Acoustic guitars sound amazing and certain music works better with them than with electric
Spanish classical especially, and flamenco with irts strange circular rhythms. where you can’t stop your feet tapping.
Acoustic. My favorite. All those old rock ballads. Ahhh. The sound of raging, screaming guitars is great, but when an acoustic song is sung everything is just….. there. Quiet. Tranquil. Crooning voices and plucking twangs. Perfect.
it happened at Chicago Blues, a very insistent request that she attend, a gaggle of blues-ters, the kind that run on stage for a jam with the big guys on a Saturday night at Wise Fools, still early evening here and light out, sun through grubby windows,then Mike at the mike singing her name and a feeling of desolation because all the feeling was gone and this big gesture was disappearing like steam into open air and she could only tell the truth and it wasn’t going to be kind anyway you come at it
I didn’t realize its raining. How long has it been? Seems like the days ending… Look, the city seems to be still. I think I can hear it’s heart beat. Or is it mine? The murmur of the rain swallows and washes away all we say… Lets sit and talk, you know how I like to hear you say… Sitting at the window, hearing the rain talk its soft pain, as it beats against the walls, we wish out time away, chasing the droplets racing down the glass.
the sounds of the harp played through her hearts second decisoin. She sat there will a plastic smile and pretending to feel pretty as she look at the the stranger in the mirror A naseaous feeling os nostologia overcame her building and she ran to the bathroom next door which seemed more like a dungeon to her. As she squatted over a$7. 99 walgreens toilet paper she contemplated what her life had come to. How could she ever tell her kids that on the day they were going to begin their life, the place they chose to get married at didn’t even provide toilet seat covers.
across the valley the deer came- liitle ones running out ahead the watch hinds with ears pricked harldly grazing as they scanned the surrounding shrub — alert for the short slight sounds of something sliding over the grass or the snick of a a rifle bolt drawn back and then to.
Her breath filled the empty air. The room was dark…and, silent. She hated the silence. It was so mysterious and unpredictable. It left her feeling empty and sick, the smell of her own fear and the sound of the silence filled this hell. Suddenly, she heard a noise. She turned quickly, ready to confront whoever—or whatever—was there. “Stop.” The word broke the acoustic room like a knife. She knew the voice, and feared it. “What do you want?” A cackle filled the air. “Oh, nothing, ugly one.” Again, the young woman cringed as she could feel the air closing around her throat, choking her. “I am not ugly.” “Then what are you? Because, you’re certainly not pretty.” She could feel fingers enclosing around her neck. “This was it,” she thought, “this is the moment it all ends.” “It’s ok to be ugly,” the girl behind her whispered in her ear while squeezing tighter around her neck. “Because, we need people like you, to make people like me look pretty.” She let out a cynical laugh. “If you need people like me to make you look pretty, you were never pretty to begin with.” The girl let out an angry yelp, almost animal like, before squeezing the remaining life out of the young woman, all within the silence of that acoustic, pitch-black room.
The empty bottle rang like an acoustic guitar. Kind of. Jensen could make almost any analogy seem plausible in the state he was in. The whiskey was doing what it was supposed to do, deaden the pain of reality. After another belch, Jensen closed his eyes and fixated on the ringing of the chimes in the window.
I think about when I was young that I used to learn acoustic guitar with my friends in high school. I still remember the song that we played together. It was very simple and easy to play for girl.
the room is bathed is a varying degree of acoustic delights. i anxiously await your entrance with baited breath. finally, you arrive. the moment i’ve dreamed of for far longer than i would like. you seductively approach me, my eyes fixed upon your every move. you embrace me and i say your name, d… you put your fingers over my mouth and stop me before i can even finish. shhhh, you say. i close my eyes and reach for your hand, only to find nothing but a dream once again. i long for your touch to come to fruition, to no longer be a dream. one day, the dream becomes three dimensional.
guitar is just something I always felt like playing but never eventually ended up trying. too bad. Maybe in an other life, if there is an other life. Until then, I enjoy listening to it.
acoustic has to do with sound. there are different acoustics, like an acoustic guitar of the acoustics of a room. Not really a room, but more like a hall, where you can listen to music. Good acoustics in halls are difficult to find, most architects don’t think about it. Only if they are specifically making the hall for music.
