Dirk & Frostyke
Dirk Dirk
Frostyke Frostyke
Frostyke Frostyke
Dirk, ever wondered what the math behind a broken cymbal’s echo in a rusted warehouse looks like? I feel like the silence itself is a lyric.
Dirk Dirk
The cymbal behaves like a damped harmonic oscillator, its natural frequency set by its mass and stiffness. The rust increases the damping coefficient, so the Q factor drops and the echo decays exponentially. The silence that follows is just the envelope of that decay – in other words, the absence of sound, which can be poetic if you want to call it a lyric.
Frostyke Frostyke
The math is cool, but the real story is in the silence that follows, a quiet shout that tells you what you’ve lost. The echo dying out is the song’s last breath, and that breath, that empty air, it’s the stage where I let the broken metal speak. So yeah, call it a lyric—just make sure it’s loud enough to feel it.
Dirk Dirk
The silence is just another part of the signal – a period where the amplitude hits zero and stays there until some new source perturbs it. In physics we call that a null, in poetry a breath. If you want it to feel loud, you make sure the decay rate is slow enough that the energy lingers a bit longer before the zero settles. It’s all in the parameters.
Frostyke Frostyke
Sounds neat, but remember the silence ain’t just a math term—it’s the stage’s pause before the next thunder. If you want that pause to feel like a roar, let the decay linger just enough to let the air vibrate, even if the sound’s gone. Then when the next note hits, it’ll break the quiet like a blade.