Sharp (eBook, ePUB)
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PERSPECTIVE IS A FANCY WORD FOR BULLSHITIt's like entering a forced meditation room I thought the first time I stepped inside the recording studio. The air instantly grew thicker as soon as the door was closed behind me. Every time you spoke it felt as if the sound came out of your mouth and did a swan dive straight to the floor where it was absorbed by the thick rug. Every single time you had to make sure someone actually listened to you because sounds appeared to have a different meaning inside this room. This is, of course, on purpose. The whole point in having a specific place to record mu...
PERSPECTIVE IS A FANCY WORD FOR BULLSHIT
It's like entering a forced meditation room I thought the first time I stepped inside the recording studio. The air instantly grew thicker as soon as the door was closed behind me. Every time you spoke it felt as if the sound came out of your mouth and did a swan dive straight to the floor where it was absorbed by the thick rug. Every single time you had to make sure someone actually listened to you because sounds appeared to have a different meaning inside this room. This is, of course, on purpose. The whole point in having a specific place to record music is to have it achieve the best conditions ever. That means killing the room, or in more layman's terms it means to kill off the reverb completely.
The walls are covered in odd wooden shapes, covered in foam with different sizes and thickness. It looks as though you are entering a contemporary art museum where the art is the museum itself, it's all over the walls. Later this year I would discover that pretty much every single frequency of sound bounces off the wall and comes back in a particular way and so all of those shapes and sizes where meant to kill off as many frequencies as possible. This made it so any talking sound would die out immediately after it being conjured by the windpipe.
It's like entering a forced meditation room I thought the first time I stepped inside the recording studio. The air instantly grew thicker as soon as the door was closed behind me. Every time you spoke it felt as if the sound came out of your mouth and did a swan dive straight to the floor where it was absorbed by the thick rug. Every single time you had to make sure someone actually listened to you because sounds appeared to have a different meaning inside this room. This is, of course, on purpose. The whole point in having a specific place to record music is to have it achieve the best conditions ever. That means killing the room, or in more layman's terms it means to kill off the reverb completely.
The walls are covered in odd wooden shapes, covered in foam with different sizes and thickness. It looks as though you are entering a contemporary art museum where the art is the museum itself, it's all over the walls. Later this year I would discover that pretty much every single frequency of sound bounces off the wall and comes back in a particular way and so all of those shapes and sizes where meant to kill off as many frequencies as possible. This made it so any talking sound would die out immediately after it being conjured by the windpipe.
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