Acoustic? God I love acoustic songs. Defeater might be a hardcore punk band, but they know how to write some awesome acoustics. They’ll go from complete and utter destructive hardcore to bluesy acoustics in seconds, and their amazing, heart-melting lyricism makes it all the more magical. If I ever find a woman willing to date me, I’ll sing her Defeater’s acoustics.
The music from his guitar could be heard downstairs; muffled and muted. She knew that at that moment, the light from the lamp in their bedroom was bouncing off the angles of his body. His hair was golden, his face was solemn, and he was alone. She longed to be there watching him, quietly, like a little mouse. But she lingered below. Better to hear his distant music, than to be embraced with silence.
sound, sweet to my ears. echoes around the room.. bouncing off walls and into my head, into everyone’s ears. Music, talking, melodious sound, to share a moment, a minute, a feeling…
The rickety stairs coiled around the inside of the dome. Sarah wondered whether she was putting her life in the hands of some medieval craftsmen as she gingerly picker her way to the magical point in the Cathedral’s dome. The acoustics were so wonderful, all she would need to do is whisper and everyone below would hear her. Would they want to hear what she had to say, she wondered to herself as she crept up the wooden boards.
The surroundings of a theater or other location that allow you to hear without a microphone. The acoustics in an amphitheater are usually perfect for a play or drama.
Strumming away, he heard the curious tones of an answering hum. Blue eyes met brown across the empty cafe, the one his uncle owned and that he liked to hide in after hours. The other boy smiled, sweetly, mischievously. He put his guitar down and went to greet this stranger, whose smile was so inviting, and whose laughter he was waiting to fall in love with.
Acoustic guitar is a beautiful thing to listen to. I was an in an acoustic guitar class once. The instructor said I was awesome. Then I dropped the class. I wish I played more guitar. I guess it’s never to late to start playing again.
The acoustics of my bedroom leaves much to wish for. I can hear every word from the tv. I do not want to get up. I do not want to partake. I want to lay here in peace and quiet and not have your expectations on me.
It was always used to differentiate those who rock from those who swoon- acoustic. It defined the way that you viewed the person. What type of guitar do you play? Electric or Acoustic? Me? I play both
so I thought about drums about an empty room, birds, why birds? Let me think… empty room and the rain, so the sun and concert and a hall and..the plane very big plane.
Acoustic is beautiful in its simplicity. Acoustic songs leave out the instruments that often times over crowd the song and just stick to the elegant roots.
When I was growing up my mom played the guitar. Always acoustic and they way her voice sounded against the chords was soothing. Calming. It took me away and put me to sleep.
caustic the echo of sound sticks with me ou – so broad , such a space a means away from what is the word ‘s meaning then – away from co – commuinion and the stic the two consonants – st – saint then the i and the cat
away from the broad of the saint I cat .ou it sticks to what, to the pan.
in a cathedral the acoustics are good it is wonderful the echo of the sound i would love to walk in a cathedral again .the messanger helped me . the ou- the wideness of sound the wonder of it , the broadness of it all it sounds good the a then the c and then i think of caustic a caustic. the sound sticks, it whirls up and up into the vault – reminds me of the new Zealand film and the building of the new cathedral up and up iinto the vault. I remember being in bell ringers guild in St Patricks it was interesting – we all took it in turns to ring out the golden tintinlation of the tiny bells and we were up up up up in the belfry , fledermausen in belfries
caustic the echo of sound sticks with me ou – so broad , such a space a means away from what is the word ‘s meaning then – away from co – commuinion and the stic the two two consonants – st – saint then the i and the catwhic is
away from the broad of the saint I cat ou it sticks to what to the pan.
