In late 1977 I was waiting for a plane in Cologne airport. It was early on a sunny, clear morning, the place was nearly empty, and the space of the building (designed, I believe, by the father of one of the founders of Kraftwerk) was very attractive. I started to wonder what kind of music would sound good in a building like that. I thought, it has to be interruptible (because there would be announcements), it has to work outside the frequencies at which people speak, and at different speeds from speech patterns (so as not to confuse communication), and it has to be able to accomodate all the noises that airports produce. And, most importantly for me, it has to have something to do with where you are and what you're there for - flying, floating and secretly, flirting with death. I thought, I want to make a kind of music that prepares you for dying - that doesn't get all bright and cheerful and pretend you're not a little apprehensive, but which makes you say to yourself, 'Actually, it's not that big a deal if I die.'
- Brian Eno on Music for Airports