One Thousand Word Challenge 248: There’s Always Room for Disappointment

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

So I’m writing again as I was a bit disappointed in the speed in which I got the last bit of rambling done. I want to write faster and that slow speed just will not do. However, I’m already lagging behind. Maybe I’ve listened to too much relaxed music today. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m writing purely for speed and I’m going at a steady click which is great.However, I am going slow, which is not great. I have no idea as to how many words I’ve already written but I cannot stop as if I do, that’ll take time and time is not what I want to take… even though I’m taking time to do do this and taking your time as you’re reading this.

I’m not good at this stuff.

Still, I have to wonder as to how I am taking time. I have to also wonder as to how I’m giving time. I think about that some of the time and to all of the time. Time is a word I also say a lot.

Time

So anyway, I’m writing. I am communicating and through this is a form of expression. It is an expression of nothing in particular. I write and I’m in an office and all is quiet and that’s okay. Things are good and flowing well, and I’m relaxed. I’m not stressed. Just in a significant amount of pain but it’s getting better. That’s life. So it goes and such it is. And I sit here and I wonder as to what I am doing with my life. I wonder where the meaning comes from interfacing with a computer in order to press buttons and send notes and fix things comes from.

Is it from the action? Is it from being a participant in society, where there are many holes to fill and few people ever seem to fit into any of them? How does my sense of self fit into this? When I press these buttons, what am I furthering? I have questions and this isn’t the place to ask them, but I am asking them. But I keep on going as there are tasks that need doing and that is what has been requested of me.

In the successful completion of these tasks I am provided an income and I can spend it as I see fit, and a lot of that expenditure goes to survival. Funny how that happens. Funny how little things change. The more things change the more they stay the same or so some people think, though there definitely are circular patterns in life and it seems they are inescapable. We just need to make the most of what we can where we can and how we can if we are to see some sort of success within this continual going around the drain but never quiet going down it to something new.

So what am I saying, anyway? Where am I going with this? What purpose is a life if it is lived only for work? Of course I can say that, but am I not also working when I am not working? When I write, am I not working? Am I not staying in a continuous state of processes and doing things when I work on music or a drawing, or a photo? Does work ever stop?

Is the work of the office grey, and is that why we consider work outside of the office – work that we enjoy – much more varied and coloured? Is it solely to do with how we associate drudgery and lack of imagination? There’s a lot of imagination in the office space, and I think this goes ignored more often than it should. Still, there’s a difference between being in a place that often feels cold, regardless of how warm its inhabitants are, and a place where we usually associate with safety and comfort and warmth.

There is a good chance a lot of us associate positive qualities in areas more dangerous than offices and still see offices as being unimaginative, uncreative places that don’t provide comfort or some sort of ease and relaxation simply because we work there and complete obligations for money, whereas in more dangerous spaces, we are there far more willingly and are relaxing in them, so therefore are considered safer and more protective. Either that or we recognise the dangers, but the pressure is different and less oppressive in a way… not that I’m in an oppressive space, but you know. You get the idea.

Maybe it’s in the architecture. Maybe even if we are impressed by where we work, there’s still something in the back of our minds tellings us that a space is hostile to living, even if it is not. Even in the most comfortable of spaces, if we have to work for an income in them, then perhaps we inherently see them as bad and dangours and uncomfortable, and not good for the brain. I wish I knew if this was the case or not, but I don’t. This is not something I know anything about. I can only guess and hope that it leads to me thinking and looking more into it. I have been in my fair share of hostile spaces, however but those were quite obviously hostile. But now I’m not. I’m in a healthier office space now.

So… yeah. The day continues, I continue writing and I continue doing the things that I’m doing. I keep getting through it all, whatever it all is of course, and I’m still writing away. I’m trying to get this done at a speed I’m happy with and I don’t think I will. There’s always room for disappointment and I’m quite good at disappointing myself. Therefore I will continue to do this, but at least I can say I did it my way. I can disappoint myself with my thoughts and I can disappoint myself with my words. But they’re all mine.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:08:28

Went very surface philosophical for some reason. Not sure why. Did it at a decent speed, though.

Written at work.

