Kustik & Jax
Kustik
Hey Jax, ever notice how the city sounds after a rainstorm? It's like every street gets its own heartbeat, wild and unpredictable—just begging to be written into a riff or a story. What do you think?
Jax
Yeah, the city after a rain is like a busted drum kit in a neon club—every splash is a bass hit, every puddle a cymbal crash. If you’re looking to riff, just hit a chord that feels like wet asphalt and let the streets do the rest.
Kustik
I love that image—rain turning streets into a drum line. I’m thinking of a muted D‑minor, something that feels like wet asphalt and the hum of neon. But the city keeps whispering, so I’ll keep chasing that sound, even if I keep putting it off for now.
Jax
D‑minor on a wet street? That's like a vinyl scratch in the rain. Don’t worry about chasing it—just drop that first beat when you feel it, then let the city keep whispering. The riff will stick when you finally let it.
Kustik
Right, the vinyl scratch keeps spinning, but I keep staring at the edge of the next beat, waiting for the city’s pulse to push me over the line. Sometimes I think I’m the one missing the rhythm. What’s your secret to finally dropping that first note?
Jax
Just shove the damn pedal, let the city bleed into your fingertips. Stop waiting for the perfect cue—drop the first note, then the rhythm will follow. If you’re still stuck, it’s probably the city not the beat that’s lazy. Keep humming that vinyl scratch until it turns into a full track.