in a cathedral the acoustics are good it os wonderful the echo of the sound i would love to walk in a cathedral again .the messanger helped me the ou the wideness of sound the wonder of it , the broadness of it all it sounds good the a then the c and then i think of caustic a caustic the sound sticks it whirls up and up into the vault – reminds me of the new Zealand film and the building of the new cathedral up and up iinto the vault i remember the bell ringers guild in St Patricks it was interesting i
ummm acoustic the wrod that starts with and a and ends with a t i c oooooh snap crackle pop not really acoustic isnt that awesome electric is where it’s at ever heard of an electric bass? yeah good funk
The acoustics were impeccable, darling. It was as if your heart had leapt right into my ears, and drowned out all other thoughts in this rattled old schizophrenic nightmare. I lost you. Oh, I lost you once. But I refuse to allow our embrace to ever end from this point on. Let’s live to the sound of screeching tires, and die to the anthem of a constellation.
living in an acoustic fantasy, the words running around in my head like some river of thoughts. gently strumming the strings, touching the keys, finding ways to speak without electricity, without power, soft, gentle, warm tones that soothe
Its the best kind of sound, the acoustic guitar. One that rings clear and loud whenever it is strummed. I could sit and listen to it for a longlonglong time, if life was like that and disconnected to frivolities like eatingdrinkingsleepingbreathing…
I never learned the play the acoustic guitar. There was something about it that I couldn’t grasp–the patterns failed to draw themselves in my head. I gravitated towards the piano for obvious reasons; the same landscapes–varying character.
There was a soft strumming beneath the window, and Jeff had little idea what to do. An acoustic guitar, and all it is, and all it was, flutters in empty loneliness across the cold lawn. The night rested.
Acoustic guitars sound amazing and certain music works better with them than with electric
Spanish classical especially, and flamenco with irts strange circular rhythms. where you can’t stop your feet tapping.
Acoustic. My favorite. All those old rock ballads. Ahhh. The sound of raging, screaming guitars is great, but when an acoustic song is sung everything is just….. there. Quiet. Tranquil. Crooning voices and plucking twangs. Perfect.
it happened at Chicago Blues, a very insistent request that she attend, a gaggle of blues-ters, the kind that run on stage for a jam with the big guys on a Saturday night at Wise Fools, still early evening here and light out, sun through grubby windows,then Mike at the mike singing her name and a feeling of desolation because all the feeling was gone and this big gesture was disappearing like steam into open air and she could only tell the truth and it wasn’t going to be kind anyway you come at it
I didn’t realize its raining. How long has it been? Seems like the days ending… Look, the city seems to be still. I think I can hear it’s heart beat. Or is it mine? The murmur of the rain swallows and washes away all we say… Lets sit and talk, you know how I like to hear you say… Sitting at the window, hearing the rain talk its soft pain, as it beats against the walls, we wish out time away, chasing the droplets racing down the glass.
the sounds of the harp played through her hearts second decisoin. She sat there will a plastic smile and pretending to feel pretty as she look at the the stranger in the mirror A naseaous feeling os nostologia overcame her building and she ran to the bathroom next door which seemed more like a dungeon to her. As she squatted over a$7. 99 walgreens toilet paper she contemplated what her life had come to. How could she ever tell her kids that on the day they were going to begin their life, the place they chose to get married at didn’t even provide toilet seat covers.
across the valley the deer came- liitle ones running out ahead the watch hinds with ears pricked harldly grazing as they scanned the surrounding shrub — alert for the short slight sounds of something sliding over the grass or the snick of a a rifle bolt drawn back and then to.
