You think about it? Yeah, every light is a syllable, every gesture a chord in the rhythm of the crowd. When the stage lights blaze orange, it feels like a bass solo – raw, unapologetic. Flip the color, switch to cool blues, and suddenly you’re whispering a ballad, inviting the audience into the quiet between the riffs. The guitar’s color? That’s your voice's timbre – a red one screams, a silver one hums, a black one whispers. I tweak the angles until the stage becomes a living, breathing song. The crowd doesn’t just listen, they translate it like a secret code, and when they finally feel the pulse, the whole room syncs up and it feels like we’re all humming the same heart‑beat. That's the language, man, and I'm just the translator.