Shlepok & Karas
Shlepok Shlepok
Karas Karas
Karas Karas
Hey Shlepok, there's a tale of an old stone in the hills that sings when the wind passes through its cracks. I wonder what you’d make of that hum—maybe turn it into a new soundscape?
Shlepok Shlepok
That stone’s hum sounds like a forgotten lullaby for the wind, so I’d catch it in a loop, layer some low‑pitched drones that swell when the breeze hits, and sprinkle in a faint field record of rustling leaves so the whole thing feels like a secret conversation between the rocks and the sky. If you let it drift, maybe the wind will get tired and sigh back at you.
Karas Karas
That’s a good way to let the wind’s voice mingle with the world. I’d add a touch of old wood wind-chimes, just to echo the stone’s hum, and maybe keep a quiet silence between each breath of the track, so the lullaby doesn’t grow too tired itself. Keep the field record light; too much noise and the rocks might forget the conversation.
Shlepok Shlepok
I love the idea—those wood chimes will give the hum a lil’ bite, like a secret knock on the stone’s door. Let the silence breathe between breaths, so the lullaby doesn’t get overworked. And keep the field record thin; we don’t want the rocks to get lost in a sound soup, right? Just a hint of wind and the stone will keep whispering back.
Karas Karas
It’s a good plan. The stone will keep its hush, and the wind just a whisper. Just remember, when the chimes ring, the stone likes to answer with a sigh, not a shout. Keep the layers light, and you’ll hear the old tale breathe in every loop.