Her breath filled the empty air. The room was dark…and, silent. She hated the silence. It was so mysterious and unpredictable. It left her feeling empty and sick, the smell of her own fear and the sound of the silence filled this hell. Suddenly, she heard a noise. She turned quickly, ready to confront whoever—or whatever—was there. “Stop.” The word broke the acoustic room like a knife. She knew the voice, and feared it. “What do you want?” A cackle filled the air. “Oh, nothing, ugly one.” Again, the young woman cringed as she could feel the air closing around her throat, choking her. “I am not ugly.” “Then what are you? Because, you’re certainly not pretty.” She could feel fingers enclosing around her neck. “This was it,” she thought, “this is the moment it all ends.” “It’s ok to be ugly,” the girl behind her whispered in her ear while squeezing tighter around her neck. “Because, we need people like you, to make people like me look pretty.” She let out a cynical laugh. “If you need people like me to make you look pretty, you were never pretty to begin with.” The girl let out an angry yelp, almost animal like, before squeezing the remaining life out of the young woman, all within the silence of that acoustic, pitch-black room.
The empty bottle rang like an acoustic guitar. Kind of. Jensen could make almost any analogy seem plausible in the state he was in. The whiskey was doing what it was supposed to do, deaden the pain of reality. After another belch, Jensen closed his eyes and fixated on the ringing of the chimes in the window.
I think about when I was young that I used to learn acoustic guitar with my friends in high school. I still remember the song that we played together. It was very simple and easy to play for girl.
the room is bathed is a varying degree of acoustic delights. i anxiously await your entrance with baited breath. finally, you arrive. the moment i’ve dreamed of for far longer than i would like. you seductively approach me, my eyes fixed upon your every move. you embrace me and i say your name, d… you put your fingers over my mouth and stop me before i can even finish. shhhh, you say. i close my eyes and reach for your hand, only to find nothing but a dream once again. i long for your touch to come to fruition, to no longer be a dream. one day, the dream becomes three dimensional.
guitar is just something I always felt like playing but never eventually ended up trying. too bad. Maybe in an other life, if there is an other life. Until then, I enjoy listening to it.
acoustic has to do with sound. there are different acoustics, like an acoustic guitar of the acoustics of a room. Not really a room, but more like a hall, where you can listen to music. Good acoustics in halls are difficult to find, most architects don’t think about it. Only if they are specifically making the hall for music.
Acoustic? God I love acoustic songs. Defeater might be a hardcore punk band, but they know how to write some awesome acoustics. They’ll go from complete and utter destructive hardcore to bluesy acoustics in seconds, and their amazing, heart-melting lyricism makes it all the more magical. If I ever find a woman willing to date me, I’ll sing her Defeater’s acoustics.
guitars are beautiful if they are used right. i pretty much like the sound of jack johnson because of his harmonic sounds.
The acoustic guitar twangs. Badly in the wrong hands.
The music from his guitar could be heard downstairs; muffled and muted. She knew that at that moment, the light from the lamp in their bedroom was bouncing off the angles of his body. His hair was golden, his face was solemn, and he was alone. She longed to be there watching him, quietly, like a little mouse. But she lingered below. Better to hear his distant music, than to be embraced with silence.
sound, sweet to my ears. echoes around the room.. bouncing off walls and into my head, into everyone’s ears. Music, talking, melodious sound, to share a moment, a minute, a feeling…
a guitar. no drums. a voice. no electricity. beautiful and raw. melodic and sweet. simple but genius. acoustic.
i have a nice ball
i need to something call
what do you mean it
it is a nice football.
The rickety stairs coiled around the inside of the dome. Sarah wondered whether she was putting her life in the hands of some medieval craftsmen as she gingerly picker her way to the magical point in the Cathedral’s dome. The acoustics were so wonderful, all she would need to do is whisper and everyone below would hear her. Would they want to hear what she had to say, she wondered to herself as she crept up the wooden boards.
soft acoustic sonada strums resonate
softly in the amber lit ambience,
light chatter waft across silky cushions
fingers kissing the skin of the drum
The surroundings of a theater or other location that allow you to hear without a microphone. The acoustics in an amphitheater are usually perfect for a play or drama.
Strumming away, he heard the curious tones of an answering hum. Blue eyes met brown across the empty cafe, the one his uncle owned and that he liked to hide in after hours. The other boy smiled, sweetly, mischievously. He put his guitar down and went to greet this stranger, whose smile was so inviting, and whose laughter he was waiting to fall in love with.
