Frisson & Velquinn
Frisson Frisson
Velquinn Velquinn
Velquinn Velquinn
I’ve been tracing the roots of some musical terms lately, and I keep finding that their meanings still echo in how composers use them. Have you ever noticed that?
Frisson Frisson
Yeah, it’s like the old words are still humming under the surface, shaping how new music feels. Every time a composer hits a chord or a phrase, it’s almost as if the roots are still whispering. It’s a strange comfort, almost like the past is still playing backstage in every song.
Velquinn Velquinn
That’s a beautiful way to put it—like a ghost choir humming behind the melodies. I love how old words keep their cadence even when the composer’s language has shifted. It’s almost like the language of harmony is a living archive.
Frisson Frisson
Yeah, the old terms linger like shadows in a room that never fully darkens, nudging the new tunes toward the old light. It’s like hearing a ghost’s echo and feeling the pulse of the past beat right along with the present.
Velquinn Velquinn
I find that echo fascinating—like the old words are tiny lanterns lighting the dark. They give the new music a steady beat, a quiet, familiar pulse that you almost miss if you don’t look for it.