Sustainable Soundwalking - Passing on and relaying acoustic ecology's core practice

Generally speaking one can observe that more minutes per hour were occupied by aircraft sounds in 2018, in comparison to 45 years ago. The busiest hour occurred on July 11, when there were only 9 minutes without any airplane sounds. More significantly, these pauses were filled by drones from passing boats, traffic from Lion’s Gate Bridge and nearby building construction. Elizabeth’s notes elaborate on that situation:

Between the aircrafts, boats, nearby construction, the traffic behind me on Marine Drive and on the Lions Gate Bridge, there was a constant loud hum. At times I thought I might have heard a plane but couldn’t see it, and it was difficult to discern its sounds against the other drones – likewise, I could see some distant planes but could not hear them distinctly. So there were likely more planes in the airspace than what I had tracked on paper.

 
She also observed that the passing boats masked the bridge traffic, which in turn masked the approaching seaplanes. They only became audible when they reached the same height as the bridge and appeared “as if out of nowhere”, as she noted, from behind the traffic hum. The other aircrafts in this study were mostly helicopters, one of them circling over downtown for at least 6 minutes. This is a marked difference from the 1973 study, where the other aircrafts were mostly jet planes (and comparatively fewer in number). Some of the ‘other aircraft’ noted on July 2, 1973, most likely were private small aircraft, that is, recreational activity on a sunny Canada Day long weekend. I don’t recall helicopters from those counts, most likely because the helicopter pad located downtown by the harbour had not been built yet.

             Although the time grids of the other two days this summer show a few more minutes without aircraft sound (15 ½ and 16 ½ minutes), the general sense is, that these sounds were as much part of the overall and constant drone as the road and boat traffic, as well as the nearby construction. Not so in 1973. In fact, I remember that I could trace the seaplane sounds from beginning to end, that is, they were not masked significantly by other transportation noises. It may be precisely this that made them stand out so much from the general ambience and as a result the planes would have been perceived as a real nuisance - not just by Schafer but as I recall, also by people working in offices near the harbour’s waterfront. Were we to conduct a similar social survey now with residents in the area as was done in 1973, my conjecture is that the seaplane sounds might be noticed even less than 45 years ago, precisely because they seem to blend more smoothly into today’s denser mix of transportation sounds. It could also be that seaplane motors have become quieter since then and therefore no longer stand out as much.  Nowadays it may indeed be the helicopter sounds that would be noticed the most. 

             This study was executed entirely through listening and could be understood as an ear witness account of airplane behaviour in this part of Vancouver. Like a soundwalk it revealed the character of this soundscape. But unlike a soundwalk where participants are usually encouraged to open up to all possible sounds, the listener in this study was asked to focus on one type of sound only. The result was that a very specific aspect of the soundscape was highlighted while awareness of the sound environment as a whole was maintained. 

             To engage seriously in the field of acoustic ecology requires, as it does for all ecologists, to know, what Pauline Oliveros calls the two “attention archetypes. These two modes are ....focal attention and...global, or diffuse attention. These attention archetypes are complementary processes. Both modes are necessary for survival and for the success of our activities.” Applied to acoustic ecology it means to apply our focused attention to specific acoustic concerns while staying connected to all knowledge about the acoustic environment. It is like listening itself: lending an attentive, focal ear to detail while at the same time hearing, being aware of the soundscape as a whole.  

No boat motors at this moment. One cricket keeps sounding and the gently lapping water of the incoming tide sounds closer now, like an intimate whisper near my ear. It is extraordinarily quiet. But there is something unsettling about it. I hear no birds. It is as if the smoke has silenced them. Suddenly the cricket sounds desolate. The air around us is ever more thickened by the smoke that has crept in gradually and quietly. It is a grey and static stillness, enlivened only by the lazily lapping wavelets and an occasional breeze around my ears. Take a moment and compare this soundscape to your own. Yes, do open up to it and listen to it in all its detail, as if it was totally new to you. How does it affect you? Does it sound like a safe environment? Do aspects of it unsettle you?

