DeadInside & Rolya
DeadInside DeadInside
Rolya Rolya
DeadInside DeadInside
So, I've been listening to these long, almost empty tracks lately—like, a thousand seconds of barely there noise. How do you think silence and that kind of low-level chaos affect our moods?
Rolya Rolya
Long, thin tracks are like a sonic desert—you’re walking on sand, but there’s a wind that changes direction with every breath. The silence gives the brain space to imagine a storm, and that low‑level chaos keeps the mood on edge, like a restless drummer in your head. It can soothe or unsettle depending on whether you’re ready to let the silence scream back at you.
DeadInside DeadInside
Sounds like you’re turning the silence into a weather map, mapping out moods instead of just letting them roll in. It's interesting how the same low noise can feel like a drumbeat or a storm, depending on what you’re carrying. Maybe the trick is figuring out when you’re ready for the thunder and when you just need the wind.
Rolya Rolya
Yeah, it's like the track’s telling you, “Hey, pick your gear.” If you’re in a dark studio with a dead‑centered reverb, that thin hiss feels like a drum kit in the back of a cathedral. If you’ve got the lights on and your brain’s already over‑wound, it turns into a thunderstorm you can’t escape. The trick? Plug in a cheap distortion pedal, hit the low‑pass, and let the noise play its own drum—if you’re ready, if you’re not, you can just hit stop.
DeadInside DeadInside
Sounds like you’re tuning the track like a radio—pick the station, or switch it off if it’s too loud. It’s cool that you’ve found a way to make the hiss its own beat. Just remember, sometimes the best song is the one you don’t have to play at all.