Live Coding Blog

Reading about microtiming made me think differently about rhythm and how much subtle timing variations shape the way we experience music. I’ve always felt that some songs just “hit different,” but I never really considered how small delays in a drumbeat or a slightly rushed note could create that feeling. The discussion on African and African-American musical traditions, especially how groove emerges from microtiming, reminded me of songs that make me want to move even if I’m just sitting still. It’s fascinating how something so precise—down to milliseconds—can make music feel more human.

The idea of being “in the pocket” stood out to me, especially in relation to genres like funk, hip-hop, and R&B, where rhythm feels alive and interactive. I’ve noticed that in a lot of my favorite songs, the backbeat isn’t rigid but slightly laid back, creating that smooth, effortless vibe. It also makes me think about live performances versus studio recordings—sometimes, a live version feels more engaging because it has those natural imperfections that quantized beats remove. This makes me appreciate how rhythm isn’t just about keeping time but about shaping emotion and energy.

This chapter also made me reflect on how technology influences our sense of groove. With so much music being produced digitally, there’s a balance between precision and feel. Some tracks use quantization to sound perfect, but others intentionally keep human-like imperfections to maintain a groove. I’ve noticed how producers add swing to drum patterns in genres like lo-fi hip-hop, recreating the organic feel of live drumming. It’s interesting to see how microtiming isn’t just a technical detail but a crucial part of musical expression, bridging tradition and innovation in ways I hadn’t fully appreciated before.

When I was in middle school, during one of his rare visits, my father showed me an Aphex Twin song from Syro. At that point, having grown accustomed to Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber radio hits, I had said, “It’s just noise.” He responded, “You’ll be able to see the patterns–the music–someday.” My brother and I would sit in front of our battered Bluetooth speaker and listen to Aphex Twin songs in order to understand what our father possibly saw in these strange metal-like songs. We would point out a sound when it arrived what at first seemed too early or late. We would gape at sounds that surprised us because they arrived and repeated in ways we hadn’t expected them to, and gradually, we began to love this sense of musically organized disintegration. Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber no longer––that bored us. My brother eventually became a jazz drummer and obsessed over the likes of Miles Davis and John Coltrane and is now majoring in music. I trace his interest back to this anecdote.

Aphex Twin is inseparable from experimental electronic music, and yet, despite being so electronic, his work is undeniably intimate and human. I believe one of the reasons for this is his genius knack for variation and timing, something he learned, as the reading pointed out, from African rhythms. Stockhausen wasn’t the biggest fan of Aphex Twin’s work because he claimed he should “stop with all these post-African repetitions” and should “look for changing tempi and changing rhythms.” But Aphex Twin’s ability to continuously repeat interlocking rhythms with genius variations is why people have come to love and idolize him so much. Not everyone can do so much with so little. Another artist that this reading reminded me of was Tune-Yards, who also draws from African rhythms to create human-like complexities and variations in her work. She has a lyric that goes: “I use my white woman’s voice to tell stories of African men…” As we go full throttle into a tactile-less, screen, technocratic world, I believe prioritizing the HUMAN in music is more important than ever. Or, not even important, but the kind of music we will increasingly seek out because we need it. I was never a fan of dubstep and EDM because they were too saccharine and simple. I want imperfection. I want the human body, with all its limitations and attempted breaking of those limitations. I really enjoyed this reading and the insight I was able to glean into the music I love through it.

This reading made me realize how much emotion hides in tiny timing details! I never thought a snare drum hit slightly late could create that “laid-back” groove feeling. It’s wild how West African traditions—like stomping/clapping in the ring shout—evolved into modern drumset backbeats.

After reading this paper the idea that “soul” comes from human imperfection stuck with me. Even drum machines today try to fake those micro-delays to sound more “human.” But when tech goes too far , music feels robotic—like it’s missing a body. On the flip side, artists like George Lewis use computers to add new layers of creativity, blending human and machine in improvised jazz. I also found the link between body movement and rhythm fascinating. Bass drum = foot, snare = hand. That connection to dance and ritual explains why groove feels so physical. It’s not just sound; it’s like the music is a body moving.

This made me listen differently. Now I notice how tiny delays or “mistakes” give music its heartbeat. Even pop stars like Madonna try to inject “soul” into electronic beats—but maybe the real magic is already in those micro-moments we feel but don’t always hear.

It’s fascinating how much expression can be packed into the smallest timing variations in music. This paper really opened my eyes to the idea that even simple, repetitive patterns can be incredibly expressive through subtle shifts in intensity and timing. It seems like the core of groove-based music lies in this interplay between a steady pulse and the almost imperceptible ways musicians play with it. It’s like they’re having a conversation with each other, using these tiny deviations in timing to create different moods and feelings.

