what is a microphone. It’s a way to express yourself. A way to be heard. Something that someone thinks or displays can be told the the population. Instantly; it’s an amazing invention. Not only does it bring happiness to the world but it allows the ideas and communitction through music and family and conversations. What I’m trying to say is, Conversation is the key to happyness.
My sweaty hands closed themselves around the sleek, cold microphone. This was the moment of truth–the culmination of months and months of hard work. Regardless of how prepared I was, I was still nervous as hell. In a last-stitch effort to calm myself, I took a deep breath. Then, I opened my mouth and sang.
A leader can run a nation with a microphone. A recording artist can make a million dollars with a microphone. A man can preach on the side of the street with a microphone. We can make our voices heard. We can be the next leaders, next preachers, the next great generation.
My grandpa used to let us play with his microphones. I don’t know why he had them, except that he was a collector of sorts. When he got a wireless one, I would stand on the first floor, and transmit songs down to my brother in the basement, and vice versa.
Not the most exciting story, but a happy one. :)
I saw a really cool microphone yesterday at my ex boyfriends bands show. the lead singer megan had it, she’s kind of a bitch though but her voice is pretty awesome. ive been listening to their CD all day today. Hannah my roommate has too.
The singer was holding her microphone. But she couldn’t sing. She was overcome with anxiety, and she felt as if the moment would last forever. The microphone smelled like a beer. But she took a deep breath, thought of her loving husband and children, and belted out the song like she never had before. It
you are my microphone. you amplify the queries and desires i carry forever in my heart. you are, you are, you are — my sweetest downfall? you are too beautiful. i can never not love you, oh god; but why? you are my music and my soul. i hate you.
whispering into the microphone, the KGB agent stated his code name and location. The distant pop of gunfire rang in the background, but the agent ignored it and continued coldly. There had been much violence that night, but it would not end there.
It makes me want to go to a party, have fun and dance to the rhythm of music. It makes me have so much memories back to my head. Karaoke times with my friends at aour favorite restaurant.
Microphone…
What does it mean?
Micro-small
Phone- Phone.
That makes no sense
A small phone?? No thanks Thats a cellular phone.
Microphone isnt a good name.
not at all
maybe something like
Voice-enhancer. but microphone? No. Nonsensical.
The microphone felt like lead in her hand. Heavy, thick and a little strange. She’d been here before, practice after practice. But this time, standing behind the curtain, she hated that microphone more than anything in her life.
She tapped the microphone, stalling. The audience murmured to themselves. She put both hands around the microphone and took a deep breath. The music started to play. It was familiar. She opened her eyes and began to sing.
I love talking and hearing myself talk. :) I think everything i say should be expressed through a microphone. love it! hannah montana has a bedazzled microphone, shes weird though. i wish i had a million microphones, then i would should words into them all the time. I would turn the volume all the way up and the whole world could hear me! It would be so lovely. I would just say things like “HAVE A GREAT DAY!” And it would echo across the world!
He stood nervously in front of the crowd. The hall was filled to the brim. This was to be his debut. He nodded to the band. The drummer smiled then said, “one, two three” and struck out the beat for the musicians to follow.
Steve move up to the microphone and began to sing.
People yell through microphones. At rallies, they cuss through them about the fucking government and the rights they don’t get but deserve. People yell through microphones at students who aren’t being quiet enough. As a society, we tend to believe that yelling is the only thing that creates quiet.
She stepped up to the microphone and tapped it twice. She knew the whole crowd could see how scared she was. She was so nervous her hands shook uncontrollable. She opened her mouth and bared her soul to the world.
I have often wondered if technology in microphones have affected the quality of the music that we have or has the advancement in technology of recording bettered the quality of music. How much have microphone’s changed?
You sing it, I sling it, we mixin’
Two turntables and a what ???
I said two turntables and a ???
I want two turntables —
And to get with the get fresh flow
I said two turntables and microphone
As she walked up to the microphone, she lost here words and for got what she was going to say, her face broke out in a sweat as she looked out t the crowd looking back at her with anticipation.
I sing into a microphone in sunday mornings. I call it a mic. I use it to mic guitars and instruments. Metal. Cold. Needs a wire. Sometimes wireless. Small, big. Condenser, pencis, diaphram, ribbon
My lips pressed softly against the grated edge of the powerful microphone. Could they hear my breath? I couldn’t tell how loud I was. The music began, and there was no turning back now. There she is in the front row… I hope she’ll be impressed. “Hello…” I whispered. Their eyes said it back…
Heard she flows like molasses
Ain’t got nothin on these lasses
But fo’shame I don’t remember her name
Off to crush still I lost the will fo’yo game
Slap this tuna, I’m leavin’ to read up on Buddha
Got a feel fo’beats, yet sick of rippin-on-repeats
Slicka-sicka-squicka-kick-ya
Can’t wait till I up and quit-ya
Got bad attitude
And a fist to punch it
Hustla, you bustla
lemme readjust ya
Like a chiropracta
I wanna hear it pop
Snap-crackle and stop!
