
Musical dictionaries and positions
Many years ago I had a friend in college who was a preacher-preacher of the abstract artist Mark Rothko. I remember how she squished over the catalog of Rothko's work, although I thought I needed to aesthetically challenge; I just did not "understand" him. In the end, most of the paintings were nothing more than large rectangles of color, with small irregularities and a contrasting frame or stripe. All the familiar landmarks of the line and shape, perspectives and shadows have disappeared. I could rate them as “design,” but not as “art.” While they were pleasant enough, I could not understand why someone would fork over these abstractions ... until the first time I saw them personally for myself - a completely different experience! When I interviewed them at the Museum of Modern Art, they literally stopped me on my tracks, undermining my conscious thought and immediately plunging me into an altered state. They were not just flat canvases on the wall, but rather like living beings, pulsating and pulsating in resonance to a wavelength that had a fundamental connection with the Source of things. I was stunned. They did not “express” the feeling - they were more like feelings, and they seemed to me nothing personally, neither Rothko nor anyone. When I later looked at the reproductions of Rothko's works in books, they returned to flat color samples. It was a memory, but there was no pleasure from my experience. It was an experience that depended on having an original artifact ( art: fact ).
Tone is not tone
I spent my early musical life, working mainly with music, which used - as the visual arts - a set of familiar musical agreements to create my effect. There are many dictionaries of melody, counterpoint, rhythm, harmony and structure that put music in the context of a form, which makes it understandable to listeners. “Comprehensive” does not necessarily mean what I mean - it means that music conveys only intellectual ideals, whereas in fact it conveys and expresses a whole range of ideas, feelings, sensations and associations. But there is an element of “intelligibility” of ordinary forms of music, which depend on a common formal vocabulary of expression. There are familiar elements that listeners use to consolidate their experience in real time with compositions, formal or sound elements, which are borrowed from other works created and recorded in the past. When I find myself humming a melody from Beethoven’s symphony or referring to one of its characteristic rhythms (dit-dit-dit-DAH), I reduce the sophisticated sound tapestry to an abstraction, an abbreviation that is easily recognizable to others familiar with Music. I can share a musical idea with other musicians using the notation abstraction. But “melody” is not “tone”, but “note” is not “sound”. This is an idea, even a powerful idea, but when I find myself singing a melody, I know that I somehow “absorbed” the music, reduced it to a subset of my conventions, deconstructed and reconstructed it for my own purposes,
Ambient music and, in particular, the type of ambient music, which I will call the “sound stage”, leave or at least weaken many of these conventions. In general, as a rule, there is usually no fragile melody, often non-repetitive rhythmic pattern, and if there is a larger “form”, it is usually not familiar or identifiable, even for astute musicians - it can be completely idiosyncratic for the composer. Even the vocabulary of “tools” is fluid and too large to be borne in mind. With the abundance of sounds that are generated or created electronically and controlled by field recordings, it is rare to identify shared or recognizable instruments or sounds, that is, “be called.” At the end of the nineteenth and early twentieth-century classical composers, they worked to try to erase the usual boundaries of individual instruments, using unusual instrumental combinations and advanced instrumental methods for blurring sound lines. Ambient music takes it even further. The sound palette of the surrounding composers is more diverse and less prone to “name” than a composition that uses ensembles of traditional instruments to present their compositions. While a scientist can identify a sound source associated with a particular mode of generation (analog, FM, sample manipulation, etc.), Diffuse mixing and morphing of sounds can confuse even experts.
Virtuosity virtuosity
Much of the virtuosity of a musician - often an important element in other musical genres - is replaced in the world of world music by the composer's art in creating and shaping sound. Slow tempos are common, and arpeggiators and sequencers largely eliminate the need for surrounding musicians to develop complex keyboard skills. Difficult and fast sequences can be generated, which challenges the abilities of even great performers. Although it is true that many ambient musicians do perform in real time, most do not. Even the “performance” notice largely disappears. Most soundscapes are recorded as works; they are not reproduced in real time by the performers on the stage. More technical knowledge is needed in the field of sound equipment and software, but in the end, it becomes invisible to the listener, falling under the sound artifact of the music itself.