 

Acoustic Ecology is still a relatively new field of study and is continually in the process of defining itself. But one thing is certain: that its concern about the relationship between soundscape and listener and how the nature of this relationship makes out the character of any given soundscape, puts it squarely into the centre of ecological thinking. Listening to the soundscape, in the context of this work, is at least as important for deepening our understanding of the soundscape as is research and study. In fact, it is perceived as the crucial and meaningful link between all fields of study in sound and the need for action towards soundscape improvements. In other words, listening is believed to be the very focus that makes all study in sound environmentally and ecologically meaningful and effective. Thus, a combination of rigorous aural awareness of our environment and in-depth studies of all aspects of sound and the soundscape is a way in which the acoustic ecologist can attempt to tackle the sound issues in today’s world. [9]

             Field recordist and musician Peter Cusack tackles an urban soundscape ingeniously and tells us about it in his beautiful small book Berlin Sonic Places, A Brief Guide:

City residents get to know particular sonic places very well. Indeed, those at home or on regular travel routes become so familiar that they virtually disappear from our awareness. This does not mean that they are unimportant. On the contrary, their very familiarity means that they are essential to personal city knowledge, key to our sense of place and vital to our navigation through urban geography. Berlin Sonic Places: a Brief Guide is an attempt to draw attention again. Not only to the number and variety of sonic places in the city, but to their intricacy, interest and continuing significance. They are the small beauties of everyday sound and, sadly, too often ignored.[10]     

   
Ever so often a journalist is hit by the reality that noise is an ecological issue, can dangerously affect our health and interferes not just in human communication but also in that of the animal world. At that point we typically get an article in the newspaper with titles like Sonic Doom: how noise pollution can turn deadly, one that was published recently in the Guardian Weekly.[11] Alarm bells ring for a while, but nothing changes. There is little or no follow-up, let alone real action towards reducing the noise problem. I have observed this pattern ever since the 1970s. But at least the journalist’s ears have been touched enough to move him into the action of writing.

             Such singular articles usually start with a personal account of the journalist’s experiences with noise in their lives or even while trying to write the article – just like I sprinkled this text with my impressions of the soundscape in which I am doing the writing. It is a moment of listening, almost like in a soundwalk, that grounds the writer in his or her sonic reality and enables a type of sonic writing, a tone that hopes to draw readers into listening to their own soundscapes and be touched by the information in the article. Someone will always be touched.

             Without knowing what enters our ears and without understanding the environmental, social, cultural and personal implications of this input, there can be no study of acoustic ecology. Daily practice of listening develops in each one of us a conscious physical, emotional, and mental relationship to the environment. And to understand this relationship is, in itself, an essential tool for the study of the soundscape and provides important motivation for engaging with today’s acoustic ecology issues—no matter whether the context is our personal or our professional life. In addition, listening creates the much-needed continuity in an otherwise fragmented field of study or area of environmental concern.[12]

    Max Dixon in London, speaking from the perspective of town planning and urban design, emphasizes this for today’s readers:  

The soundscape approach recognises the complexity of human responses. Its focus is on the meaning of sounds. Evaluation is largely through perceptual effects. It recognises the limits of acoustic measurement. It adopts a holistic approach. Perception is governed by the relationship between an individual and specific environment, as currently experienced, as influenced by memory, or by expectations or meaning.[13]

 
Although none of this is new to those of us who have worked in the soundscape field since the 1970s, his rewording into a language appropriate for today, for younger ears, is invaluable. What is new since then, is the fact that these words are coming from someone whose professional focus is in urban planning and design. He also reminds us, that  

Guided listening walks, in which we bring the powers of ‘the audience’ to bear, can be valuable engagement. Practitioners also need to develop new ways of observing people’s actual behavior, rather than just asking them what they think. …Public engagement should not mean a lowest common denominator or what is already ‘popular’. We need to develop new modes of co-creation. We need to respect local autonomy and a wide range of human needs differing across time and space. We need to encourage creative specialists such as sound artists to offer new possibilities with integrity.[14] …Developing such innovation will require a range of skills, from acousticians to planners, architects and other designers. But we also need visionary impulses to inspire new thinking. In short, we need a new “Sonic Land Art”.[15]

