Live Coding Blog

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.

Music originates from the human body. Every clap of the hands and stomp of the feet creates a rhythm, and these natural rhythms have inspired the development of instruments such as the snare drum and bass drum. Furthermore, the variations in pitch and frequency of notes mirror the complexity of human emotions, allowing music to carry and convey feelings that the audience can intuitively understand. Because music is born from the body and has the ability to transmit the abstract essence of human experience, I believe it comes alive through both those who create it and those who listen to it.

What makes music feel even more alive is the behavior we attribute to it. For instance, the slight delay between the bass drum and snare drum may stem from the natural coordination differences between our hands and feet, yet we accept this as an inherent quality of musical rhythm. Each performer is unique, and as a result, the same piece of music can be played in ways that evoke entirely different emotions. In this sense, music takes on the personality of the musician, becoming a deeply personal and expressive form of art. Thus, music serves as a powerful medium for self-expression in today’s world.

Grooving signifies a “microscopic sensitivity to musical timing.” In this sense, performing a groove of any kind could equate having a developed sense of perception of musical timing. Grooving in no doubt can be easily elicited by good music, which goes to show that good sounds turn on the audience’s subconscious feel of musical timing. The backbeat is “indigenous to the modern drum kit”; the backbeat itself is also regarded as “a popular remnant of […] ancient human musical behavior. This proves that at the very early ages, humans have possessed for themselves the ability to sense and feel musical timing, which is also a form of a human body making music, completing the circle of music experience. This sense of backbeat and music timing is meant to be experienced in a collective setting; good music is meant to be shared within a community.

To me, it feels like a raw, unfiltered conversation with technology—where code isn’t just something you write and execute but something you shape and negotiate with in the moment. It reminds me of DJing or vinyl scratching, where the act of creation is as important as the final output, and every adjustment is part of the performance.

There’s something rebellious about it, too. Most coding environments push precision, control, and pre-planned logic, but live coding thrives on unpredictability, improvisation, and even failure. The screen isn’t just a workspace—it’s a canvas, a stage, an instrument. The audience isn’t just watching; they’re witnessing thought unfold in real time. It challenges the idea that programming has to be hidden, polished, or even “correct.” Instead, it embraces the process, the trial and error, the glitches that become part of the art.

For me, live coding is exciting because it breaks down the usual walls between artist and machine, between logic and emotion. It’s proof that code isn’t just functional—it can be expressive, performative, even poetic. It makes technology feel more human, more alive.

Electronic music has long been entangled in a debate about its humanity—whether it lacks the “soul” that traditional acoustic music embodies. However, as history has shown, electronic music is not detached from human expression; rather, it continuously interacts with historical and cultural narratives, reshaping the way we perceive sound, memory, and identity. From the early drum machines like the Roland TR-808 to modern synthesizer-based music, electronic sounds have evolved from mere functional tools into carriers of nostalgia, cultural significance, and artistic innovation.

One of the most striking examples of electronic music’s transformation is the Roland TR-808 drum machine. When it was released in the early 1980s, it was considered a cheap, artificial alternative to real drummers. The machine’s rigid quantization and synthetic drum sounds lacked the microtiming and organic fluctuations found in human performance. Because of this, many in the traditional music industry dismissed it. However, the TR-808 did not disappear. Instead, it found a second life in genres like hip-hop, house, and techno. For early pioneers in these genres, a cheap yet powerful tool for production was preferred. This historical background introduced them to the drum machine and its futuristic sound.

Another way electronic music gains its “soul” is through the use of samples, where producers incorporate fragments of existing recordings into their compositions. Renowned artists like Daft Punk, Jamie xx, Fred again.., and The Avalanches have mastered this technique. I remembered that in a Pitchfork interview with The Avalanches, the group mentioned their passion for western movies, and adopted the horse sound as a recurring sample in their album Since I Left You. This approach demonstrates how sampling is not merely a technical tool but a form of musical storytelling—one that connects generations of sound and reimagines stories behind the artists.