Baklaher & Albert
Baklaher
Hey Albert, I’ve been wondering if the silence in classical pieces is actually louder than the notes—like a hidden message that modern listeners miss. What’s your take on that?
Albert
It’s a neat idea, but silence isn’t louder in the physical sense—there’s no extra sound there. What composers do is give the notes room to breathe, so when they come back they feel more intense. Think of it like a pause in a conversation that lets the next point land. Some people read a silent bar as a kind of message, but that’s more poetic than acoustic. Still, I do enjoy looking up those “silent” pieces like Cage’s 4’33’’ to see what the silence actually does.
Baklaher
That makes sense—like breathing in a conversation, the pause gives weight to what follows. I can see how a silent bar becomes a kind of space for the listener to fill in their own music. It feels almost like a blank page waiting for the next line. I’ll have to give 4’33’’ a listen again, maybe notice what my mind fills in.
Albert
You’ll probably hear the kitchen clock and your own heartbeat pop up there, each a tiny, accidental score—like a jazz solo written on a blank page by your own nervous system. It’s fascinating how the silence invites us to write our own notes before the piece even starts.
Baklaher
Yeah, it’s almost like the silence is a canvas and our own sounds—heartbeat, kitchen clock—are the first brushstrokes. I like to think of it as the world giving us a mic before the real song begins.