Mixing sound in the studio allows surrounding composers to freely manipulate and place sounds in the stereo field, without requiring a spatial representation of the virtual performing ensemble. These elements become part of the composition, while in other genres of music, blend - where it can be controlled - is an improvement or a special effect rather than a compositional feature. Some ambient composers do not even separate the mixing process from the composition. For example, I try to blend, since the dynamics, effects and placement in the stereo field are integral features of my compositions.
Furniture music
I mention these elements of ambient music because they have implications for how we can approach the genre as listeners. I do not want to say that there is only one narrow “way” to hear ambient music. In fact, part of the wealth of the genre is that it lends itself to various listening approaches. In fact, one of the popular ways to listen to ambient music is basically to ignore it. This is what I can call an environmental approach. Here the sound is processed - in the iconic words of Eric Sati - as “furniture music”. He plays, most likely, at a very low level, in the background, while the “listener” is about his business in the environment. Musak, or “lift music,” was an early institutional, if immodest, form of environmental music. In public settings, environmental music usually has some plans behind it; it can be designed to make people linger in space or even leave (classical music games as a sound “weapon” for dispersing groups of teenagers). This may be intended to reassure people or make them spend more free time (research into the effectiveness of this tactic is unconvincing). Reva has a “cold room,” where overly stimulated ravers can mentally cool down or calm down. Some hospitals are beginning to use ambient music to create a soothing environment for the recovery of patients.
In the home environment, the environment is selected and regulated independently. In our house we have a number of recordings that are often used to listen to the environment. My partner prefers a CD with the sounds of rain, the chiming clock and Tibetan bells. She often uses this sound terrain while she draws. The choice of music for this purpose is important. Her favorite CD has no progress - no beginning, middle or end. There are no interesting developments, themes or dramatic sound interruptions. He is deprived of rhythm, melody and harmony. He effectively “freezes” (or sometimes the word “liberates”) time in the eternal present moment and helps to create for her — an environment that is particularly conducive to her artistic practice. In my own case, I use various soundscapes as the environment for my ti-chi practice. As a rule, there is a little more rhythm and flow to the sound tapestries that I will choose for this purpose (this seems to make movement easier), but I avoid too much interest in music for t & amp; ai chi, because I want to focus on my breathing and movement.
Meditation Music
Some people use ambient music for meditation, and this describes her own discussion. Many people who start meditating first are embarrassed to find out how much mental chatter or “noise” is generated by the “monkey mind”, which is the default awakening state of human consciousness. Attempts to suppress an endless stream of thoughts were not only fruitless, but even counterproductive, because they add an extra layer of mental activity. For some people, calm, relaxing music calms an overactive mind, at the same time calming the body and attracting spaciousness, without requiring special techniques. Admittedly, much of what is commercially sold as “relaxing” music is nonhumans and saccharin; This, of course, does not help me to relax. For a more demanding listener, artistic value should be a criterion for "relaxing" music. I may be too self-confident in this, but for me there is a clear distinction between “conscious” and “meaningless” music. While the kiosks of department stores featuring harp and sea sounds may appeal to the masses, I rarely find a lot of stuff for these sound candies; there is a much better choice to create an atmosphere conducive to a relaxed and flexible mind.
Brain wave
When looking for music for meditation, consider a rate of 60 beats / min or slower, as the heart rate tends to naturally entice the financial pace, and a low resting pulse is desirable for entering meditative states. Also consider music that uses binaural beats. They are usually created with difference tones in the left and right channels and can gradually and subtly guide the brain to relax in lower frequency brain waves, from the usual waking consciousness (beta waves: 14-40 Hz), to a relaxed or even trance (alpha -wave: 7.5-14 Hz). In brain waves below 7 Hz, you just sleep. Binaural beats are based on the idea of capturing the brain, straining the brain to synchronize with the reference frequency. Binaural programs may also indicate sleep, and for this purpose there is ambient music.
Music, heavy in the low-frequency range, can activate scary or exotic states for some people, so for such people it is best to choose music for meditation, which is richer at medium and high levels, or more evenly balanced in the frequency range, For a soothing “sound bath” Some people like to roll back bass frequencies with a stereo tone control. And for sure, if you plan to use ambient music for meditation, it should be played on a small level; Let it fit into the sound landscape of everyday life - the whistling of traffic, the occasional barking of dogs, etc. Let it be an element in the sound landscape, rather than transfer it. This can help with practical attention to the moment. For musicians, meditation music can actually add an element of distraction since the mind is involved in musical ideas. For this reason, I personally do not use music for meditation. I prefer to just sit in a securely calm space and allow any environmental sounds that may be present, without (hopefully) naming or interpreting them.
