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    Society & Culture

    Phantom Power

    A podcast on sound art, sound studies, and the sonic humanities

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    Latest Episodes:
    Ep. 14: Resonant Grains (Craig Eley on Carleen Hutchins) May 24, 2019
    Show notes

    In the 1950s, a schoolteacher named Carleen Hutchins attempted a revolution in how concert violins are made. In this episode, Craig Eley of the Field Noise podcast tells us how this amateur outsider used 18th century science to disrupt the all-male guild tradition of violin luthiers. Would the myth of the never-equaled Stradivarius violin prove to be true or could a science teacher with a woodshop use an old idea to make new violins better than ever? We also learn about the mysterious beauty of Chladni patterns, the 18th century technique of using tiny particles to reveal how sound moves through resonant objects–the key to Hutchins’ merger of art and science. In this episode, we hear the voices of: Quincy Whitney, Carleen Hutchins biographer and a former arts reporter for the Boston Globe. Myles Jackson, a professor of the history of science at Princeton. Joseph Curtin, a MacArthur-award winning violin maker. Sam Zygmuntowicz, an extremely renowned violin maker and creator of Strad3D. Carleen Hutchins herself. You can subscribe to Craig Eley’s Field Noise podcast to hear the original version of this story. This episode was edited by Craig Eley and Mack Hagood. Music is by Blue Dot Sessions and Marc Bianchi. The archival interview clips of Carleen Hutchins were provided by filmmaker James Schneider. The interview with Quincy Whitney was recorded by Andrew Parrella at New Hampshire Public Radio. Transcript [ominous music plays] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [MACK HAGOOD] Episode 14. [CRIS] Resident grains. [a whirring sound plays, then a string being plucked] [CARLEEN HUTCHINS] What I’m interested in now is to see what the waves that are traveling through the woods are like. And those are the things that I think are making a lot of difference in the way, energy and the waves of energy can go through the wood itself. And wood is all sorts of sort of discontinuity, if you will, that will make the energy have to slow down or go around something, it’s a little bit like a river flowing. And if you put some rocks on the edge of a river, you’ll change the whole flow of the river downstream. Think that’s what’s happening in violins. There are certain ways that those blockages, the discontinuity can be worked out. And that’s the kind of thing I’m looking for us to see what happens. Because some of the beautiful issues that I’ve been working with and testing show that there’s a good deal of this sort of thing going on. [CRAIG ELEY] Well, let’s just back up a little bit. There’s a line of thought, which is that every object vibrates according to its nature. [A more persistent humming, then fades out] [MACK] Welcome to another episode of Phantom Power. I’m Mack Hagood. [CRIS] And I’m cris cheek. [MACK] Today we have the pleasure to speak with one of our collaborators, Craig Eley. Craig is a producer on Phantom Power. And he’s also the producer of his own podcast, a podcast called Field Noise. Hi, Craig. [CRAIG] Hey, guys. Thanks for having me. [CRIS] Yeah, thanks for being with us. [MACK] Alright, so Craig, we’re doing a little bit of a swap-a-roo this week. We’re going to hear basically an episode of your podcast Field Noise. Do you want to tell us a little bit about your show? [CRAIG] Yeah, you know, the idea has always revolved around my own research interests: sound studies, history of technology, environmental history, and just the sort of relationship between sound and technology in the environment. You know, when I finished graduate school, I actually did do a research postdoc for a year, but then I ended up working in public radio. And I’m trying to incorporate some of my own research, but also just do some original reporting and just kind of follow my ears as it were for some stories that I’m that I’m interested in trying to tell. [MACK] So today, you’re bringing us an episode of Field Noise that is about an outsider who revolutionized the field that she entered. [CRAIG] That’s absolutely right. This is a story about a woman named Carlene Hutchins. She wasn’t exactly self taught as a violin maker, but in some ways, she was an amateur who entered this field. She was a school teacher, she was very intellectually curious. And she drew on this old technique of vibrating plates. These are called Kauladney Patterns from this guy, Ernst Kauladney, and she applied that technique to violin making. This work starts in the 1940s and into the 1950s. And the results, frankly, turn the entire violin world upside down. [CRIS] So, let me just say up front, Mack said you can either listen to it in advance or it might be interesting if you don’t, I have no idea what you’ve done. So this is gonna so I’m kind of like you’re very weird listener. [CRAIG] Yeah, that’s great. Well, you know what, it’s the more I listened to it, I think it’s like a totally weird piece. So maybe between the three of us, we can try to make some sense. [violin music plays] [QUINCY WHITNEY] She was at a point in her career where she had a chance to take on about five jobs. And this is the way she told it to me, that she could have had, but she realized that she couldn’t stay married in that time, in the late 1920s, 30s. She couldn’t have that domestic life too and do these jobs. So there was a frustration there was a tension always building in her. [MACK] So who are we hearing right now Craig? [CRAIG] Quincy Whitney. She became Carlin’s biographer and published a biography on Carlene and before that, she was an arts journalist for the Boston Globe. So she’s sort of our guide through this episode. [QUINCY] When she’s teaching at the school for the first time, she finds out that her colleagues like chamber music, and they’re all playing stringed instruments. And so they invite her to come to a session one night and she’s a trumpet player from college, right? She studies the trumpet and she brings her trumpet. And after one session, they of course, all turned to her and say, you know, the trumpets too loud for a Manhattan apartment, we really need a viola as every string ensemble always needs a viola. And so she goes out and buys a $75 viola, because she largely wants community, right. She’s tense about the fact that she can’t do what she wants to do. And so playing the viola with this chamber music group, and her friends, that becomes her community. [string music continues] Eventually, it sort of sits in her hand, and she’s been carving, which since she was five years old, she was a master woodcarver by the time she was in high school. So she keeps looking at this viola thinking, gee, maybe I can make one. [CARLEEN] I’ve been interested in wood and loved it ever since I can remember. I learned a lot about woodcraft, which has given me a feel for the trees and the woods and how they relate. This can be used for the half of the top of a violin. And the piece, the other piece we had is, well, this will be one half of it. Here’s the other half. And this will make the top of a viola when it’s put together. Now they’re a couple of knots in here. And the plan is to try to work around those knots so that they won’t make trouble. [QUINCY] And so she made this Viola and she’s showing it around to her chamber music friends, and they’re playing it. And Helen rice says, we really ought to go meet Frederick Saunders. He’s a retired Harvard physicist who lives out in western Massachusetts near my farm, we really ought to go and have him, just look at your instrument. So she does that. She hands him the instrument. Saunders takes it plays it, taps it, looks at it closely, and turns to her and says this is really a great first instrument. I’ll be fascinated to see your next one. And at that point, she had not planned to make another one. And so Saunders hands her a couple copies of his scientific articles that he’s done about violent acoustics, primarily in his retirement as a sort of a passion that he’s following, because he’s an avid string player. So he’s written up some papers. They’ve been published. And now he hands his reprints to Carlene. She’s a biologist, she’s reading these papers written by a physicist, and she’s thinking, you know, I didn’t really understand the jargon at that point. And so she said, but the one thing I do notice, Dr. Saunders, is that most of the experiments you’ve been doing, are putting the weight on the top of a bridge and testing it in a sound chamber. And he said, Well, yes, because I, as a passionate person who loves the instrument, I don’t want to ruin the instrument. And she said, Well, what would you do if if somebody could make you instruments that works expendable that could be used in experiments? And he said, Well, that sounds really rather crazy. Like what Luther would be crazy enough to make instruments that they’re going to be destroyed. And she says, I will. [violin music stops] She ends up doing her research by reading about Felix Var. And what he does, with suggesting about play tuning. And so she’s the first person who sort of puts together this idea of doing the cloudy patterns, or its cloud and he had developed this method of seeing sound bite, putting particles on a plate and vibrating and discovering that there were all these amazing geometric patterns at different frequencies. [a consistent rumbling plays then fades out] [CRIS] This is great, Craig. I’m really enjoying just listening. And fascinated by the idea of making instruments to effectively damage or destroy, but in the cause of experimentation. [CRAIG] Yeah, I mean, this is sort of the beginning of the sense we get, of really just how radical her approach to this is going to be she I mean, she’s, she’s a woodworker first, right? Right. And so she doesn’t really have a sort of reverence for the violin, as a violin, right? To her this is a wood carving project. And then, when she meets this this guy Saunders, it becomes a science project. And, you know, she went to Cornell, I think, got a little taste of acoustics, but also sort of a taste of the scientific method. And that really, really influenced her approach to violins. [MACK] Yeah, she’s an intermediary. She’s got one foot in each of two different worlds. She’s got a foot in the world of music, and she’s got a foot in the world of the scientific method. It actually reminds me of someone that I’ve done research on, which is Amar Bose, the inventor of the noise cancelling headphones and a lot of familiar Bose products. He was an amateur violinist, a passionate amateur violinist, and also an engineer. And it was having a foot in each one of those worlds that allowed him to be such an innovator. [CRAIG] Yeah. What’s great about Carlene too is that kind of depending on who you ask, it’s like, she had a foot in both worlds. But more like she actually had like a toe in them. She really was enthusiastic more than anything. I mean, her experiences as a violent builder and a player were very minimal. Her experiences as a scientist were undergraduate. You know, that was her terminal degree. And so, not only is she just very interested in both of these fields, but she’s approaching them with like, almost like none of the hang ups of being a professional in them. [CRIS] You know, there’s something interesting here about somebody who is investing in the sound of the material itself, not necessarily how the construction of the material produces other sounds. [CRAIG] Yes, a violin plate is very lively to touch it. This guy’s described it to me, it’s almost like you’re holding a little tiny xylophone. Like, you can touch it and all these little places and hear it resonate. And so there is, you know, she didn’t totally invent this notion of oh, let’s let’s think about how the plate sound. I mean, there is a history of violin makers doing this sort of tapping and being interested in its own sound as a sort of, you know, what little secrets can those taps reveal to them? [CRIS] Yeah, sure. [CRAIG] Yeah, absolutely. I mean, she has a real keen. I feel like this is sort of a sound studies phrase that that is popular right now. But she has a real keen sense of the materiality of sound. [MACK] I love that this connects to those fascinating vibrational patterns in sand invented by Kladney. Mr. Kladney? [CRAIG] Yeah, yeah, yeah. In fact, that’s a great segue, because the next section here that we’re about to listen to, goes back in time to tell us a little bit about Kladney. I did a Skype interview with a really great historian of science named Miles Jackson, who has a book about this stuff called Harmonious Triads. [ethereal music plays] Can you just take a minute or two for someone who’s a total layperson and describe what he was doing in his experiments? [MILES JACKSON] Right, so the experiments that Kladney is interested in and he gets the the idea of doing this by reading the work of a rather famous physicist of the time experimental natural philosopher called (inaudible). And what he did was literally to render the invisible visible, but in this case, electric sparks. So he was interested in looking at kind of the characteristic patterns. So you can see sparks, but you don’t see the patterns that they leave behind. So that if a spark jumps over a non conductive material, and if you sprinkle powder in that area, the non conductive material, if it’s from a positively charged conductor, you’ll see like a really beautiful star tree pattern, and if it’s a negatively charged conductor, the powder will form actually, cloud formation and Klaudney was fascinated by this, and recommend, and it turns out correctly, that, you know, maybe vibrations in the form of sound would leave similar patterns. So what he’s interested in doing is to render these vibrations visible, as well as audible at the same time. So he takes the metallic square plate, puts it on a stand, sprinkles grains of sand on the plate, and then he takes a bow and then he bows the plate perpendicular to one of the edges. And he also places his fingers on various portions of the plate. He takes though he bows with his right hand and touches the plate with his left in order to influence the way in which the plate vibrates. [plate vibration sounds] So what he does is he generates these amazing figures, quite aesthetically pleasing figures. But he’s interested, really, in seeing what the actual patterns are, and how that corresponds to pitch, because he’s first and foremost interested in inventing musical instruments, which he does. And his argument is where the where the dust settles, where you have those Klaudney lines, that’s where there are no vibrations, that’s where the plate is at zero, the vibrations of the play cancel each other out. Kaludney’s interest in the bits of a metal plate that’s not vibrating with the view of locating that bit so that you could put a piece of metal or piece of glass or piece of wood, and he wouldn’t change the volume or the pitch of the instrument. [string music plays again] [MACK] Okay, so these cloudy patterns there, these beautiful, sort of geometric shapes that are made in sand when a plate vibrates beneath the sand, right? [CRAIG] Yep. [MACK] And they’re kind of hard to describe some of them, it looks sort of like a kind of Mandela or a kind of some kind of cryptic symbol. Yeah, they look kind of like that. [CRAIG] Yeah, they’re they’re kind of like haunting. I mean, and actually, people talk about this when they were first sort of revealed people there was this, late 1700s. Well, is it a language from beyond the grave, you know, and so it’s like this sound and the dead thing again. But yeah, I mean, what what’s happening there is that as the plate vibrates as they sort of explain, the the sand settles in the areas of the plate that aren’t vibrating. [MACK] And this is so fascinating, because we think of the sound wave as the natural representation of sound, the natural visual representation of sound today, right? Like, anytime you look on the internet, you know, whether it’s SoundCloud or if you’re working in an audio…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Ep 13: Jams Bond (cris cheek) May 03, 2019
    Show notes

