A good pair of headphones would be my next choice.
It's not much "under" it - but rather the fill your senses with what it would be like to be in the Mynster as each nave did their chats in the great octagonal hall. And while its a passage about the Hundreders...
> We sauntered across the meadow to the Mynster. Even so, we got there in plenty of time, and ended up in the front row, closest to the screen. Voco continued ringing for some minutes after we arrived. Then the eight ringers filed down from their balcony and found places farther back. A choir of Hundreders came out into the chancel and began a monophonic chant.
Or the description of a Thousander chat
> ... As I walked toward it my perceptions cleared suddenly and I shook my head in amazement at my own silliness in having imagined it was an amphibian or a truck. It was plainly a human voice. Singing. Or rather droning, for he had been stuck on the same note the whole time I’d been awake.
> The note changed slightly. Okay, so it wasn’t a drone. It was a chant. A very, very slow one.
> I could have stood there watching and listening for hours. I got the idea—which might have been just my imagination—that {spoilers} was singing a cosmographical chant: a requiem for the stars that were being swallowed up in the dawn. Certainly it was music of cosmographical slowness. Some of the notes went on for longer than I could hold my breath. He must have some trick of breathing and singing at the same time.
It's not much "under" it - but rather the fill your senses with what it would be like to be in the Mynster as each nave did their chats in the great octagonal hall. And while its a passage about the Hundreders...
> We sauntered across the meadow to the Mynster. Even so, we got there in plenty of time, and ended up in the front row, closest to the screen. Voco continued ringing for some minutes after we arrived. Then the eight ringers filed down from their balcony and found places farther back. A choir of Hundreders came out into the chancel and began a monophonic chant.
Or the description of a Thousander chat
> ... As I walked toward it my perceptions cleared suddenly and I shook my head in amazement at my own silliness in having imagined it was an amphibian or a truck. It was plainly a human voice. Singing. Or rather droning, for he had been stuck on the same note the whole time I’d been awake.
> The note changed slightly. Okay, so it wasn’t a drone. It was a chant. A very, very slow one.
> I could have stood there watching and listening for hours. I got the idea—which might have been just my imagination—that {spoilers} was singing a cosmographical chant: a requiem for the stars that were being swallowed up in the dawn. Certainly it was music of cosmographical slowness. Some of the notes went on for longer than I could hold my breath. He must have some trick of breathing and singing at the same time.
Just let the sound fill everything.