☆31 ● [text/video]
You have to hear this.
[Attached is about five minutes of video. The sky is dark from wherever this is being broadcast, well past sunset, but the area is well-lit. Some distance away can be seen the freckled lights of illuminated windows in high-rise buildings, duplicated in the closer horizon in reflection. Closer, a myriad of lighted boats drift on calm Nile waters. While some boats seem to be ordinary, others have been put through some quick beautification and cosmetic changes, white lights exchanged for colored bulbs. It looks like a haphazard attempt at a festival, or a boat show of some kind. The picture shakes occasionally, our correspondent being bumped this way or that in the crowd--for in the background can be heard the low rumble of scores, perhaps hundreds of nearby people, yet the crowd's kept surprisingly quiet.]
[Or perhaps it's being drowned out.]
[What Ruka thinks the network has to "hear" is very obvious from the moment the broadcast starts: music. There are no instruments or familiar rhythms, but the loud swell of notes is unmistakable. It almost sounds like a capella, but the style is very different than what many would be used to, and not something a human choir could produce. It's loud, overwhelmingly loud, but the tones are low, soft baritone, like millions of voices singing quietly together to reach such volume. There are distinct sounds, but for the most part no human words. Just singing, low, drawn out notes, plaintive and reaching out; if actions can be represented through sound, it's a song of shaking outstretched arms, of the cold space left open and a warm embrace. It's uplifting and sorrowful both, overwhelming in emotion and breadth.]
[It continues on. New lit boats push into frame, and the lights ripple on the water.]
It's only been going on for an hour or so, I heard, now. It's getting late, but I think I'm going to stay here for a little while longer, if I can.
[Attached is about five minutes of video. The sky is dark from wherever this is being broadcast, well past sunset, but the area is well-lit. Some distance away can be seen the freckled lights of illuminated windows in high-rise buildings, duplicated in the closer horizon in reflection. Closer, a myriad of lighted boats drift on calm Nile waters. While some boats seem to be ordinary, others have been put through some quick beautification and cosmetic changes, white lights exchanged for colored bulbs. It looks like a haphazard attempt at a festival, or a boat show of some kind. The picture shakes occasionally, our correspondent being bumped this way or that in the crowd--for in the background can be heard the low rumble of scores, perhaps hundreds of nearby people, yet the crowd's kept surprisingly quiet.]
[Or perhaps it's being drowned out.]
[What Ruka thinks the network has to "hear" is very obvious from the moment the broadcast starts: music. There are no instruments or familiar rhythms, but the loud swell of notes is unmistakable. It almost sounds like a capella, but the style is very different than what many would be used to, and not something a human choir could produce. It's loud, overwhelmingly loud, but the tones are low, soft baritone, like millions of voices singing quietly together to reach such volume. There are distinct sounds, but for the most part no human words. Just singing, low, drawn out notes, plaintive and reaching out; if actions can be represented through sound, it's a song of shaking outstretched arms, of the cold space left open and a warm embrace. It's uplifting and sorrowful both, overwhelming in emotion and breadth.]
[It continues on. New lit boats push into frame, and the lights ripple on the water.]
It's only been going on for an hour or so, I heard, now. It's getting late, but I think I'm going to stay here for a little while longer, if I can.