There were plenty of issues with organising 11 people to create a single project over the internet. Communication was not the greatest, and I felt that many people were reluctant to share their opinions or viewpoints on the way things were being done. In extension of that, getting hold of such people meant messaging them privately. I ended up having to privately message almost 80% of the group, who had not been keeping up to date with the (admittedly overflowing) groupchat, just so that they were clear on what to do, when the deadline was, what the options of themes were and where to vote for their preferred option. UAL did not provide us with much in the way of resources to assist in organisation, and by the time this was vocalised to our tutors we had already found our feet and managed to set up a semi-functioning system. It would have been nice to have some sort of process that assisted in our organisation from the start, although I am hesitant to suggest one now without proper thought. Collaborating online with just one person is difficult, but 11 different people seemed almost an impossible task. And at the end, I only felt like I had collaborated with three or four of the group members, one of whom was my fellow dubbing mixer, Dean. The others, I felt I had just received files from, and the whole situation felt more transactional that collaborative, unfortunately. I do not know how to avoid this, but I suspect that smaller groups might help.

I’ve been very interested, as I’m sure many are, in documenting these strange circumstances in which we find ourselves. Our current routines, once we escape the pandemic, will soon fall away and be forgotten. I endeavor to record (somehow) these routines and oddities so that I can look upon them with curiosity in the future. I started documenting with 35mm film photographs, carrying a point and shoot camera with me everywhere I hope to catch glimpses of how odd the current days are. I have also begun to take as many physical objects as a I can, for preservation. Signs and posters from the Underground, warnings and such the like. These, I hope to display many years down the line. However, I would like to extend my practice into the aural realm, sound being my ‘thing’. My only portable recorders are tape recorders. Most of which have quality that is far too low for my needs. I’d like to purchase a field recorder to assist in my documentation, but I have ran into an issue. How does one document a lack of sound? Is there really a lack of sound? I’ve moved to a new residence, and have only experienced my new area during a pandemic – this means I have no scope of reference regarding how it sounds when everything is up and running.

How does one create honest, lovable, memorable field recordings? The everyday sounds seem so mundane at the time, and yet could provide valuable insight into life. Sound is fleeting, it is heard and then is gone forever, so maybe every moment is worth capturing? I doubt it, not every moment is interesting. But then, the question arises of ‘what are the interesting moments?’ What is worth documenting?

It brings to mind a peculiar photograph conundrum I often think about. People will sooner take photos of extraordinary things than mundane things – except it is the extraordinary that people are more likely to remember without needing the aid of photos. Perhaps the ordinary is better deserving of the film development costs, because it will remind us of times that would have otherwise gone forgotten. And is that not, after all, the most compelling reason to document in general? Recording that which would otherwise be forgotten? I find it interesting, but I am no closer to figuring out the best strategies for aural documentation in this pandemic. Perhaps, upon purchasing a recorder, a solution will naturally form.

I started my sound recording journey with a small Fostex 4-track cassette recorder (the only features being level and pan – no inter-channel bouncing), as it was cheaper than buying an interface and software. It taught me a lot about simple principles such as gain staging and how to record audio so that it sounds the way you want, rather than manipulating in post. Upgrading to a better 4 channel recorder (Tascam 414 MKII) opened up my horizons vastly, and it felt like I was at the controls of a vast spaceship, overflowing with possibilities. Low and high shelving EQs, inter-channel bouncing (ping-ponging), 2 sends with dedicated returns, switchable noise reduction, variable doublespeed and more. I quickly taught myself to splice tape, both to repair broken tapes and also to create the holy grail of tape experimentation – tape loops. Inspired by Frippertronics, plenty of Eno’s work and also early radiophonic workshop experiments by D. Derbyshire and D. Oram, I soon discovered the fun of creating sound-on sound loops that I could pitch up and down, filter, and even play backwards. You can imagine the joy of my first mobius strip, and my first long loop that ran the length of my bedroom. I created drum loops to play along to, guitar loops slowed down to infinity (even recorded on a doublespeed machine, then played back on a standard machine) to create smeared ambient textures reminiscent of synth pads, and once I acquired my first monophonic synthesiser I layered multiple notes on the same channel (using sound on sound recording) to make chords, then played these chords using the faders.

In recent years, I have fallen out of love with the tape loop. It became very finicky to splice, frustrating and I was also ending up with plenty of wasted tape, without any blank shells to put the reels into. But, the first assignment to create a sound piece got me thinking, and I brought out an old loop to re-record onto. Layering voices and messing with the pitch, I found the finishing touch to my track, and also found myself in child-like awe of the simple tape loop once again. Life has looped around again, full circle. Excuse the pun.

Hopkins is a sound editor and works with a lot of wildlife documentaries. She had a lot of interesting things to say with regards to foley/diegetic audio vs. soundtrack and effects. Making room for each other, merging the lines between the two, sometimes opting for one more than the other and many more concepts. She also mentioned a long-standing idea of hers that there should be a red button feature where you can watch programs without any music, leaving only the diegetic audio. I find this an interesting concept with plenty of potential, although since TV as we know it is slowly on its way out, to be replaced by streaming services I wonder how this feature can be altered to appeal more to the audience of the future, eventually perhaps finding a permanent home on all streaming services as an expected feature.

