Morning in New Orleans. It’s 5.45 am, and I’m walking in the Warehouse District. As I left the hotel, I had noticed a constant hum in the air – a solitary, clearly defined tone, not too loud, not obtrusive, not unpleasant at all, yet very present – and I have no idea what is generating it. It doesn’t seem to increase in volume nor fade as I turn a corner. It’s just there. I walk toward the Mississippi and I approach two busses idling in front of a hotel. Their engines emit a whine, each at a different, constant pitch, and just as I get to the point, where the hum and the engines’ whine are at an evenly balanced mix – just before I start wondering why this feels so strangely nice, when it really shouldn’t – some device starts up at a construction site down the block. And then I realize that its tone, the hum and the whine from the engines form a perfect major 7th chord, ethereally hanging in the air as if to remind me that New Orleans is the City of Music.