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One Thousand Word Challenge 247: Hearing a Familiar Album Differently

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

I can already feel that I am running out of things to say today, though I haven’t said much of anything. I feel a stress in my trying to write, and I feel a tension in my gripping onto whatever I can. However, there still remains plenty to be said, and today I think I’m going to try and go the distance. A lot of distance still to go, however. But I am going to try.

Last night I spent a rather inordinate amount of time hunting for a different version of one of my favourite albums. Realistically, it was the right amount of time. It did feel excessive, however. But it was worth it.

I’m talking about Talk Talk’s “Laughing Stock.

So the version I have, which is the version I imagine a lot of people have, has two of the songs overlap with another. The first is with a brief snippet of the end of “Ascension Day” at the start of “After the Flood”, which, if you’re listening to the latter on its own, leads to it having this really harsh tiny bit of sound that really harms the start of the piece. The second is “Taphead” starting whilst “After the flood” is ending, which is pleasant, don’t get me wrong. It helps create this sense of continuation, as though the songs should be viewed as one piece, but my issue with it is that “After the Flood” doesn’t get to stand on its own, and it’s my favourite song on Laughing Stock, so I want to hear it unencumbered.

And now I can.

So the version of “After the Flood” I had (and still have) is the version I’m most familiar with, and the one I got used to. I got used to that harsh bit of noise, and I got used to “Taphead” being there at the end. And then I found out that there was a version where the songs were more segmented, and I forgot or missed it, and then I realised last night again. I think. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but I ended up going on a hunt last night for the segmented version of Laughing Stock, and I found it.

This search took a while. It took a lot of time and it’s time I’m not getting back. There were other things I needed to take care of but I didn’t, and now I’m here writing about it. I was also worried about that search affecting my sleep. You know, when you end up invested too heavily into something and you need to start getting ready for bed that, by the time you stop and detach, you’re still wound up from whatever it was that you were doing that you don’t have time to settle and so it takes longer to fall asleep. That thing. That’s the thing that I was worried about. Somehow avoided it, though, so I’m happy about that.

But I dug around and acquired myself multiple versions of “After the Flood” to see who had the version I was after. I had to do a lot of searching as most of what I was coming across still had a smidgen of “Ascension Day” at the end. Sure, I could have edited it off, but this I didn’t want to do. I wanted to have the songs as they were; without cutting and reattaching and all that stuff. So I kept on searching. I kept on digging.

It was quite obsessive, this search, but it did end up proving fruitful. I found a version that was its own song, and I listened to its start, and it felt weird. It felt odd to have it clean. I checked the ending, heard no overlap, went back to listening to the start.

The way “After the Flood” started felt a bit too sudden to me, and I know it was due to not being what I was used to. It still felt wrong, however. For a little while. Eventually it sunk in and I got the rest of the album, and I was happy. I was happy to have a different version of Laughing Stock as it meant I could hear it in a different way.

I’m listening to Laughing Stock right now and I’m enjoying it. Or rather, I’m experiencing it, believing I’m connecting with it. I’m hearing it in a different way, and it remains immersive to me. It’s still saying something to me, and maybe it’s saying it better.

I do like me a good bit of continuous music, but sometimes I prefer continuous pieces to be disconnected. So long as that thematic connection is still there, then does it matter? I don’t know. This is just sometimes how I prefer to hear some things. Sometimes I prefer other ways of hearing. Of listening and experiencing. For Laughing Stock, I prefer the former as the pieces seem to connect without being connected. They flow into each other without that overlap, but they allow themselves to be viewed individually and you get all these different tones and varying colours and shapes, and textures too. You hear all these varying moods, and it continues on until its end, finding fullness, finding sparseness and finding rest.

So I’m here, at work, enjoying Talk Talk and I’m finding myself running out of things to say, and in a way I’m glad because I get to sit here and write and think more about an album I like. It’s an album that still feels mysterious to me as it has so much to offer. It’s an album of music in the truest sense, and it carries itself well, after all of these years.

Right now it enters my ears, and I’m hearing things I haven’t heard before. I’m still getting things from it. How lucky am I? How good is this? How often does someone get to say they’re hearing something on one of their favourite records that they hadn’t before?

