Music possesses only the pure perfection of fact – a fact rising in rhythms of sound. Rhythms which seem inhuman, because they’re essentially free from desire, fear and distress. Free from all the visions of glory, honor or the longing we impose upon music’s facade. Free from the emotional baggage, without which we cannot listen to any merely human music. For whatever remains when the merely human has been stripped from our arts, must be the essence of a communication from we know not where… with we know not what.