Listening Exercises - Wednesday's Excercise

I promised myself this week that I'd do one of Oliveros's Listening Meditations per day, but yesterday I changed my mind. I decided to do one of my own, as I should probably practice what I preach! So I did my Listening Exercise No. 2 as it was such as nice day yesterday and it seemed like a good excuse to sit in the park for the afternoon. Below are my results.

My Bedroom

The Park

I would explain them, but I reckon that ruins the fun. I very much enjoyed doing them though, thinking about sounds in terms of image, shape and colour really afters your analysis of the sound. Try it!

Trams!

Ever since reading Stuart Dempster's essay on train sounds, named 'Training for Listening: A Lifelong Practice' (in the book, Anthology of Essays on Deep Listening) I have had a fascination for transport sounds. I discovered some great new ones in Manchester yesterday whilst travelling on the Metrolink tram from Market Street to Chorlton.

From being young I can remember travelling, particularly in the car, and I would stare out of the window on the motorway, wondering who the people were in those tiny dots of houses, what they were having for dinner, what they were doing tomorrow, what their cares and worries were, how much money did they have, what it would be like to suddenly swap places... I still do that now. I remember one specific journey where the motorway was closed (it must have been the M1) and we had to take a detour via Chesterfield. My dad pointed out the crooked spire of the church and I kept it in view for as long as possible, making up stories of the people who visited, and people who saw it every day.

Yesterday was no different, and as I listened to the trams I wondered if other people noticed the sounds too, or if they just blended into the background on their way to work or shopping. Maybe they listened without realising, and maybe if you played them the sounds they'd be treated to a 'memory flash' like I had when I listened to my London Underground sounds.

This week I have decided to pick one of Oliveros's listening meditations to practice per day, and todays was as follows:

Imagine a sound you want to hear. During a designated time, such as day or night, take note of when you hear the sound.

My sound was a very high, clear whistle, which although I came very close to hearing I don't think I can say I definitely heard my imagined sound. Which wasn't disappointing, as in listening for my sound I heard and analysed a whole load of other sounds which I otherwise might not have done. Sounds such as the sound of a milk creamer in a coffee shop (not quite whistly enough, too much air), the sound of a man whistling as I walked past him on the streets of Chorlton (nearly there, he was a very good whistler but didn't quite get high enough) and the wonderful sounds of the trams (a bit too percussive and not resonant enough). Perhaps without my deep listening exercise I would not have noticed these great sounds. Thanks Pauline!

Below is a video of the trams, which captures their great whistly (but not quite whistly enough) break sounds, and the very satisfying 'toot!' sound they make when approaching. I challenge you to listen without automatically imitating the sound yourself...

Toot!

Antoine Beuger - Cantor Quartets

I did a post last Friday about my experience of performing a work by Beuger, one tone. very soft. rather short. which you can find here. Since then my fascination with Beuger's works seems to have expanded somewhat following some research into the Wandelwieser Group in general. I should briefly explain; Antoine Beuger is a member of the Wandelwieser are a group of composers, performers and artists, they have their own record label and publish their own works. Michael Pisaro (another member) talks about the history of the group and their ethos in this article, but to provide a brief summary, they are united in their fascination with silence and the boundaries / relationships between silence and sound based on post-Cagean ideas and aesthetics (Cage's 4'33" in particular).

Given that I have an inherent fascination with listening, this has its obvious appeal for me (in fact, unbeknownst to me, I have already discussed some Wandelwiesser works in my post about Philip Thomas's Jürg Frey performance here) so after my Beuger performance last week I decided to look further into his works. It would appear I was justly rewarded, as I have found a wonderful piece called Cantor Quartets, I have included an extract below:

The idea for the piece is based on four lines of music as seen above, each note is to be held for a long time and played very quietly. The work is to be performed by 4 instrumentalists (or I suppose possibly vocalists?) in a kind of round robin; player 1 plays the first line alone, to be joined by player 2 who plays the first line whilst player 1 moves on to the second, and so on until player 1 has finished playing the forth line. There is no necessary obligation for the players to begin their tones together, as you'll hear in the recording they often overlap to the performers choosing. The piece is further explained here.

What I find immediately appealing about Beuger's work is that it is ingeniously simple; the instructions in this case and in one tone. very soft. rather short. are minimal and comparatively sparse, but the sonic possibilities, implications and opportunities they create are genius. In this case, what you hear are not just long tones; I hear the scraping sound of rosined bow on double bass string; the quiet, almost sine-tone-like, transparency of a clarinet; the slight faltering in pitch and timbre as a player bridges the gap between sounding and not sounding; the overtones created by a double bass string; the beating patterns created when two tones sound closely together. It has a feeling of fragility I have never really heard before; the delicate boundary between playing as quietly as possibly but still being audible makes for a completely different listening experience.

