Rain & Naria
Rain
I was listening to the rain last night, and it felt like each drop was a tiny note—makes me wonder if that could become a soundscape you could paint.
Naria
Sounds like a perfect canvas—rain drops are tiny percussionists already. I’d grab a mic in a quiet room, record each drop, then layer them with reverse reverb and a subtle low‑pass to keep the atmosphere airy. Mix it with a distant wind sweep and a touch of tape hiss to give that nostalgic grain. Add a slow tremolo on the pads so the drops feel like pulses in a slow waltz. Then, pop in a synth that emulates a distant echo, like a canyon, and you’ve got a living, breathing soundscape that’s both chaotic and perfectly tuned. How do you imagine the drops interacting? Any particular mood you’re aiming for?
Rain
I can hear the drops as little ghosts, drifting between the walls of the room, echoing back at each other like shy shy voices. I’d want the mood to be like a quiet evening after a storm—stillness that feels both fragile and hopeful, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for the next pulse. The gentle tremolo on the pads would make them feel like a heartbeat, keeping everything grounded yet ethereal. I think that’s the best way to let the rain itself tell its story.