Music for massage and acupuncture
Massage and acupuncture treatment can be extended with ordinary music, and many of the same recommendations apply here. I recommend you bring your music to these classes if possible. Practitioners may or may not share your taste, and almost nothing is worse than listening to some chatty chatter when you try to relax. I collected a few mixes for massage, and I usually have a form for them that helps me to calm down and relax with something calm and scattered first, and then something more rhythmic, as the massage therapist works on problem areas, but then, at the end, a very spacious section in which I can completely disperse, and allow my body to enjoy the effects of the massage. This is my personal preference; If you want to create your own massage mix, you should find a combination that suits you.
Immersive audition - headphones or speakers?
This leaves one last kind of listening that I would like to discuss: deep listening, listening to ambient music as a form of musical art. Here you give to plunge into the sound and give it all your attention. First question: headphones or speakers? For both, there are pros and cons. Headphones are preferred by many surrounding listeners for various reasons. First, they isolate the music from the sounds of the environment, especially if the headphones have a noise canceling function. Secondly, and, more importantly, they emphasize the width of the stereo field and allow you to clearly hear the effects of panning (moving from left to right or right to left), which are sometimes very characteristic features of ambient music. Most of the composers' emblems are likely to be mainly combined with high-quality near-field monitors, but they almost everywhere thoroughly test mixing with headphones for stereo placement and movement of sounds.
The most popular types of headphones are closed cups, open cups and earbuds (earbuds for the ears). Ear buds are cheap and easy to move. They are most often used with iPods or other MP3 devices. Since they are inserted directly into the ear canal, they should be used with extreme caution and only at low volumes to protect the ears. The low frequency response is bad and subject to distortion. Some people, including me, find them uncomfortable and cannot use them. For travel or use in the waiting rooms, I prefer a lightweight earpiece with over-ear.
Headphones with closed cups reduce environmental noise, especially with noise cancellation. Make sure that if you decide to use noise absorbing headphones, make sure that the function really works. Some claims are exaggerated. Some headphones with a closed cup can be inconvenient for longer listening sessions, to make sure that any headset that you consider to be the buyer is suitable for you, not too heavy, and you do not feel that your head seems to be the type. The reduction of the closed cup is that the frequency response of the low frequencies may be limited — without a port to avoid compression (sound), the production of low frequency sound may not be sufficient. Partly in the nature of headphones, low frequencies will not be well represented. It simply takes a larger cone to create low-frequency sounds and distances for their development (the lowest audible frequencies are a few feet). One alternative strategy is to use headphones with open tea in combination with speakers in the room, especially if there is a subwoofer. Thus, the lows rise, both through the open ports in the headphones, and through the body.
The most exciting listening environment that I experienced was on the “sound-board table”, where sound vibration penetrates the ears and directly through the body using sensors embedded in a soft surface. For sound healing, this may be the ultimate technology. But most of us (including me) do not have regular access to this technology.
A cheaper alternative to a sound desk is to lie comfortably on a sofa or on pillows with loudspeakers with a bookshelf placed on one or two legs from each ear; It’s like having a pair of huge open-ear headphones! Thanks to this arrangement, you immerse yourself in sound without putting pressure on your head or ears when wearing headphones, and the bass is less compromised. ΠΠΊΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠΈΡΡΡ Ρ ΡΠ°Π·Π»ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠΈΠ³ΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ Π΄ΠΈΠ½Π°ΠΌΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ², Ρ ΠΎΠ±Π½Π°ΡΡΠΆΠΈΠ», ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π΄ΠΈΠ½Π°ΠΌΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ² Π½Π΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π°Π΄ΠΈ Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ Π΄Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π·Π²ΡΠΊ.
