He retreats to his shell and listens to bells

peter wyethLeave a comment

Well, there was a lot of effort and excitement that went into the Public Service Broadcasting gigs that went ‘PFFFT’ in a moment after the first show; my ears buggered by the massive volume of a PA trying to make the music heard over 200 odd people chatting to one another.

It hurt. It hurt a lot. I had to pull out of the other shows as I couldn’t go through with it another two nights in a row.

Ironically, I have taken solace in one of the loudest sounds I know. Church bells.

The new bells of Notre Dame courtesy of the wonderful Des Coulam

 

 

 

 

 

But what if music was or is….

peter wyethLeave a comment

I’ve mentioned Andy Goldsworthy before, when talking about ephemarilty in music before and watching this made me think about it all over again.

I know that music is fleeting, temporary but our documenting of it undoes that ( not that I  think that is a negative thing ). But imagine if the documenting of that transitory moment could only be done by those there and not with recorded sound. If all you had was a description in words and sound told and made by those that witnessed it. How would it sound to you then? Would it be as strong or would it be altogether something greater drawn of the imagination?

 

Is this irony?

peter wyeth1 Comment

is this irony?

(subtitled mild rage, subtitled ‘I don’t what it means anymore’)

I came across the above photo via the lovelies at The Sound Is Not Asleep and their Facebook page (I think it originates from Jamie Tate of The Rukkus Room (looking in the corner)).

Whilst I do note a wry irony in the making of music on a gamillion pounds worth of equipment only for it  to be consumed on cheap kit using a form of data compression that removes a whole lot of the frequency spectrum, that’s not the noteworthy point.

Without the mp3 format I’d imagine about 98% of the music made in studios wouldn’t be heard by anyone beyond the friends and family of those making it. And there’s the rub. Mp3’s crappy quality aside, they allow us to share what we create so easily. And it’s the sharing that’s the important bit, getting people to hear what you do. We can bitch all we like, we just want to be listened to. And that’s also why we bitch. Or is that irony?

 

 

 

peter wyethLeave a comment

Came across this fabulous article via the ever wonderful Des Coulam’s Sound Landscapes Blog – a site I thoroughly recommend you follow. I was particularly drawn to the last paragraph of this article.

‘“You never listen” is not just the complaint of a problematic relationship, it has also become an epidemic in a world that is exchanging convenience for content, speed for meaning. The richness of life doesn’t lie in the loudness and the beat, but in the timbres and the variations that you can discern if you simply pay attention.’

On Loughrigg Fell….

peter wyethLeave a comment

Two weeks ago to the day, three generations of us climbed up Loughrigg Fell. The picture above is of our view of Grasmere coming up to the top of the ascent. It was a gloriously clear and bright day. The view below us in the sun was incredible and I doubt any photo could do it justice. I remember distinctly the amazing white of a swan at Grasmere’s edge where a young family were feeding it – the brightness. All of the colours below seemed almost hyper-real.

But what about the sound I heard on that fell side? Well, that’s a curious thing. There was little bird sound – a couple of jackdaws earlier on, a lone rock pippit. There was also the voices of fellow walkers. But over all of that was one particular sound – the sound of the traffic making it’s way along the road though and out of Grasmere. It was constant, it was distinct……

But then over the peak was another sound all together. A quietness punctuated by the voices of walkers dotted about continuing their walk or eating sandwiches. There was also the delicate sound of the herdwick sheep nibbling on the grass, almost like a brushing sound. So light and delicate and gentle. I have no recording of it, just the memory of it’s softness on that beautiful day.