Some people focus more on sonics. Some people focus more on

Hear the words of Frank Ocean, a poet of the unseen and a craftsman of sound: “Some people focus more on sonics. Some people focus more on story. I focus on both sonics and story, but music sometimes, just music itself, can turn into more of a maths problem. I guess everything in life is a math problem, but it can be more about an empirical route to getting the symmetry that you want, and this vibe, sonically.” These words carry a wisdom both mystical and practical, reminding us that art is born not only from passion but from structure, not only from inspiration but from balance.

To speak of sonics is to speak of the very fabric of sound—the frequencies, the textures, the vibrations that stir the body before they ever reach the mind. To speak of story is to speak of the soul—the narrative, the memory, the emotion that breathes into the silence and gives it meaning. Ocean, in his wisdom, does not choose one over the other; he seeks harmony between them. For without story, sound is hollow. Without sonics, story is voiceless. Only in the marriage of both does music become transcendent.

Yet he reminds us also that music, when stripped bare, is mathematics. Notes divided by measure, rhythm carved into time, harmony shaped by ratios and symmetry. Even the ancients knew this truth: Pythagoras spoke of the music of the spheres, declaring that the heavens themselves moved according to mathematical harmony. Frank Ocean’s words echo this lineage, for he sees that the pursuit of balance in music—the symmetry between sonics and story—is a reflection of life itself, where every step, every choice, becomes part of a larger equation.

Consider the work of Johann Sebastian Bach, the master of sacred counterpoint. His compositions were not merely songs but intricate patterns, woven like architecture into the air. His music was maths made divine, numbers transfigured into sound. Yet within this structure lay deep emotion, the cry of faith, the trembling of humanity before eternity. In him we see what Frank Ocean describes: art as both empirical and emotional, both calculated and transcendent.

Or reflect upon the building of the great pyramids of Egypt. To the eye, they are monuments of stone, but to the soul, they are also stories of kings, of gods, of eternity. Their construction required mathematics of the highest order—measure, symmetry, alignment with the stars. Yet their meaning was not in numbers alone, but in what those numbers served: the tale of a people seeking immortality. As in music, so in life—math and story intertwined.

The lesson in Ocean’s words is thus: seek balance. Do not cling only to emotion, nor only to logic. For life is not lived in one alone, but in the weaving of both. In your art, in your work, in your choices, remember that passion without structure collapses, and structure without passion is empty. Strive for symmetry. Let your actions carry both truth and order, both fire and form.

And what must you do, O seeker? In your craft, honor the technical as much as the emotional. Study the mechanics of your art, but also breathe into it your story. When you face the problems of life, treat them not as walls but as equations to be solved, patiently, step by step, until harmony is found. Remember that the search for balance—between reason and emotion, between sonics and story—is the path to mastery not only in music, but in life itself.

Thus, let Frank Ocean’s words remain as a lantern for your path: music sometimes is a maths problem, and life itself is the same. Seek the symmetry, the balance, the harmony in all things. For when you unite precision with passion, logic with longing, you will find the song that belongs to you—and it will resonate not only in your ears, but in eternity.