She stood, bright stage lights glowing on her. The burning of the light felt good somehow, like it was urging her, pushing her toward what she wanted. The microphone. It stood solitary on the stage. She grabbed the microphone, opened her mouth, and let it push her toward everything she wanted.
There’s something special about holding a microphone and staring out over a crowd. It’s the feel, the electricity – all those invisible particles racing through the air – that you notice first. Then it’s the sheer, raw, unadulterated power. The crowd is yours. You have the microphone, and you have their attention. It’s that simple.
Projection, volume, concentration. Stage lights centering, forget about the audience, none of them could do this anyway. None of them could stand up here, with no way to tell what is about to happen. None of them could stand isolated on a stage and pull music out of thin air. Ignore it all, approach the microphone, and open a vein.
i spoke into the microphone and it boomed loudly through the room. everyone looked at me. i felt awkward. and then i saw him in the back of the crowd. and he waved and i smiled. and everything was ok because he was there. and i wasnt afraid anymore.
My laptop microphone is such a bitch, i can never get it to work, I generally hate talking into a microphone, i hate anything that distorts my voice or gives me some weird accent. I prefer live, open communication. I wish i had stronger more developed opinions about this.
The microphone was wet with her spit and breath.
“That’s enough.”, he told her.
She sat panting in the chair holding her head in her hands resting her elbows on her knees.
I spoke into the microphone to tell the story of my life. All that came out were the sounds of my past – nothing to say of my present, my future, or who I am. The microphone amplified the sounds of failure I could not stop hearing myself.
She yelled blindly into the microphone, her head sticking up through the sunroof. “YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN!” Her anger for the sleepy little town screamed red hot at three in the morning. The car rolled to a stop, but she kept shouting, shouting, shouting.
a tool used to express yourself. to voice your opinion. to sing. to speak. to project. a microphone is sound, the sound of your voice projected its black with a switch to turn on and off. it gives off feedback. and just like everything it has evolved over time. its a compound word.
what is a microphone. It’s a way to express yourself. A way to be heard. Something that someone thinks or displays can be told the the population. Instantly; it’s an amazing invention. Not only does it bring happiness to the world but it allows the ideas and communitction through music and family and conversations. What I’m trying to say is, Conversation is the key to happyness.
My sweaty hands closed themselves around the sleek, cold microphone. This was the moment of truth–the culmination of months and months of hard work. Regardless of how prepared I was, I was still nervous as hell. In a last-stitch effort to calm myself, I took a deep breath. Then, I opened my mouth and sang.
A leader can run a nation with a microphone. A recording artist can make a million dollars with a microphone. A man can preach on the side of the street with a microphone. We can make our voices heard. We can be the next leaders, next preachers, the next great generation.
My grandpa used to let us play with his microphones. I don’t know why he had them, except that he was a collector of sorts. When he got a wireless one, I would stand on the first floor, and transmit songs down to my brother in the basement, and vice versa.
Not the most exciting story, but a happy one. :)
I saw a really cool microphone yesterday at my ex boyfriends bands show. the lead singer megan had it, she’s kind of a bitch though but her voice is pretty awesome. ive been listening to their CD all day today. Hannah my roommate has too.
The singer was holding her microphone. But she couldn’t sing. She was overcome with anxiety, and she felt as if the moment would last forever. The microphone smelled like a beer. But she took a deep breath, thought of her loving husband and children, and belted out the song like she never had before. It
you are my microphone. you amplify the queries and desires i carry forever in my heart. you are, you are, you are — my sweetest downfall? you are too beautiful. i can never not love you, oh god; but why? you are my music and my soul. i hate you.
whispering into the microphone, the KGB agent stated his code name and location. The distant pop of gunfire rang in the background, but the agent ignored it and continued coldly. There had been much violence that night, but it would not end there.
I’m speaking these words
in all my most honest tones
stringing them together with old arteries
pulling them from the deepest place in my heart
It makes me want to go to a party, have fun and dance to the rhythm of music. It makes me have so much memories back to my head. Karaoke times with my friends at aour favorite restaurant.
Voice yourself. Let others enjoy the powerful words that you wish to share.
Share wisdom. Share opinion. Share the light.
LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD.
Microphone…
What does it mean?
Micro-small
Phone- Phone.
That makes no sense
A small phone?? No thanks Thats a cellular phone.
Microphone isnt a good name.
not at all
maybe something like
Voice-enhancer. but microphone? No. Nonsensical.
The microphone felt like lead in her hand. Heavy, thick and a little strange. She’d been here before, practice after practice. But this time, standing behind the curtain, she hated that microphone more than anything in her life.
a tiny little phone?
The microphone was in her ear and she could hear the music, but when she saw him at a distance she could no longer hear anything at all.
She tapped the microphone, stalling. The audience murmured to themselves. She put both hands around the microphone and took a deep breath. The music started to play. It was familiar. She opened her eyes and began to sing.