Acoustic guitar is a beautiful thing to listen to. I was an in an acoustic guitar class once. The instructor said I was awesome. Then I dropped the class. I wish I played more guitar. I guess it’s never to late to start playing again.
The acoustics of my bedroom leaves much to wish for. I can hear every word from the tv. I do not want to get up. I do not want to partake. I want to lay here in peace and quiet and not have your expectations on me.
It was always used to differentiate those who rock from those who swoon- acoustic. It defined the way that you viewed the person. What type of guitar do you play? Electric or Acoustic? Me? I play both
so I thought about drums about an empty room, birds, why birds? Let me think… empty room and the rain, so the sun and concert and a hall and..the plane very big plane.
Acoustic is beautiful in its simplicity. Acoustic songs leave out the instruments that often times over crowd the song and just stick to the elegant roots.
When I was growing up my mom played the guitar. Always acoustic and they way her voice sounded against the chords was soothing. Calming. It took me away and put me to sleep.
caustic the echo of sound sticks with me ou – so broad , such a space a means away from what is the word ‘s meaning then – away from co – commuinion and the stic the two consonants – st – saint then the i and the cat
away from the broad of the saint I cat .ou it sticks to what, to the pan.
in a cathedral the acoustics are good it is wonderful the echo of the sound i would love to walk in a cathedral again .the messanger helped me . the ou- the wideness of sound the wonder of it , the broadness of it all it sounds good the a then the c and then i think of caustic a caustic. the sound sticks, it whirls up and up into the vault – reminds me of the new Zealand film and the building of the new cathedral up and up iinto the vault. I remember being in bell ringers guild in St Patricks it was interesting – we all took it in turns to ring out the golden tintinlation of the tiny bells and we were up up up up in the belfry , fledermausen in belfries
school days
we talked about moutaintops and valleys
we cried and gathered
praise is simple
caustic the echo of sound sticks with me ou – so broad , such a space a means away from what is the word ‘s meaning then – away from co – commuinion and the stic the two two consonants – st – saint then the i and the catwhic is
away from the broad of the saint I cat ou it sticks to what to the pan.
in a cathedral the acoustics are good it os wonderful the echo of the sound i would love to walk in a cathedral again .the messanger helped me the ou the wideness of sound the wonder of it , the broadness of it all it sounds good the a then the c and then i think of caustic a caustic the sound sticks it whirls up and up into the vault – reminds me of the new Zealand film and the building of the new cathedral up and up iinto the vault i remember the bell ringers guild in St Patricks it was interesting i
ummm acoustic the wrod that starts with and a and ends with a t i c oooooh snap crackle pop not really acoustic isnt that awesome electric is where it’s at ever heard of an electric bass? yeah good funk
The acoustics were impeccable, darling. It was as if your heart had leapt right into my ears, and drowned out all other thoughts in this rattled old schizophrenic nightmare. I lost you. Oh, I lost you once. But I refuse to allow our embrace to ever end from this point on. Let’s live to the sound of screeching tires, and die to the anthem of a constellation.
living in an acoustic fantasy, the words running around in my head like some river of thoughts. gently strumming the strings, touching the keys, finding ways to speak without electricity, without power, soft, gentle, warm tones that soothe
Its the best kind of sound, the acoustic guitar. One that rings clear and loud whenever it is strummed. I could sit and listen to it for a longlonglong time, if life was like that and disconnected to frivolities like eatingdrinkingsleepingbreathing…
I never learned the play the acoustic guitar. There was something about it that I couldn’t grasp–the patterns failed to draw themselves in my head. I gravitated towards the piano for obvious reasons; the same landscapes–varying character.
stuck
There was a soft strumming beneath the window, and Jeff had little idea what to do. An acoustic guitar, and all it is, and all it was, flutters in empty loneliness across the cold lawn. The night rested.
is soothing and keeps me sane
irene was just playing the guitar
its gloomy in melbourne