    In an unusual episode, we listen back to field recordings that co-host cris cheek made in 1987 and 1993 on the island of Madagascar. It’s a rich sonic travelogue, with incredible musicians appearing at seemingly every stop along the way. Mack interviews cris, who discusses the strangeness and surprises of listening back to the sounds of that other time and place–and listening to the voice of an earlier version of himself.The BBC broadcast some of this material on Radio 3 as ‘The Music of Madagascar,” produced by John Thornley. It won the Sony gold radio award for ‘specialist music program of the year in 1995. A longer version aired as “Mountain, River, Rail and Reef,” produced by Phil England and Tom Wallace for Resonance FM, the world’s first radio art station as part of 1998’s Meltdown Festival at the South Bank Centre, curated by John Peel.This episode takes its name from a boat cris traveled on in Madagascar.Transcript [ominous music plays] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [sound of glass being smashed] [MACK HAGOOD] Episode 13. [CRIS] James Bond. [MACK] Welcome to another episode of Phantom Power, the podcast about sound in the arts and humanities. [CRIS] Who are you? [MACK] *laughs* I’m Mac Hagood. [CRIS] I’m cris cheek. [MACK] And today we have a very unusual episode because I get to interview cris. [CRIS] Yay! [MACK] cris has brought in a program that he produced for the legendary community radio station in London, Resonance FM. Based on your travels in Madagascar, actually two trips you took right? [CRIS] That’s right 1987, 1993, yeah. [MACK] cris, why don’t you tell us a little bit about this show? [CRIS] It was originally broadcast on the BBC. And there was some format things that got in the way of it being a longer show on the BBC. And I wanted to let some of the recordings play a little bit more than they could do in the original. [MACK] In resonance, it was much more of a sort of freeform kind of space where you could let something like that stretch out right? [CRIS] It was pretty emergent as a station at that point, but also yeah, the BBC wanted to cut me distinctly to just under half an hour. [MACK] And why Madagascar? Maybe we should start off with where is Madagascar? [CRIS] Madagascar is off the east coast of Africa. It’s in the Indian Ocean. Fourth largest island on the planet. 90% unique in flora and fauna. Really extraordinary mixtures of people who came from From Polynesia, down the Amoni Arab coast from particularly Southwest India, pirates. Did I mentioned pirates yet? [MACK] No, you didn’t. [CRIS] There were several pirate bases in Madagascar. [MACK] Yeah, and the musical traditions that resulted from that mix are really, really incredible. [CRIS] They are, and the people are really incredible. [MACK] So what we’re going to hear, I’ve heard a little bit of it already. It’s gorgeous music and really some delicious sounds recorded, just delectively. I just really love these recordings and sort of what interests me beyond this sonic travel log that you’re presenting to us, is just the fact that I’m going to hear the you that I didn’t know from 20 years ago, and then you’re also going to sort of hear yourself, the person that you used to be back then. [CRIS] Yeah, that’s why I brought this. I mean, I brought it because we’ve been talking in so many different ways about listening about paying attention to the sounds that are around you, the things that are at the edges of our attention, and really concentrating on those. It felt like it was in conversation with so many of the other programs that we’ve made. [MACK] Great well, so maybe what we should do is just let it roll, check in, and debrief? [CRIS] We’ll stop. [MACK] Okay. This is Mountain, River, Rail and Reef by cris cheek. [upbeat, almost latin style music plays] [CRIS] Mountain, River, Rail and Reef. A field sound narrative. [music continues then fades out, a low drumroll plays] Monday, March the 13th, 1993. It’s so hard to see out of those distortionary plastic Lawson shaped windows. We’re flying in land over the north western coast of Madagascar now. An island of ancestors, ghost voices. And below the countryside is veined and rotted by streams and rivers. Each Delta stained red by silver deposits bleeding out into the Mozambique channel. Outcrops of rock and tiny villages of no more than a half dozen buildings rise into focus. Longhorn cattle, zebu, being driven along dirt tracks turned on to otherwise empty stretches of tarmacked road. Further inland, more and more carts and then cars become visible. A hustle and bustle of people activities, thickening towards the capital and tender leave. On the trip into the city center, I’m told by my mirror shaded taxi driver that the rainy season has already been and gone. Red brick houses with pierced wooden balconies are baking in the golden late afternoon sun. Groups of children. One chases a metal hoop with a stick or running home from school through crowded narrow streets. They dance in pungent clouds of steam from blackened parts where rice is coated roadside stalls. [street sounds are heard] Tana as it’s cold is high up on the central plateau of this, the fourth largest island in the world. It combines a huge Central Market Square or Soma, facing onto the train station, a couple of lakes, ones colonial hillside suburbs, and a spreading girth of makeshift encampments. [music and people talking fade in. Flutes and drums are primarily heard] Most weekends somewhere in these mountains you’ll find the hero gosh or songs of the Malagasy taking place. It’s like a friendly match or flighting between local singers, dancers and musicians, and the visiting troupe from out of town. In the round roller coaster of folk performance, from chaos to pathos, including prototypical rap, improvisational cabaret, martial dances and a somewhat rough band. [People singing and chanting is heard, they are keeping a beat] Each group performs twice and a typical performance lasts about a half an hour. [singing and chanting continues] Towards the end of each round of the hero gash, a near riot of fanfares, featuring those highly overenthusiastic drummers breaks down. Everybody keeping themselves going with delicious fish samosas dipped in berry sauce. [sound of a fast car speeding by] Monday, March 22nd. I’m leaving the capital and heading for the southwest of Madagascar, where the music the people and their ways are still far less well known. [sound of a train going by is heard] The train rumbles it’s sleepers through cornfields dotted with pink perrywinkles and scalloped rice paddies fitting snugly into the mountainside. [A horn is blown] Every station as a throng of gesticulating people selling fruit and sausages through open windows to the passengers inside. I got out of the place of big salt, walked up to a Highland Lake nearby. Jade water edged by steep white cliffs, then cut directly West in a taxi Bruce, that’s an open back pickup truck with a canopy, nearly always holding more passengers that is really comfortable. In a bar along the way, for a welcome stretch. I heard the dancing sound of a cobalt. It is a box mandolin, stronger than flexible reed. The Cabalist incorporates the striking of a bass string into his playing, whilst the young boy uses a recycled can holding rice as a shaker. [The two playing is heard, then street sounds are heard] The end of this road or certainly as far as the bus goes. The onward road was washed out weeks ago by torrential rain. It’s one of the hottest and most humid places on the island. It translates to waiting for a wife. Well, I’m here hoping for a boat. Pouring down the surrounding mountains, a giant river runs zigzag towards the sea. As I walk along its banks under the mango trees. The evening air cools and heavy rain on the corrugated roofs begins. [Fast paced music plays, then a crowd claps] [Street and outdoor sounds are heard once again. A dog barks, and metal is clanging against itself.] In the half hour or so of dawn light, I’m sitting on a balcony, listening to this small town waking up. Men are hollowing out trees to fashion boats. Goats and sheep hold a rally at the podium in the town square. [animal noises are heard] There’s a large insect trying to make passionate overtures, or kill itself against my microphone. One of the endearing features of this lodging house is when I empty the washbasin by some freak of the plumbing system, an airlock perhaps, creates a phantom drummer rising from the black hole. [the sound of pouring water, then the phantom drumming is heard, starting slow then gaining speed] All day we followed the River City Venus currents in a small dugout canoe. Storks and herons perched out on those flows fishing from nest of twisted weed and each night we camped out on the riverbank and makeshift tenants made from cut bamboos. Sometimes we’d simply drift. [sound of rushing water] gliding down through rain forest in silence, having been warned not to speak if I saw anything unusual. To do so would be taboo. [guitar like music plays, children cheering, then fading out] [MACK] This is just incredible stuff. You know, I did a lot of backpacking in the 1990s myself around East and Southeast Asia. the scenarios that you’re painting are so familiar, right you got to get in the back of the pickup truck to go somewhere, and then wait for the boat, and maybe the boat’s going to come this evening or maybe it’s going to come tomorrow or whatever. But the thing that I did not experience is you keep making these little pit stops at these places where you have to wait. But they’re these killer musicians are just making the most incredible music in these places. And that’s something that I wish I had experienced in my travels. I definitely heard a lot of great music but not just sort of at these rest stops. [CRIS] There seem to be musicians everywhere. And it was it was what you do while you’re waiting. But a lot of people who were in the traveling party if you like, weren’t particularly interested. They were kind of impromptu rest, stop cafes, just like you’re describing, and now I’m remembering almost certainly most of this was on a Sony Walkman pro cassette recorder with a tiny little microphone. And and I would say to people, do you mind if I put my recorder out? And they would be yeah, sure, don’t worry about it. But because I put my recorder out, everybody else would suddenly get interested. So they would be then listening to what this traveler this vasar, as they say this stranger was finding interesting about this music that they were taking for granted. [MACK] Yes, yes. I’ve had that exact same experience with my own field recordings and you pull out the recording and people are like, wait a minute, is there something I should be listening to here? Why is this strange guy from far away so interested in this? [CRIS] It was very, very, very interesting and the musicians would also say thank you afterwards as if they were suddenly being taken seriously as somebody who had something to bring to the situation rather than just being used as background. Everyone would as they say in contemporary departments, lean in. Sometimes there was a bit of applause and it was like, it’s like I’d staged an impromptu concert by putting my tape recorder down, which I found incredibly difficult to fathom. It was full of so many paradoxes. [MACK] Well, speaking of things that are difficult to fathom and paradoxical when it comes to recording, one other thing I was thinking about is, we’re both sitting here next to each other listening to this. And I’m imagining everything that’s going on, while you’re remembering everything that’s going on. So I’m just kind of wondering what it’s like for you to be sitting here and listening to something you made 20 years ago. [CRIS] Yeah, that’s a super interesting question. It’s as if sound and particularly recorded sound can act as a time portal. It’s very odd for me to listen to my own voice too. Because although you might not hear it, my voice has changed a lot, partly by being here in the US for such a long while. So I’m listening to a very different kind of performance of British masculinity, from a very different moment in time, from a different moment in my life, but also a different a different post colonial context. [MACK] So you raised that question of the post colonial context. So, I know that since I was backpacking, and making field recordings, I’ve been exposed to a lot of things and read a lot of things that have made me look back on those activities in the early 90s in a different way. Thinking about the fact that I was following in the footsteps of colonialists who probably gave me the privilege to be able to be so mobile and to visit these places. And then just as they extracted certain things of value, I with my recorder was extracting aspects of their culture and taking them out of context and bringing them back with me. Right. And so I have a sort of feeling of discomfort around some of that. [CRIS] Me too. [MACK] That I never had before. So yeah, I was wondering what you thought about that. [CRIS] Well I’m really glad to hear you raise it because those discomforts register for me really powerfully, they’re registered at the time. And they register even more strangely now because I’m listening to the sound that I produced from those discomforts, a two decade distance. [MACK] Yeah. It’s a complex issue because you also had the experience of bringing cassette recordings that were made by earlier Western travelers and playing those for people there. You want to talk about that? [CRIS] Well, yeah, French missionaries. Actually the recordings released on the Acorah label are beautiful recordings from this French label Acora. And I literally would arrive in a small village and people would come and talk to me, you know, where are you coming from? What are you up to? What are you interested in? And I was, particularly in the second time I visited on a mission not a missionary, but I was on a mission to because I was particularly interested in recordings that I’d heard of forms of poetry, song poetry that were used for healing purposes in the southwest of the island. So my whole journey was to go there to try to hear some of this. And I would, people would come, I would play them a little bit of this recording and they put on the headphones, because there was no speaker on a Sony Walkman Pro. And their faces would light up. And then they’d start to laugh. Oh my god. I remember this stuff. Some of them would say, huh, you know, it was a little bit along the lines of having people at the road stop, get interested in the music, the local music. This was also a moment at which people registered that somebody from outside was really interested in a cultural aspect of their culture. So I’m with this malagasy couple traveling down a river. And one night we stop. We make benders out of the bendable branches at the riverside and malcash guy walks up past and walks past holding a crocodiles jaws shut in one hand and doing a breath rhythm, like *sound of breathing* and I copied him. As he went past I just did exactly the same thing back. And the next morning this couple were alive with questions like Where did you learn that stuff? And I said, What stuff? And they said, you know, this, this rhythmic stuff? And I said, I don’t know, I do strange things with my voice. So we arrived at a village The following night, and they disappeared. I sat and looked after the boat and brought the entire village with them and asked me to do a performance. So I had to do this kind of really weird impromptu sort of sound, poetic voice rhythm, performance. And then the villagers all went away and they came back down with their cassette machine and played me examples of what you’re about to hear. And we went on down the river, and we got to this place and all these people showed up, because word had gone out in the forest, from vil…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Ep. 12: A Book Unbound (Jacob Smith) Mar 28, 2019
    Show notes