There is also a recording of 24 Petits Préludes pour la guitare by Beuger on Spotify which I have just started to listen to - the sound of decay and overtones created on a guitar are quite beautiful.

one tone. rather short. very soft.

one tone. rather short. very soft.

Antoine Beuger (1998)

I performed this work in a seminar today, it was a very interesting and very lovely experience! The instructions are thus:

I performed with another member of the class, Dorothy, and we decided upon two pianos at opposite ends of the room for our performance. We also both happened to simultaneously choose a B flat for our tone, which was quite strange (and handy). The way we performed the piece is by each having a stopwatch (or smart phone in this case), with the performer playing first (me) sounding their tone at some point within the first 30 seconds of each minute, and the second performer (Dorothy) playing from 30 seconds onwards of each minute for 30 minutes. It's also worth mentioning at this point that as we were sat an pianos at opposite ends of the room, we were facing away from each other.

Let me first start by saying that on paper this piece looks very easy - you would think that playing repeated pianissimo B flats once a minute would not be very challenging. But, let me tell you, it was actually incredibly difficult! Firstly, there's the physicality of the thing; other than the two solitary B flats per minute (or one per performer) the piece is completely silent. So there is an implication for the performer that they should be completely still so as not to make any other sound or provide distraction. As I'm assuming that having to sit upright at a piano completely still (apart from moving your middle finger once a minute) for half an hour is a fairly unusual practice I'll explain - it's extremely uncomfortable! But I remained dedicated to the cause, and tried to keep any movements to a minimum - including the occasional tapping of my phone screen when it threatened to go to sleep every 10 minutes.

Secondly, there is the challenge of playing a 'rather short' pianissimo B flat once every minute with minimal variation. When surrounded by silence any small nuance becomes noticeable - the sound of the mechanics of the piano is suddenly very loud and the difference between pppp and pp (a lot!) even louder. The slightest bit too much pressure and suddenly your B flat sticks out like a sore thumb; not enough and you worry that the note wasn't heard - I'm pretty sure several of mine were inaudible! Also the length of the note is important; how short is rather short, exactly? When you've heard your B flat about 15 times, you suddenly start to notice differences that you didn't before and any attempt you make to rectify them seems to make them even more different. You think your last B flat wasn't loud enough, so you intend to make it your next one stronger and end up whacking it by mistake!

The decision of when to play is an interesting one - essentially each performer can choose when in the 30 seconds they play their tone. So you could choose to play your B flat at 15 seconds past every minute, or you pre-decide a different number of seconds every time you play, or base your decision on what has come before and play whenever it feels right to you (provided it is within your 30 seconds). I went for the latter, as I felt it had a more improvisatory approach, although were I to do it again I might go for another option. The interesting thing is deciding what effect you'd like to create; if Dorothy played quite late in her 30 seconds, maybe around 57 or so, the temptation was to play very early in mine as I have the opportunity to make our sounds close together. Making the sounds very far apart also had a very different effect (on me anyway), as if time was somehow slowing down. Playing very late in my thirty seconds gave me a sort of giddy nervousness, as if I might forget to play and have to stop playing altogether.

Which brings me to the decision of when to stop playing. We'd already agreed we'd both keep playing for about 20 minutes (which is probably cheating) but after my phone timer got past that point it was like playing a game of dare with myself. As you've embarked on this journey together, for one of you to decide to drop out and leave the other in solitude feels like the ultimate betrayal. After about 23 minutes I won my own dare and stopped playing, although the way I felt up until my timer ticked to 23 minutes and 30 seconds was as though I was about to commit an act of utter defiance! After that, the sound of Dorothy's solitary B flat, ringing out alone in the second half of every minute seemed so lonely it was almost heartbreaking (and I can confirm that sitting still and not playing a B flat is no more comfortable playing once every minute or so).

