Music is written to fit the room it will be played in

Byrne argues that the physical space a piece of music is intended for shapes its composition long before the first note is written, whether or not the composer consciously recognizes this influence. He points to how Gregorian chant's long, sustained tones evolved partly to suit the cavernous reverberation of stone cathedrals, where fast, complex rhythms would blur into noise, while the tight, dry acoustics of CBGB, the small punk club where Talking Heads developed, favored the short, percussive, rhythmically precise songs the band became known for, since a cramped room with little reverberation rewards clarity and punch over sustained atmosphere. He extends this to modern recording studios and headphone listening, arguing that music increasingly written and mixed for private headphone listening rather than public rooms has measurably different sonic characteristics, more separated stereo detail, less concern for how a crowd will physically feel the bass. Byrne's broader claim is that composers throughout history have implicitly designed for their intended acoustic context, even when they describe the process as pure inspiration. Takeaway: the room a song is written for is quietly writing part of the song.