I’m a chronic conversational space-filler and sentence-finisher—a trait inherited from my mother—so I appreciate John Biewen’s “praise of the pause” not only as a helpful guide for making more powerful, emotional audio pieces, but also as reminder of what my life mantra should be.

In his essay “Be Quiet: In Praise of the Pause,” Biewen provides several examples to illustrate the effectiveness of pausing and power behind “the withholding of sound.” In addition to his notes on “real” pauses and how silence creates intimacy, I especially enjoyed Biewen’s notes on “pause as emphasis.” The example clips that accompany this part of the piece really show the subtle but noticeable difference even one extra second of pause can make. To further prove his point, Biewen compares two examples and provides the following analysis of the additional, one-second pause:

It’s a one-second pause that allows the listener to digest what’s just been said, but I also think of this kind of pause as a sort of silent raised eyebrow, a glance in the direction of the listener that says, “You got that, right?”

By listening closely to the two clips in this section, we see that a pause—even a brief one—not only adds emphasis to a particular moment but also communicates an idea to the listener. What we might refer to as “reading between the lines” can be observed here as “listening between the lines,” or paying close attention to the pause.

Jonathan Mitchell echoes Biewen’s praise of the pause in his essay about using music when he writes: “Sometimes the best musical choice is to not add any music at all.” Though Mitchell provides the reader with a careful breakdown of his method for creating an experience through music, he is also careful to remind readers that music can often take away from the story and “undermine the meaning.”

Opposite Biewen’s praise of the pause, at the other end of sound spectrum, are The Kitchen Sisters, who seem to fill each moment of “The George Foreman Grill” with music, clever lyrics, and unexpected notes that create a stage for the story or, as they explain, something more like a bed:

We graft beginnings, middles and ends (the instrumental bits) together to use as beds for our stories to lie on. We like it when the music pops at the top and changes rhythms and builds, moving the story forward.

There is a strong sense of this “moving forward” in “The George Foreman Grill” that I think comes from the “pops” and “changes” of music. Though I don’t know enough about music to point to the specific elements at play, it’s clear that the songs providing the “bed” are catchy, steady and upbeat. The music drives the story but never overtakes it.

On the topic of how to choose songs, The Kitchen Sisters offer a contrasting approach to Mitchell’s idea of only using music “you really truly love” and make the case for using music other people love:

When we interview people we always ask them to tell us about their own “soundtrack,” the music that captured the time and place they are telling us about.

This approach struck me as an interesting way to incorporate more layers of “the personal” into an audio essay. What better way to create “personal” depth in a piece than to feature the subject’s own soundtrack? That is, of course, if it complements the piece, as even the Sisters admit that these “soundtrack” sounds only appear in a fraction of their stories.