But to the owner of a late-90s or early-2000s Onkyo receiver—be it the TX-DS575, the TX-DS676, or the mighty TX-DS777—this remote is the Rosetta Stone. Without it, your receiver is a brick with blinking lights. With it, you are a god of cinema.
It is absurd. It is analog. It is fixable .
So, if you are reading this, clutching a cold RC-799M in your hand, searching for that PDF: don't despair. Download the manual. Print it out. Three-hole punch it. Put it in a binder.
At first glance, the RC-799M is just a remote. A long, slightly boxy, early-2000s slab of dark gray plastic. It lacks the sleek aluminum of an Apple remote or the clicky satisfaction of a Logitech Harmony. To the uninitiated, it looks like a generic TV controller from a budget hotel room.
There is a specific kind of anxiety reserved for the modern audiophile. It is not the anxiety of vinyl scratches or blown tweeters. It is the quiet, creeping dread that settles in when you press the "Setup" button on your remote control, the LCD screen blinks twice, and you realize you have no idea what to do next.
The manual is a paradox: it is written in clear English, yet it reads like a technical schematic for a nuclear reactor.
Onkyo Rc-799m: Manual //top\\
But to the owner of a late-90s or early-2000s Onkyo receiver—be it the TX-DS575, the TX-DS676, or the mighty TX-DS777—this remote is the Rosetta Stone. Without it, your receiver is a brick with blinking lights. With it, you are a god of cinema.
It is absurd. It is analog. It is fixable .
So, if you are reading this, clutching a cold RC-799M in your hand, searching for that PDF: don't despair. Download the manual. Print it out. Three-hole punch it. Put it in a binder.
At first glance, the RC-799M is just a remote. A long, slightly boxy, early-2000s slab of dark gray plastic. It lacks the sleek aluminum of an Apple remote or the clicky satisfaction of a Logitech Harmony. To the uninitiated, it looks like a generic TV controller from a budget hotel room.
There is a specific kind of anxiety reserved for the modern audiophile. It is not the anxiety of vinyl scratches or blown tweeters. It is the quiet, creeping dread that settles in when you press the "Setup" button on your remote control, the LCD screen blinks twice, and you realize you have no idea what to do next.
The manual is a paradox: it is written in clear English, yet it reads like a technical schematic for a nuclear reactor.
