First Reading Response

A little over a half a year ago, in the dead of Winter in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, I attended a "noise concert." The location was a chilly warehouse, often used to host these sort of underground art exhibits. The instruments used were all electronic: a microphone, effects pedals, and amplifiers. Prior to this event, I had no experience listening to anything that wasn't popularly regarded as music. But hearing the sounds that I did that night had a profound effect on me. It opened my third eye, or rather my third ear, so to speak. Based on this experience, and a general interest in an experimentation with sound, I chose to discuss David Toop's article, "The Art of Noise."

Toop begins by placing sound in the context of the average person's life - it is important (in fact it probably defines our environment as we know it), but it remains generally ignored nonetheless. The only time we tend to notice our audible surroundings is when we're annoyed (maybe this is where the word 'noise' gets its negative connotation). Regardless of whether or not it is noticed by the general public, sound art is just as important, and in some ways even more complex than any visual art. It is unique from say, film, because film is concrete. It has specific boundaries and specific ideas that are presented to the viewer. Sound, on the other hand forms an entire atmosphere, and the ideas presented are not as clearly defined. In fact there may be no definitions at all - at least not in the sense that we normally think of a "definition." Because of this, it was thought that sound art would render music (a more structured and stable form of noise) useless. Sound art has definitely flourished since this prediction was made, but certainly music has not faded away. According to Toop, today there exist three different media for noise: music, sound art, and art that uses sound (the difference between the last two being that sound art is solely the art of sound, thereby placing all importance on the element of noise). There are, as noted in the case of Christian Marclay, artists who utilize all three elements of noise; however, Toop seems to think that music, sound art, and art with sound are still seperate factions. At the end of his article, he declares his hope that one day these seperate elements can be combined and understood as a single medium.

If I understand David Toop's message correctly, then this is a very exciting time for sound art and music. Having lived in a relatively small city, even I was exposed to new variants of noise. This leads me to the conclusion that people are seeking out new ideas in sound, not just in underground movements in large cities, but literally everwhere. As a musician and sound artist myself, I am very interested in combining music (the structured) with sound (the spontaneous) in a multimedia environment. Toop points out that sound used with other forms of art is often placed in the background, but it could also be presented at the forefront of a multimedia artform. But after all, there are so many possibilities with sound that it is almost useless to try and predict what is going to happen. Just look at Luigi Russolo and John Cage: right as they were about sound art, they could not see the entire scope of the future of noise. Nobody can. That it is why it's so interesting.

Soundwalk Reflection

This afternoon, I went on a short 'soundwalk.' I wandered through a relatively quiet neighborhood, focusing exclusively on the sounds. What I came up with is not the half of what is possible in a more eclectic sound environment, but it is interesting nonetheless.

First of all, some of the locations were overwhelming in terms of sound. The most common noise was the sound of car tires rolling over the concrete, coupled with the rumbling engines of larger vehicles, like buses and trucks. But even on the loudest part of my walk, I could still pick out various other noises, the most significant being an airplane. Several, in fact. Each plane made a different noise though. One was rather high pitched and probably a private jet. The others made a low rumble and were most likely large commercial planes.

The quiet part of the neighborhood was the most interesting. Here I was able to hear things close-up and far away, and I was able to distinguish recognizable sounds from noises that were unfamiliar. The most common sound on this part of my walk was the rustling of leaves, caused by the wind, a sort of continual, soft hiss. From the same direction came the whistling of birds, although this was far less frequent, and much more variant. Also present for most of the walk was the signature high-pitched drone of the cicada.

Other highlights included soft, melodic wind chimes in the distance, the buzzing and whining of an electric saw, and church bells chiming at various pitches, not quite making a song, but creating an eerie free form harmony. Some sounds were very far away and barely audible, such as a child playfully yelling, or the random echo of a barking dog.

I found it distracting to be walking with a large group. By myself, I would've been able to control my footsteps and volume of breathing to make my presence barely audible, but when you add ten or fifteen other people to the equation, you get a clunking, panting mob that upsets the delicate balance of a quiet sound environment.

This was a good experience, even if it wasn't the most interesting soundwalk. It was helpful to practice isolating noises and describing them, one by one, in an environment that contains thousands. Hearing is the one sense that we don't seem to have any natural control over. You can close your eyes, you can refrain from smelling, you can move to avoid feeling something, but without ear plugs, you are forced to hear whatever is making noise in your immediate environment. This soundwalk has demonstrated that while I cannot 'close' my ears, I can purposely focus on one sound, even when there are thousands to choose from.