As someone who listens to Afrobeats almost daily, I found this paper surprisingly affirming of things I’ve felt for a long time. The author’s idea that simple, repetitive patterns can carry an entire universe of expression immediately made sense to me, because that is exactly how Afrobeats works on me as a listener. Many songs use minimal harmony or looping rhythms, yet they never feel empty; instead, the groove itself feels alive.

What stood out most was the discussion of microtiming and how tiny shifts in timing can completely change the emotional feel of a rhythm. When I listen to Afrobeats, I’m often responding less to melody and more to how the beat sits—how relaxed, smooth, or slightly off-grid it feels. The paper helped me realize that this “feel” is not accidental but deeply tied to the body, movement, and cultural listening practices. Reading this made me more aware of why Afrobeats feels so natural and immersive to me.

After reading this, the concept that stuck with me most is “thinking in public.” In my experience as a student and a developer, coding is usually taught as a semi-private, stressful process where you hide your messy pseudo code and only show the final, polished result. The idea of projecting your raw thoughts and errors onto a wall for an audience to see feels like a massive shift. It turns programming from a rigid engineering task into something more like a conversation. I like the way the text describes it as “unthinking” the way we usually work. It makes the computer feel less like a cold tool and more like a creative partner you’re collaborating with in real time.

The most interesting takeaway for me was the critique of “seamless” technology. We’re so used to interfaces being invisible and easy that we forget there is a programmed system actually directing our behavior. By showing the code, live coders are essentially stripping away that illusion. It’s a bit of a reality check. It makes me realize that when we don’t understand the software we use, we’re just passive consumers. This perspective reclaims the idea of being a “user” as someone who actually has autonomy. It’s definitely made me rethink the relationship I have with my own laptop and the software I run on it every day.

Microtiming Studies

The concept of studying microtiming and other techniques often found in African and African-American music in to uncover the patterns that create the groove, rhythm and embodiement felt like looking at the science behind something I’ve always thought of as purely emotional. At the start of the reading I kept questioning whether music, a tool used to convey emotion, can be broken down in terms of technical terms to capture what makes it human and expressive. As someone with a short-lived history with music theory I was aware that it can all be broken down to uncover what makes up what we hear everyday, though never thought about what part of this technical dissection can be used to point out the humanness of it all. The ‘microscopic sensitivity to musical timing’ that is used by African musicians to create ‘expressive timing’ in their music was something that made sense once I read it, yet an attribute that I never thought about. A human can never reach the mechanical perfection of a machine, which sounds like a flaw until you start thinking of it as the foundation that creates expressive and meaningful beat. The emphasis on the fact that these slight shifts aren’t random, they’re embodied and part of a long cultural practice made me rethink how much of musical feel comes from the body and not just intention. Applying that to the live coding that we will be doing in class helped me understand where our personal expression can come into live coding. Evaluating a line or typing in the code for a beat when it feels right, even if it’s slightly delayed or early will contribute to creating a performance that feels personal and expressive rather than mechanic. It’s not about perfecting what we practice or what we had in mind, it’s about feeling what we are performing on a level where embodying the music is possible, giving space for the human body to be integrated into our works.

What really stood out to me in this reading is the idea that feeling in music does not come from complexity, but from very small timing choices. Even in simple, repetitive patterns, musicians can express a lot just by playing slightly early or slightly late. Those tiny differences change how the music feels, even if the tempo stays the same.

The example of West African drumming and the backbeat helped make this clear. A drummer playing a snare just a little behind the beat can make the groove feel relaxed and grounded. It is not something you would notice on paper, but you feel it immediately when listening or moving to the music. That sense of “in the pocket” seems closely tied to the body and to playing with other people, not just keeping perfect time.

I also liked the idea that musical communication does not have to “say” anything specific. Meaning comes from interaction, from call and response, and from how musicians respond to each other in real time. Microtiming becomes a quiet way musicians communicate and stay connected, which helps explain why groove feels so human.

Reading the excerpts on live coding, I found a powerful bridge between the rigorous, serious engineering of my Computer Science major and the immersive worlds of music and the cosmos where I love to get lost. The text describes live coding as a way to unthink the engineering of a day job, transforming the act of programming from a routine task into an “adventure and exploration” that feels akin to traversing the universe. As a senior from Ghana minoring in Interactive Media, I am inspred by how this practice turns the laptop into a “universal instrument”, allowing me to meld my technical background with my creative passions in a conversational flow that is as expressive and boundless as the music I adore.

As a computer scientist, I’m most comfortable coding privately and presenting the finished product afterward. We’re trained to show our best selves—clean code, intentional outcomes, and working solutions. Live coding will challenge this trained instinct by making the process public, exposing not only what works but also mistakes, hesitation, and uncertainty.

Watching code evolve in real time turns programming into a way of thinking out loud rather than a finalized performance. The messiness becomes part of the work, making software feel alive and human.

I also wonder how much traditional music theory actually feeds into live coding. While theory may shape the structures in the background, live coding seems driven more by responsiveness and experimentation. It feels less about following musical rules and more about negotiating them in the moment. For me, music theory in live coding functions as something flexible—useful when needed, but never fixed—allowing spontaneity and interaction to take the lead.