The time it took to write one thousand words: 17:51:45

Bit slower than I hoped and perhaps I relied on repetition a bit too much. I had to think a bit more for this one and that thinking works, but this could’ve been a shorter thing.

Written at work.

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Five-Hundred Word Challenge 1571: Intense, yet Respectful Conversation

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Imagine being confronted by an intense, yet respectful conversation, and it’s not one that you’re part of, but still one you have to hear as you don’t want to get up and walk away as it might make the whole thing super awkward.

I just had to turn into someone that didn’t exist, and it was odd. It was weird. It was uncomfortable. I just had to hear this whole thing about concerns in the workplace between two people, and there definitely was some reassurance which was great, but it was not something I ever wanted to be privy to.

And I know I could have just walked away, but as I said, I didn’t. It would’ve made the thing awkward. I had to pretend that I couldn’t hear it, but by golly could I hear it.

So I turned into furniture. I turned into a background object made for just decoration, and I don’t think it worked, but the conversation continued on. They kept talking about they felt they had to talk about, so that was good, at least. But I had to hear it all. I had to hear it and I felt some pain from it, because it was just this awkward, stressed conversation about reassurance and perhaps some remorse of action in there, too. But it seems like it was all okay in the end. Or maybe it didn’t, but at least there was confirmation of further action and steps to take and all of that stuff.

I’m sitting here and I never thought this would be something I’d end up exposed to, and I have to wonder what the thinking was when it came to where to have this conversation. They would’ve seen that I was here. they would’ve known that I was doing my thing, and they still chose to have it here. And sure, I became nothing. I became something not worthy of attention, but I still was here. I could still here the whole thing among the sounds I was experiencing, and that’s what I didn’t want to have. But they did it, I heard it, and now I’m here writing about it.

The space of the office and its participants are always interesting, but also not something I want to be part of when it comes to the politics. Of course it’s difficult not to, but this is something that really does not concern me, and yet now I am spectator. I cannot be camouflaged among the furniture. I cannot be inanimate and I cannot be unknowing now. However, of course none of it is my business and the chances are I’ll forget about it come the end of the day… assuming I even remember for that long.

At the very least, right now I am knowing and that’s not what I want to be. However, I have to be and I have to accept my role as spectator, despite my attention set elsewhere. A terrible burden to carry with me.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:03:81

Bit faster than the last, and continuing my process of writing things not worth writing about.

Written at work.

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Supercar: Time

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

I’m feeling as though I’m on a roll at the moment so I went into this and just banged it out. Little active thinking, just got it done. Made the writing really easy to get through, and I feel good about it. I don’t know how well it represents the song, but I’m happy with the result.

Supercar’s “Time” is from Answer.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Something tiny. Something on its own. Just perceptible. Keys come in and keys play a pleasant pattern. A warm pattern. They play firmly and with space, and soon they start cascading down, shining in the light they capture in their pieces.

A gentle voice follows in steps and finds itself punctuated by the keys, and something swirls in the background. A noise, building but also seemingly never growing. A shoreline upon the brackets between sounds, from which more steps come forward.

Those steps tick percussively, and they keep moving when the vocals return. The vocals returned with a little fragile sound behind them, and the vocals themselves are doubled and echoing. When they stop a new pattern emerges in the keys, and it feels playful. It could be forgiving, and it could be a big hug; a wrapping in the arms, of warm embrace. Of a sadness but a continuing on, and a remembering of everything that has been, and looking fondly.

Those keys disappear and it seems like everything is walking away. It seems like everything is moving away, out of view as all keeps heading forward. Everything is moving to a point where it will disappear, and the steps remain. The steps of a ticking clock, left there, ticking away. Nothing left but the sound. Nothing left but the indicator of time, until it too stops, leaving silence at the song’s end.

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Supercar: Last Scene

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen, and this one was another that was both difficult and easy. I felt some conflict about what I was writing, as though I felt on the right track and then felt I wasn’t and had to course correct. It was odd. Regardless, the result works well for the song.

Supercar’s “Last Scene” is from Answer.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Percussive strikes lead to a pleasant beat and a gentle, floating feel. The bass seems to grab and glide along with the way the sounds drift, and when the vocals come in, they seem to come in and out as much as they seem to continue on. Almost as though bits and pieces coming into view.

