Quotes About Sound

I liked tap, because I liked hearing the results of my movements.

When I'm on TV or whatever, I'm able to bring my instruments, my board, and my sound is intact. But other kids who are on TV, when they're doing tap, sometimes they're just on the regular floor. It's not as safe; it's not as sound-worthy as it should be.

We were just going for growth, bigger sound, just a spectrum of people. More global. That's how we decided to do a song like 'Where is the Love' - it allowed us to tap into a broader audience, because the message means a lot to us.

I was born in the overdub years. I wish there wasn't such a thing as a multitrack tape player, because what you heard would be the record.

When you're recording to analog tape, it captures performance and you can't necessarily manipulate that in different ways. It is what it is.

I can't get that live and I don't have the time to take the tape, after I've finished recording it, into a little studio somewhere else where I can get a different kind of percussion sound.

I thought it was magic to be able to catch something identically on tape and then be able to play around with it, run it backwards; I thought that was great for years.

We don't make a distinction between an acoustic instrument as a source of sound and any sound in the air outside or on a manufactured tape. It's all electric energy, anyway.

So the ideology was that: use sounds as instruments, as sounds on tape, without the causality. It was no longer a clarinet or a spring or a piano, but a sound with a form, a development, a life of its own.

It's very clean. With tape, you get noise.

I remember rehearsing it, and it was the one that we were really excited about and thought would sound the best, and once it was down on tape, it was like, This doesn't actually sound that good.

I'm thinking about recording everything to tape like it's 1991 and seeing how that sounds.

I love tape. It's another member of the band, the way it settles and blankets everything.

The number of times that anything is overdubbed on 'Frampton Comes Alive!'... the rule was, if it didn't make it to the tape, then we can redo it because it needs to be done. If it made it to the tape, and it sounds good, we leave it. So nothing was overdubbed on that album at all that wasn't absolutely necessary.

I made a lot of different experiments with tapes at that time, until I finally realized around 1995, that sound is an interesting subject for me. Ever since then sound got more and more integrated into my art works, musically as well as physically.

Well, I'm a tape-recording nut. I like to play my tapes.

When you work on animation, the music has a great task: to create a sound and melodies and mood and atmosphere and energy dedicated to these extraordinary characters.

Basically, asking me what kind of music I like is like asking what kind of food I like: 'Anything that tastes good,' is the answer. I'm the kind of guy who spends three times as much on his speakers as he does on his television.

One of my teachers says the sound you hear in the center of the universe is laughter. I don't know if it's true, but if you do something and 30 years later it still produces laughter, that's a fantasy you can't make up.

The grass, the sound of the ball, the jokes with my teammates - that's what I will miss most. That is what fulfills you most on a daily basis.

At 11:10 A.M. an annoying growl from those same heavens grew louder. Ernest Hemingway heard it in his Dorchester Hotel suite, where he was making pancakes with buckwheat flour and bourbon; from the window he looked for the telltale "white-hot bunghole" of a jet engine. Pedestrians in Parliament Square heard it and fell flat, covering their heads.

Then they heard nothing—that most terrifying of all sounds—as the engine quit, the bunghole winked out, and the black cruciform fell. Through the chapel's reinforced concrete roof It plummeted before detonating in a white blast that blew out walls, blew down support pillars, and stripped the leaves from St. James's plane trees.

I wonder if, north of here, they might even run out of stories someday. It may seem silly, but it is cold up there, too cold to mosey, to piddle, to loafer, and summer only lasts a week and a half. The people spit the words out so fast when they talk, like they are trying to discard them somehow, banish them, rather than relish the sound and the story. We will not run out of them here. We talk like we are tasting something.

What's a kiss? The sound loneliness makes when it dies.