Presently a thunderbolt crashes through the crisp air, ringing like steel on steel, sharp and clear, its startling detonation breaking into a spray of echoes against the cliffs and canyon walls. Then down comes a cataract of rain. The big drops sift thought the pine-needles, plash and patter on the granite pavements, and pour down the sides of ridges and domes in a network of grey, bubbling rills. In a few minutes the cloud withers to a mesh of dim filaments and disappears, leaving the sky perfectly clear and bright, every dust-particle wiped and washed out of it. Everything is refreshed and invigorated, a steam of fragrance rises, and the storm is finished–one cloud, one lightning-stroke and one dash of rain. This is the Sierra mid-summer thunderstorm reduced to its lowest terms. But some of them attain much larger proportions, and assume a grandeur and energy of expression hardly surpassed by those bred in the depth of winter…
|—||Gordon Hempton, on recording thunder.|
One of my early desires as a musician was to sculpt and organize directly the sound material, so as to extend compositional control to the sonic level – to compose the sound itself, instead of merely composing with sounds.