The sounds all dip and the vocals remain as gentle as the sounds, and they keep moving with their spaciousness. They carry pleasant and emotive, and they soon return to the verse.

Something a bit more doleful seems to reveal itself. Perhaps an unwillingness to relent and let go. There’s an emotional thrust and the vocals seem a bit more detached, or losing attachment.

The chorus returns with comfort and pleasantries among the sadness, and when it comes to an end the melody changes shape. It seems more overwhelming, and it seems a little happy, though also bitter. Bitter and rough, and hurting, but happy. Happy and joyous.

The main melody returns and continues its floating. It continues its emotional mass floating there, floating along, and the vocals drift along with that mass. They drift along and watch at the same time. There’s something glowing here, too, and it seems almost overwhelming. It’s comforting, but it’s hard. It’s difficult, but there’s that warmth in there, and it fades with everything as the song ends.

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Supercar: Siren

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

I queued this up in… January? Possible January, maybe February, though it doesn’t matter. I was listening to Supercar for the first time and some of what I heard I liked, and a lot I was indifferent toward. This song is one I liked, but I think I was hesitant to return to it due to that indifference. Glad I got on with it and wrote about it here as I think it’s a good song. Not the best, but it’s good. Good enough, at least.

I let whatever come forward and I think it works for the song. However, the song has this particular feel that I had difficulty in getting across. I think it’s worth really listening to in order to get an idea of what it is doing.

Supercar’s “Siren” is from Answer.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Bass, it’s just bass for a moment. Something else joins the bass and builds on its framing. It seems rapid and slow, and when percussion comes in everything is relaxed, though tight. Tight and controlled, and playing something jaunty.

When the vocals come in that second thing – a guitar – changes its mode to something that seems to spread gently. The vocals themselves are soft, floating there, but floating grounded.

The vocals stop and a repeat of the first melody as it was, and the vocals return soon after. That guitar spreads gently again, and there’s something noirish about this. Something noirish and dry, and like driving somewhere. Driving to wherever is next, maybe. Driving down a dark highway, alone in the middle of nowhere.

The first melody returns with greater detail, moving forward, and the guitar changes itself, as does the bass. However, the bass may have changed earlier, and both seem more pointed.

Sudden space. Percussion is almost centre and that guitar lets itself ring out a little frayed. Bass plays a little slower and with more space, and something seems to move to the centre and grow. That thing grows louder and spreads out in lines, looking around, stretching a little. And it shrinks back down when the vocals return.

The vocals have something a little tense in them. A little forlorn, and almost with a blank, deadened, overwhelmed stare. Looking forward to the next destination, wherever it could be, just as much as they could be looking out into the light of outside from a darkened room.

The guitar starts ringing more, playing more. Still frayed, and the vocals gain a bit more strength in them, or at least more direction. Everything is moving from a darkness and remaining within a darkness. Within a darkness that is isolating, and they keep pushing on, keep driving forward. They keep urging, and they seem to be looking to avoid inevitable intensity.

The vocals start drawing long, calling out as the guitar picks up, becomes busier. Percussion, too, and bass keeps drawing long, though starts rising, and among it all, a long sound stretching beyond what can be seen. And it all continues on, continues driving. It keeps moving, and eventually releases.

The instruments have shrunk back. They are now beyond the turning point. They keep diminishing and the path continues on, though whether anyone is still moving along it or now, it is difficult to tell. The story stopped and it is moved beyond, and with a few final notes from the guitar, the song comes to an end.

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Conifer: Crown Fire

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

I have no idea as to how representative of the song some of this is. I hope it’s representative, but I don’t know. It would mean looking further into the song and, at least right now, I don’t want to.

I was thinking a bit whilst writing this which wasn’t good, but I was able to lose myself a bit, which was good. I think the writing is mixed, but I do like the result. I think it works well enough.

Conifer’s “Crown Fire” is from Crown Fire.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Ragged guitar, all loose and seemingly angled. A voice talks over the guitar, almost off. Uncomfortable. Another howls out in the background. The guitar tightens up and locks in with percussion, and the percussion builds. Another guitar appears, and the vocals continue on. Then a space, and the vocals gain a clarity for a moment, though a distance, and the sounds resume.

