Earlier this week I was trying, briefly, to develop an aesthetic of music that encompassed and accounted for every sort of music and sound including the ambient and uncomposed, but then one thing led to another, and the kittens got out and we had to catch them, and one of the big cats brought a mouse home, and we had to put flea collars on all of them, except the tortoise, which my sister-in-law would have stepped on except Gamma hollered in time. Also, we were busy planning my birthday party, and Alpha and Gamma were packing and making arrangements for their trip to Hong Kong, and it occurred to me that maybe I should pack, too, for my trip to Vicenza this weekend, where my orchestra plays tomorrow (Vicenza fans: I’ll be the guy in the third row of cellos stabbing the cellist to my left in the heart with my bow).
We’re stopping at Venice on our way back on Sunday.
The sun just came out.
The sun was out here for a few seconds too, but being the Pacific Northwest in April, it didn’t last.
In my efforts to acquire a socially acceptable hobby, I’ve been trying to make myself like hot tea. (I don’t like coffee either, so I can’t go on dates.) No matter what I do, it still just tastes like slightly bitter water to me, unless I dump a buttload of sugar in there, then it tastes like sugar water. *sigh* So I’m about to give up on that one. But I mention this for the purpose of saying that I understand that being posh is hard work. Especially when you’re born white trailer trash like me (though I moved to an apartment last week, so I’m not sure I can be trailer trash anymore).
So you mean like, are some sounds more universally pleasant than others? Sure!
Round sounds are nice. I don’t like sharp and ripping sounds – except when I’m in that kind of mood. Repetitions are good – what would music be without them? But when the guy upstairs bring out his oomph-oomph-oomph-oomph dance tracks… That’s bad repetitions.