As is often the case, **Dizzy Banjo** (aka **Robert M. Thomas** of Reality Jockey, makers of sound experiences, largely in the form of apps) has posted sounds from his everyday life, this time around rain on a windowpane. He’s done this on his SoundCloud account, and this sound — this collection of sounds, recorded and posted as a half-minute file — is equal parts enjoyable and informative for several reasons: There’s the opportunity to listen for, within the track, elements of the sounds that are intrinsic to his work as a coder and composer, and coder-composer — especially of interest in regard to generative methodology, in which algorithms come to reflect the properties of natural activities, of living organisms and ecosystems. And there’s the extent to which these sounds bring to mind pre-existing musical references, in particular the light brush work and arhythmic improvisations of an outward-bound jazz drummer.
This is [the second time in just a few days](https://disquiet.com/2012/11/28/the-provenance-of-white-noise/) when of all the music and sounds I’m listening to, I am linking to a field recording of precipitation — despite the fact that it has, in fact, been raining quite a bit here in San Francisco, and was on the East Coast where I was until about 24 or so hours ago. I suffer from a bit of hurricane PTSD. After four years in New Orleans (1999-2003), I find myself anxious when it rains, and yet I enjoy recordings of rain. Perhaps the key difference is that recordings by definition have no attendant, worrisome portent — the storm has passed by the time one hears it.
Track originally posted for free download at [soundcloud.com/dizzybanjo](https://soundcloud.com/dizzybanjo/raindrops-on-windowpane). More from Dizzy Banjo at [dizzybanjo.com](http://www.dizzybanjo.com/) and [twitter.com/dizzybanjo](https://twitter.com/dizzybanjo).
*(The above photo is by Ooray, aka Ted Laderas, from his [instagram.com](http://instagram.com/p/RF6IxYyjIw/) account.)*
It’s tough to cut against the drone grain, since the drone is, by and large, grain-less. What the drone is is vaporous, verdant — more defined by a lack of texture than by its presence. To cut against the drone’s grain might, perhaps, mean to segment it in a manner that employs rough edges, sudden cuts — approaches that contradict its sinuous coherence and tonal intent. But sometimes the intent can be put aside by a more modest decision, like listening out of context. Take the album *Voices in the Dust* by **Somnarium**. It was released recently on the [darkwinter.com](http://www.darkwinter.com/dw087.html) netlabel, and its seven dense tracks employ all manner of soundtrack techniques to instill a sense of portent. The album’s brief liner note clearly depicts the release as an album, not as a collection of individual tracks to be selected from, and it suggests strongly that the collective set be listened to in the dark (“total darkness,” in fact). So, while that admonitory direction can certainly be adhered to, one might also listen to *Voices in the Dust** a track at a time. One might pluck, for example, the shuddering wind chimes and snaking rhythmic burbling and choral overtones of “Gilded Fugue State” ([MP3](http://www.darkwinter.com/dw087/dw087-Somnarium-05-Part_V%96Gilded_Fugue_State.mp3)) from the mix, and play it on its lonesome. In a way, that is adhering to the authorial intent, because by listening to it devoid of its six other parts, one is, in a sense, listening in the dark.