[Embarrassment. That's the very first thing Ciel feels when the music begins. No, it's not anything like classical at all. Ciel doesn't know the synthetic workings of computer-generated 1990s sound. It seems like music, he supposes. There are some instruments, but he can barely recognize them from the way everything is arranged.
And the singing. The singing appears to be more important than the music itself. The words aren't opera, it's not anything else formal. The words are simple, childish. Poetry almost, but the slang is strange.
It's all strange.
Ciel sits there and stares at the blackglass, unimpressed, confused... and yet... and yet there is something decidedly catchy about the tune, about how it's sung.] I think you're mistaken. [Before the song is even over.]
no subject
And the singing. The singing appears to be more important than the music itself. The words aren't opera, it's not anything else formal. The words are simple, childish. Poetry almost, but the slang is strange.
It's all strange.
Ciel sits there and stares at the blackglass, unimpressed, confused... and yet... and yet there is something decidedly catchy about the tune, about how it's sung.] I think you're mistaken. [Before the song is even over.]
This can't be something from England.