In the middle of winter I would ride around the suburbs of my city at night after a few beers listening to Steve Reich. The constant repetitive lines in pieces like Music For 18 Musicians and Music For Mallet Instruments seemed to coincide perfectly with the repetitive movements of cycling. The hypnotic effect this had, coupled with the weird wintery landscape of dilapidated industrial estates that I was exploring in the dark, filled me with a strange euphoria. Sometimes I would get a disconnected nostalgic feeling too.
It's kind of like that feeling of being on a train in summer listening to music and the sun is going down and you're watching a cross section of the country fly past the window and you start to have strange thought patterns as you fall asleep. It's kind of like that but more real.
I can identify with this.
In the middle of winter I would ride around the suburbs of my city at night after a few beers listening to Steve Reich. The constant repetitive lines in pieces like Music For 18 Musicians and Music For Mallet Instruments seemed to coincide perfectly with the repetitive movements of cycling. The hypnotic effect this had, coupled with the weird wintery landscape of dilapidated industrial estates that I was exploring in the dark, filled me with a strange euphoria. Sometimes I would get a disconnected nostalgic feeling too.
It's kind of like that feeling of being on a train in summer listening to music and the sun is going down and you're watching a cross section of the country fly past the window and you start to have strange thought patterns as you fall asleep. It's kind of like that but more real.