Dry and chugging along the sounds are as the vocals howl and seemingly contort without contorting at all, and there’s something almost celebratory in this until everything going back into that locking in, and sound seems to rain down and build around, and the vocals turn more into noise and sound and glide across themselves, and then it’s space once more.

It’s just guitar and voice for a moment, and it’s sort of ruined in a way. There’s sweeps of other instrumentation here and there, or rather, brushes, and those vocals tense and tighten and release, and everything moves to a quieter mode. Everything seems to settle, though it’s just shrunk.

The guitar seems to murmur and shuffle, and the vocals shiver haunted. They remain low, quiet until they howl out once more. At this time the guitar is building again, and then a sudden release. A sudden stretch from a strike and material ejects itself across the space.

The vocals are now closer, seemingly uncertain, hesitant, haunted by memories. Haunted and uncomfortable, and guitar keeps playing out underneath, or rather along, and then that sudden stretch returns, and a beat plays out more underneath. The vocals shout, losing themselves within themselves, possessed by conviction, almost. Possessed by anything.

The instruments roar into life and play twisted and menacing. They play with inevitability, with weight. They play as though change and reshaping is being driven as though a sudden stake into the matter of things, slowly.

Vocals pained and stressed and disturbed. Vocals consumed by the sound, crying out for something, perhaps salvation, perhaps just being saved. The sounds continue their spread and grind, consuming everything, growing thicker, growing full and consuming more. Consuming unabated and growing distended.

A groove is found and locked onto as the sounds push on. The vocals sound damaged, almost defiant of the spectacle. A pause. A continuation, growing menace, and pushing on into another pause. And again, continuing, and the vocals more distressed, more ruined. A pause. A continuation and more damage in the vocals. More ruin.

Noise in this pause, then another instrumental change as everything swirls and whirls around, and the intensity increases. New horror, new revelation. Moving further inward, enclosing, growing smaller and growing larger, and building. Building into something greater, more intense. Everything lost in noise whilst remaining clear, and something starts bouncing around it all, and most of the instruments fade as vocals seemingly sniff and cry, though they are washed away. They are washed away by increasing electronic noise, bouncing, swirling, pulsing. But everything else comes back in a grand fashion, the vocals destroyed.

Slow this section, slow and climactic, and percussion takes over for a moment before a final strike, leaving noise and a broken character, damaged, hopeless, lost at the song’s end.

 

 

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Grün: The Hunt

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

I spun this song for the first time in ages last week. Actually, maybe there was a spinning of it a few weeks back, but I can’t remember. Anyway, I was listening to it last week and enjoying what I was hearing until I suddenly remembered why I stopped listening to the song all those years back, and by extension, Grün.

Listening to the song to write about it revealed a lot of things to me about how it flowed (really, a lot of these writings do that, but you know), and it became interesting to me in a new way. The way that it tells narrative, I think, is really good, but if you don’t want that then you’ve a decent rocking tune.

Grün’s “The Hunt” is from Manyana.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Ticking away and guitar plays over light and pressing at the same time. Building a tension that slithers and sneaks along, and notes rise up and grow louder, and it goes and goes, and that tension lies out a plain, flat and large, and small and contained.

Bass takes over and plays a groove of sorts, seemingly cut and flowing at the same time. Guitar returns and bristles and and rages along it, then percussion comes in and crashes loudly, quietly. And it all locks in.

Something more grand now. A sense of grandeur and danger, and the danger excites and pushes, and teases in a sense. And there’s something exciting in all of this as most guitar pulls back whilst another warps and morphs, trying to escape something. The second guitar Returns and chugs before expanding out and pushing the excitement and the danger of it all. Revealing the risk, but creeping up, creeping up and then striking.

The sounds strike out, they grow larger, they grow more intense. And suddenly, space.

Quieter, lowering, taking a breath, or perhaps just frozen in the moment. Or the moment moves slow and pursuit is in place. Pursuit in a way, and there’s a mournfulness coming through. Mournful, sad, almost heartrending. It is how it must be, however, and in a slight uncertainty a drive comes through.

