The Icebound Clocktower and Other Noise Inspired Stories

The Drummers

African Trance, Binaural Beat Machine, White Rain

The eclectic mass of drummers humming along to their many different beats fills the surrounding amphitheater. The musicians don't seem to notice the rain coming down in buckets just beyond the roof of the stage. The chairs are still nearly all filled even in the weather, and it's obvious why. The beats echo throughout the venue, the humming is so in harmony it's hard to believe it's human. The resulting sound makes the air almost vibrate. The rain somehow adds to the effect more than it deters from it.

This display is a very well-known attraction, and seeing it is a once in a lifetime experience for most. The players have trained almost since birth to be called a part of this. There are no errors, no mistakes, the show always, always happens as promised. It could be flooding for all anyone cared, if someone has a seat for hearing them play, they go. Even if they're dying, hell, especially if they're dying. It's not going to magically heal them or anything, but it will damn well come close. The effect is magical enough, that's what they're here for.

It's a marvel of coordination and timing as the different beats speed and slow, separate and coincide. The musicians are a picture of intense concentration as every particle of their being is focused on making the sound filling the atmosphere around them. An audience has never been seen to be more attentive, a few had phones out with the intent to take pictures when it started, but they are hanging loosely in their hands, forgotten, as they stare slack-jawed at the stage. The sound made by them is almost hypnotic, and it's terribly difficult to think about anything but the music after it's started. It's both terrifying and enthralling, being completely taken in by the show and aware that there's nothing to be done about it.

Afterwards it will take the people in the audience to snap back to reality. They will sit there for a good few minutes, slowly becoming aware of mundane, superficial things like cold, and the fact that they are wetter than they've ever been at any moment in their lives. They'll have trouble remembering that they do need to get up and get to their mode of transport homewards. Or where they parked. Or much of anything. In fact the almost inexplicable sensation of 'where the hell am I?' is commonly recounted among attendees.

None of these are ever quite spoken as a complaint though.