I love talking and hearing myself talk. :) I think everything i say should be expressed through a microphone. love it! hannah montana has a bedazzled microphone, shes weird though. i wish i had a million microphones, then i would should words into them all the time. I would turn the volume all the way up and the whole world could hear me! It would be so lovely. I would just say things like “HAVE A GREAT DAY!” And it would echo across the world!
He stood nervously in front of the crowd. The hall was filled to the brim. This was to be his debut. He nodded to the band. The drummer smiled then said, “one, two three” and struck out the beat for the musicians to follow.
Steve move up to the microphone and began to sing.
People yell through microphones. At rallies, they cuss through them about the fucking government and the rights they don’t get but deserve. People yell through microphones at students who aren’t being quiet enough. As a society, we tend to believe that yelling is the only thing that creates quiet.
She stepped up to the microphone and tapped it twice. She knew the whole crowd could see how scared she was. She was so nervous her hands shook uncontrollable. She opened her mouth and bared her soul to the world.
I’m internationally know on the microphone i got it all but I really need a wife at home… I need a girl to ride ride ride I need a girl in my life!!!
I love this song :)
I have often wondered if technology in microphones have affected the quality of the music that we have or has the advancement in technology of recording bettered the quality of music. How much have microphone’s changed?
You sing it, I sling it, we mixin’
Two turntables and a what ???
I said two turntables and a ???
I want two turntables —
And to get with the get fresh flow
I said two turntables and microphone
As she walked up to the microphone, she lost here words and for got what she was going to say, her face broke out in a sweat as she looked out t the crowd looking back at her with anticipation.
I sing into a microphone in sunday mornings. I call it a mic. I use it to mic guitars and instruments. Metal. Cold. Needs a wire. Sometimes wireless. Small, big. Condenser, pencis, diaphram, ribbon
My lips pressed softly against the grated edge of the powerful microphone. Could they hear my breath? I couldn’t tell how loud I was. The music began, and there was no turning back now. There she is in the front row… I hope she’ll be impressed. “Hello…” I whispered. Their eyes said it back…
Heard she flows like molasses
Ain’t got nothin on these lasses
But fo’shame I don’t remember her name
Off to crush still I lost the will fo’yo game
Slap this tuna, I’m leavin’ to read up on Buddha
Got a feel fo’beats, yet sick of rippin-on-repeats
Slicka-sicka-squicka-kick-ya
Can’t wait till I up and quit-ya
Got bad attitude
And a fist to punch it
Hustla, you bustla
lemme readjust ya
Like a chiropracta
I wanna hear it pop
Snap-crackle and stop!
She stood, bright stage lights glowing on her. The burning of the light felt good somehow, like it was urging her, pushing her toward what she wanted. The microphone. It stood solitary on the stage. She grabbed the microphone, opened her mouth, and let it push her toward everything she wanted.
There’s something special about holding a microphone and staring out over a crowd. It’s the feel, the electricity – all those invisible particles racing through the air – that you notice first. Then it’s the sheer, raw, unadulterated power. The crowd is yours. You have the microphone, and you have their attention. It’s that simple.
Projection, volume, concentration. Stage lights centering, forget about the audience, none of them could do this anyway. None of them could stand up here, with no way to tell what is about to happen. None of them could stand isolated on a stage and pull music out of thin air. Ignore it all, approach the microphone, and open a vein.
i spoke into the microphone and it boomed loudly through the room. everyone looked at me. i felt awkward. and then i saw him in the back of the crowd. and he waved and i smiled. and everything was ok because he was there. and i wasnt afraid anymore.
My laptop microphone is such a bitch, i can never get it to work, I generally hate talking into a microphone, i hate anything that distorts my voice or gives me some weird accent. I prefer live, open communication. I wish i had stronger more developed opinions about this.
a very small phone. invented back in the 80s when people wore really big shoulder pads but had tiny arms.
The microphone was wet with her spit and breath.
“That’s enough.”, he told her.
She sat panting in the chair holding her head in her hands resting her elbows on her knees.
My microphone sucks
it takes a billion years to set up correctly.. and I have to do it every time I skype someone
I wish I could just get a new one
ummm… this is awkward.
have you ever thought your voice sounded weird in your head?
I spoke into the microphone to tell the story of my life. All that came out were the sounds of my past – nothing to say of my present, my future, or who I am. The microphone amplified the sounds of failure I could not stop hearing myself.
She yelled blindly into the microphone, her head sticking up through the sunroof. “YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN!” Her anger for the sleepy little town screamed red hot at three in the morning. The car rolled to a stop, but she kept shouting, shouting, shouting.
a tool used to express yourself. to voice your opinion. to sing. to speak. to project. a microphone is sound, the sound of your voice projected its black with a switch to turn on and off. it gives off feedback. and just like everything it has evolved over time. its a compound word.
Speak into the microphone. Hear yourself, step back. “I said what?” The microphone doesn’t make you important. What you say does.
An instrument that emphasizes noise to the exclusion of personality, nuances we all are aware of but that other pick up on!