![]() |
![]() |
#1 (permalink) |
Upright
Location: England
|
how is this called music?
i just found this website with an album by some guy on it and i thought i'd download. After the first track i was going to come here and post about it, but then i thought "it can't possibly be that bad, i must have got a corrupted file. i'll download another track". so i did. even more awful.
go there and listen to some of the tracks this guy has released. http://phobos.serve.com/ian_nagoski/ i dont understand how that is music. it's not like i'm someone who says that music isnt music purely because i dont like it. with this i just genuinely do not understand how it could ever be called music. opinions? |
![]() |
![]() |
#2 (permalink) | ||
Junkie
|
It can be called music because it IS a form of music.
From www.m-w.com: Quote:
Quote:
|
||
![]() |
![]() |
#3 (permalink) |
It's All About The Ass!!
Location: In a pool of mayonnaise!!
|
This is quite unique. It's so dark, scary even. This guy could probably make a great score for a horror movie. It's scaring the shit out of my dog too. He keeps looking at the speakers. Yeah I'll say this is music. Just not the kind of music people are used to.
Asta!!
__________________
"I love music and it's my parents fault (closing statement)." - Me..quoting myself...from when I said that...On TFP..thats here...Tilted Forum Project ![]() It ain't goodbye, it's see ya later! I'll miss you guys! ![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
#7 (permalink) |
Leaning against the -Sun-
Super Moderator
Location: on the other side
|
I don't think it's that bad... seems very personal
__________________
Whether we write or speak or do but look We are ever unapparent. What we are Cannot be transfused into word or book. Our soul from us is infinitely far. However much we give our thoughts the will To be our soul and gesture it abroad, Our hearts are incommunicable still. In what we show ourselves we are ignored. The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged By any skill of thought or trick of seeming. Unto our very selves we are abridged When we would utter to our thought our being. We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams, And each to each other dreams of others' dreams. Fernando Pessoa, 1918 |
![]() |
Tags |
called, music |
|
|