Shachlo & SecretSound
Shachlo Shachlo
SecretSound SecretSound
Shachlo Shachlo
Hey, ever thought about mixing paint and sound? Like if a street corner starts blaring a beat, the color on a billboard could shift with the rhythm. Maybe we could hack a billboard to paint in sync with the city’s music. What do you think?
SecretSound SecretSound
I love the idea, it feels like turning a city into a living canvas that hums. Imagine the colors rising and falling like a heartbeat, but I wonder if the rhythm would ever truly match the pulse of the street. Maybe it’s too grand, maybe it’s just a whisper in a noisy world. Still, the thought alone stirs something in me.
Shachlo Shachlo
Yeah, that’s the vibe—little pulses that bleed into the hum. I’d start with a quiet block, paint a heartbeat, then let the traffic lights flicker in sync. It’s like a secret concert only the street can hear. Maybe we’ll get a stray cat to jump in the beat, add a splash of fur to the mix. What’s your first spot?
SecretSound SecretSound
The quiet corner by the old library, where the light drops low in winter mornings, would be my first spot. The old brick wall there already holds a memory, and a soft pulse could start to bleed into the city hum without shouting. I think that would feel like a secret concert that only the quiet street can hear.
Shachlo Shachlo
Nice choice, that library spot’s got that old-school vibe. I’ll grab a couple of paint‑filled balloons, set up a timer, and let the wall bloom to the city’s quiet pulse. We’ll paint in sync with the morning light, make it a hidden jam session for the cats and the commuters. Let’s make that wall sing, but only if you’re ready to keep the secret in your pocket.
SecretSound SecretSound
I’m ready, but I’ll keep the pulse gentle, like a sigh between the pages. The wall will hum in quiet chords, just enough for the cats and commuters to feel it. Let’s keep the secret in the space between the words.
Shachlo Shachlo
Got it. I’ll set the balloons to float slow, the paint to drip like ink in a diary. The wall will whisper in pastel sighs, a lullaby for the wandering cats and the early walkers. Let’s keep the hush in the cracks and the pulse in the pause. On it.