    What would it be like if scholars presented their research in sound rather than in print? Better yet, what if we could hear them in the act of their research and analysis, pulling different historical sounds from the archives and rubbing them against one another in an audio editor? In today’s episode, we get to find out what such an innovative scholarly audiobook would sound like–because our guest has created the first one! Jacob Smith‘s ESC (University of Michigan Press) is a fascinating sonic exploration of postwar radio drama and contemporary sound art, as well as a meditation on how humans have reshaped the ecological fate of the planet. Before we listen to an excerpt of ESC, Mack interviews Jake about how his skills as a former musician came in handy for his work as an audio academic. You can listen toESC: Sonic Adventure in the Anthropocene in its entirety for free courtesy of the University of Michigan Press. You can also watch Jake’s 90s band The Mysteries of Life perform in the “bad music video” Jake mentions or on Conan O’Brien. Jacob Smith is founder and director of the Master of Arts in Sound Arts and Industries, and professor in the Department of Radio/Television/Film at Northwestern University. He is the author of three print-based books on sound: Vocal Tracks: Performance and Sound Media (University of California Press 2008); Spoken Word: Postwar American Phonograph Cultures(University of California Press 2011); and Eco-Sonic Media (University of California Press, 2015). He writes and teaches about the cultural history of media, with a focus on sound and performance. Today’s show was edited by Craig Eley and featured music by Blue Dot Sessions. Our intern is Gina Moravec. Transcript [ethereal music plays] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [MACK HAGOOD] Episode 12. [CRIS] A book unbound. [MAN ANNOUNCER] Tired of the everyday grind? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. Escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today. For a half hour of high adventure. [old, dramatic music plays. In between are people listing off natural disasters.] [MACK] Hey everyone. Welcome back to another episode. This is Mack Hagood. My partner chris cheek is out, so you just got me today. What you just heard is an excerpt from ESC. A fascinating project that’s one part podcast, one part audiobook. And it’s produced by my guest today, Jacob Smith. Jake is the founder and director of the Master of Arts in Sound Arts and Industries program at Northwestern University, where he’s also a professor in the Department of Radio, Television, and Film. So, for those of you who are regular listeners to the show, you know that I work in this disciplinary space that gets called sound studies. So we have all these folks working in this space of sound studies. And yet, how do we publish all of this research that we generate? We publish it in print, or in pixels on the screen, right? We do it via the written word. And that’s why I was so excited about having Jake Smith on today because he is challenging that paradigm, working in sound, and doing something that really could only be done in sound. His new project ESC is an audio native audiobook. [guitar music plays] So what do I mean by that? So basically, this is a book length critical reading of a CBS radio drama from the 1940s and 50s called Escape. But instead of just reading about the radio drama, we actually hear the radio drama itself. And through Jake’s excellent production techniques, we also hear his criticism, and we hear these sounds sort of matched up against the work of contemporary sound artists. The through line argument of the the piece is that this moment in the 40s and 50s, after World War Two, when this radio drama was being produced, is also the moment that was sort of a tipping point in the Earth’s geological history. It’s the moment when human beings start having a larger impact on the Earth’s ecology than any other natural force does. [guitar music fades out] So it’s an adventurous project. It required an adventurous editor, which Jake was able to find in Mary Francis at the University of Michigan press. So we’re going to listen to this interview with Jake about the production. We’re also going to listen to excerpts of the production and then at the end of this podcast we’ll listen to a nice long chunk of the first episode of ESC. But first, we started off by talking about the iconic theme song for the show. [theme song plays, which is Night on Bald Mountain] [JACOB SMITH] So first of all, I can’t take credit for writing the theme song. That’s Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain. [MACK] Oh, right. Okay. [JACOB] It’s the theme song to the show escape. When I was doing the proof of concept. I’d had these conversations with Mary like, maybe it could just be audio. Maybe I could just make this argument in sound. Instead of just having a few clips, maybe I could really weave my discussion into actually listening to the episode and to the story. It would be kind of like a DVD commentary, but with my commentary just kind of woven into the audio itself and bring in work by these other amazing sound artists, etc. So Mary was like, well, let’s just just try it, do a proof of concept, do one episode, and see if it works. And at that point, I totally panicked. This could not work at all, you know, conceptually, this might work. And so one of the first things I decided to do was make a theme song. And so maybe I could make my own version of the escape theme. But again, this is the very early stages, and I’m thinking, this might not work at all that maybe this is a terrible idea. I sat down with my guitar Okay, I’ll learn the song, let’s see if this will work. I have no idea if this will translate into something that I could make. But I had this great Omen, which is I sat down and played the opening theme from escape. And it was in A minor. If you’re a guitar player, you know this was not E flat minor or you know, C sharp It was a flat so I could just pick up my guitar and just strum this big open cord and I was like, this is gonna work because I can play this. It’s an A minor. So that was the first moment where I felt like oh, maybe my embodied skills as a musician intersect here with my scholarly work because I can play in A minor and I can play version of this theme song. So that was kind of the beginning of the proof of concept working for me. I was a musician and recorded music for many years playing in bands and touring around in a van and making records, making some really bad music videos. [Jacob’s music plays, which is mainly vocals and guitar. Song fades out.] That it ended up being something that was kind of disconnected from my academic work. I still wrote about music and sound and voice. But any recording or musical performance that I did was something kind of separate and different. It had its own little separate section on my CV at the end of my CV there’s something like additional professional work and would list all the musical things I did, but it didn’t really live with the other stuff it wasn’t, didn’t count as a publication. It ended up being really exciting for me to try to recombine those. To think about how working with sound sound editing, my own vocal performance might be woven back into the spectrum of my academic work. [low, ethereal music plays] The radio drama series escape, ran on the CBS Radio Network between 1947 and 1954. Escape was an anthology drama, which meant there was a new original story for each episode. It’s earned a place among the pantheon of shows that are considered to be classics of the Golden Age of American Radio. When it came time to do a new project, what I decided I really want wanted to do was to bring ego criticism into sound studies or to explore how might those things live together? What might sound studies bring to ego criticism, what my ego criticism bring to sound studies? And one way that I found that those two things met was around the concept of the Anthropocene. Scientists and environmental critics differ about when the Anthropocene begins, but many see a decisive shift occurring immediately following World War Two. [explosion sound effect plays] At that time, fallout from nuclear explosions left a mark in the planet’s geological strata, and a great acceleration in resource extraction, population growth and energy consumption, meant that the world’s ecosystems began to change more rapidly and extensively than in any other comparable period in human history. I was really compelled by the fact that that’s also the end of the Golden Age of American Radio Drama, when radio was such a vibrant way of telling stories and a powerful narrative media form in American cultural life. I started to get really interested in how might I hear the birth of the Anthropocene in this era of Golden Age Radio. [older radio show plays] [MALE ANNOUNCER] The Columbia Network takes pleasure in bringing you “Suspence.” [omminous music plays] “Suspense.” Colombia’s parade about standing thrillers. Produced and directed by William Sphere and scored by Bernard Herrmann. The notable melodramas from stage and screen, fiction and radio presented each week to bring you to the edge of your chair to keep you in suspence. [JACOB] So I’m listening to lots and lots of Golden Age radio partly inspired by my colleague Neil Varmus work, partly inspired by this sense that it’s a time that’s coinciding with the birth of the Anthropocene. At the same time, I’m listening to all this wonderful work by contemporary sound artists working in the area of field recording, using digital tools to go out into the world, allowing us to listen to the natural world in a really dramatic new way. [nature sounds play] I found myself wanting to create a mashup of those two things. It felt like two very different Golden Ages of sound work. On the one hand this. studio based radio drama of the late 40s and early 50s. [MALE ANNOUNCER] We offer you “Escape.” [JACOB] And then this beautiful new flowering of field Recording by people at Chris Watson, Yana winter, Sally Mcintyre, Christina Cooper, Peter Cosack, really inspiring work that was opening my ears to the non human world. I wanted to bring these two things together. I find myself listening to these incredible cinematic field recordings, but then wanting it to turn into a narrative. Like the Golden Age radio shows I was listening to. [MALE VOICE] I awoke late in the afternoon, a sharp hunger picking at me. [JACOB] Then while I was listening to these Golden Age radio shows, I kept on wanting it to stop for a minute and just immerse me in a space, the way the field recordings would. [animal and nature sound play] So in each episode, I tried to leave a lot of space for sound to let the work of sound artists speak for itself, or to let that kind of interesting mashup of post war, adventure storytelling collide with field recordings. To create a very different kind of emotional experience. So I found myself reimagining the argument in all kinds of ways in the process of doing it in sound. I also found that the emotional element of the argument would come out in all kinds of different ways. It starts to become much more of a musical experience. And for me, at least, that meant a more emotional kind of experience. It just really changed the process of writing for me. [Sad, slow music plays] [MACK] Yes, the use of sound to actually open up an idea. And I think it’s particularly important, as you said, because it provides that emotional level but also because it provides time for people to process what they’ve just heard. Because when you’re reading a book, you can look up and God knows I do this all the time. I swear, when I read, I think I spend more time looking at the ceiling then at the book, which is why I’m such a slow reader. I just get interested in an idea that I just want to sit there and think about it. The podcast, if you’re just talking the whole time, you’re not providing anyone time to do that. To make their own contribution to the conversation in their head. [JACOB] Yeah, I think that was one of the biggest things I learned in the process of working on ESC was that kind of temporality. Very different from writing, where it’s just kind of one idea after the other. I really started to feel the places where I needed to slow down and leave some space, or bring in sound to give the listener room to digest or think about an idea. And that was one thing that, for me was really beautiful about engaging so closely with these Golden Age radio narratives. Because those guys really knew what they were doing. You know, they’re really tight 30 minute narratives. And at just the moment where you need to catch a breath, they’ll be this little beautiful little three second musical riff. [More of the audio drama plays. A man speaks, followed by a music interlude.] I ended up using those all the time throughout ESC, because it would be at that point in my analysis where it was like we need to break, we need to catch our breath. So just the rhythm and the temporality of making an argument in sound, felt different and could move more into music or into umbeyonce. And I really loved those transitions. [MACK] Yeah, and that’s something I really like about your podcast is that those little musical breaks or Sonic breaks, sometimes you made them. Sometimes a sound artists made them in the past decade. Sometimes they come from decades in the past. And so they’re all these different textures of those pauses, which I find is super rich in sonically just stimulating. [JACOB] That’s one thing I’ve really learned from Neil Verma. He’s really showed me how one of the exciting things about sound studies now is starting to think across sounds, and get a broader sense of the history of audio work. It’s kind of only now in some ways that we’re able to line up these different traditions of sound art and sound work in a way that say filmmakers have been doing for a long time. I think about New Hollywood directors who are constantly making references to classical Hollywood in the 30s, 50s culture in 70s films. We’re kind of used to that interesting polyphonic dialogue in film culture. And that’s one of the things that I wanted to bring to ESC. That it’s not just about this podcasting moment, but how can we line up this podcasting moment with exciting things going on and field recording and sound art but also with this earlier era of sound work that has its own kind of wonderful nuance all these things might live together in new kinds of ways. And I think that’s one of the things that the emergence of sound studies is helping us to hear. [MACK] And now, here’s more from Jacob Smith’s ESC Sonic Adventure in the Anthropocene. [JACOB] Let’s get started with one of the most popular stories told on escape, which begins like this. [Epic music plays] [MALE NARRATOR] Tonight, we escaped to a lonely Lighthouse of the steaming jungle coast of French Guiana and the nightmare world of terror and violence as we bring you again in response to hundreds of requests, Three skeleton Key starring Vincent Price. [theme song plays] [JACOB] This is the opening of the Escape adaptation of George Gustaf’s short story, Three Skeleton Key. As you can hear from that reference to hundreds of requests. This was a popular story and Escape broadcasted on three different occasions in 1949, 1950, and 1953. Not only was Three Skeleton Key one of the most popular episodes of escape, but it features some prominent themes that cut across the entire run of the show. In particular, it’s one of 70 episodes of Escape that take place along the network of global shipping. This means that more than one third of Escape stories took place in the mid century network of ocean going ships, ports, and in this case, lighthouses. So, Three Skeleton Key is a representative episode of escape, because the theme of ties is a globa…

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    Ep. 11: Breathing Together (Caroline Bergvall) Mar 14, 2019
    Show notes

    Working across and among languages, media, and art forms, Caroline Bergvall’s writing takes form as published poetic works and performance, frequently of sound-driven projects. Her interests include multilingual poetics, queer feminist politics and issues of cultural belonging, commissioned and shown by such institutions as MoMA, the Tate Modern, and the Museum of Contemporary Arts in Antwerp, and won numerous awards. Ragadawn is a multimedia performance that explores ideas of multi-lingualism, migration, lost or disappearing languages, and how language and place intersect. Ragadawn is performed with two live voices and recorded elements, outdoors, at dawn, which means the start and end times are location specific. It features song composed by Gavin Bryars, sung by Peyee Chen. Ragadawn premiered at the Festival de la Bâtie (Geneva) and at the Estuary Festival (Southend) in 2016. You can find more work(s) by Caroline Bergvall at: http://carolinebergvall.com Also on Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/carolinebergvall/ohmyohmy and Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/carolinebergvall/videos Her publications include: • Éclat, Sound & Language, 1996 • Fig: Goan Atom 2, Salt, 2005 • Middling English, John Hansard Gallery, 2010 • Meddle English: New and Selected Texts, Nightboat Books, 2011 • Drift, Nightboat Books, 2014 Transcript [CAROLINE BERGVALL] Jigsaw of traveling languages. [ominous music plays] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. Caroline Bergvall. [CAROLINE] How does one keep one’s body as one’s own? What does this mean about the relative safety of boundaries. Could I make sure that what I called my body would remain in the transit from other languages, that it would hold this progression into English, and because I didn’t know and wasn’t sure, and since for a great number of people, for an overwhelming number of persons, for an overwhelming a large number of persons for all always growing number of persons. This is far from self evidence. This is not self evidence. This does not apply, this doesn’t even begin to figure, I never knew for sure. Some never had a body to call their own before it was taken away. Somehow the [speaks in norwegian.] Some never had a chance to feel it body as their own before it was taken away. Some never had a chance to know their body before it was taken away. [speaks in norwegian]. Some were never free to speak that body before it was taken up and taken away. [speaks in norwegian]. Some tried their body on to pleasure in it before it was taken up beaten violated taken away [speaks in norwegian] Some had their body for a time that was taken away or parts of it somehow [speaks in norwegian] Some thought they had their body safely then were asked to leave it behind the door or parts of it some little dirty trick how the [speaks in norwegian]. Some hoped they had one safely only to find it had to be left across the border or parts of it [speaks in norwegian]. Some wanted to leave their body behind and couldn’t [speaks in french]. Some could neither take it or leave it behind [speaks in norwegian]. Some are loved at, some are spat out some are dragged into the crowd [speaks in norwegian]. Some bodies are forgotten in the language compounds. Some immense pressure is applied on to the forgetting of the ecosystem some escape from. Some bodies, like languages, simply disappear. [speaks in french]. Some or many are being disappeared [speaks in norwegian]. Some or many disappear. [speaks in norwegian]. Some are many that disappeared arise and some are many of us. [speaks in norwegian]. Some arise in some of us. [speaks in norwegian]. Some arise in some of us, arise in many of us. [speaks in norwegian]. Some arise in some of us, arise in each of us. [speaks in norwegian]. [MACK HAGOOD] It’s Phantom Power. I’m Mack Hagood here with cris cheek. Cris, that was amazing. [CRIS] Unusual to hear more than one language inside a poem. [MACK] Yeah, and there was something almost liturgical about it. The repetition of certain phrases, the cadences of it reminded me of my childhood in the Catholic Church and given the subject matter really appropriately solemn. Who’s the poet? [CRIS] Caroline Bergvall. That poem was called “Crop” from her book “Meddle English.” Bervall writes borderlands among languages, materials stories and creative communities into a plural lingual poetics. Translation written into it. So much about the politics of language and the kind of damage that is done to the human, particularly women, in so many different situations disappearing, silencing. We will hear her introduce a piece called “Shake” from her most recent book “Drift out from Night Boat” books. Finally and most extensively, we talk with Caroline Bergvall about an extraordinary new project “Ragadawn.” [MACK] I heard in that piece, she was kind of switching between English and another language that I just was completely not familiar with. [CRIS] Norwegian, and you can claim connections between these languages. [MACK] Yeah I could tell sometimes that she was repeating the English line in that language. [CRIS] She is repeating it as much as one can ever truly repeat in a different language. So you hear spat and then you hear spoot. [CAROLINE] Some are loved at, some are spat at, some are dragged into the crowd. [speaks in norwegian]. [CRIS] You hear those kinds of kinships between languages. It’s like a making strange, right? You recognize it. And then what happened? What was that? Did she just make that up? [MACK] She’s using, I don’t know, I sort of distortion sound in the background. [the sound fades in] [CRIS] It’s like a wash. Which is great thinking about this business of the migration of languages from one place to another, but it’s also injecting noise and that’s very interesting and important too. That sense of signal to noise ratio that we have between and then among languages and among voices. [the sound continues to play] Caroline, there’s a deep kind of meditation going on here. Right? [CAROLINE] Yeah. It’s funny because if we are not talked about us 20 years ago, I would never ever have used that, because so much of the work might have had a very strong as, you know, embodied sense about it and physicality. So much of it also had to do with sexual identity and much more singular eyes bodies, and that the idea of the wounding, it’s not something that I was talking about in relation to healing. I was much more perhaps interested in the wounding, you know, in the in the wounds that we all have to go through in order to come to an understanding and an acceptance of the way we can build ourselves in the world. Whereas now there’s especially in [inaudible] that perhaps also in the final piece in “Drift” the rise of melody at the end of “Shake.” [music and sounds play, very peaceful] [CAROLINE] *speaks in norwegian* [sounds and music fade out] [MACK] I really liked her delivery. [CRIS] I liked that too. [MACK] Highly performative and it doesn’t have that detached you maybe call it poet voice? I get the sense that this is a poet that might appeal to poetry novices like myself. [CRIS] That would be great. She would like that a lot. It’s not an arcane world, Mack, we’ve had the Black Arts Movement, poetry and jazz. We have the spoken word scene, which is massive. I think many people are exposed to more poetry than they realize, maybe more poetry then. they would like. [MACK] Well, I certainly listen to a lot of hip hop. [CRIS] Right, exactly. [MACK] All right, cris, let’s talk about Ragadon. What’s the experience that the audience has? [CRIS] The audience needs to be facing the rising sun. The performance occurs the hour of dawn. Sitting outside, not in a theater space in a conventional sense. The darkest hour is just before the dawn as Bob Dylan said. They are watching the light appear in the sky and the day beginning in that sense of dawn. At the same time as they are listening to a combination of speech and song and the places in between. [CAROLINE] The poetry that had come from the Middle East across the sea to Spain and also Sicily and that much later on became this troubadour, this first macular love poetry and then since then, has become all these other traditions. That travel, that love poetry did is what I’m thinking about. Also, when I’m thinking about community connection, how do we speak love today? How would we want to do that? And then how do we face the day together? So, I’m using the love poetry as part of the historic ,trans historic, geographical trajectory that I want to do that, that the work is also taking. So it’s that poetic heritage of singing the poem and of playing it or being musicians and of traveling across all these different languages and cultures across all these centuries also has created the absolute logic that holds this project together. [CRIS] What conditions are you looking forward to be able to stage your performance of Regadon? [CAROLINE] Well, east facing for the audience. That’s the early absolute condition and ironically, living in cities or even elsewhere. That’s not always easy to find, because the second is not a condition that is a strong sort of claim that I like to make is the fact of the type of space that it is. So that the way this where we are when the sun rises, basically is an important aspect of the work as well. In Geneva, what happened is that we could have died on the lake, which we’ve done as a very first performance of it in 2015, because there’s a tradition of morning song and morning concerts dawn concerts they call them actually in Geneva on the lake and it’s, it’s stunning. It’s so beautiful, you know, the light is pink is just fantastic. [CRIS] That beautiful cafe where it says “poet.” [CAROLINE] Exactly, it’s exactly where that is, so what we did then is that we’re really thinking where to go, for quite a while. Then in the end, we did it at the Museum of the Red Cross, which overlooks the UN building, and then further away you’ve got the mountains and the more blind you know, and it’s the stunning aspect of Switzerland. The power is there. The still and solid power of many sites and many sounds. And at the same time, the very strong international, institutional politics that you have in Geneva. So these are the conditions that it is facing and then aside that carries a type of history that will make people also feel that they can and want to come you know that is not sort of a locked in space where the ritual takes place to just a few sort of art lovers that actually that it’s open it in the type of venue and advertise in such a way that they want to come there as part of that morning basically. [speaks in norwegian].One of the aspects when it comes to the to the morning song is also the fact of me thinking about community, the disappearance of shared rituals as we know and shared secular rituals as well. So that apart from going to music concerts or festivals or there’s a lot of sort of ancient rituals that are manifested through still these these wider, bigger festivals that I was thinking very much about something that’s more intimate and was longing for this type of temporary community that can be created out of that. I was thinking a lot about isolation and the sort of suicide hour which is at the breaking points, in the early morning. I was thinking about all that in relation to traditions of morning song and dawn rituals. [opera singing and light breeze is heard] [CRIS] I asked Caroline Bergvall if she could talk a little bit about working on this project with a composer Gavin Bryars. [CAROLINE] Well, he accepted my invitation because all I wanted from him was vocal work. I only wanted him to write one song and he got very interested in that idea that he would be invited into this type of work and that he would literally only write a song and of course, I sent him my text and when we met the first time he showed me his schools and he’d written songs for everywhere put a question mark a song, he’d written a song. What has been amazing since then I have to say is that he has let me do with it exactly what I wanted. I’ve been very very very careful to always ask him to always seek out what do you think how is a bit actually have also come to realize that he is very happy to trust the work and I told him I don’t think I want to use that bit of song and he said oh, that’s totally fine. Then he’s saying we don’t need to sing it like that, that we can do it in that way. Then we look at that together. So he’s been the most generous I have to say, person to work with because he’s given me very beautiful work which is extremely lyrical in the sense of song, allowing me to to build my performance. Then just to play his song at the heart of it. He’s very generous collaborator and what we’re doing now is that we are planning an evening song an evening work together, and that’s wonderful. [the evening piece is played, then fades out.] [MACK] Your description of of what this performance is like. I mean, I really am once again, getting that sense of a ritual. [CRIS] She’s talking about secular ritual. I think that’s an important aspect to emphasize here. ritual in relation to the structure of the day has been a hugely important aspect of people’s lives. [MACK] Yeah, And it’s one that has been completely restructured and detached by capitalism and modernity, from our by our rhythms. We have electric light at the night and we have all kinds of sleep problems to to show for it. That sense of ritualistic connection to the world is really lacking. Even for those of us who aren’t religious, don’t want to be religious, but are maybe, particularly for those of us. So I really like this idea that she’s trying to create some kind of secular religious space. I even think about music and the way that these huge festivals have replaced seeing bands on a more regular basis. These bands aren’t even allowed to come to your local town, because they’ve played a major festival 200 miles away within the last six months. So contractually, they can’t come play the small club at your town. You have to sort of gorge yourself on music once or twice a year. Then it’s kind of not around so much depending on where you live. [CAROLINE] When I was looking for some of the other realities of the work and it took me a long time to find it. When I finally hit on it, it just cut all the way back into this idea of setting up shared space with strangers and thinking about ancient rituals and sort of the the idea of the temporary community in relation to that. This idea of languages’ presence in our localities, but that we might not be for many different reasons that our communities or that communities are sort of always exercising or silencing and number of languages. And then of course, we know why. I mean, there’s a lot of prejudice as we know and racism towards a lot of immigrant communities for a long time, the degrading of ancient local languages, you know, Welsh and local dialects that also had been sort of slowly disappearing. So, there was also that sense then a reclaiming the sights of languages. Suddenly you have the different sides piling on your have the geographical political side you have there is going to have some kind of a direction, the time of year and a direction for the rising sun is going to have a time in the morning where people will come. There is the soil, the ground or the sounding or the non sounding of languages around wherever we are that I wanted to bring out. [another calm piece is played. A woman softly sings then chants] When you are standing outside and you know about the windrush. [CRIS] The MV Empire Windrush arrived at Tilbury docks, in Essex, the 22nd of June 1948, bringing workers from Commonwealth countries, effectively, British colonies as a response to post war, labor shortages. [another piece is heard with running water in the background] [CAROLINE] You also know that it’s one of the biggest sort of sea communities in the countries are located…

