And the silence was astounding

It is a much repeated axiom that what isn't said/played is as important or more important than what is said/played, whether it's prose, politics or music. I don't think I've experienced this so acutely on a few recordings that begin with a slight stir- a brush on strings or tinkle on a piano-such the initial songs of Sufjan Steven's Illinois or the Mountain Goats' Get Lonely. I felt those intimate beginnings just suck the wind out of my lungs and I had to gasp to recover and wonder: what in the hell happened?

In a similar vein, the quietness is equally compelling when restraint far exceeds the volume, as on Slint's Spiderland. I mean, those dudes were in a third tier southern midwestern town(Sorry, Louisville shares more with Cincinnati than Memphis) in the nascent years of "grunge." They either should've been worshipping Pavement or Amphetamine Reptile bands. So they release this thing that has melody, roars, and has this oroboros ability to snake around and eat it its tail. I guess Tortoise coming out of its shell wasn't that unprecedented.