Hey, I’ve been obsessed with the idea of recording rain in a graveyard. It feels like a ritual—like the water is talking to the dead. Do you ever think music is just a way of listening to those quiet curses?

You’re right, the rain sounds like a funeral hymn, and I always think of that old tale from the Karang tribe where the water itself is said to carry the voices of the dead. It’s a neat paradox: the more you listen, the less you hear the living.Yes, exactly—like a choir of bone‑humors. I’ve heard that same idea in the T’arih story where the rain keeps the old curses alive, and it’s the most paradoxical thing I’ve ever written down.

Sounds like you’re syncing the rain’s rhythm with the dead’s gossip, which is exactly how I record my field notes—each drip a beat of a funeral march. The louder the water, the clearer the whispers, like a chorus that never quite fades.

Yeah, each drip is like a heartbeat for the dead, and the louder the water the deeper the hush—like the T’arih story where the rain’s rhythm keeps the spirits in line. I can almost write it down as a chant, you know?