I found it particularly interesting how the paper connects the backbeat, with its slight delay, to the body’s natural rhythms. The idea that the way we move – our feet anticipating a sound and our hands following it – might influence musical timing is pretty interesting. It makes you think about how much our physicality is tied to the music we create and enjoy.

The discussion of technology’s role in music was thought-provoking too. The absence of those human-like microtiming variations can be as powerful as their presence, and the strategic use of “robotic” rhythms can be musically meaningful. And the way musicians use technology to manipulate sampled recordings, giving them a sort of “pseudo-human” feel, highlights the ongoing conversation between humans and machines in music. It makes me wonder what is “soul” in music, and if it is really a powerfully embodied human presence? I’m starting to think that it might be related to these very subtle, almost invisible traces of the human body in music.

A central argument of the text is that the subtle variations in rhythm such as the variation of the position that the snare is played on a backbeat is what makes music human. And that examine this ‘humanness’ of music which arises in performance variation, musical expression and microtiming as seen prior. This maybe why a recording artist such as Ye has human electronic and sample heavy but still sounds very human (a caveat to this argument is also that Kanye uses human voice as a instrument in his tracks).

The interplay of the human element and technology is a key theme throughout the text. While technology can create precise, “robotic” rhythms, the text notes that this absence of microtiming can also be a powerful artistic choice. The deliberate use of “robotic” rhythms can suggest a disembodied, futuristic ideal, or can be a way to signify on technology and history. However, the author also explores ways in which technology is being used to capture and manipulate the nuances of human performance, such as through sampling and the manipulation of recorded sound, in an attempt to retain that human element in music.

A large part of music performances in the modern era are just the presence or the interaction of the artist with their art. For example, a mainstream artist such as Playboi Carti will most probably recite the ad-libs and dance to their own songs that are being played in the background. This example of performance being the act of through vibing extends to mainstream DJs.

The text shows that the “human” element in music has capacity for expression, which can be either mimicked or intentionally avoided as a stylistic choice.

This article explores a nuanced perspective on the nature of rhythms and patterns in African American music. However, I found the exploration of technology’s role in music production particularly thought-provoking. It made me realise that the evolution from early drum machines to sophisticated sampling techniques reflects a fascinating interplay between technological advancement and the desire to capture human-like expressiveness. The use of technology in music can be a tool to sharpen or elevate or even make the process of music composition easier. The examples of artists like Miya Masaoka and Laetitia Sonami, who blur the lines between acoustic and electronic sounds, demonstrate how technology can extend rather than replace human creativity. 

I find that there is an ongoing dialogue between technology and human expression in music – yet it continues to challenge our understanding of creativity, embodiment, whilst also dangerously pushing the boundaries – if those exist. For example, electronic music often plays with the tension between human and machine rhythms, creating a continuum between bodily presence and an electronic rhythm.

Music’s ability to evoke emotions is deeply influenced by the context and culture in which it is experienced, as explored in Microstructures of Feel, Macrostructures of Experience. In the paper, The author discusses groove-based music and historical lineage, emphasizing the role of rhythmic structures and expressive timing in shaping expectations and emotional responses. This implies that emotional reactions to music don’t necessarily come from the inherent qualities of the music or specific notes but are shaped by the cultural and media contexts to which we are exposed as consumers. This idea reminded me of classical pieces that are commonly associated with particular emotions, often without much thought. For instance, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, Second Movement and John Williams’ Jaws theme are both iconic and placed in specific cultural contexts.

The paper argues that music functions as a communicative process, harmonizing individuals through shared experiences rather than conveying fixed meanings. Exposure and prior contexts lead us to internalize patterns and associate particular musical elements with emotions. Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, Second Movement exemplifies this, as it’s often featured in tragic or dramatic settings, reinforcing its melancholic association. If it were placed in a different context, its emotional reception might shift significantly. Another example is the Jaws theme, which illustrates how repeated exposure to a rhythm within a suspenseful context has conditioned audiences to associate it with fear. The paper’s discussion on microtiming and expressive timing in groove-based music helped me understand how musicians manipulate rhythmic delivery to evoke distinct emotions. The accelerating motif in the Jaws theme has conditioned us to connect this rhythm with fear and thrill. Beyond its cinematic origin, this rhythmic pattern has been widely referenced and parodied, which only reinforces its emotional connotation in popular culture.

The study of expressive timing and groove-based traditions shows how music’s emotional power lies in learned associations. Whether through embodiment, memory, or repetition in media, our musical biases shape how we perceive and react to sound, demonstrating that our emotional engagement with music is as much a product of cultural exposure as it is of musical structure.