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    Ep. 10: Animal Control (Mandy-Suzanne Wong, Robbie Judkins, Colleen Plumb) Mar 01, 2019
    Show notes

    This week, we examine the sounds humans make in order to monitor, repel, and control beasts. Author Mandy-Suzanne Wong’s Listen, We All Bleed is a creative nonfiction monograph that explores the human-animal relationship through animal-centered sound art. We’ll hear works by Robbie Judkins, Claude Matthews, and Colleen Plumb, interwoven with Wong’s unflinchingly reflective prose. By turns beautiful and harrowing, these sounds and words reposition us, kindling empathy as we listen through non-human ears. Links to works by the artists heard in this episode: Mandy Suzanne-Wong’s Listen, We All Bleed. Robbie Judkins: Homo Tyrannicus, “Pest” (video), live in London, 2017 Claude Matthews: “DogPoundFoundSound (Bad Radio Dog Massacre)” Colleen Plumb: “Thirty Times a Minute” (homepage), indoor installation (video) Transcript [ethereal music plays] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [pig grunting] [MACK HAGOOD] Episode 10. [CRIS] Animal Control. [MANDY SUZANNE WONG] If humans did this to each other, they call it sonic warfare, terrorism or crowd control, depending on who did it and whom they did it to. They call the end result for the victims, that is post traumatic stress, but skunks aren’t human. They’re not even pets. Not like your spaniel who clearly enjoys notions of his own. Can a skunk suffer post traumatic stress? Aren’t they just wild animals? Yes and yes, sound is contact. Fear is a weapon. The wild is here. [sounds fade out] [MACK] Welcome back to another episode of Phantom Power, where we explore the world of sound in the arts and humanities, I’m Mack Hagood. [CRIS] And I’m cris cheek. [MACK] Hi, cris. [CRIS] Hi Mack. How you doing? [MACK] I’m okay. We’ve got an interesting episode in store today I think. [CRIS] Good. [MACK] I spoke with an author of fiction and nonfiction work. Her name is Mandy Suzanne Wong. She hails from Bermuda. She’s got a PhD from the University of California in Los Angeles. You may have heard of the place. [CRIS] I have. she’s very interdisciplinary right? [MACK] Yeah, she’s another person that I met through that crazy conference for science literature and the arts. Like the other person that we met. [CRIS] Brian House. [MACK] Brian House, yeah. The other person we met at that conference, Brian House. She has a concern with animals and the sounds of animals and sound art about animals. [CRIS] Right, it seems like she is a creative writer in short fiction and also has a novel coming out this year. It seems like she is also an essayist about sound almost a creative nonfiction thinking about sound is that right? [MACK] Yeah, and she’s got this manuscript that she recently finished and it’s called “Listen, We All Bleed.” It’s her critical response to a number of sound art pieces that focus on the human animal relationship through sound. So, on today’s show we’re going to listen to four pieces of audio that Mandy Suzanne Wong has written about in “Listen, We All Bleed.” We’re going to listen to those pieces and we’re also going to listen to her words about those pieces. So, the first piece we’re going to listen to is by Robbie Judkins. It’s called “Desired Place” and it’s on his album “Homo Tyrannicus.” [low, ominous music plays, sounds like an orchestra] [MANDY] What is empathy? There are at least two definitions of empathy out there on philosophers of animal ethics. One is basically if I empathize with you, I feel something similar to what you feel. Another is when I empathize with you, I am deeply affected by your situation, but in my own way/ I think Robbie Jenkins desired place could be about either or both. I think empathy is a kind of resonance. [music continues] The final track on his album “Homo Tyrannicus: Desired Place” opens with a beautiful electronic chord. Long and rolling in slow motion through the tones of some major triad with a bit of fuss. Two minutes. Most people would say that’s very long for a chord and it keeps going. And then little bells start ringing. Wind bothering a microphone, splash or stumble in the grass. The bells are somehow holler and then sheep and cattle mowing. The bells are full of footsteps in the grass. [sounds mentioned above play out] One interview recall this piece a collage of simultaneous curiosities. First, this long chord. I’m a fan of drone and ambient music. I know long cords. There are long chords I can sleep in, chords I can fly in, chords that hold my breath or gouge me or transforming into carpet or warm water. They assert their independence, which is why Robbie says they are humbling. This long cord is dusty velvet, maybe even musty, with velvet cushions on the sides. It’s also electric with dust motes and wintry light. It coils the tones of the Triad around and around. This motion is internal, quills of rope are still one route. This is a binding chord and the hollow little bells creeping up on it, and the footsteps in the grass. [sounds continue] Farm animals, says the album’s website, and English winter weather. I hear cattle and sheep moving through wide grasslands under heavy ash grey skies. I’ve read that northern shepherds keep track of the herded and attuned to their tempers by listening to the bells around their necks. I think this piece is about captivity and liberation and friction between what feels like liberation but is also captivity. There are at least two ways to hear the animals lowing, tinkling and swishing through the open field. Here’s one way, nature. Tranquility, pastoral simplicity, peace, and the wide open. Where everyone walks and tinkles instead of shoving and cursing, breathing the perfume of fresh grass instead of smoke. This feeling is genuine and legitimate, desired place is beautiful and calming. Here’s another way to hear the combination of “Homo Tyrannicus.” The sheep and cattle tinkle because there’s some human’s property. They fare better on the range than they do extensions, but the clang of captivity has them by the throat. Appended to their bodies at the neck bills are their prosthetic voices as though captivity were some defining part of them. Just as the human Robbie Judkins who comes to their wide open to escape himself is imprisoned in himself, even in the great wide open, to the point that he’s turned to mirtazapine and anti depressant of last resort, which gives its name to the previous track. [sounds continue] Empathy means coming to share a relevantly similar effective state with another. It happens here in the simple juxtaposition of sounds and words. Captive non human animals do suffer depression. We don’t often think of it as complicated, all consuming anguish worthy of drugs and psychiatrists, but it is. Horrifying, though it is. Captive fishes have been treated with Prozac and responded. I think desired place is that imprisoned human heart crying out to prisoner cattle. I feel what you feel. It’s so complex and knotted, it never let’ me go. [sound of clanging cans] Desired place isn’t just about the artist. Judkins makes his own field recordings, but he’s not the one who baws. He says playing with animal sounds and animals to the another humbling experience, for it’s about not feeling that you are a master of them. It’s about feeling with them. So desired place is neither a tranquil place nor a bear walled cell, but a place where words about human tyranny and anguish coincide with captive animal sounds to give us an opportunity to appreciate that they suffer tyranny and anguish of the same complexity but differently. Desired place is a resonance, sounding out the irony in humans have to use idea of freedom, echoing the complexity of non humans emotional experience of captivity. Empathy is a liminal place full of echoes and reflections, changing color as they fly. [sounds continue, then fade out] [MACK] Thoughts? [CRIS] I have a lot of thoughts about that. I actually like it as a piece into relating her writing with the sound, although I know the sound exists in its own right. So, for people who want to hear the sound without the voices, we’ve put the links up on our website. I’m drawn to thinking about cowbells and sheep bells and goat bells and what that does to the sheep or the cow or the goat. They are forced into hearing this clanging every time they move their head. That must be, to say the least, incredibly annoying let alone intrusive, uncomfortable, maybe deafening. [MACK] Yeah, maybe literally deafening. You can certainly see this as a form of torture, yet I think from our anthropocentric perspective, this is the sound of the bucolic good life. This gentle clinking and clanging. [CRIS] We do. We think about it as kind of like a rural evil. Oh, the sound of the cattle coming across the hillside, or the clanking of the clinking, clanking of the goats in the valley. [MACK] I love it as this meeting place, this space for conjuring the kind of empathy that Mandy Suzanne long is talking about here. Trying to hear from the perspective of these animals and hear how this sound that’s beloved to us maybe torture to them. [CRIS] Absolutely. Let’s hear another one. [MACK] So the next piece is also by sound artist Robbie Judkins and this one is a live performance that he did in London in 2017. It’s called “Pest.” [Pest begins to play. Starts as an annoying ringing] [MANDY] You’re fast asleep in your cookie cutter house on a decent suburban night. A stinking feral cat slinks onto your property bent on wreaking havoc among your flower beds and spreading cat disease to little Junior. Never fear, you’ve got an ultrasonic animal repeller. The infiltrator trips the motion sensor and your faithful military green box on a stick start shooting powerful ultrasounds and blinding lights. The intruder, cat, bat, hedgehog, fox, raccoon, squirrel, skunk mole, or dog feels deafening sound spearing it’s brain. Scared out of its wits, the enemy turns and runs. Meanwhile, you continue snoozing in your bed, dreaming perhaps of football, having noticed not a thing. Humane and guaranteed. If humans did this to each other, they call it sonic warfare, terrorism or crowd control, depending on who did it and whom they did it to. They call the end result for the victims, that is post traumatic stress, but skunks aren’t human. They’re not even pets. Not like your spaniel who clearly enjoys notions of his own. Can a skunk suffer post traumatic stress? Aren’t they just wild animals? Yes and yes, sound is contact. Fear is a weapon. The wild is here. Robbie Judkins tells me the sounds of ultrasonic animal repellers give him ear pain even though he can’t hear them. Imagine hearing them with hypersensitive dog ears. Now dream back to London 2017 where Robbie’s made a sonic arsenal into a 22 minute artwork. He calls it “Pest.” With him on stage is the powered solar ultrasonic animal repeller, two of them actually. Robbie stands between them with his laptop on a table in real time, he translates their ultrasounds to audible sounds and layers them with field recordings of other sonic repellents. Sometimes Robbie leaves the table. He walks back and forth across the stage pacing as if on patrol or imprisoned in a bear cell. He keeps having to hop or duck the wires strung across the stage at chest level and ankle height. They’re high tension wires, the kind farmers used to keep birds out of their crops. When the wires move in the wind, Robbie says, they make a droning, humming noise, really noisy and really loud. So he layers that noise with solar ultrasonic javelins, stretched into law and loud lansing wailes. [the wailes are played] Every time he leaves or returns to his laptop. He must wiggle between wires stepping up and ducking under. He hits his head once, and then bending or crouching over the computer having nothing to sit on Later, he admits it somewhat painful to perform. That’s the point. The artists literally ensnares himself, he doesn’t spare himself as he blasts the only species on this planet that would purchase ultrasonic animal repellers with the noises of those very things. as the outcasts might hear them. Ortification as subversion. The whole thing is physically awkward for all humans present. Even for a fan of drone music, “Pest” is discomfitingly piercing. Drones are sonicwalls, as if magnifications of ultrasonic fortresses. “Pest” is an invisible fortress that makes my body feel like liquid. It sounds out the ambiguity of resistance, resistance as rigidity, refusal to give ground even to a squirrel. Resistance as critical, effrontery. Revolt the very force of change. Now there are no mice and moles and “Pest.” No non human animal sounds at all. What does their absence tell you about the kind of threat they are and where are the pests? What are they? Which species is trapped in emptiness here with nothing but itself and the traps it has invented and wildness trembling inside it? [the piece ends] [MACK] What I like about listening to these pieces, I think what’s starting to emerge is all of these different methodologies that we have for controlling our relationship to animals. Controlling the animals themselves, and how much sound plays into these things. You want to keep tabs on the animals, so you put a bell around its neck. [CRIS] You want to know where it is. [MACK] Then you always know where it is, and where you want to keep the animal away. Some animals we want to keep them. We use sound to do that. Some we want to repel them, so we use sound to do that. Sometimes, the things that we’re doing to animals, as we’ll see in a moment, cause the animals to make inconveniently loud and unhappy sounds. So, maybe we’ll mask that with some sound. It’s all of these ways of asserting our dominance over animals. [CRIS] Dominance and privilege. A sense of the non human animal interactions that we favor, that we want to have. We want the cuddly, when we want the cuddly, we want the cuddly. Where and how we want the cuddly, we want the cuddly. [MACK] Cuddles on demand. [CRIS] Cuddles on demand. That sense of policing our own spaces to eviscerate them of any other animal presences. [MACK] Ok cris, so this next piece, I wouldn’t say it’s sound art per say, but it’s a field recording made surreptitiously by a guy named Claude Matthews. [sounds of animals barking and crying] Once you’ve heard a big cry, you won’t forget it, or hundreds of dogs. Big and small. Black and brown, and dappled. Claude Matthews, met them on death row. Matthews went again and again to the Center for Animal Care and Control in Manhattan, taking pictures of homeless dogs and cats in cages. He made flyers for each animal, urging humans to adopt them before the CACC killed them, froze their bodies and then burn them. In June 1996, he smuggled in a mic and recorder, hid them in his camera bag, put the bag on the floor pressed record. He shuffled quietly along the corridors 2a, 2b, 3a, 3b, photographing every single dog and every last narrow dingy cage stinking with piss and fear. In every cage, a dog ran up to plead with him. They threw themselves at bars and mesh. They tried to eat away the mesh. Terriers and Great Danes ramming themselves through food slots while Bulldogs sprawled and corners giving up. All the while that recorder ran, so Matthew’s took home two hours of doggie agony. Now and then among the whimpering and raging at these bag russells. The floor taps him from beneath. He’s right there in the foreground where the dogs howl. In the background, not quite distant is music. of all things that old song by Billy Joel, “Leave a Tender Moment Alone.” It’s a horror of a coincidence. The CACC didn’t know about Matthews tape recorder. He offered to build a website connecting lonely humans with homeless dogs. The CACC turned him down, choosing to leave the moment alone and kill the animals instead. Matthews wrote, it was massive and systemized violence but it is not called violence. The facilities which perform the killing are cold shelters, facilitating denial of, or at least a diffusion of responsibility for what is in fac…

