Sonic Snapshots is a growing collection of short recordings and images that derive from my soundwalking work.

Today I was struck by the absence of people, both in terms of their physical bodies and their human sounds. It’s the summer session, so there are less people on campus. It’s quieter. But the absence seemed to be dual. People were missing, but any sounds of people in the area were covered—being made absent or missing—by the prevalence of construction sounds. Right outside the entrance to the main library, it appears the main garden beds are being excavated to make way something new. Standing a short distance away from the digging equipment, it was hard to hear any footsteps unless someone was right next to me. 

I found it curious that the sounds I heard with my ears were essentially reversed in this recording. In other words, the foreground/background sounds switched in the recording. I shouldn’t have been surprised: what our ears hear, and what recording equipment picks up, is clearly going to be different. (I am reminded of Westerkamp’s Kits Beach Soundwalk.) On this day, the various birds and the parents talking to their children—it was a homeschool day at the blueberry farm—were the primary sounds I noticed. The blueberries kerplunking in my bucket, a la Blueberries for Sal, were quieter. In the recording, the sounds of my feet shuffling, arms brushing branches, and the kerplunking of the berries is in the foreground; often the birds and families talking recede father into the background. 

Birds? Here? Really? I was surprised to hear birds while walking in the concrete parking garage, in part because the newly built dormitory creates a greenless space between the two structures. But it’s not uncommon to hear birds on campus, so perhaps I should not have been surprised—there is green space on the west and north sides of the parking garage. But, like the example in Paris (forthcoming), the visual and aural landscapes felt incongruent, albeit to a lesser degree. 

I tumbled off the metro, bleary from a transatlantic flight with two layovers. I looked at the signs and began navigating toward the Eurostar platforms; I still had a train to take from Paris to Brussels. As I traversed from a lower level to an upper level, I began hearing birds. Initially, I thought exhaustion was impacting my hearing—but, no, I was definitely hearing birds. I paused, trying to determine if I was hearing real birds or a sound installation. I was in a section of the station with no entrances/exits and no apparent open space. No birds were flying inside, at least that I could see. There also did not seem to be easily accessible information about a sound installation, either at the station or through a Google search.

I felt unsettled by the incongruity of visual and aural components, perhaps due to my travel fatigue. I know birds can get inside structures of all sorts, but this particular spot in the station seemed too far inside for a bird to venture. The sound source was, and continues to be, a mystery.

Bonus: If you are interested in Parisian soundscapes, check out Sounds of Paris! 

I had not listened to this recording since I had made it, which, as I write this, was nearly a year ago. As it started, I immediately remembered the guitarist singing in the airport. Ironically, I don’t think I was trying to capture his singing. I believe I was actually trying to gather the sound of travelers moving through the space between terminals. But know, I find myself wondering how the guitarist got that gig. What security does he have to clear each day? And where does he park? I tend to get tied up in the little details. 

As you might easily discern, he’s singing “Only Wanna Be with You” (1994) by Hootie and the Blowfish. This song circulated when I was in late elementary and middle school, so it has a nostalgic feeling for me. It doesn’t bring up any specific memories—it simply evokes an earlier, simple, “feel-good” kind of time when I didn’t have to think about things like scheduling annual doctor’s appointments or paying off a mortgage. 

Tacoma in May is lovely. I could probably go every year and just be delighted. There’s an Airbnb across the street from my best friend’s apartment in Tacoma—it is the best setup I could imagine. I’ll be incredibly sad if the setup ever becomes unavailable. 

Listening to this recording, the soundscape is full but not overwhelming. Chirps and trills of the bugs and birds coexist with wind, occasional people talking, traffic, and an airplane. I’m struck by how the animals do not cease their sounds as the airplane flies overhead. I’ve read about manmade, machinery noises interfering with animal sound production, but this did not seem to be the case here. 

This visit, which was my first, there was a house being built in the lot next to my Airbnb. It was very close; I felt like I could have reached out and touched the house, although I am sure there was actually more space than that between structures. Funnily enough, the construction sounds on the recording are not connected to the house being built. In fact, there was no building the whole week I was there. It’s a real shame, too, because I grew up with a father that was constantly building. I usually awoke on Saturdays to hammering, drilling, sanding, or some other sound created by a tool. Such sounds are familiar to me—even a bit “homey.” I would have been the perfect guest to endure some construction sounds!