I've always been obsessed with the grain of the human voice.

"I've always been obsessed with the grain of the human voice. It's the ultimate instrument, there's this whole level of virtuosity and poetry, a sort of athleticism, of controlling your voice." — so reflected Oneohtrix Point Never (Daniel Lopatin), the experimental composer who delves deep into the textures of sound. In these words he elevates the human voice, not as a mere vehicle for speech or song, but as the ultimate instrument, surpassing all others in its power, its subtlety, and its intimacy. For unlike crafted instruments of wood or brass, the voice is carved from the flesh itself, woven into breath, bone, and spirit.

To speak of the grain of the voice is to recognize its texture — that ineffable quality that makes each voice unique. A violin may be replicated, a piano manufactured, but the human voice carries the imprint of a life. It trembles with experience, bends with emotion, cracks with sorrow, and soars with joy. No two voices are the same, and within each lies a poetry beyond words. Lopatin, in his obsession, touches upon this truth: that voice is not only sound, but identity, history, and soul.

The virtuosity of the voice is not merely in its musical ability, but in its infinite range of expression. Consider the great singers — Maria Callas, whose voice carried both fire and fragility, or Aretha Franklin, whose every note could thunder with power or melt into tenderness. Their gift was not simply technical; it was a fusion of discipline and raw humanity. The voice demands athleticism, as Lopatin says — breath controlled, muscles trained, tone balanced. But beyond the athleticism lies something greater: the voice as a channel for spirit itself.

History offers us stories that prove this truth. When Winston Churchill spoke during Britain’s darkest hours, it was not weaponry that turned the tide of morale, but his voice. The grain of it — steady, grave, unyielding — carried courage into the hearts of millions. And when Martin Luther King Jr. stood upon the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and declared, "I have a dream," it was the rhythm, the cadence, the poetry of his voice that carried the vision beyond the words themselves. Instruments may stir the air, but only the human voice can stir the soul so directly.

Yet the voice is also fragile, and in its fragility lies its beauty. A voice can falter, break, and crack, revealing truths that perfect instruments conceal. The trembling voice of a soldier singing far from home, or the soft lullaby of a mother to her child, carries an intimacy that no orchestra could replicate. This is why Lopatin speaks of being obsessed: the voice contains within it not only music, but the very fabric of humanity. It is poetry made flesh, sound made soul.

The lesson, then, is this: honor the voice — yours and others’. Do not dismiss its power or hide it in shame. Train it, yes, with discipline and care, but also allow it to reveal truth in its imperfections. Learn to listen deeply, not only to what voices say, but how they say it — the grain, the tremor, the strength, the vulnerability. For in doing so, you will begin to hear not only words, but worlds.

Practical action is simple yet profound: speak with intention, sing even if only for yourself, listen with reverence. Do not treat the voice merely as a tool, but as a sacred instrument. Record it, preserve it, use it to encourage, to comfort, to inspire. In the grain of the human voice lies the deepest kind of poetry — the poetry of being alive.

Thus, Oneohtrix Point Never’s words shine with wisdom: the voice is the ultimate instrument, a union of athleticism and artistry, flesh and spirit. To control it is discipline, to release it is freedom, to hear it deeply is to know another’s soul. Let us cherish this gift, for it is the one instrument given to every human being, and in its grain lies the music of our shared humanity.