If you're in a forest, the quality of the echo is very strange because echoes back off so many surfaces of all those trees that you get this strange, itchy ricochet effect.
Garbage. It's a natural quality of huskiness in the midrange of my voice that I call 'garbage.' It's not a clear-toned announcer's voice. It's more like the voice of the guy next door.
We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee; we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.
I wonder if anyone else has an ear so tuned and sharpened as I have, to detect the music, not of the spheres, but of earth, subtleties of major and minor chord that the wind strikes upon the tree branches. Have you ever heard the earth breathe?
I wanted to make something that sounded very pure, organic, and personal. I wanted to make music that was timeless.
The echo is, to some extent, an original sound, and therein is the magic and charm of it. It is not merely a repetition of what was worth repeating in the bell, but partly the voice of the wood; the same trivial words and notes sung by a wood-nymph.
All things in the world are singing a song, reciting a poem, inaudibly, to their surroundings, to the things they encounter.
If we had better hearing, and could discern the descants of sea birds, the rhythmic tympani of schools of mollusks, or even the distant harmonics of midges hanging over meadows in the sun, the combined sound might lift us off our feet.