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    Ep. 9: A Drummer’s Tale (Charles Hayward) Feb 15, 2019
    Show notes

    Charles Hayward is one of the most propulsive, resourceful and generative rock-plus drummers of the past half-century. An influential percussionist, keyboardist, songwriter, singer of songs, and forward thinker through sound, Charles spoke with Phantom Power about a 40thanniversary touring with a partly reformed and enlarged This Heat as This Is Not This Heat, and then opened into generous reflections on his solo works The Bell Agency and 30 Minute Snare Drum Roll. Charles is founding member of the experimental rock groups This Heat and Camberwell Now. Since the late 1980s he has concentrated on solo projects and collaborations, including Massacre with Bill Laswell and Fred Frith. Most recently he released an album of improvised duets with Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth. This Is Not This Heat play their final concerts at EartH Hackney Arts Center in London March 1st , a two-day residency in Copenhagen March 5th-6th, Le Poisson Rouge in New York City March 18th, Zebulon in Los Angeles March 20-21, the Big Ears Festival in Knoxville TN on March 24th, the Albany in Deptford, London May 25th. Live performances: 30 Minute Snare Drum Rolllive at Café Oto, London Improvisations with Thurston Moore This Is Not This Heat Full albums: this heat Deceit Health and Efficiency Camberwell Now Images provided by Emma McNally and Fergus Kelly. Transcript [CHARLES HAYWARD] Song is to be human.. [ethereal music plays in the background] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [radio or television static mixed with an orchestra] [MALE ANNOUNCER] The time now, very nearly three o’clock. The next program on BBC One: “Songs of Praise” follows at three fifteen… [Funk/techno music suddenly cuts in] [MACK HAYGOOD] Episode nine. [CRIS] A drummer’s tale. [music fades out] [MACK] So it’s great to be back. Phantom Power Season Two, and this episode is one that I have been waiting for with a certain fan-ish frenzy, because we’re going to talk about Charles Hayward; the drummer, keyboardist, vocalist, tape manipulator, pioneer of experimental rock and roll. [CRIS] Yeah, right. And still putting out albums. Still touring. This Heat, the band that you would just hearing, they’ve recently done a 40 year set of concerts under the name “This is not This Heat.” [MACK] It’s amazing to hear This Heat still making such an impact on music, because I remember playing music in Chicago in the late 90s and early 2000s and at that time post rock was a genre that was a pretty big deal. Those of us playing that sort of music were really inspired I would say by a few bands. There was Can. There was Lee Scratch Perry. There was This Heat. Talk Talk was another one. [CRIS] Interesting to hear that. I like them too, especially their later albums. [MACK] So, This Heat was just a group that once you heard them you’re like, I can’t believe this already existed so long ago. [CRIS] They they take a punk DIY aesthetic and then they retain some of the immediacy of the elements of that music. They were more involved with a very different kind of idea about the interrelationship between melody and rhythm and noise. Dirty sense and dirty samplers and expanded sense inside music making that leads into trance ambience, precise bursts of silence. I think all of that is part of what makes their music still sound fresh. [ethereal music fades in] [MACK] Charles Hayward went on to play with so many interesting bands, including Massacre with the guitarist Fred Frith and the bass player Bill Laswell. [CRIS] They just put out an album this year of improvisations with [inaudible] from Sonic Youth. [MACK] By the way, how do you know Charles Hayward? [CRIS] Loosely rubbing shoulders on and off over the years. When I was playing music around various different scenes in London. This sort of person who I felt was part of a community of music makers and interested audiences over a period of about 25 years. Of course, I’ve been over here for a while now. [music changes to have more bells clanging] It’s been a while. I know. [CHARLES] It’s been one hell of a while. [CRIS] It’s been a lifetime and you’ve just been so unbelievably busy. Are you ever at home these days? [music becomes faster tempoed, more contemporary] [CHARLES] I’m at home less often then I have been in the past, but it’s all good. I broke my ankle quite literally a jolt. I was back to playing pretty much right away, but while I was lying in bed, I told myself, I wasn’t gonna hold myself back anymore. I was going to do all the things that were in my head that I thought were good, and I was going to share them with as many people as possible. It’s all about now as opposed to having this luxurious time span up ahead. [CRIS] How does it feel getting back into those somewhat old shoes? [CHARLES] We’re not doing any new material, we’re only doing what’s on the albums and the records. That can either be an incredible constraint or it can be a big liberating with this is what it is, let’s get on with it. It’s been the second one. There was this agenda when the group was a trio, which was about moving forward. We’ve found a way by integrating it with these five other players to actually, completely revitalize it. The materials got “now” written into it from 40 years ago. For instance, on Cenotaph the chorus is “history repeats itself.” [a sample of the song plays. Very slow and contemporary] The deep sense of irony. A thing happening and being said, at one point, and then: [lyrics come in singing “history represts itself] Unfolding sometime later, and the contradictions inside that or the parallels inside that is really being investigated, partly because history has taken us around this loop. Partly because, for instance, my daughter’s in the group and to be doing that with the younger generation, all the players are at least 20 years younger than me and Charles. With lots of new versions of what the material means. New input often about technology, or about instrumental attitudes, something beyond that concept of non musician. Some might say, well, I don’t know anything about the note F sharp but that thing where they don’t know the names of the notes, but they they now to get the emotion across, and they’ve got their own way of doing that. Then you’re constantly learning and that’s good, really. [music fades out] It feels to me like how I imagined the folk tradition, some non-industrialized position inside music seems to be a good model. When I think about my childhood, I was getting that sort of quiet orthodox 50s music tuition, school. That would be things like English folk songs, really. Then all the Anglican Church of England hymns, and all that stuff. [a song plays inspired from English hymns, but still sounds contemporary] I used to love going along to the school assemblies and singing, I wouldn’t sing the words, I would just do the tunes. I still really love opening up my lungs. Doing that nine o’clock in the morning, I used to feel absolutely fantastic. So I never ran away from that. I had a lot of mates who sort of turn their back on that. That sense of song, for me, the melodies are so right. It’s not about trying to show off some sort of oblique angle or anything, it’s just getting the tune across, in a way that comes out of your own body. [ethereal music plays] I’ve always loved that folk thing, crossing over into Greek music, and you get it crossing over into African music. I mean, just the very same Indian music the same…it’s not even aesthetic, it’s the same ethic. There’s a story I heard about a session in the pub in Sligo in Ireland, where one of the Fiddler’s was like the man. Next to him was this 12 year old who was practically scratching at the fiddle. No one thought that the music was being impaired, that this virtuoso was being limited. What was happening was, the music was growing. That’s the good thing about this is not that it doesn’t actually sound exactly like the record. It’s more like a garden. [simple jazzy music plays] [CRIS] Drummer, keyboard player, songwriter, singer of songs, forward thinker and reflector on sound. [MACK] So, there was This Heat and then there was This is not This Heat, but there was a long period in between those. [CRIS] Yeah, that’s kind of 35 years in between those two events. Charles has taken the politics of collective music production into community workshop settings. I asked him if he had a kind of ready made travel kit that he used. [CHARLES] I just be me. the most I’m ever really me is when I’m playing, unless I’m with my wife and kids. Then there’s that version of me but I don’t really find it very easy to share that with lots of people. The me that I do share with lots of people is is music. I’ve got a thing that I can carry very easily, it’s a frame drum, a little keyboard, a melodic. I think that’s basically it. Then there’s our little set of bells and my voice. Almost never words, or its words, but they’re mumbled and sort of half there. The bell agency, it grew out of disability arts workshops. [MACK] So what is the bell agency? [CRIS] Well, it’s like a game. A musical game, anybody can play. And any number of people can play. Each person as a beater, and there is either one or more bowls made of metal. Each person can take the opportunity or the opening to strike the ball with their beater, with this stick. Not in turn, but when they are moved, so to do, but then they have to wait until somebody else strikes it before they can strike it again. A music making structure that people with varying abilities could all participate in. [MACK] So this really gets into that thing he was just talking about folk music, right? Music for the people. [CHARLES] It started as a workshop thing with the brief that we’ve got to try and get funding admin and NHS. [CRIS] National Health Services. [CHARLES] Local coordinators, and us, and people with disability, there’s like 20 of us. There’s people in the group who’ve got all sorts of learning and sensory disabilities, or they’re not even necessarily disabilities, but they’re not the same as yours and mine. They give signal, and at the same time, the world often interprets the signal as meaningless or like nervous tic response or something like that. I see it as more material in the air. So I try and integrate that into what I make. There’s also dancers that work with the people. [a single bell periodically ringing] When we say dances and working with the people or another word other times has been clients. Another word has been participants. All these words, they basically divide us up into the people who are the professionals and the people who are the patients almost. It’s only language that really does that, because when we’re actually inside it together, that’s the thing that this particular workshop brings, is, there is no real division. The division starts again, the minute we get to half three and the support workers come in. They’re good people, but we were able to afford something that’s like, outside of practicalities. We’re in this world where we don’t even explain it to each other, we just get on with it. It’s very, very nice. It’s very, very abstract. It refreshes your soul. It wasn’t about turn taking where you could see that people getting uptight because they were three goes away from it being their turn. Nobody had any real over responsibility. Some people were hardly ever participants, you know, they would only make one sound in the whole thing. That’s sort of how it started. It was just a way of sharing what we can do with people who weren’t musicians. That’s often when it comes out the best. I did one Bell agency, which was all arts admin people. One of them was taking the piss of it all the time, she was frightened committing herself. I’ve worked with this sort of thing before. I knew I used to sort of come on all matcho, and sort of almost be argumentative, but I didn’t. I started sort of very slightly weeping. Saying, look, it’s right for you, but these sounds actually mean something to me. Then not only do they mean something, to me, it’s my responsibility to look after them. I can’t handle you not giving them the respect they deserve. Then some of the other admin people started to elbow in and say, let’s get into this. So we got into it, and she got into it as well. By the end of it, she was just like a completely different human being, it was just amazing. It was like she was actually doing the thing that she’d been administrating and sort of like having a certain distance via the paperwork and all this sort of stuff. She’d been doing that for years. Then suddenly, she was actually engaged in this sort of experience she was setting up for people, she was actually inside herself, and it was just an amazing session. One of the things I’m very interested in in a moment is the interface between social obligation and ordinary timetables, like all my trains at four o’clock. Zoning out this weird thing where you can play for a quarter of an hour and it feels like war and peace, but it also feels like the batting of an eyelid. That thing where it transcends social time, and then finding a way of bringing those two together, because in a weird sort of way, they are brought together anyway. It’s the very nature of performance, It’s got social time constraints around it. If someone wants the bell agency to be 15 minutes, then I’ll go okay well, I’ll engineer it so that it’s 15 minutes. With the bell agency I tried to get people to become very conscious of shape across time as opposed to shape in space. I think that music and theater and dance…you’re asking the audience to engage with their memory of what happened at the beginning and how that follows through to the end. If you can get the participants in the bell agency to actually, I say to them that the first sound you make it almost doesn’t matter which one of the bells you play and actually to be honest, it doesn’t really matter that much the second bell you play. The first bell on the second bill, they’re just sort of like they’re at the beginning of the path. Once you’ve got the second bell and the space between the time between the first and the second, the amount of decay you’ve let happen, that’s sort of constraining what you really think should happen for the third sound. The fourth sound becomes even more defined because of the first, second, and third. As you go further into the piece, each choice becomes more and more inevitable. So, tune into that inevitability and obey it, as opposed to think, oh, I’ve got to express myself. Instead of that, just obey, obey, obey, obey, and follow the obeying all the way through. That might mean that the pieces two minutes long, and it might mean that the piece is seven minutes long. It’s because of the choices you made by about sound four and five, they’ve set up the conditions for everything else. It’s just a question of finding what those conditions are, by the doing of it. You’ve also got to be totally present to know when it’s no longer there or when it’s gone. Sometimes I’ll record it or I’ll say to people look, just a minute and a half ago, we went beyond the point. Did you hear it? we’re just now waffling. The feedback from the people who participate is fascinating as well. Who’s that guy, [inaudible]. He did that whole thing about quantum moments. The bell agencies’ that. You think the thing is going one way, but somebody else does something. That can change the conditions of what you thought it was going to be. You’re only allowed to make one sound at a time. That’s the only rule is you can only make one sound, then you have to let somebody else make a sound. [CRIS] Yes, like a conversation between attentions. There’s a kind of a sense of constraint, productive constraint that’s developing as the piece goes on. [CHARLES] That’s exactly it. cris. Yeah, yeah. [CRIS] That is beautiful. [CHARLES] Yeah, well it is beautiful because I mean that lady I talked about at the Barbican workshop, I’ve been in thi…

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    Ep. 8: Test Subjects (Mara Mills) Feb 01, 2019
    Show notes

