Essai #3 - From Code to Sound
♪ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♫ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♫ ♪ ♩ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♫ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♩
♫ ♪ d1 $ stack [s("<bd*2, cp>"), ♬ d2 $ sound("pluck") ♬ ♪ ♫ ♩ ♫
♪ ♬ whenmod 4 2 (chop 4 . striate 2) ♪ # note (scale "indian" irand(5))
♬ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♩ ♬ ♪ $ s("hh27*4")] ♩ ♬ ♪ # room 1 # pan rand ♫ ♬
♪ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♫ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♫ ♪ ♩ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♫ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♫
--
I woke up at 6 AM. After my usual routine, I packed my gear and other essentials into my bag, preparing for a peaceful ride to Berlin for my first live coding performance at MotionLab. Just before leaving my flat, I picked a card from Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategies deck. It read:
"Humanize something free from error."
And in that moment, I remembered my Indian yoga teacher, who always used to say:
"You need to think always a little beyond..."
I thought about that card all day long, as I made my way to the event. The meaning wasn’t clear to me yet, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was hidden in those words.
At 8 PM, it was finally time to perform, and I still hadn’t cracked the code of that phrase. But I carried it with me in my mind, almost like a quiet guide. As I started my set, I told myself that somehow, I needed to "humanize" my performance in any way possible.
Then, after finishing this coding machinery, the answer finally came to me. I realized I had been completely wrong about my initial interpretation that I had this early morning. The "error" wasn’t something to avoid; it was part of the process. I understood that the card wasn’t about removing mistakes or striving for flawless perfection. Instead, it was about embracing the raw, unfiltered human experience.
I carried this mindset into my interactions with the artists I met that night. Some invited me to join another jam—this time, a freer one. I accepted, feeling more at ease. As I wrote a few lines of code to make a drum pattern loud enough, something shifted. Suddenly I was focused only on carving my tiny path to freedom—writing without blockers.
If I had any writing errors? Of course, that’s part of the process. In this art form, you have the right to make mistakes. No one judges you while you're writing code because it’s live; it’s performed.
After 15 to 30 minutes, when the big, messy jam event ended, I was exhausted but also deeply satisfied. I was glad I had done it, and I felt reborn, transformed.
Today, if I accidentally pick up this card again, it will now instantly sound like:
Give power to your emotions—let them break through your insecurities and fears. Emotions are pure, and what is pure is free from error.
mot4i