The sounds rage once more. They rage and focus and strike and strike again, and they are relentless. They grow intense. They grow loud. They pursue and strike and keep striking, and they push harder and grow louder, and something among it all starts howling out. Howling and screaming and crying, and it is surrounded and beaten down and struck and struck again, and it is barely heard above the ordered chaos and menace of it all,  until it all comes to a stop.

That sound continues to howl out and cry and scream in a withering manner, full of energy, full of weakness until it too suddenly stops and the song ends.

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Societal Rant

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Alright, so you know those days when you feel a pain in your back and it feels like its from a hole bored right through your chest via the heart? One of those days? One of those mornings.

The weather holds heavy, the vehicles outside are quiet. Everything is moving to a stillness. Fuel prices are increasing and people are more concerned about that than they are about so many other things to be concerned about. But hey, that’s life.

I get to sit here. I get to sit and relax. Who am I to complain? Who am I to argue that we should do more about the needless suffering of millions, and we don’t as they’re out of sight and out of mind. Who am I to argue that we should help others? I’m merely one other person. I’m just someone who gets to live in comfort and embrace all that that comes with. I shouldn’t get a say in these things, because why would I? I don’t matter.

But I do think it’s important that we look after others and we start asking tough questions about who we are, what we participate in and what we allow.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking about issues in Sydney. I’ve spent a lot of my life raising concerns and I’ve had quite a few people tell me that we have it better than other places in the world. I’ve had people tell me that there are other countries to go to. And yeah, we do, but – and I’ve said this before – we could have it so much better than we do. We don’t get to have it better if we don’t work for it, and we do not work enough for it. Hell, we don’t work enough for people overseas, either.

People are willing to shut down grievances and concerns about increasing discrimination and suffering rather than inquire and look further. They’re not willing to entertain the possibility that things are getting bad with the rise of problematic views, the gradual erosion of rights and a perceived governmental leaning away from care for citizenry, and I think a lot of that has to do with comfort. People don’t want to question enough because everything is fine for them. They’re not directly impacted, so it’s not an issue. Oh, these vociferous racists are increasingly confident. They’re more willing to be seen and heard and they don’t care. But they’ll never get a foothold, that’ll never happen in Australia. Couldn’t happen here. You know, those neo-Nazis in The Grampians, that was a small thing. These Reclaim Australia protests, small thing. Will go nowhere.

And so on it goes and I have to ask if anyone on this continent has seen what has happened in places overseas. Well, I guess racist people have. A bunch of highly conservative people have, because they’re doing the same things and it seems they’re gaining traction simply because so many people are sleepwalking, and willingly.

I can’t help but think about what lies ahead in Australia’s future. We keep regressing, so much changes for the worse and anything that seems like it could be progress is a minor distraction at best. Nothing changes unless enough people are willing to be better.

 

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Jon Batiste, Chad Smith & Bill Laswell: The Drift

Posted on March 10, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen, and it was a bit of a struggle. I think I was too focused on saying what the instruments were doing, whereas here it would’ve been better to have let the song’s name influence the writing. In retrospect, the song does have a bit of a drift to it and I missed it entirely.

Jon Batiste, Chad Smith & Bill Laswell’s “The Drift” is from The Process.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Wafting beeping in a silence. Warbly sounds and percussion plays tense, plays playfully. Humming bass, and all sorts of angles. Everything feels like it’s forming, working together to start congealing. And it does start coming together. More detail and shape form. More come together.

The beat reveals itself. Steady, feeling slow, but at the right pace. The bass wanders and seems to stretch and smear, almost. The beeping continues and takes on new shape as the bass changes. The percussion keeps things together; the percussion keeps the form and structure.

It’s almost as though everything is sliding in and out of each other, but this is careful and considered. It’s about the sound and space, and minimalism. And calm, and groove, and texture. And eventually keys finds themselves adding, but only for a moment.

Saxophone comes in, playing moments to come forward, and it plays in pieces. It provides context and more framing, and the keys eventually return, working with it, though with more space… at first. Eventually they play a bit more, and it’s almost as though brief flashes of movement are being witnessed.

And something a little melancholic comes in, then percussion diminishes. It shrinks a little, and bass returns, and there’s something going on here that seems conclusive. Something that seems like a big climax, but instead goes for small. Quiet. No need to greatly announce as a hum comes in and takes over before fading away at the song’s end.

 

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