Hopkins also talked about the technical side of her work. Two things that I took from this were her sentiments on sound choice, and also field recording. With regards to the former, she said that most of her ability to choose sounds comes from experience and knowing when to be subtle and when to be brash is a very difficult skill. Although, she did say that early on in her career she tended to over-exaggerate with more layers than are needed for certain sounds. This is useful information, as optimising the sounds that are already there is a technique that I utilise often, rather than just layering plenty of other sounds. In terms of the latter, she advises a couple of things – firstly, always record more than you need. Also, do your best to isolate – wind is the enemy. She tends to have ambience in stereo, and sound FX in mono, which helps with the mixing process to create focus on certain things.

Feminism in music, the arts, and academia. These are the key themes that Osman was talking about during this lecture. Although, oddly enough, the thing that stood out to me the most in this lecture was her decision to do a pre-recorded lecture, despite her being able to attend ‘in person’ as it were. This enabled her to display the lecture as a work of art in its own right, which I found fascinating. The possibilities that she explored with this simple decision were amazingly well executed, and I found myself fully attentive, rapt with anticipation for the entirety of the afternoon.

Pieces that she talked about faded in and out of the background, and her voice was sometimes eclipsed her works. Time was very loose, she would chop and change her voice recording to merge better with some pieces, and the lecture felt more akin to a well orchestrated performance rather than just a pre-recorded, one sided conversation. Although, it still felt decidedly human – she would stumble over words, forget the names of people and repeat some things. I’m a big fan of human imperfections in art, and leaving in all of these speech inaccuracies made the lecture feel slightly more interactive, and significantly easier to follow. The movement of the lecture, the development and the progression all felt very good as well. There were moments that soared with quite chaotic sound works overlapping, but much of it was her voice, unaccompanied. It felt like the work of a very experienced dubbing engineer, and borrowed concepts from plenty of musical/sonic heritage before it.

Overall, a very enjoyable lecture. I took plenty of concepts from it, both from a practical, sound related angle and also from a political, feminist angle. I will be implementing some of these ideas into future works of my own, and will endeavor to turn the mundane into something rich and exciting more often.

Darsha Hewitt explores concepts such as planned obsolescence, excess within technology and the issues of what to do with old equipment that no longer has a use. She uses DIY electronics to create compositions, often with outdated equipment, and therefore the basis of her music is her equipment, expressed though her human compositions as opposed to human compositions expressed through equipment and instruments.

I find her work very compelling – I have a lot of experience with older music recording equipment as I often work with cassette multitracking machines which are becoming harder and harder to repair and maintain, with tape stocks that are growing ever harder to find. I also build my own DIY equipment, having built oscillators in the past, experimented with home-made tape delays and failed many times to build more complex devices. She inspires me to keep pushing at developing my electronics knowledge and skills, because her abilities unlock a wealth of creative possibilities. This acts almost like a target to aim for, a goal to set for myself, and makes the light at the end of the tunnel just a tad brighter. It also gives me hope that there are other like-minded individuals who enjoy the nostalgia of older devices, and experience the intrigue of playing with electronics that haven’t been touched for countless years.

She asks many questions about the environment, about sustainability, and about human consciousness with regards to an unquenchable need to consume new and exciting devices. This is damaging to both us and our planet; will it ever stop? What can we, as individuals, do to stop ourselves from drowning in oceans of our own cast-away toys? All very interesting, thought provoking art that I thoroughly enjoy.

Equipped with loaned field recorders, we set off to the Southbank with Jose Macabra to get some recordings. It was terribly cold, which made operating my field recorder difficult, but I was thankful for the large buttons and easy to operate controls. I cannot imagine having to navigate countless sub-menus to find the right function or to adjust gain and such the like, further strengthening my view that knob-per-function devices are superior. I like analogue technology, so digital menus are often a hindrance to my process, and an insult to my intelligence. I managed to get plenty of useful recordings, snippets of conversations, the hustle and bustle of Southbank (despite the obvious current circumstances) and several more peculiar sounds. I picked up conversations through contact-mic’d construction railings, I used an EM detector to gather peculiar hummings and buzzings that I found, even contact mic’d a grille which I then walked across – this was reminiscent of a spring or plate reverb. All in all, a very useful day out, and one that has convinced me that in the near future I would benefit greatly from purchasing a field recorder, although hopefully a smaller one that can fit in a jacket pocket for everyday carrying.

From around 1min40s of this video, we can hear a great composition that is reminiscent of generative styles of music. The different swings on each bell creates a pulsing, poly-rhythmic or even arrhythmic sense of time, and the chorusing bell chimes creates some really amazing resonances. A really quite abstract presentation of audio from a bygone era – where the Church was the holder of the largest, most impressive sounds. Of course, the Organ is a great example of this, and I think that in the past people really caught on to the idea that music/sound is one of the most ethereal and moving things to experience. Something (excuse the pun) resonated within people upon hearing these sounds. The cacophonous, generative aspects of these bells can be heard aplenty in many modern avante-garde electronic musical compositions, and once again brings up the age old question of: “Is anything under the Sun really, truly ‘new’?”. All genius stands on the shoulders of giants, and I think that this is an eloquent example of that.

A very interesting concept here, creating unique tones out of centuries-old ice. I’m interested in exploring ‘found sound’ music, and also DIY electronics. This series of ideas could perhaps eventually lead to the construction of a physical drum machine, with a sequencer that excites various objects attached to the box – glass, springs, metal plates/bells, cups full of ball-bearings etc. Or maybe ceramic plates, contact mic’d, provided a trigger signal when excited to a series of oscillators that chime alongside the plates. The ideas that flow out of such simple mechanics of nature are astounding.