    Season Two erupts in our ears with a film-noir soundscape—an eerie voice utters strange and disjointed phrases and echoing footsteps lead to sirens and gunshots. What on Earth are we listening to? We unravel the mystery with NYU media professor Mara Mills who studies the historical relationship between disability and media technologies. An ink blot, often used on test subjects in projective tests. In Episode 8, “Test Subjects,” we examine the strange and obscure history of sound’s use as a psychological diagnostic tool. In the late 20th century, while many disabilities were eliminated through medical interventions, a host of new disabilities were invented, especially within the realm of psychology. Mills’s historical work in the audio archives of American Foundation for the Blind reveals how auditory projective testing was used to diagnose blind people with additional psychological disabilities. As we listen to these strange archival sounds, we learn how culture and technology shape the history of human ability and disability. Read Mara Mill’s article on auditory projective tests, “Evocative Object: Auditory Inkblot” and visit NYU’s Center for Disability Studies, which she co-directs with Faye Ginsburg. Thanks to archivist Helen Selsdon and the American Foundation for the Blind for the use of the auditory projective tests. This episode’s theme music is by Mack Hagood with additional music by Graeme Gibson, Blue Dot Sessions, Claude Debussy, and Duke Ellington. The show was edited by Craig Eley and Mack Hagood.Transcript [ethereal music plays in the background] [CRIS CREEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [static and creaking sounds fade in and out] [MACK HAGOOD] Episode 8. [dial tone plays] [CRIS] Test Subjects. [MAN OVER PHONE] This is the first sound. [fast ticking of a clock fades in. Water sloshing, then dramatic, ethereal music fades in] [WOMAN] They walk together slowly, their feet making a sound together. And the man wonders…wonders why all the noise, all the turmoil, so quiet. When will it stop? So quiet, so peaceful, so serene, so quiet. You can’t forget the quiet. You can’t ever forget. [sound of a whistle, then a crash. Music and ticking play in background] [CRIS] I feel as if I’m being thrown into a space or a place that I am experiencing as anxiety, that sense of the alarms, the hurrying footsteps, the dramatic voice and the time passing. It’s just a kind of a…its a terror of time passing. It’s Jonathan Query’s 24/7 being made manifest in my ears. [MACK] Yeah, these are sounds I’ve been playing around with. Our guest for today’s episode just shared this archive of amazing sounds with me, and so I was just playing with them putting them into a collage. A lot of them do seem to induce a bit of a feeling of dread. [CRIS] No, I liked it. It was it was full of portent. It was almost as if I was in radio play where most of the dialogue could have been removed and I just had the sound effects left. [MACK] Yeah, and as we’ll learn, the sounds are sort of a relative of radio drama and believe it or not, they’re intended to be healing sounds cris. [CRIS] No way. I mean, the idea that the clock was kind of coming forwards and going backwards into the distance this stuff is pure terror! [MACK] I did mess around with the sounds a little bit, but these are sounds that are supposed to help you become the best person that you can possibly be. Welcome back to another episode of Phantom Power where we explore the world of sound in the arts and humanities. I’m Mack Haygood. [CRIS] And I’m cris cheek. [MACK] cris is a poet and performance artist. I’m a scholar of media and communication. Welcome to season two. Today we examine the strange and obscure history of sound being used as a diagnostic tool for the betterment of human beings. Now, how can anyone think that the chilling film noir sounds we just heard could possibly be good for you? Well, maybe I should just let our guest explain it. [CRIS] Exactly. [MACK] So let’s introduce her. [MARA MILLS] My name’s Mara Mills. I’m an associate professor of media culture and communication at New York University, where I also co-direct the Center for Disability Studies. [MACK] Mara is a scholar of both media studies and a scholar of disability studies. [CRIS] Right. [MACK] But the reason she’s on our show is that she combines these two seemingly different fields by working in sound. The mysterious recordings that we were just listening to have to do with research that Mara was doing on books for the blind. [MARA] Well in 2015, I was collaborating with Helen Selsdon, who’s the archivist At the American Foundation for the Blind to digitize their Talking Book collections. [jazzy music plays in the background] So we took the entire collection because they were fairly fragile to a high end digitization company in New York. I had a grant from the National Science Foundation to pay for the digitization, so we towed them in the trunk of my car, tons and tons of these records to this company and had them digitize them for us. They gave us back an external hard drive with completely unlabeled WAV files, which meant that I had to go through and listen to each one of the files to figure out what it was and to correlate it to whatever the title was on the finding aid, if there even was one, it was extremely time consuming. [MACK] So Mara has all of these digitized, unlabeled files. Meanwhile, she gets this really great invitation to be a visiting scholar at the Max Planck Institute for the History of Science in Berlin. So by day, she’s doing all of this stuff there at the institute, and then by night, she sitting in her Berlin apartment just listening to these strange files. [MARA] Many of which, in fact, are pretty remote from what one would think of as a book. [music continues to play] So listening to these files, many of them were in fact talking books, which were novels narrated by famous Broadway stars in New York in the 1930s and 1940s for blind readers made in the AFB studios. I expected that. [a sample of an audio book is played. Has underlying static throughout.] [AUDIO BOOK WOMAN] “The Happy Prince” by Oscar Wilde. Recorded solely for the use of the blind in the Talking Books Studios of American Foundation for the Blind Incorporated. Read by Eva Le Gallienne. High above the city on a tall column stood the statue of the Happy Prince. he was gilded all over with… [MARA] Some of them were very unusual. It would be sort of 60 minutes of electronic beeping, which turned out to be the output of reading machine,s scanner based electronic reading machines that were text to tone, things like the visi-toner or the stereo-toner. [several beeps are heard] [CRIS] What’s A visi-toner? [MACK] Well, the visi-toner is like a brand of something called an optophone. The visi-toner was actually made really nearby to us in Dayton, Ohio under a contract from the United States Veterans Administration. Basically, it’s this little machine that you would pass over a line of printed text. It would turn the letters into these sort of musical tones that blind people were able to interpret as letters. [CRIS] That is super interesting, so they have to learn the alphabetic-turnel correlation. [MACK] Yeah, and they can listen to their utility bills. It was used for these sort of perfunctory things just like the mail came in, I got to see what my bills are and they could listen to it like that. [CRIS] I love that. [MAN ON OLD TAPE] You’re hearing capital B now. [beeping that is the equivalent of a capital B] Here’s capital C. [Mara] Then, I came across this album. It seemed to me to be a series of nonsense words and completely ambiguous, nonsensical, disconnected sentences. So, a narrator with a ambiguously gendered voice sounding like a speaker from mid century radio, reading out sentences like you touch and a little comes off on your fingers. [NARRATOR] You touch, and a little comes off on your fingers, and you have to dust off your fingers. [MARA] Then moving on to another sentence totally disconnected from that one. [NARRATOR] A long shiver, it passes. Steps coming slowly. [MARA] My mind was racing to understand what those sentences could mean. Was this about a sugar donut? Was it about bicycle grease? What could this possibly be about? [a ticking clock is heard in the background] [NARRATOR] Afraid. Afraid. [ominous music plays with the ticking clock] The chair was hard, but you knew she didn’t care, and she sat very straight, and around her there was silence. He picked up the little thing and turned it in his fingers, and it seemed he might never stop turning it and feeling of it. They walk together slowly, their feet. making a sound together. [MARA] I decided I had to know more about what this was. Who made this? What was it meant to do? [NARRATOR] All the noise, All the turmoil. When will it stop? So quiet, so peaceful, so serene. [music and clock ticking fade out] [MARA] It turned out that the American Foundation for the Blind, the AFB had actually commissioned this record in 1952, and they commissioned it to be an auditory version of the thematic apperception tests, or TAT, which by then was a fairly well known means of psychological testing for sighted people. It was a series of still images, black and white sketches designed in the 1930s by a psychologist Henry Murray, who worked at Harvard and artist Cristiana Morgan. [old timey music plays in the background, light static is in the recording] The images that Morgan drew were meant to be extremely ambiguous. They were meant to be generalized. They were meant to be interpretable in many different ways by a wide range, almost a universal range, of people. The viewer, in this case of the visual TATs, was usually asked in a psychological office to look at one of the particular images and then to write a story about it. [music continues, mainly piano music] After that story was written about the image, the difficulties arose. The psychologist then had to figure out themselves how to interpret that story, what it meant, what it meant about that person, what it meant about their latent personality traits or about their feelings. [music fades out] [MACK] The thematic apperception test, just the story of it is really fascinating. Morgan and Murray were really interesting people. Morgan was this artist and writer and she was an amateur psychoanalyst who collaborated with the famed psychoanalyst, Carl Jung. Murray was this Harvard psychologist, and the two of them became lovers, which was actually something that Jung had recommended so that they could release their creative energies. [CRIS] I say nothing. [MACK] In the 1930s! [Mack and cris laugh] It was all going off. [MACK] Yeah, it really was. [CRIS] That’s what happens with prohibition. [MACK] I mean, I guess it worked because they created the thematic apperception test after that, and the TAT became one of the most widely used projective tests in the world. [old timey piano music fades back in] [MARA] The auditory version of the projective test, the one commissioned by the AFB, was produced by a psychologist in Hartford named Seidel Braverman and also a fairly well known blind memoirist and radio script writer who lived in New York named Hector Chevigny. Chevigny had written a memoir called “My Eyes have a Cold Nose” that was a reference to his service dog, his eyes. Chevigny, having experience in radio as a script writer, but also as a producer had lots of contacts in New York from whom he could acquire sound effects, voice actors, and he helped Seidel produce this oral analog to the visual TAT. So, the auditory protective test had several sections, and I had to listen to the whole thing to figure out what those sections were. So I’ve now administered about 40 protective test to myself. [dramatic music plays] [NARRATOR] It was there, strong and straight, and seemed destined never to come down. Moving and then stopping, and then moving again, but always forward. Forward, soft, very soft, and warm. [MARA] The opening section contained these ambiguous descriptions of objects or scenes, and at the beginning of this section, listeners are instructed to tell what happened, what led up to it and what the outcome will be. That’s followed by these very ambiguous descriptions of scenes or objects. [NARRATOR] It was harsh, high and loud, and it kept on and on and you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop it at all. [ticking clocks are heard, then fade out] [MARA] So the second section of the auditory projective test is a series of dialogues and an invented language, a completely nonsense language, but spoken in very highly charged or effective intonation. To my mind and to my interpretation, these dialogues sounded either extremely angry and heated or extremely sad. Of course the whole point of it is is to figure out what the listeners interpretation of the dialogues are, but there was no way to know what the language was because they were completely invented words. [a man and woman speak back and forth in a made up language. Their tone appears to be angry] The listener was asked to tell a story about what the dialogue was about, to put words in the actors mouths. It turns out that these voice actors were from New York. They knew Hector Chevigny. They were trained in double talk, a strategy used by people on stage or on radio to use invented words, usually just one at a time, sprinkled into speech for humorous effect. [the made up conversation continues] [MACK] That’s why I said earlier that this recording or these recordings were a relative of radio drama, because this blind script writer Chevigny had access to all of these great voice actors to create these tests. [CRIS] I’m thinking about traditions of nonsense poetry. I’m thinking about Russian futurist trans rational sound, the idea of an invented language that would cross national boundaries. I’m thinking about Esperanto. I’m thinking about other traditions of nonsense poetry like Lewis Carroll’s “The Jabberwocky.” I’m thinking about Hugo Ball with his sound poems. I’m thinking about Kirch Fitters, Ursa Naughta. There’s a whole world here of composing and invented languages. [MACK] I’m thinking about the peas and carrots, peas and carrots that they used to teach us as actors if you were supposed to be whispering in the background. [CRIS] And kind of Pig Latin. We’re into a territory of opacity and transparency in relation to what words signify, what they bring. Not just a sort of literal, literal translations and literal interpretations, but the analogues, the metaphors, the dirty stuff. [MACK] The ways that sounds and words conjure things within us. [the made up conversation continues, then the ticking clock fades in] [MARA] Then there’s a final section of the record with several tests which just have nonverbal sounds, and the sounds were from the ABC sound effects department. Each test would have 10 or so sounds played in a row, a gunshot, a dog barking… [several sound effects are played in a random order] The listener was instructed to aggregate these sounds into, if not a story into some sort of cohesive anecdote, to explain what these sounds are doing assemble together. The listener would either verbally, in each of these cases, say out their explanation to a psychologist or write down a story or a paragraph about them and then submit it to that psychologist. [sound effects continue, then fade out.] [CRIS] So, how widespread was this kind of work with auditory perception on the tests? [MACK] I think that this test itself wasn’t like really used that much with blind people. it was a little bit, but as Mara did more research, she came to realize that the use of sound for this kind of projective testing was pretty widespread. In fact, the history of psychological projective testing is at least as much sonic as it is visual. [calm music plays in the background] [MARA] Well, after listening to the auditory protective test, I wanted to know if this was o…

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    Ep. 7: Screwed & Chopped (Langston Collin Wilkins) Jun 06, 2018
    Show notes