The experience of performing the piece overall was very strange. The passage of time became warped - I watched my stopwatch like a hawk (so I didn't miss my 30 second opportunity!) but time would suddenly seem to jump without me knowing. When waiting to play, 40 seconds suddenly seemed like a lifetime, but my turn came around again before I knew it. I became suddenly very aware of any other sounds in the vicinity - the room itself is situated right next to the main entrance to the University, just off the main road and surrounded completely by windows so the silence in this case was actually pretty noisy. There are also building works taking place around the front of the building, one particularly persistent beeping vehicle intoned a perfect 4th below our B flat, which was nice. About 20 minutes in someone decided to move some furniture around in the room above us (or what certainly sounded like it). It was a very strange experience to almost take a snapshot of time, in a room, in Huddersfield, where we just listened for 30 minutes and recorded maybe 20 seconds of someone's day in our minds as they ventured past, unknowing.

Bryn, our lecturer, described the piece as being in three movements; one where both performers are playing, one when only one is playing, and one complete silence (silence in this case including the furniture removal taking place above). This is an interesting idea, but I took a different view, possibly because I was actually performing it. To me, it seemed more like a journey; a conversation between two participants where one stops along the way leaving the other to walk alone, then both stop entirely.



Edit: I've been looking further into the Wandelwieser Group and Antoine Beuger in particular, you can see my post about his work, Cantor Quartets, here.

Listening Exercise No. 4

Souvenir

When you are travelling, listen for three sounds as you travel.
These could be three prominent sounds, or the three sounds that appeal to you the most.
Collect your sounds and make a note of them, either mentally or in a notepad if you prefer.
If you are making a return journey, collect three sounds per leg of your journey.
Share your sounds, or keep them to yourself.

Musical Forks!

Whilst making my scrambled eggs today, I discovered that my fork made a very interesting sound when struck on the edge of a glass bowl. I listened a few times, I was able to pick out a triad of tones, almost diatonic. I tried this with a few forks of the same design, and on different surfaces, all made slightly different sounds. I discovered that the forks had their own individual harmonies, and that the most resonant ring could be achieved (in my kitchen) on the metal handle of the back door.

I also noted that the fork did not have the same harmonic properties when covered in egg.

Found Sound and Field Recording - Sound and Memory

The idea for this post came from a conversation with my other half about an event he is curating at The Hepworth Wakefield (more info here), the theme for which is nostalgia, and my existing interest in found sound and field recordings. Our conversation topic was; Are particular sounds, such as a song or particular environmental sound, inherently more likely to evoke memory or emotion than our other senses, such as sight or smell, and how much of an impact does this have on our listening experience? This also ties in nicely with the compositions by Daniel Kordik I discovered in HCMF week, which I'll talk more about below.

Firstly though, one of my favourite sounds or collections thereof; the London Underground. I recently took a little handheld recorder down to London to record a collection of environmental sounds. I was primarily interested in recording the crowd at a football game I was attending (which was pointless as the fans were rubbish!) but ended up recording some other sounds too, such as the underground and some general street noise. When I got back, I listened to the recording, and was immediately stuck by my underground recordings - not just because of the sheer breadth of frequency and volume, but by the fact that I felt almost immediately transported to a different time and place. It was as if I was automatically drawn or attracted to these sounds by a specific memory, but strangely much more strongly than I was when I was actually there on the tube.

I did use to spend a lot of time in London in and have not really visited since, which would explain the immediate connection. What it does not explain however, is why I did not have this reaction when I was actually there but instead, afterwards when I got home and listened to my recordings alone, separate from their environment. I immediately commenced a search for works using Underground sounds, and came across this work by Matt Rogers commissioned by the TFL. A video explaining the idea behind the works, and also his emotional attachment to these sounds, is below.

In my search I also came across this beautiful collection of bridge sounds recorded at the Millennium Bridge in London; the drone-like sounds are similar in harmony to the partials I heard at the La Monte Young concert at HCMF, probably due to the properties of the taught suspension wires that make up the bridge. From this I can see why and how Young's fascination with resonant partials and just intonation came about; the resulting harmonies are mesmerising.

The Millenium Bridge, London. Found here: http://www.parkgrandlondon.com/blog/millennium-bridge-london//

Whilst on the subject of field recording and environmental sounds, I should mention a particular work by Daniel Kordik which has struck me in quite a profound way, [Sy][ria]. The work is made up of field recordings taken from certain areas of Syria which have been sampled and mixed by the artist. Although I have never been to Syria, my memory of news articles, video clips and other such reference to the conflict taking place there is enough to alter my perception of these works. As such, the sounds of call to prayer juxtaposed with birdsong, engine noise, and simple street noises are haunting in a very ghostly way. There is something about listening to these sounds (particularly on headphones) that transports me to the place unlike any other media.

I may experiment with some of my tube recordings and the recordings above over the coming weeks in a similar way to Daniel Kordik's work, to see if I can create an emotionally engaging work of my own.