       
Recently we have been warned by the US publication of a ‘heat map’ which charts road and aviation noise, in which parts of the country the din from traffic and airplane noise is the most unrelenting. “It also reveals where sound is an environmental justice issue. Some of the loudest urban neighborhoods are also the poorest.”[16] And an earlier article from 2012 suggests:

Maybe it’s time to start looking at townhouses and bus shelters with the same acoustic care engineers have long given to concert halls and schools. In doing so, it’s possible we could make the city sound not just quieter – but, in a very real way, more pleasant.[17]

Imagine if all sound-related disciplines added soundscape listening, analysis and topics of acoustic ecology to their course curriculum. Imagine if, for example, future nurses, doctors, and medical staff were trained to conduct soundwalks through hospital environments followed by critical sound analyses and connect the results of such study to questions of convalescence and healing. Imagine if architecture students were requested to analyse acoustic environments of existing buildings with the same intensity as music students are asked to analyse existing musical compositions; or if students of urban planning were asked to analyse acoustic environments of existing parks or residential areas; if sound design and soundscape analysis were as high a priority in film schools as visual design and script writing; if environmental studies departments made courses on sound ecology a high priority; if business courses emphasized silence as a marketing tool for all machinery; if police education would teach the complexities of law enforcement in noise issues; if clothes designer courses would teach about the sound of fabric; if journalism courses would create ear cleaning courses focusing on the sound of language, voice, sound and music in media; if school teachers and principals were trained to create school soundscapes conducive to learning?

             Some of this type of education, I am sure, already exists in many parts of the world, probably in small pockets, where an individual or group are seriously concerned with the quality of sound environments. It may exist formally as a course in an educational institution; or less obviously as a subtle influence on listeners in public spaces through conscious design; or informally in daily life where an intensely listening person influences those that cross his or her path. [18]    

I am grateful for being around indigenous sensibilities from the three young women in the workshop, who believe in uncovering, recovering, their culture, stories, myths, languages, histories. They are here to explore the aural dimensions of their own indigenous culture, finding ways that connect to their aural roots and retelling their stories and existences through the sound medium of radio and podcasting. Aware of the damage that has been dealt them, their families and ancestors, they are putting their energies into rebuilding, re-growing their cultural roots and their confidence. And they are doing this courageously from the few remains that have survived the destruction, having – really - to reinvent, because so much knowledge has been lost, working with whatever tools are available to them.  I sense how much their creations are driven by the love to their children and elders, by their connection to the land and their deep respect of the natural world. Meanwhile they are teaching us – the non-indigenous – something through their grounded and quiet ways of listening – something that is almost too ephemeral to grasp, let alone articulate. Will those of us who are not indigenous, take the time to listen to indigenous voices? Will indigenous people allow for our questions and inevitable mistakes that are bound to occur along the way of reconciliation? Will we listen with them through their silences – silences that often seem rather long to us, but in actual fact are active pauses in time, places of a listening-to-the-heart, in search of words that will truly voice the essences of their cultures?  

Remember, we are in the inevitable tow of ecological gravity, not economic haste. Ecosystems spiral slowly forward in time-—evolving—and if they are to survive, economies will have to eventually synchronize with the ecologic tempo.[19]

  
And I might add, …with the indigenous tempo that has traditionally been in tune with the ecologic one. Some have observed that, by setting up a situation where listening is the central focus for learning, information gathering, mutual understanding and reconciliation, a whole new dynamic emerges: respect for everything and everybody that is heard and an equalization of differences and hierarchies. In other words, it is not so much the pedagogical approach or an educational method that deepens the understanding of ecological, social, and cultural relationships, but the action of listening itself.                 

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