I think the most beautiful sounds are the ones people ignore, the little accents that never make it into the charts. A single train whistle that cuts across a rainy street, the steady thud of a subway grate when you stand under it, the hiss of an old shop’s air vent as it sighs. Even the soft click of a typewriter in a quiet office, the creak of a bicycle chain in the early dawn, or the faint rustle of a mailbox lid opening on a breeze. These noises, when recorded close, have a texture that’s almost like a hidden motif waiting to be woven into a larger piece. I like to layer them—an alley’s wind as a low drone, a distant bell as a bell tone, the train as a rising crescendo—and let the city become a living orchestra.