A Closer Listen
As announced in our Fall Music Preview, harkening critters is the field recording highlight of the season. A virtual who’s who of the genre, the 4-hour, 33 track triple album contains the sounds of “critters” from around the world, while asking if the real critters are the ones who are recording them. A 76-page booklet contains photographs and descriptions from each of the artists, which include so many familiar names we’re astonished that Pablo Diserens was able to gather them all together for a common cause. All proceeds go to Friends of the Earth, an organization that battles environmental degradation, supports human rights and challenges corporate greed. Those intrigued by An Immense World and The Great Animal Orchestra will find this the next natural step, or a worthy accompaniment to a return read.
What does it sound like where you live? From my house, I am able to hear bluejays, cardinals and goldfinches, a chorus of primary colors; bald eagles, who live in a protected nest; and in the night hours, horned owls and Eastern screech owls, striking fear into the hearts of wandering squirrels, rabbits and chipmunks. The dawn chorus is rich is hue, already fading as the autumn migration begins, flocks of geese flying overhead on their way to some warmer clime.
Whenever we travel, we meet new biophanies. harkening critters brings a bouquet of sounds, all in the same place. It’s tempting to highlight the artists ~ KMRU, Ludwig Berger, Izabela Dłużyk, Cheryl E. Leonard and more ~ but more exciting to note the species, for example the red howler monkeys, dwarf frogs, buffaloes and hammer-headed bats. No single location boasts all of these residents, and no recording takes place in a vacuum, so one is also able to hear the voices of their friends, or perhaps their stalkers or next meals, depending on where they land in the food chain.
Alëna Korolëva leads off the set with the sumptuous “night creatures of the little lakes,” its beauty offset by its warning. The recordings were made in a patch of forest under threat of development, a gravel company having conducted a survey that concluded there was “no significant animal life” in the region, and “no amphibians.” Listen for yourself, and try not to be angry. As an aside, this is one of the reasons liner notes are so important, placing the sounds of nature in context, honoring the spirit of Songs of the Humpback Whale, the 1970 album that spawned a global movement.
But of course, there’s lots of fun to be had here as well, beginning with the raucous “fox and cranes echoing,” which really does sound like a conversation, and “hammer-headed bats,” discovered by Martha Mutiso while recording amphibian sounds. And who thought that Brasil’s “crying” dwarf frogs could sound louder than dogs? In “formic attack,” Stéphane Marin intrudes on a colony of ants, who return the favor by messing with his electronic equipment, either ruining the overnight recording or turning it into gold, depending on one’s reception of the sounds (we lean toward the latter). Spider monkeys express their disapproval of Marc Namblard, and in so doing ironically give him the recording he desires. Gina Lo‘s “cowie bay” sounds like a playground packed with hungry children and leaking balloons, but it’s all birds, arriving for a buffet.
Not all of the field recordings are straightforward; KMRU combines recordings from multiple locations, as does Artificial Memory Trace, who lobbies for the equality of all entities in “insect nation statement (consensus).” murmer zooms in and out, from the micro to the macro. Jonáš Gruska plays with time and frequency, exposing formerly inaudible ultrasonic sounds. Nikos Sotirelis allows electromagnetic frequencies to “pollute” a recording of coral reefs, imitating the stress induced on the local ecosystem.
Would Johnny Cash have wandered into a cave to die had he known it was home to 100,000 bats? Joshua Bonnetta offers a window to today’s Nickajack cave. Felicity Magan records the sound of hibernating bees in winter, buzzing lightly as they huddle together for warmth. Pablo Diserens is haunted by a creaking noise that accompanies him in the Arctic, only to discover the local kiiruna. Jana Irmert visits the Amazon’s pink river dolphins, endangered but not yet extinct, a reminder of the Yangtze river dolphins in Last Chance to See. Yoichi Kamimura records the Ribbon Seals of Shiritoko, lamenting that rapidly increasing ice melt has caused them to leave the area since the recording was made. In contrast, Cheryl E. Leonard visits Port Reyes National Seashore, now home to 4000 elephant seals, who were once slaughtered nearly to extinction.
While recording “dusk by the edge of the forest,” Alyssa Moxley inadvertently captures the sound of distant chainsaws, a reminder of the ever-more-difficult search for “one square inch of silence.” No matter how gorgeous these recordings are, no matter how immersive, human intrusion lurks at the borders, threatening to engulf the center and eradicate its sounds. As we harken to the cries of these critters, will we do so only for enjoyment, or will we also be moved by the details of their plight? (Richard Allen)
Mon Sep 16 00:01:59 GMT 2024