    Slab trunks feature sound systems and visual displays. Since the 1990s, many of Houston’s African American residents have customized cars and customized the sound of hip hop. Cars called “slabs” swerve a slow path through the city streets, banging out a distinctive local music that paid tribute to those very same streets and neighborhoods. Folklorist and Houston native Langston Collin Wilkins studies slab culture and the “screwed and chopped” hip hop that rattles the slabs and serves as the culture’s soundtrack. Wilkins shows us how sonic creativity turns a space—a collection of buildings and streets—into a place that is known, respected, and loved. In this show we hear the slow, muddy, psychedelic sounds of DJ Screw and The Screwed Up Click, including rappers such as Lil Keke, Fat Pat, Big Hawk, and UGK–as well as songs by Geto Boys, Willie Dee, Swishahouse, Point Blank, Biggie Smalls, and MC T Tucker & DJ Irv. Photos by Langston Collin Wilkins. Transcript [low humming and static playing] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [Tamborine beat blends in] Episode 7: Screwed and Chopped. [Hip hop music with vocals cuts in] Parental discretion is advised. Welcome to Phantom Power. I’m cris cheek. Today on the seventh and final episode of our first season, my co-host Mack Hagood converses with Langston Collin Wilkins. Langston is a folklorist an ethnomusicologist active in both academia and the public sector. Working as a traditional art specialist at the Tennessee Arts Commission. Mack spoke with Langston recently about his research into Houston’s unique slab, car culture. The city’s relationship to hip hop and hip hop’s to community. Enjoy. [Different hip hop music plays] [MACK HAGOOD] So before we get into the research of Langston Collin Wilkins, maybe we should get one question out of the way. Why would a folklorist be studying hip hop? Don’t they study things like folk tales or traditional music or quilting? Well, in fact the folklorist I know study things like bodybuilding and fashion and internet memes. Folklorists study everyday creativity. One contemporary definition of folklore is “artistic communication in small groups.” As Langston shows, it’s the way a town like Houston gets a look and a sound all its own, but folklore didn’t lead Langston to hip hop. In fact, it was quite the other way around. [Hip hop music cuts out] [LANGSTON COLLINS WILKINS] Back when I was a kid, around 12 years old, I received my first hip hop record, which was the “Ghetto Boys Resurrection Album” in 1996. [A song from the album plays] Born and raised in Houston, Texas, the south side, where Scarface is from that same area. The Ghetto Boys in my hometown heroes as they are for everyone growing up in Houston in those communities. I just became obsessed with hip hop, and not just the music, but just the larger culture and community surrounding it. I was reading everything I could get my hands on about hip hop, I was watching everything, just studying the culture and that kind of continued through college. When I got the grad school, I went hoping to study hip hop in some form or fashion. It was through hip hop that I learned about folklore and became interested in it. I spent a year doing ethnographic research in Houston amongst the hip hop community there. I focus mostly on I guess the more street oriented or gangsta rappers, and we’re studying the artists and producers connection to place. I was looking at how and why these artists was so deeply connected to the city itself, apartment buildings, streets, neighborhoods, and how these attachments and connection to place have been reproduced in their musical output. [Different hip hop song plays] Why do Houston Raptors always shout out, call out, give dedications to places that they are familiar and intimately connected with? [Several places are listed through hip hop songs] Washington, Armstrong, Mainwelles and St. Williams. Robinson, Thomas Hopes, we all be chillin but when a sucka starts illin’, the chillin gets rough, and like (inaudible) we tie an ass up. [song continues, then ends] [LANGSTON] That’s what I studied and as I was doing that research I realized that this car culture slab, which originated in Houston Texas, was a part of this place identity that these artists were projecting. [Street sounds with cars, motors running, and people talking] It originated amongst working class African Americans in the early 1980s. It’s hard to offer a concrete definition of slabs, but mostly they’re older modeled cars, older model American luxury cars. So we’re talking Cadillacs, Lincolns,old mobiles, if you can find those, and they’re modified in various ways. Some of the core components include the rims or wheels which are in the community call swingers or elbows depending on who you talk to. These are 30 spoked home like wheels made of chrome. That’s a core fundamental aspect to slap culture. Then you have the paint, which is typically called candy paint, really shiny, glossy, paint with bold colors, and beyond that you have the stereo systems which are also important components of the culture. These stereo systems feature multiple speakers, subwoofers that feature incredible bass sounds. They’re typically powered by multiple batteries. Essentially, slab is a modified, customized car and the components are unique to Houston because there are various car cultures, modified car cultures around the country, but I think the combination of the candy paint, the swingers, the elbows, and the stereo systems make slab unique to Houston. [Street sounds fade out] [MACK] Was there anything from your training in folklore that made you see this phenomenon and maybe even hear it in a different way? [Hip hop music plays in the background] [LANGSTON] I had seen these cars going up, but I’d never really appreciated them. They were just how people got from A to B. That’s how they traveled. My uncle who I’m close to, he had not a slab, but he had a modified car, but that was just his car. Going through the program and learning about how cars and other forms of material culture are results of both individual and communal creativity, I began to look at the cars more deeply. [MACK] It’s interesting what you’re saying there, that these material objects we come up with, almost as these reasons we create spaces to come together and generate a sense of community, but also promote this arena for individuals to show off their distinct abilities at the same time. It’s funny, because the automobile has formed that space for a lot of different subcultures. Those old codgers who have their vintage car things like in the parking lot of the Cracker Barrel, or whatever. [LANGSTON] Right, absolutely. [MACK] Maybe not that different in some ways. [LANGSTON] I don’t think it is. Beyond that, as I was taking the music, the cars were constantly referred to in these rappers’ verbal output. So, that’s what turned my attention for staying in the cars because I figured out that they were both an interesting form of creative culture in themselves, but also a fundamental part of Houston rappers, creative output. [Another rap song fades in, then fades out] People who own slabs aren’t going to your local car audio store to get their systems put together, they go to the audio guy in their neighborhood, who knows the culture, knows the community, and knows the aesthetic to put these sounds together. We were just talking about multiple speakers, heavy bass, and the base, you have to be able to feel the bass that’s part of the aesthetic. Actually, you’re able to see the music. That’s another part of this, that your slab is supposed to rattle, and the truck is supposed to rattle and kind of bump when you’re listening to your music which is typically local hip hop. [Hip hop plays from what sounds like a car stereo. You can hear the base.] At least in slab culture, in the music it’s meant to be felt and heard and seen. I think that’s why you get these terms like bang or bump, to refer to the sound systems. [The bass has completely taken over. Hip hop music slowly fades back in to show how the bass fits. Both sounds fade out] [MACK] You mentioned that it’s local music. Can you talk about the kind of music that’s associated with this culture? [LANGSTON] There was a major economic downturn recession in Houston in the early 1980s that resulted in a lot of people being out of work, a lot of black people being out of work, I’ll say. At the same time in the early 1980s, you saw the rise of crack cocaine and that offered a kind of an economic pathway for many of those guys in those communities. So that’s kind of the context. There’s this community of dope dealers in the south side who wanted to flaunt their wealth and wanted their names, and their presence to be as big as possible in the cars and the music, the local hip hop sound. Scared, Screwed and Chopped, kind of allowed them to do that. [Another hip hop song plays] Essentially, screwed means to slow a record down. Screwed records typically are between 60 and 70 beats per minute. It kind of creates a muddy, slow and somewhat psychedelic sound for hip hop. The pioneer of the sound is DJ Screw who passed away in 2000. He was from the south side of Houston, Texas, again, from these working class communities. [A song from DJ Screw plays. It sounds like a hip hop sound that has been slowed down.] [MACK] Anybody who’s familiar with dance music or hip hop production will know that 60 to 70 beats per minute is really slow. [LANGSTON] I think the slowness of the music is heavily influenced by the car culture, because these cars kind of originated out of the street culture in the mid 1980s. Pioneered by local drug dealers who kind of used modified cars to flaunt their wealth. They would put together these cars and they would drive them slowly, to parade them to the streets of Houston. Very slowly so people could pay attention to him and focus on him. [Hip hop song continues] DJ Screws first mixtapes were being purchased by these local drug dealers. They would play them in their cars as they were traversing the streets. You had this slow experience, these slow parades going on through the streets of Houston. You also have the drug culture the lean, the Serb culture, which just makes you move extra slow, and that was certainly a part of the screwed and chopped culture and certainly a part of the slap culture as well. [Different hip hop song plays, this one with with a faster tempo] Lean, also called syrup. There’s other names for depending on who you talk to. It’s essentially prescription strength, cough syrup, mix with some sort of sweetener. I could be soda, or people put candy in the cough syrup. When you drink it, it slows your faculties down. You move slower, you you lose your sense of balance, which is why it’s sometimes called lean because people on the drug kind of lean over so, and again, kind of like slab, it became a marker of local hip hop identity. [Hip hop song continues] So you have this slow, muddy kind of psychedelic sound, that’s the screwed part. Chopping is a fundamental part of the hip hop DJ aesthetic, but what DJ Screw would do was that he would take two copies of the same record, put them on two different turntables, but he would play one record a little behind the other record. When he would mix back and forth, he would repeat phrases. [An example of DJ Screw’s mixing] That became the chopping part of screwed and chopped. Repeating phrases and sometimes repeating percussive sounds, so that the mix between the slowness and these repeated phrases. That’s essentially screwed and chopped music. [An example of screwed and chopped music plays] I think if you get down into DJ Screw’s mixtapes which they were maybe 250 plus of, if you haven’t been part of the culture, it’s hard to really understand what’s going on there, what he’s doing, and how complex it is. [MACK] When you say it’s hard to know how complex what he’s doing is, is it because someone who isn’t familiar with the original songs that he’s mixing can’t tell how he’s chopping them? [LANGSTON] Yeah, I think so. I think because he’s mixing at any given time, maybe five or six records together, and he’s manipulating them in real time and then he’s going back and slowing it all down. It’s just these record,s these songs are hard to navigate. [Upbeat, childlike music plays] [CRIS] People, people, help us out just a little bit here. Go to iTunes, give us a rating. It’ll take under five seconds. If you have more time, a small review helps us bring this to you. Give us some feedback on Facebook. Hit us up on Twitter. You know the score. [Upbeat music fades out and slow hip hop music fades in] [MACK] So far, Langston has shown us how some of south side Houston’s African American residents customize cars, and customize the sound of hip hop. The slab swerved a slow path through the city streets, banging out music that paid tribute to those very same streets and neighborhoods. In the process, individuals made names for themselves as makers of money or cars or sound systems or music while at the same time, the community made a name and an image and a sound for itself. This is the everyday artistic communication folklorists look for. It’s also the way of space, a collection of buildings and streets, becomes a place that is known, respected, and loved. All of this is taking place on the consumption side of the music, but as Langston explained to me, a similar social process was taking place on the production side. When DJ Screw and screwed up click rappers like Little Kiki, Fat Pat, ESG, and Big Hawk made tapes at house parties. [Hip hop music winds down and ends] [LANGSTON] the screwed and chopped mixtapes. Essentially, he would invite rappers over to his house, maybe 3, 4, 5. They would have a big party, and in the midst of this party, he would begin playing music and recording a mixtape. What you’re getting on these mixtapes are a social experience. [A mixtape is played. We hear music with rappers talking and laughing over it.] This whole culture was rooted in the drug game, and so you had a lot of early deaths in these communities in the late 1980s early 1990s. You had a lot of memorial mixtapes, mixtapes that were created in dedication to someone who had just lost their life. You also had mixed tapes that were for someone’s graduation celebration. You had mixtapes to celebrate someone in community who had given birth. All of these tapes has some sort of social function to them. [Mixtape continues. We hear a rapper come up with a wrap.] [MACK] So in that context then, DJ Screw is basically DJing and a party and then people are free styling. [LANGSTON] Yeah he’s DJing a party, people are drinking, eating, having fun, talking crap to each other, and then he would hit record and he would do his mixes. If you’re a rapper in the space, you can come up and you can freestyle. Then they go back to partying for a couple hours. Then he would start recording again, and some other rappers could come up. If you talk to different members of screwed up click they’ll tell you that some of these quote unquote recording sessions will last all night. You would go over to Screw’s house around 7pm and you’d leave at maybe 9 o’clock the next day, the next morning. These are just kind of social events organically captured on tape. That’s what happening. [MACK] While it’s happening in real time, the beat is actually faster, it’s the original. [LANGSTON] Yeah, they’re recording it regular speed. [Mixtape continues, then fades out] The DJ Screw would take the recordings, put them into his four track, and use the piss control knob to slow the speed down. [An example of this slowed down track plays] [MACK] Wow. [Track continues] [LANGSTON] In my eyes, makes especially their rap performances much more interesting because most of those freestyles were done completely off the top of the head, and they were completely extemporaneous and performed…

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    Ep. 6: Data Streams (Leah Barclay and Teresa Barrozo) May 23, 2018
    Show notes

    On July 18th this year, Teresa Barrozo‘s question — What might the Future sound like? — will be opened to global participation. We bring news of World Listening Day, and speak with Teresa about her intervention.We also hear of data archival developments in acoustic ecology. And we speak with Leah Barclay, the editor of Soundscape: The Journal of Acoustic Ecology, about her Biosphere Soundscapes project and some of the challenges of developing accessible apps for mobile platforms.Cris grapples inadequately with the terminology of the anthropophone, the biophone and the geophone in his everyday life.The audio work heard in this episode can be found on the Soundclouds of Leah Barclay and Teresa Barrozo.Transcript [low humming and static playing] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. Episode 6. [squeaking sounds] [CRIS] Data streams. [sound of flowing water fades in as squeaking continues] [MACK HAGOOD] Welcome to Phantom Power, I’m Mack Hagood. Today, My co-host cris cheek prepares us for World Listening Day, an annual global event held every July 18th and sponsored by the World Listening Project with events held all over the planet. We’ll get you tuned in to acoustic ecology and World Listening Day with plenty of time to find an event near you, or perhaps to start one of your own. cris has a show for us in three parts. First, we’ll meet Teresa Barrozo, a sound artist, composer and sound designer for film, theater and dance, and the creator of the theme for this year’s World Listening Day. Next, cris does some close listening of his own in a meditation on the sounds of humans, animals and earth in his neighborhood. Finally, we meet Leah Barclay, who made the recording we’re hearing right now in dolphin code on the great Sandy Biosphere Reserve in Queensland, Western Australia. She’s the president of the Australian forum on acoustic ecology, the editor of Soundscape Magazine and the Vice President of the World Acoustic Ecology forum. Leah spoke with Chris from a remote biosphere reserve when it was still summer in the southern hemisphere. [sounds fade out, ethereal music fades in] [CRIS] World Listening Day enters its second decade in 2018. This year’s theme is future listening, created by Filipino sound artist, Teresa Barrozo. Phantom Power caught up with Teresa amidst her preparations. [ethereal music continues with drum rolls, wooden chimes, and traffic noises periodically playing] [TERESA BARROZO] I’m Teresa Barrozo, and I’m a composer and a curious listener from the Philippines. [CRIS] Whereabouts in the Philippines are you? [TERESA] Carson City, Manila. [sounds continue] [CRIS] Theresa, how did you get involved with the World Listening Project? [TERESA] It’s quite popular every year. I get to read up on it. For this year, I got invited by Eric Leonardo and Leah Barclay to create a theme for this year’s World Listening Day. I’m actually surprised that they invited me, because I’m starting out as a sound artist. My day job is that I’m a composer for film and theater and sound designer for theater, but this since that’s my background, I’ve been very fascinated with how sound and music is used in storytelling. How we use sound and music to manipulate our audience. [sounds are distorted, sped up and slowed down, with an occasional car honk being heard over the noise. Technological sounds are added.] That’s where my interest began. Here in the Philippines, there’s no such thing as sound studies, so I started looking outside the Philippines. I started reading about sound and listening online. Mostly, we find everything online, so I just started Googling stuff about sound. I really got interested. I got interested with sound installations; how sound can stand on its own as an art work. I’m interested on how sound can shape the society. [sounds become softer and have more of a rhythm, or steady beat] I saw online there’s this thing called acoustic ecology. There’s this thing about deep listening, of course I heard about (inaudible). [CRIS] So, what’s your idea for World Listening Day this year? [TERESA] The theme for this year’s World Listening Day is Feature Listening. Here we are inviting people to respond on the question what does your feature sound like? [distorted sounds play again in the background] There are also other general guide questions to consider. I’m going to read them. What does your past sound like? What does your present sound like? Which sounds do you wish to retain? Which sounds do you wish to never hear again? Which sounds do you consider as toxic waste? How does the silence and noise sound in your feature? Which sounds have gone silent? Can you still hear? [rhythmic technological sounds play in the background] [CRIS] People will be responding to World Listening Day all over the world, I hope. Are they expected to make recordings, or to write about the their experience, or both? [TERESA] I personally feel that anyone is welcome to respond in any way they prefer. One example, they’ve been doing this for the past few years, other communities do sound box, and there are some other groups that gather and talk about sound. There are groups who curate concerts or performances that’s inspired by the theme, not just artists but anyone who has something to say or anyone who hopes or dreams can actually be included in this global campaign. It’s not exclusive. [CRIS] What kind of future sound do you imagine? [distorted sounds play again in the background] [TERESA] How we can change our future by being present in our listening. [rhythmic technological sounds play in the background] How we can examine our hopes, dreams and even our ambitions to go where we want to by being conscious of what we hear. [CRIS] One term often used to describe the some of what we hear is “acoustic ecology.” Theresa Barrozo used that there, but what is it? It seems kind of specialist, right? Here’s is a very brief description. Acoustic Ecology, sometimes called echo acoustics or sound safe study, is a discipline studying the relationship mediated through sound between human beings and their environments. My thinking increasingly became about phones. The anthropophone, the biophone, and the geophone. Here’s my own attempt to get to grips with that. I make a quick local inventory of what I hear around me. [as sounds are listested, we hear them in the background] The racket of a pair of my shoes tumbling in the dryer, drifting up from the basement of the house clanks like a broken part in some kind of drum. Not as loud or persistent as the repetitive whirl and woosh of an air conditioner spinning into action during high summer or the clicks and hums of the fridge in the kitchen, but examples of anthropophone nonetheless. Someone sanding a plank with a cranked amp in a trunk to bring some kind of bump crawls by. Peer pressure is the sound of summer mowing, leaf and snow blowing, and all the fun of the power tools that change the dynamic. An anthropophone in the anthropohone scene. All sound produced by humans, whether considered coherent, such as music and language allegedly, or incoherent and chaotic, such as random signals generated primarily by electro mechanical means of ambient noise all forging part of this ongoing sonic patina. In the evenings, I hear the voices of various people calling to their pets across the hill, emergency sirens on the arterial, whistles from distant trains. A stronger wind brings chimes from the neighbor’s deck. A cackle phone of city dwelling here in Northside, Cincinnati. [rhythmic music continues] Lying awake at night, we can hear screech owls outside the house sometimes. Raccoons fighting, persistant dog barks, sometimes even coyotes hunting along the creek bed in nearby woods. By day, blue birds, cardinal sparrows, hawks and starlings flick and tweet and sing and sometimes swarm the trees around our house. Imitate phone tones, perhaps, and in a decent breeze, tall trees creek out and rub against each other. Bees troll for pollen. Squirrels skitter from branches to gutters in across rooftops. At dusk, possums edge out eerily across the steps leading up to the porch. Mice in the leaves. Moles cruise street side strips of lawn along the edge rows of this urban biophone. We cannot hear their frequencies. A resonance within the hill on which house is set. The sounds that travel underground. Granular land, water runs, ears with roots, rock cracks and earth tremors in the gathering ice and or heat. Those songs of the earth, geophony. [moderately tempoed music fades in] Hey everyone, its Mack Hagood. Here at Phantom Power we are so fortunate to have generous funding from the Miami University Humanities Center and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Among other things, this means that we don’t have to implore you to buy a new mattress or join a Sock of the Month Club. If you’re a regular podcast listener, you know what I’m talking about. So luckily, we don’t have to do that. We do however, have one small ask, just go to iTunes and leave us a review and a rating. We’d really appreciate it. It’s a great way for the people who are funding this show to know that folks really are listening to it. It’s also a great way for more people to learn about Phantom Power. Thank you. [music fades out] [CRIS] for the rest of the show, here’s Leah Barclay. [calming music with nature sounds fade in] It sounds like you’re in a great environment right now, actually. There’s some nice bird sounds in the background. [LEAH BARCLAY] I am. Yeah, I’m actually in the biosphere. There’s cicadas, very loud cicadas. Can you hear those now? [sound of cicadas fades in] [CRIS] I can. [LEAH] Okay. I mean, I can close the windows. If that’s… [CRIS] No, no, no, I like it. I like it. [LEAH] All right. [cicadas sounds fade out] My name is Leah Barclay. I’m an Australian sound artist and composer, and my work really revolves around acoustic ecology and environmental field recording. I work with different ecosystems, particularly ecosystems that are often beyond our auditory perceptions, such as rivers and lakes, and marine environments. I create experiences of being immersed and present in those ecosystems. [surreal music and sounds play in the background] [CRIS] Installation style, or concert style, or a mixture of both? [LEAH] Both. So, I use these environmental field recordings in different contexts. Immersive installations, which are always in surround sound, usually eight channel surround sound, and often have interactive elements so that human presence in the space affects the sonic environment. I also create live performances with these materials where I’ll mix all the sounds live again in a surround sound context. These often involve live streams as well, so live streaming hydrophones from a different ecosystem that I will bring into that live performance. [surreal music and sounds continue. A chime sounds, then sounds distorted.] [CRIS] Can you talk about the biospheres project? [LEAH] Yeah. Biospheres Soundscapes is a project that I started in 2012, and the idea launched in the new biosphere reserve in Queensland, Australia. Inspired by the model of biosphere reserves, which UNESCO designated sites designed to look at innovative approaches to the conservation of biological and cultural diversity. It was a model that revolved around a local environment but was globally connected. Biosphere soundscapes really started as this project that could develop participatory acoustic quality experiences in the context of local communities of biosphere reserves, and connect to different sites. Using sound as a tool to inspire ecological engagement, but also leveraging the scientific possibilities of sound for understanding ecosystem health. [gong goes off, music and sounds are more ominous, then fade out] We’re actually rebuilding our sound maps and databases at the moment to create this central repository for community recordings. What we found when we’re running workshops and engagement exercises in the biosphere reserves, is the communities want to keep going. They want to keep recording the environment for both artistic and scientific purposes. We want to create these interfaces that enable them to keep doing that and enable them to share and compare those recordings with other biosphere reserves as well. [a low hum is played in the background with an occasional bug chirping] [CRIS] How are you archiving the data that’s collected? [LEAH] That’s an excellent question. It has been ongoing challenge with the project. Initially, we looked at this model of cataloging everything on site, backing everything up on hard drives, and we’re always taking a different approach to recording. We’’re doing in situ field recording where we’re staying with the equipment, which might be a three hour session. Then we’re doing long duration recordings, which can be a 24 hour recording, or could be a two week continuous recording. So obviously, the kind of backup systems and the data management on site is dramatically different for that kind of material. We’ve gone through different processes of the best way to manage that. That’s why we’re building these new databases and sound max now, which will streamline that process so communities can upload their material directly. As with any project of this nature, where we’re generating huge amounts of acoustic data, there’s a lot of material from the past that hasn’t been annotated at all. Basically, the exciting point where we are now with this kind of technology, with real time species recognition and algorithms that can analyze that acoustic data, we believe that we’re going to be able to use that material as we move forward to prepare acoustic diversity to 10 years ago. [the hum fades out as nature sounds continue] While we’re not annotating and data basing everything in a perfect way, we see great value in collecting as much acoustic data as possible. [CRIS] Yeah, and I presume that tagging must be a really big part of that too. [LEAH] Absolutely. [CRIS] What layers and levels of tagging you get into, how much detail and how much complexity? [LEAH] That’s exactly right. The new community system basically has layers of tagging. You can select location is the big one, time of day, and then our communities can choose them to add more layers of information to the point that they can actually identify specific species if they want to, or identify, simple differences between biophilia and giophilia and things like that. [nature sounds continue, this time more water-based sounds] [CRIS] There will be this gradual…I’m going to be a bit of a space cadet in saying this, global mapping in terms of complexity of sound and location. [LEAH] I think there’s been a lot of calls for that throughout various artistic and scientific communities. Obviously, there’s a lot of incredible soundtracks that exist online that have inspired elements of this project, but often they don’t call for community participation, or the ones that do call for community participation are around specific themes or very broad. Looking at the way that listening can inspire presence and connection to place and all of the future possibilities we have in these scientific fields that allow us to use to monitor environmental health. [calm, quiet music plays in the background with an occasional metal clank] [CRIS] The potential proliferation of live streaming sites triggered by presence or triggered remote. [LEAH] Exactly, the live streaming element is a really interesting one as well. We had set up various models and frameworks to live stream within biospheres, within a parallel project called River Listening using hydrophones in rivers. [sounds of rivers mixed with calm music] [LEAH] It didn’t always work. We had all these issues with, if you’re in a remote area, internet dropping out and technology going missing and the interfaces we were using weren’t working. Then I discovered Sound Camp in London in the UK, who has been running really fant…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Ep. 5: Ears Racing (Jennifer Stoever) May 10, 2018
    Show notes