Π€ΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠΈ
ΠΠ΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΏΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΡΡ Π΅ΠΌΡ «ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ°», Ρ ΠΎΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΎ Π½Π°ΠΉΡΠΈ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ, ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π½ΠΎΠΉ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠ°. ΠΠ²ΡΠΊ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π·Π²ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ Π½Π° ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΎΠΌ Π΄Π΅Π»Π΅ Π½Π΅ ΡΠ²Π΅Π½ΡΠ°Π»ΡΡ ΡΡΠΏΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΠΌ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅Π·Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ. ΠΡΠΎ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΠΏΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΡ, ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠΌΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΡΡΡΠΏΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΈΡΡΠΈΠ½Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ 3D-Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ°, 24-Π±ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ½ΡΠΉ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°Ρ DVD ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π²ΠΎΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΡΡ ΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΈ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΠΏΡΠ°ΠΊΡΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π΄ΠΈΠ½Π°ΠΌΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ Π΄ΠΈΠ°ΠΏΠ°Π·ΠΎΠ½. Π ΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π½Π°ΡΡΡΠΎΠΉΠΊΠΈ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΏΠΎΠΏΡΠ»ΡΡΠ½Ρ Π² Π΄ΠΎΠΌΠ°ΡΠ½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ°Π·Π²Π»Π΅ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ°Ρ , ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π² ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΡΡΡΡΡ Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΠ° ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠΌΠΎΠ². ΠΠ΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ° Π±ΡΠ»Π° ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π° Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΠΌ - Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ· Π½ΠΈΡ , ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΠΊΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠΌΠΎΠ², ΠΏΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΡ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠΆΠ΅ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Ρ Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π·Π²ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ Π² ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ²ΡΡ ΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄Ρ.
ΠΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΡ ΠΎΠΆΠ΅, ΡΡΠΎ, ΠΏΠΎ ΠΊΡΠ°ΠΉΠ½Π΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅, Π΄Π»Ρ Π½Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΈ Π±Π»ΠΈΠΆΠ°ΠΉΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ, Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ°ΡΡ Ρ 16-Π±ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ°ΠΌΠΈ, ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π²Π΅ΡΡ Π²ΡΠΏΡΡΠΊ ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΡ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ² ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΌΠΈΡΠ° ΠΎΡΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΠΈΠ·ΠΊΠΈΠΉ ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π΅Π½Ρ Π³ΡΠΎΠΌΠΊΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ Π·Π²ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π΅Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ Π²Π΅ΡΡ Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π±ΠΈΡ 16 Π±ΠΈΡ-Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΡΡΡΡΡ - ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΠΎΠΌΠΈΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠΉ ΡΠ΄Π°Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ· ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠΎΠ·Π½ΡΡ «Π³ΡΠΎΠΌΠΊΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΠΉΠ½» ΠΏΠΎΠΏΡΠ»ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ, Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎ Π±ΠΈΡΠ°ΠΌ. Π‘ΠΆΠ°ΡΠΈΠ΅ Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΊΠΎΡΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠΎΠ² ΠΊΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ MP3 Π΄Π»Ρ «ΡΠ³Π»Π°ΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ» Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΈΡΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π½ΠΈΠ·ΠΊΠΈΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎΡ. ΠΡΠΈΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡΡ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΊΠΎΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠ΅ Π°ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΠΊΡΡ, Π²Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΆΠ°ΡΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ. ΠΠ΅ΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΡ Π½Π° Π½Π΅ΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠΌΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄Π°ΡΠΈ, Ρ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ΅ΠΉ Π½Π΅ΠΏΠΎΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠΌΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΆΠ΄Π΅Π½Ρ ΠΏΡΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ Ρ Π±ΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠΎΠΌ Π½ΠΈΠΆΠ΅ 320 Π±ΠΈΡ / Ρ. (Π― Π½Π°Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΈ Π²Π΅ΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ Π² 24-Π±ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ FLAC Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ Π΄ΠΎΡΡΡΠΏΠ½ΠΎ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ Π°Π»ΡΠ±ΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ². Π₯ΠΎΡΡ ΡΡΠΎ Π΅ΡΠ΅ Π½Π΅ ΠΏΡΠ°ΠΊΡΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎ Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄Π°ΡΠΈ, ΡΡΠΎΡ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°Ρ ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠ°Π΅Ρ ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π²ΠΎΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π° Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ°, Ρ ΠΎΡΡ ΠΈ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ΄ΠΎΠ»ΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ Π·Π°Π³ΡΡΠ·ΠΊΠΈ.) ΠΡΠΎΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠΌΡ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΠΊ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠΏ-ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π·Π°Π³ΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠΈ Π² iTunes, Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ, ΠΎΡΠΊΠ°Π·Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΡ Π²Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π°ΡΠ΄ΠΈΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΡ Π΄ΠΎΠ»ΠΆΠ½Ρ! ΠΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠΊΠ°Π·Π°ΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ°, Π² ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΠΎΠΏΠΈΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ Π»ΡΡΡΠΈΠΉ Π·Π²ΡΠΊ.
ΠΠΌΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ - Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡ
Π§ΡΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ°, Π³Π΄Π΅ Π½ΡΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΡΡ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π½Π° Π·Π°Ρ Π²Π°ΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΠ΅Π΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅, Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π»Π°Π³Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΡ Π½Π°Π±Π΅Π³ΠΎΠ². ΠΡΠ»ΠΈ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π° Π½Π° Π±Π΅ΡΠΏΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΠ½ΡΡ Π»Π΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ Π°ΠΏΠΏΠ°ΡΠ°ΡΠ°Ρ , Π²ΡΡΠ΄ Π»ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π³Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΡ Π΄Π²ΠΈΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ, ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΌΡ ΡΡ ΠΎ Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΡΠΊΠ»ΠΎΠ½Π½ΠΎ ΠΊ Π²Π·Π°ΠΈΠΌΠΎΠ΄Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ²ΠΈΡ Ρ ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΡΡΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΈ Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΎΠΉ. ΠΡΠΎΠ½Ρ, ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΡΡΠΎΡΡΠΈΠ΅ Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ ΠΈΠ· ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ½Π°, Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ ΠΈΠ· ΠΊΠΎΡΠ½Ρ ΠΈ ΠΏΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π·Π°ΠΊΡΠ΅ΠΏΠ»ΡΡΡ ΠΊΡΡΠΎΠΊ ΠΈ ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π·Π°Π΄Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΡΠΎΠ½ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΈ Π²ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠΆΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΡ ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ², ΠΏΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΡ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄Π½ΠΎ ΠΎΡΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡ Π±Π΅ΡΠΏΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π΄ΡΠΎΠ½Π° ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΡΡΠΏΠ°ΡΡ ΠΊ Π½Π΅ΠΌΡ Π² ΡΠΎΠ·Π²ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ , ΠΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈ ΡΠΈΡΠΌΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ½Π΅Π½ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ Π½Π΅ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ·Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΠ»Π΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ Π² ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ΅ ΠΈ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»ΠΎ, ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π΄ΡΡΡ Π½Π° ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΡΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ½Π½Π΅Π΅ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΈ Π½Π°Π»ΠΈΡΠΈΠΈ. ΠΠ½ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ Π½Π°Π΄ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠΌ, ΠΏΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΡ ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠ°Π·Ρ ΠΏΠΎΡ ΠΎΠΆΠΈ Π½Π° ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΠΌ Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π»ΠΎ, ΡΡΠ΅Π΄Π½Π΅Π΅ ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠ½Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈ ΡΠΈΡΠΌΡ Π΄Π΅Π»ΡΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ Π½Π° ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π΅Π΄ΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΡ. ΠΡΠ΅Π½Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΠ° ΡΡΠ΅Π±ΡΠ΅Ρ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΡΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΈΡΡΠΎ Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΡΡΠ°Π³ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Ρ ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π·Π°ΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π·Π°ΡΡ. ΠΠ½Π΅ Π½ΡΠ°Π²ΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ±Π° ΡΠΈΠΏΠ° ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ, ΠΈ, Ρ ΠΎΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΡ ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ½Ρ, Ρ ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°Π» Π½Π΅ ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΈΠΈ.
