Music
Morning View features a variety of styles: ambience, aggression, and groove. It has an overall softer sound than previous albums, especially apparent on songs like "Echo" and "Are You In?"; however, Incubus's heavier side is still evident on tracks like "Have You Ever" and "Under My Umbrella." Songs such as "Just a Phase" display more original song structures compared to their previous work. Regarding the album's unique sound, guitarist Mike Einziger notes that it:
"would've been really easy for us to try to replicate certain songs that did well on our last record, which we didn't do. We didn't do anything even remotely close to that. We put pressure on ourselves to make a good record because if none of us were happy with it, we'll all be miserable for the next two years while we're on tour."
The final song, "Aqueous Transmission", employs the use of Chinese instruments such as the pipa and is accompanied by a Japanese orchestra. The pipa used on the recording was given to Mike Einziger from Steve Vai, who also helped him develop the main riff to "Echo." "Aqueous Transmission" is 7 minutes and 46 seconds long, with the last minute consisting of frogs croaking outside the studio in Malibu. Boyd jokingly said that the purpose of the song was to make "the listener pee in his/her pants" from relaxation.
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Famous quotes containing the word music:
“On the first days, like a piece of music that one will later be mad about, but that one does not yet distinguish, that which I was to love so much in [Bergotte’s] style was not yet clear to me. I could not put down the novel that I was reading, but I thought that I was only interested in the subject, as in the first moments of love when one goes every day to see a woman at some gathering, or some pastime, by the amusements to which one believes to be attracted.”
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“But the dark changed to red, and torches shone,
And deafening music shook the leaves; a troop
Shouldered a litter with a wounded man,
Or smote upon the string and to the sound
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—William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)
“Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you—like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist—or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896–1940)