    This episode, we talk with Jennifer Lynn Stoever–editor of the influential sound studies blog Sounding Out!–about her new book, The Sonic Color Line: Race and the Cultural Politics of Listening (NYU Press, 2016). We tend to think of race and racism as visual phenomena, but Stoever challenges white listeners to examine how racism can infect our ears, altering the sound of the world and other people. We discuss the history of American prejudicial listening since slavery and learn how African American writers and musicians have pushed back against this invisible “sonic color line.” Works discussed include Richard Wright’s Native Son and music by Huddie Ledbetter (Lead Belly), Fishbone, and Lena Horne. Additional music by Graeme Gibson and Blue the Fifth. Transcript [low humming playing] [CRIS CHEEK] This…is…Phantom Power. [COMPUTERIZED VOICE] Episode 5. [CRIS]Ears racing. [low humming and contemporary music fades in] [MACK HAGOOD] Race. We think of it as a visual phenomenon. [CRIS]But race has sound too. [DIFFERENT VOICES GIVING GREETINGS]Hey guys, welcome back. Hi sisters. Hey Jim, (inaudible). Hey everyone. Hey! [CRIS]When you heard those voices, did you give them a race, a class, perhaps some kind of assignation of character and if so, why do we do this? Where does this discriminating ear come from? [MACK] I’m Mack Hagood, [CRIS] and I’m cris cheek. [MACK] Today on Phantom Power we listen, to race or to put it more correctly, we examine how we are always listening to race. Our guide is Jennifer Lynn Stoever, Associate Professor of English at the State University of New York Binghamton. Stover is the author of the “Sonic Color Line: Race and the Cultural Politics of Listening” a book that argues that white racism depends just as much on the ear as it does the eye. She shows how listening has been used since slavery to distinguish and separate black and white and how African American artists and critics like Richard Wright Leadbelly and Lena Horne have identified, critiqued, and push the boundaries of this sonic color line. [techno-like music and a choir play in the background, then fade out] [MACK]Cris, when I spoke to Jennifer, she reminded me of a story that really shows how high the stakes of this kind of listening can be. [JENNIFER STOEVER]You know, I talk in the opening of the book about the case of Jordan Davis. [piano music fades in] [MALE NEWS REPORTER] It happened November 23rd, 47-year-old Michael Dunn told investigators he felt threatened at a gas station. Parked side by side with an SUV full of teenagers, the alleged gunman complained they were playing their music too loud. [JENNIFER]Jordan and his friends are playing hip hop at the gas pump. They were driving they had their music on. They were getting gas. Gas stations in theory (are) a transitory shared space where we all come in with our music we pump our gas and we leave. [MALE NEWS REPORTER]Detective say Dunn confronted Davis who was in the backseat and told him to turn the music down. [JENNIFER] The white man at question felt a proprietary access to the soundscape both it if he decided it was too loud, is too loud for everybody there, that his sensibility should be catered to. That there is a way that a gas station should sound and hip hop is not part of that. And when they said no, he saw that as as aggression. [MALE NEWS REPORTER]Dunn’s attorney says his client thought he saw a gun so he pulled his own weapon and started shooting. [last line echos a few times] [JENNIFER]Shot into the car. [MALE NEWS REPORTER] Firing at least eight shots. [JENNIFER] And killed a young man. [MALE NEWS REPORTER]Investigators never found a gun and the teen’s car. [ethereal music plays in the background] [MACK]In her book, Jennifer Stoever has a term for the way Michael Dunn heard Jordan Davis at that gas station back in 2012. The listening ear. [ethereal music cuts out] [JENNIFER]The listening ear helps us get at what’s really happening in a case like that. The listening ear is a term that I use to think about the way that racialized listening practices come about the way that they accrete over time. I was also trying to think of about how whiteness in the US has become aligned with citizenship, what it means to be a full citizen with all of the rights and privileges there of and have them be respected. And you know, that this has become soldered to not just a white visuality, but a white way of being in the world. And where does this white way of being come from? [ethereal music returns to the background] [JENNIFER]At times, it’s a form of distancing. It’s a way of habit, drawing a line between what is music and what is noise, and putting, say, hip hop on the other side of that line. [cut to snippet of Bill O’Reilly’s show on Fox News] [BILL O’REILLY] Now I submit to you that you’re going to have to get people like Jay Z, Kanye West, all of these gangsta rappers to knock it off. [JENNIFER] And then not just doing that, but then associating the sound of hip hop with a long history of stereotyping of black masculinity as dangerous as outsized as… [BILL O’REILLY] Listen to me, listen to me. You gotta get where they live, alright? They idolize these guys with the hats on backwards. [JENNIFER] And then the sound itself becomes a stand in for talking about black masculinity, and excluding black men from neighborhoods from equal treatment under the law. [BILL O’REILLY] And the terrible rock rap lyrics and, and the drug and all of that. [JENNIFER]Our moment is shifting now. And I think, you know, we are having more overt racial threats. But say, three years ago, conversations were being had through these sonic codes, and so part of what the book is to kind of expose, you know, when we talk about hip hop as being loud, and as being culturally, when we hear these conversations about about hip hop, what are we really talking about? [BILL O’REILLY] It’s these gangsta rappers, and it’s the athletes, it’s the tattoo guys. [JENNIFER] So the listening ears also very, for white people, white men, in particular, the very kind of proprietary. It’s about the imposition of power. [ethereal music fades out] [MACK]I think the thing that I appreciate the most about your book is that it addresses this racial dynamic, this kind of judging by listening that white people do. Something that I think any American really no matter what their politics are, they would at least admit that this does exist, right? [JENNIFER] Yes. [MACK] But when it gets discussed at all, which is pretty rarely, it generally gets reduced to this debate about Ebonics and so called standard speech, but what you seem to be arguing in this book is that we use a prejudicial and even, you know, white supremacist form of listening that involves way more than accent or dialect and that this actual type of listening is central to American racism itself. So maybe could you talk a little bit about your concept of the sonic color line and what that does? [JENNIFER]Yes, thank you. I think that’s a really excellent interpretation of my work. I think that why I chose that title drawing on Dubois’ concept of the color line was the way in which the sonic color line brings together and helps us understand the linkages between the prejudicial listening, that happens in terms of speech, in terms of musical production, musical taste, musical desires, and also the way in which we think about soundscapes and space and really the sonic color line ultimately becomes a way to understand how we create spaces that are exclusionary. America is free and we have these legal protections in terms of space, but if experiences of race and racism are internalized through the senses, we all walk and experience space in very, very different ways. [FEMALE NEWS REPORTER] 11 women kicked off of a wine train and Napa Valley after complaints they were being too loud, but the women say they we’re not booted for being rowdy. They say they were kicked off for being black. [news transition sound] [WOMAN KICKED OFF TRAIN] We made it ya’ll. Look it us; we ready to get on the wine train. [MALE NEWS REPORTER] What started as a joyful event for 11 African American book club members quickly grew sour even before they left the Napa wine train station. [WOMAN KICKED OFF TRAIN] And she said to us, “I’m going to need to lower your…the noise level needs to come down a little bit because you’re being offensive to some of the other passengers.” [MALE NEWS REPORTER] So 45 minutes into the trip, they were told they had to leave and would be escorted off the train. And when that happened a further indignity. [WOMAN KICKED OFF TRAIN] We had to walk all the way through all the additional five cars to be able to get off the train. So they took us and they paraded us through every single car with all the passengers watching us. It was humiliating, degrading, and that’s the part that I will never, ever ever forget. [JENNIFER] It can say that it’s open, and that it’s diverse, and it’s accessible, but because of the way that experiences of sound can be fractured, can be very different. These spaces can be very actively exclusionary toward people of color in ways that can be, hidden or covered over and, and so I kind of started there. Trying to understand where we’re at, in the contemporary moment, but then needing to go back historically to document and trace that. [ethereal music fades out] [MACK]And so, we tend to think about sound as something that just is. [JENNIFER] Yes. [MACK] And something sounds a certain way, but what you’re really emphasizing here is that we all listen through these ideological filters. So, as a guitar player, I think about this sometimes in terms of like, effects pedals. [JENNIFER] I like that metaphor. [MACK] We listen through these different distortions and delays, and we don’t really realize that we have these things in our signal chain. We think we’re listening to a clean natural signal, but there’s no such thing as that. I think a couple of questions for me come to mind. First, what do you want white people to do with that knowledge? I guess we could just start there. What kind of intervention would you like to see your book make with white folks? [JENNIFER]That’s a really important question. I mean, first, as you put it, just this calling attention to the fact that listening is not a natural process for folks that work in sound studies, it seems very basic. in some ways, that’s the foundation of our field. I’m going to paraphrase Hari Kunzru. I just finished teaching the book White Tears with my class. There’s a point where he says, “whether or not you believe in race, race finds you.” I think this is part of it, that the book is written to counter color blindness, and the ideology of color blindness, that if you don’t see race, quote, unquote, that it doesn’t exist, that there’s a certain element of white people, often very liberal white people that no longer believe in race. Race has been proved as a scientific fiction for over 100 years now, but the materiality of racialization is everywhere around us, and so getting white people to not imagine themselves at the center of the human experience. That the way that they hear is not the way everybody hears, and that the way that they hear is impacted by race is impacted by this idea of what whiteness is, and how to inhabit whiteness. One of the ways I think that sound, at least in terms of producing white racial identity works more powerfully than vision is because it allows a feeling of whiteness, that it makes whiteness and race real for white people rather than an abstraction. The way we talk about visuality in race is often that whiteness is invisible, that race is marked onto other bodies, but with sound and hearing in white ways, and sounding in white ways, it actually makes it this very material experience, and because it’s been so associated with Americanness. [orchestra plays out of an old radio] [MALE RADIO ANNOUNCER] The ear is the human organ, the public speaker is most likely to try to impress as he makes a speech. [radio static] [JENNIFER]And naturalize this way. The white way of hearing has been in America for many decades, if not a century and a half or more, the way to be as a human. [MALE RADIO ANNOUNCER] People can be interested in new ideas when those ideas are expressed in well selected words, but did you ever consider how many jobs depend on your ability to express yourself to a group of people? Whether it’s the former owner of project, or a judge on the bench, or a salesman, it’s important to be a good speaker. And when you speak well, you get along better with people. Whether it’s persuading them to come along and have fun at a wiener roast, or trying to be a better citizen at school or in the community. [JENNIFER]And so challenging that and getting an opening of multiple perspectives and multiple interpretations of the same sound is really important. [static continues on a loop] And even the idea say, of a quiet neighborhood as the goal. [upbeat music plays through the old radio] [MALE RADIO ANNOUNCER] The suburbs. [JENNIFER] there’s a way that race and class meet in that, and that brownness, blackness is associated with noise and sound, and the way that neighborhood soundscapes are policed. [nature sounds with kids yelling and playing] The way that noise complaints are called on neighbors that often start a whole chain of potentially dangerous legal implications and problems. [nature and kid noises fade out as ethereal music fades in] These conversations need to be opened up, not imposed based on a white middle class sensibility. So really, kind of shaking up and realizing the partiality of white listening for white listeners. It sounds simple, but it’s actually quite difficult to do, and I work on that in my teaching all the time. [ethereal music fades out] [CRIS]As a literary scholar, one of Stoever’s techniques is to engage with African American literature as a storehouse of historical sound. One example being a close reading of Richard Wright, author of Uncle Tom’s Children, Black Boy and Native Son. [JENNIFER]I’ve come to think of certain kinds of music in particular as being sonic traces of listening experiences and DJ’s as communicators of ways of listening. I realized when I dropped into Richard Wright’s Native Son, I was receiving similar transmission of listening practices. [man imitates an alarm clock as upbeat jazzy music fades in] [CRIS]An alarm clock clang in the dark and silent room. A bed spring creaked. A woman’s voice sang out impatiently. This is the first three lines of Native Son. All establishing the scene through sound. [JENNIFER]Bigger Thomas moving through the streets of 1940s late 1930s segregated Chicago. We were, as readers, invited to listen as hard as we can to how bigger heard the city and realizing that many of his cues and many of the most important metaphors and imagery in the book comes through sound. That Bigger can walk across the street from his extremely noisy apartment complex in the tenement I should say kitchenette really in the in Bronzeville, in South Side, and then move across the street to the Dalton mansion in the very wealthy, white neighborhood in Hyde Park, and everything becomes quiet. [upbeat jazz fades out and ethereal music fades in] This seems very natural. We’ve come to naturalize that inner city neighborhoods are noisy that wealthy neighborhoods are quiet but what Right does is to show us that it’s the overcrowding of the neighborhood that makes it noisy. It’s the lack of protection or controls on industry and conditions of segregation create that metallic noisiness something that Laura Toledo calls “environmental racism.” That’s where the factories get put. That’s where the incinerators are. When he moves across the street that this quietness is not a natural state of affairs, but it’s extremely constructed, and that buffer is set up so that the residents do not encounter or have to think about the bl…

    Full show notes at the publisher

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