Π― ΡΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π» ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΌΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ, ΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΠΌΠ½Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»Π°ΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΈΡ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΡΡ ΠΎΠ±Π»Π°ΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠ³ ΠΌΠΎΠΈΡ ΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΉ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ Ρ ΠΎΡΡΠ»Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Ρ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΠ·Π½ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΡ ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ΅ΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π² ΡΡΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π΅. Π£ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π΄ΠΈΠ½Π°ΠΌΠΈΠΊΠΈ, Π·Π°Π΄Π΅ΡΠΆΠΊΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π²Π΅ΡΠ±Π΅ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠΊΠ²Π°Π»Π°ΠΉΠ·Π΅ΡΠ° ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΡ ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΌ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΡΠ°ΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°Π²Π°ΡΡ ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΈΠ»Π»ΡΠ·ΠΈΠΈ, ΠΈ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Ρ, ΠΌΠ½Π΅ Π½ΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ²Π»Π΅ΠΊΠ°ΡΡ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΊ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΈ Π΄Π²ΠΈΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π² ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π΅ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π½Π΅ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ»Π΅ΠΌΡΠΉ ΡΠ»Π΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΈΠΈ. ΠΠ΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ Π±ΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ²ΡΠΌ ΡΠ°ΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΌΠ΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΡΠΌ ΠΈ Π»Π΅Π²ΡΠΌ ΠΊΠ°Π½Π°Π»Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ «Π²ΡΡΠΎΡΡ» Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠΎΠ² Π² ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π΅, ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΡ ΠΎ ΡΡΡΠ°Π½Π°Π²Π»ΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ Π²ΡΡΠΎΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎΡΡ «Π²ΡΡΠ΅» ΠΈ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ Π½ΠΈΠ·ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎΡΡ «Π½ΠΈΠΆΠ΅». ΠΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΈΡ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠΎΠ², Π½Π°Π±Π»ΡΠ΄Π°Ρ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π½Π΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΡΡΡΠ²ΡΡΡ ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ, Π° Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΡΡ Π½Π° ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΈΠ΅. Π’Π°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π°Π³ΠΈΡΡΡΡ Π² Π²ΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ°Π΅ΠΌΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²Π΅. ΠΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ°, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»ΠΎ, ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΡΠΆΠ΅Π»Π°Ρ ΡΠ΅Π²Π΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΡ, Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π΅ΠΌΡΠΉ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠ΅ΠΉΠ½Π΅Ρ Π΄Π»Ρ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ° ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎ ΠΊΠ°Π²Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ·Π½ΡΠΉ. ΠΠΎΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΡ ΡΡ Ρ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΈΡΡ Π·Π° Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΎΠ½ ΡΡ ΠΎΠΌ Π² Π²ΠΈΡΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²Π΅, Π° Π·Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΏΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π·Π°Π΅Ρ, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°ΡΡ ΡΡΠΊΡΡ ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ½Ρ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ° Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΠ΅Π½Ρ.
ΠΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠ°Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ° ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ Π±ΠΎΠ³Π°ΡΠ° Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°Π·Π²ΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π² ΡΠΎΠ½Π΅ Ρ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΠΈ, ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π·Π»ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΡΡΠΈΠ½Π³Π° ΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΡΡΠ°, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ ΠΈΠ½Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΠ΄ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π·Π²ΡΠΊ Π² Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠΈ. ΠΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈΠ·ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π³Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΊ Π² Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ΅, ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ Π² Π²Π΅ΡΡ Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ , ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»ΡΡΡΠΈΡ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ±Ρ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ°, ΡΠ²Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π΅Π·Π½ΡΠΌ ΡΠΏΡΠ°ΠΆΠ½Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π² ΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½Π½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠ°, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠΉ ΡΠ°ΡΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈ Π² ΠΊΡΡΠΊΠ΅.
Ambient composers ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ Π²ΡΠ·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π»ΡΠ±ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠ»ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ ΡΠΈΠΏΠΎΠ² Π³Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΡ ΠΏΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ΠΉ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ΅. ΠΠ΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠΈΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΡΠΈΠ°Π΄Π½ΡΠ΅, Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΎΡΡΡΡ Π΄ΠΈΠ°ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ (Ρ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ² ΠΌΠ°ΡΡΡΠ°Π±Π°), Π² ΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π³Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΈ, Π² ΡΠΎΠΌ ΡΠΈΡΠ»Π΅ ΡΠΊΠ·ΠΎΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΠ°ΡΡΡΠ°Π±Ρ, Π±ΠΈΡΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π½ΠΎΡΡΡ (ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π·Π²ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ΅Π΄Π° Π² ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΡΡ ΠΊΠ»Π°Π²ΠΈΡΠ°Ρ ), ΠΊΠ²Π°ΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½Π°Ρ Π³Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡ (ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π½Π°Ρ Π½Π° ΡΠ΅ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ) ΠΈ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½Π°Ρ Π°ΡΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ (Π±Π΅Π· «Π΄ΠΎΠΌΠ°ΡΠ½Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠ°»), Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ°Π²Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ΅Ρ Π΄Π²Π΅Π½Π°Π΄ΡΠ°ΡΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ². Π’ΡΠ½ΠΈΠ½Π³, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠΉ Π²ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ ΠΈΠ· Π·Π½Π°ΠΊΠΎΠΌΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠ°Π΄Π½ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π²Π½ΡΡ ΠΌΠ°ΡΡΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΠ², ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π·Π²ΡΠΊΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Ρ. ΠΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π³Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ «ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΈ» «ΠΡΠΎ ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ± Π²ΠΎΠΉΡΠΈ Π² ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ Π²ΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΈ Π½Π°ΡΡΡΠΎΠΉΠΊΠΈ. ΠΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΈΠ·Π»ΡΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΎΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΉ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ°Π² ΠΈ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΈΡ , ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΡΡ ΡΡ ΠΎ ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅Π»ΠΈΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎ ΠΈ ΡΠΎ ΠΆΠ΅, ΠΠ΅ΡΡΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Ρ Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ.
ΠΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π΅Ρ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ½Π΅Π½Ρ, ΠΏΠΎ ΠΊΡΠ°ΠΉΠ½Π΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ. ΠΠ΅ΡΠ΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΡΡ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ Ρ ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ, ΠΏΠΎ ΠΊΡΠ°ΠΉΠ½Π΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅, Π² ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°Ρ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΈΡΠΊΡΡΡΡΠ²Π° - ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈ Ρ. Π₯ΠΎΡΡ Ρ Π½Π΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΡ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ² ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ Π±ΡΡΡ ΠΈΡΡΠΈΠ½Π½Π°Ρ ΡΠΈΠ½Π΅ΡΡΠ΅Π·ΠΈΡ (Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠ° ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠ° ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ½Π°), ΠΏΡΠ°ΠΊΡΠΈΠΊΠ° Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΠ·Π°ΡΠΈΠΈ Π²ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠ΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΠ²Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠ³Π°ΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΡΡ. ΠΠ΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅ΡΡ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ «ΠΈΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ», ΠΈ ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΈΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ Π²ΠΎΠ·Π½ΠΈΠΊΠ°Π΅Ρ ΠΈΠ· ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠ° ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ Π² Π°ΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ Π±ΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΡΠΌ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄Π°ΡΡ Π²Π°ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠΌ. Π’Π°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠΊΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡ Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Ρ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΡΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΊΡΡΡΡΠΌΠΈ Π³Π»Π°Π·Π°ΠΌΠΈ. ΠΠ»Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. Π― Π½Π°Ρ ΠΎΠΆΡ, ΡΡΠΎ, ΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΠΈΠ²Π°Ρ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π²Π²ΠΎΠ΄, ΠΌΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ»ΡΡ ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΡΡΡ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΠΎΡΡΡΠΎΠΉ, ΠΈ Ρ ΠΌΠΎΠ³Ρ Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΡ Π³ΠΎΡΠ°Π·Π΄ΠΎ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΠΎΠ³Ρ, ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΠ² Π³Π»Π°Π·Π°. Π‘ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ½Ρ, Π΅ΡΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅ΠΎΡΠΎΠ»ΠΈΠΊΠΈ, ΡΠ΄Π΅Π»Π°Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΆΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΡΡΠΎΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ·ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ. ΠΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π΄ΠΈΠΉΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π·Π΅Π½ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΡ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠΉ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ ΠΈΠ· Π½Π°ΠΈΠ±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½Π΅ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π½ΡΡ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ Π² ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ Π·Π°Π»Π΅. ΠΡΠ΄ΠΈΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ Π½Π΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠΈΡΡΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°Π½Π½ΡΡ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ «ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ», Π½ΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΠ±Π°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΎΠ² ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°Π΅Ρ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΡΠΉ «ΠΆΠΈΠ²ΠΎΠΉ» ΠΎΠΏΡΡ.
Π ΠΆΠ°Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ Π΅ΡΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΠΈΠ»Π΅ΠΉ, Π½Π°ΡΠΈΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΎΡ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΈ New Age ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΊΠ°Π½ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Ρ ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΈΠ½Π΄ΡΡΡΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΠΌΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ. Π― ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ°ΡΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡ, ΡΡΠΈΡΡΡΡ ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΆΠ°Π½ΡΠ°. Π£Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π±ΡΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ Π΅ΡΠ΅ Π½ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠ°, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΡΠ°, ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Ρ.

