echo of a wedding ring that matched nothing he owned, the ink of a name he did not recognize, the tiny creases of a life he had not lived. He wrote that name down on a scrap of paper and slipped it into the box under his bed with the other thumbdrives.
There is a type of grief that requires articulation, a geometry of loss that wants to be named and arranged. Eli’s grief — not only for the lost raw files but for the permissions he had failed to grant his memories — became a practice. He made exhibitions, yes, but he also made quiet rituals: labeling a morning’s light, writing down who was present at a meal, placing a coin with each repaired file in a jar. The Solo2, he discovered, had given him a curriculum in attention. Hot backups were warnings, but they were also teachers.
Years later, a young archivist asked him what he would tell someone prepping for digital memory. Eli had an answer then that felt less like counsel and more like confession: "Don’t wait for a device to tell you you are losing things. Act as if every moment is already half-erased."
He kept the Solo2 on a shelf. It was no longer only a tool; it was a relic that had taught him to see the split seams of being. And sometimes, when the city light slanted a certain way, he would pull one of the old corrupted files and let the hot images play. He liked how they made decision feel possible again — as if nothing was ever truly fixed, only deferred, rewoven, or repaired into something stranger and, sometimes, truer. Warning: The Linux satellite scene can be a
The last line in the logger — a quiet coda he found months after the exhibition — read: BACKUP IMAGE HOT: COMPLETED. It felt less like a report than a benediction. The Solo2 had burned and cooled. The world around it kept making its small combustions. Eli sat with his hands folded and, for the first time in a long while, let the city decide what to keep.
—
The Vu+ Solo2 remains a legendary Linux-based satellite receiver due to its powerful processor and dual-tuner capabilities. Creating a "hot" backup image—a complete snapshot of your current firmware, plugins, channel lists, and settings—is essential before experimenting with new skins or updates.
Below is a detailed guide on how to create and manage a high-quality backup for your Solo2. 🛠️ Prerequisites for a Successful Backup
Before you begin the process, ensure your hardware is ready to receive the image data.
Storage Device: You need a USB stick (formatted to FAT32) or an internal HDD.
Storage Space: A full image backup typically requires 200MB to 500MB of free space.
Image Type: These steps primarily apply to Enigma2 images like OpenATV, BlackHole, or OpenVix. 💾 How to Create a Full "Hot" Backup
A "hot" backup is performed while the box is running. Most modern images have this functionality built into the software manager. 1. Using the Software Manager (OpenATV/OpenVix) Press Menu on your remote. Navigate to Setup > Software Management. Select Full Backup (sometimes labeled "Image Backup"). Choose your destination (USB or HDD).
Press the Red button (usually) to start the "Make Full Backup" process.
Wait: The process takes 3–5 minutes. Do not power off the box. 2. Using BlackHole Image Press Menu > Setup > Backup Management. Select Full Backup to USB or HDD.
The box will create a folder named vuplus containing the necessary flash files (kernel_cfe_auto.bin and root_cfe_auto.bin). 📁 Understanding the Backup Structure
When the backup is complete, you will find a folder on your storage device named vuplus. Inside that folder is a subfolder named solo2. This folder contains the essential files: kernel_cfe_auto.bin: The core operating system kernel. root_cfe_auto.bin: Your files, plugins, and settings. What to avoid:
force.update: A small file that tells the Solo2 to flash automatically on reboot. 🔥 Why This Is a "Hot" Setup
To make your backup truly "hot" (optimized and ready for performance), ensure these elements are configured before you hit the backup button:
Softcams: Ensure OSCam or CCcam is pre-configured with your logic.
Channel Lists: Use EnigmaSignalMeter or DreamboxEdit to organize your favorites (bouquets).
EPG Refresh: Set your EPG to save to the HDD/USB so the backup doesn't bloat with cache data.
Swap File: For the Solo2, a 256MB swap file on a USB drive can significantly improve stability when using heavy skins. 🔄 How to Restore Your Backup
If your system crashes or you want to clone your setup to another Solo2: Power off the Solo2 using the rear switch.
Insert the USB stick containing the vuplus/solo2/ folder into the front USB port. Power the box back on.
When the front display says "Update? Press Power," press the power button on the front panel of the receiver.
The display will show "Flashing..." and then "Finished." The box will reboot automatically.
💡 Pro Tip: Always rename your backup folders on your PC (e.g., backup_stable_2024_04_18) so you know exactly which version you are reverting to later. To help you get the most out of your Solo2,
The hottest visual trend is the SKY Q or Slyk Onyx skin. If the backup image features a Skin resembling Sky Glass or Sky Q UK, it is likely a high-demand download.
Some "hot" images are not a full raw flash but a "Recovery." If after booting you see "Restore Wizard," select NO to restore personal logs, but YES to restore plugins/skins.
| Problem | Solution |
|---------|----------|
| Boot loop after restore | Flash original image → restore backup without restoring drivers |
| No channels | Re-run AutoBouquetsMaker or manual scan |
| Softcam not starting | Check init.d symlinks or start via Blue Panel → Softcam setup |
| Missing tuner config | Backup was from a different setup – redo Tuner A/B |
Even a “hot” image needs a little personalization:
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Artist |
Title |
File name |
Listen |
| Aurora | Ordinary World (Above & Beyond Mix) | aurora.mid | Download |
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Ann Lee |
2 Times |
times.mid |
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Antiloop |
In my mind |
mind.mid |
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Alice DeeJay |
Better Off Alone |
betteroff2.mid |
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Binary Finary |
Binary Finary 1998 |
binary.mid |
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Barthezz |
Infected |
infected.mid |
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| Delerium | Silence (Airscape remix) | silence.mid | Download |
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DJ Jean |
The launch |
launch.mid |
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DJ Tiesto |
Suburban train |
train.mid |
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| Dragosta Din Tei ? |
Dragosta Din Tei |
dragosta.mid | Download |
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David Guetta |
Love don't let me go |
david.mid |
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Darude |
Sandstorm Music |
sandstorm.mid music.mid |
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Dario G |
Heaven is Closer |
heaven3.mid |
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Deedee |
The One |
theone.mid |
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Eifel65 |
Blue |
blue2.mid |
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Ian Van Dahl |
Castles in the sky |
castles.mid |
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Zombie nation |
Kernkraft 400 |
zombie.mid |
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Lasgo |
Alone |
lasgoalone.mid |
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Lasgo |
Something |
something.mid |
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Milk Inc. |
WalkOnWaterer |
milkinc.mid |
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PPK |
Resurection |
ppk.mid |
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PlanetFunk |
Chase the sun |
chase.mid |
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Paul Van Dyke |
Nothing but you |
nothing.mid |
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Scooter |
The Night |
thenight.mid |
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| Ringtones posted by matan_narkiss@hotmail.com | |||
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