Having had a good year-long break from blogging, I thought I’d pop by to share with you something I came across the other day – the BBC World Service’s wonderful Save Our Sounds initiative. The aim of the project is to create an online audio archive of the world in sound, and users can upload recordings and listen to others’ using the Save Our Sounds map.
Listening to Kate Arkless Grey’s recording of the bustling sounds of traders and snake-charmers at the Djemaa El Fna in Marrakech, Martin William capturing Cuba from the backseat of a taxi and Liz Blessing’s recording of a Brooklyn street, I’m being reminded of places I’ve been or getting a sonic preview of places I might want to visit. It’s travelling on a budget - I instantly smell, feel and visualise.
Some of the Save Our Sounds recordings have little or no geographical relation per se, such as the sound of Julia Longacre sharpening her pencil in Portland, Oregon. Others are very specific, exemplified by Brad Fidler who has captured helicopters flying overhead in Los Angeles as news broke about the death of Michael Jackson. Then there are the endangered sounds and Guy Delauney’s recording of the chanting monks in Phnom Penh. It’s a soundbite that might cease to be anything but a soundbite if the Cambodian government’s wish to keep Buddhist monks off the streets becomes a reality. No written document could ever do the sound justice, and the recording becomes an integral part of history.
Talking about field recordings – sound recordist Chris Watson has been off my radar until I did some research for an album review of Norwegian ambient artist Biosphere’s Wireless Live at the Arnolfini, Bristol. Turns out Watson recorded the performance. Reading up on Watson I not only (re)discovered the marvel of Micro-Phonies (Watson’s a former member of Cabaret Voltaire), I also dipped into his wonderful field recordings, more specifically his Weather Report from 2003.
Putting on an album to actively listen to nature is, quite obviously, different to physically experiencing the same sounds. Being at the scene, there are bound to be distractions. You might choose to ignore them, but chances are that instead of listening to the rain, you’ll be faffing around trying to find an umbrella. Instead of listening to the bees, you’ll be busy waving them away from the ice cream you’re trying to enjoy on a hot summer’s day. But with the sounds on their own, removed from their respective visual companions, it’s easier to hear that a waterfall or musk deers running across a field are in fact music.
I’m digressing. What I wanted was to encourage whoever stumbles across this blog to visit the Save Our Sounds page. Listen and upload and make the World Service’s sound map a rich experience. For now, and for times ahead.
4 Comments
July 9, 2009 at 12:00 am
This reminds me a lot about the philosophies of a composer named John Cage, who wrote a piece called 4′33″. It was pure silence for the duration of the performance (which was the positive value of absolute zero, or 127 seconds). He did it to prove that sound and music is everywhere.
July 9, 2009 at 7:47 pm
Yes, you’re right. I briefly touched on Cage’s silence piece in my post about Rauschenberg, who wanted to communicate a similar message with his series of white paintings.
Music IS everywhere. What a lovely thought.
Thanks for stopping by!
L
July 29, 2009 at 2:08 pm
That is a pretty fantastic idea – will you be recording any sounds? From my flat (which is still about 40 metres away from it) I can hear Walthamstow Market stallholders shouting ‘Banana! Banana! Banana!’ repeatedly for several hours on a Saturday and I feel I must record them. It’s not that exotic but it definitely gets across the feel of the place and: what lungs!
August 2, 2009 at 10:35 am
Hey!
I haven’t yet, but was thinking maybe I should take a recorder to the Norwegian seaside next time I go…
Some banana shouting should definitely be uploaded!