In my last post, I wrote a bit about Charles Ives, and described an imagined listening of his Universe symphony. I'm reading Jan Swafford's biography of Ives and there's a quote from Ives:
"why can't music go out in the same way it comes in to a man, without having to crawl over a fence of sounds, thoraxes, catguts, wire, wood and brass?"
Ives is already expressing a tension between an idealized sound, and the reality. What I called the adumbration of the music in that earlier post.
p.224 of _Charles Ives a life with music_ by Jan Swafford