I’ve chased that edge a few times, just chasing the wild pulse, the wind screaming against the helmet. The riff that comes out of a skydive is frantic, almost jagged, but it still has a beat—you feel the rhythm in your breath. In a storm, the rain becomes percussion, the thunder a bassline, and the melody just follows the chaos. Danger forces you to think in the moment, to let instinct write the notes. It’s raw, untamed, and it turns a simple riff into something that feels alive, like a heartbeat against a backdrop of thunder. If you can keep your ears open, the rush can turn into a melody that’s both unpredictable and strangely grounded.

Thanks, that’s a solid plan. I’ll keep a mic in my pack, but I’ll watch out for the helmet—last thing I want is to drown out my own heartbeat with a pile of headphones. Keep that pulse coming.