Sound and vision blog

What does the fox say? Good question. This is something that usually occupies the thoughts of scientists beavering away in a lab or a muddy field somewhere. It seems as if they're not alone though. Norwegian comedy duo Ylvis has recently responded to this question with their own imaginative interpretation.  The Fox (what does the Fox say?) has so far entertained over 100 million viewers around the world and comes complete with dance routine and costumes (if only wildlife conferences were more like this).

Is this an accurate rendition of the Red Fox's vocabulary though? On the surface it appears like nothing more than a wee bit of fun, but in some cases they're actually not far off the mark. Phrases such as "Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow" and "Chacha-chacha-chacha-chow"  may seem plucked out of the sky but it wouldn't be unusual to find this kind of description gracing the pages of an identification guide. We've got over 250 recordings of Red Fox calls here at the British Library and I've been doing a little comparision of my own.

The most commonly heard sound is the familiar "wow-wow-wow" contact call:

Red Fox "wow wow wow" bark 1'22"

Then you've got those ear splitting, spine chilling screams that rip through the air on cold winter nights: 

Red Fox screams 0'57"

After these come a range of wudders, whickers, chatters, wails and yaps that make up a sophisticated communication system featuring 40 or so identified vocalisations. I don't know about you, but I think this last example, recorded in a Hackney backgarden in 2010, comes pretty close to Ylvis' take on the subject:

Red Fox chattering 1'27" 

Are the pair here saying "Tchoff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff" or perhaps "Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow"? In the end in all comes down to personal interpretation. But when Ylvis ask "What is your sound?" and "What do you say?" we can actually say that we've got a pretty good idea of both.

Listen to more Red Fox sounds at British Wildlife Recordings

Tony Whitehead is a field recordist living in South Devon where he runs the label Very Quiet Records. He also has a bit of a thing for our feathered friends and works as a press officer for the RSPB. His favorite bird is the Little Egret.

When did you first start making field recordings?

I first started making field recordings in 2002 when I bought a cheap Sony microphone and minidisc. I was encouraged by field recording outings with John Drever, then at Dartington College (now at Goldsmiths) and some of those early recordings became contributions to Chris Cutler’s Out of the Blue Radio on Resonance FM. The show invited people to submit half hour pieces that had been recorded between 11:30pm and midnight.  The two I sent were of the River Dart flowing beneath a bridge near Holne, Devon, and the rain on my car at Southerly Point in Cornwall. This started my interests both in recording quiet places, and long duration sound recordings.

Around the same time, through John, I also became involved with Sonic Arts Network and their wonderful Sonic Postcards Project for schools. And I’ve being doing field recordings ever since really. And a large number of these recordings have involved recordings of quiet.

Last year you launched the small independent label Very Quiet Records. What inspired you to set up this label and why did you choose to focus on quiet recordings?

Simply because I like listening to recordings of quiet places, or quiet things, either my own or other peoples. It struck me, rather out of the blue last year while listening to some very quiet recordings of the Australian outback by Peter Lenearts, that there might be some interest in a label that publishes people’s recordings of quiet.

And as I’ve said before, although there’s abundant room for people to conceptualise, that’s not where I approach this from. The first thing to me is always “what can I hear?” and then “do I like what I hear”? Always start with the sounds. With listening. In some sense it’s about authenticity. Of substance before ideas. Direct experience before abstraction. These recordings to me are just what they are.

How do you define quiet?

Bearing in mind what I’ve just said, I’m cautious about defining quiet. It’s any one of a number of things, and it’s definition depends entirely on individual interpretation. And such definitions can limit enquiry - which I don’t want to do. But if pushed, here are a few thoughts to play with ...

Quiet is sometimes situations simply lacking in volume. The simplest definition perhaps. One that can be measured in decibels. Pianissimo.  The opposite of loud.

Quiet can also reside in small sounds. The gentle crackling of leaves in a gentle breeze. A tree creaking. The hiss of estuary silt on an ebbing tide. The dissolution of chalk. The freezing of water.

Beach - improvisation with seaweed, driftwood & shells (7'02")

Quiet also exists in the spaces between louder events. Indeed, it is often intensified in these situations. A single car passing on a remote road to me makes the surrounding quiet quieter. Rural church bells do the same. As do single passing aircraft. It's a relationship to its opposite. Which is as you might expect.

Sometimes it's distance. Recently I was recording quiet places in Bristol and ended up at the top of Cabot Tower - the highest point in the city. Here I was immersed in the sounds of the city all merged into one distant rumble (put into relief by the individual calls of birds from surrounding treetops). It certainly wasn't lacking in volume. But the merging of sound gave, to me, a sense of quiet. I had the same experience while recording from the river Dart in spate last spring. A very noisy quiet. Analogous with calm perhaps.

Cabot Tower (3'44")

Sometimes quiet is absence. Or, to be specific, human absence. All that stuff that's going on when there's nobody there. I often like to leave my recorder running in places where no-one is likely to be near, and walk away.  This particularly appeals because what is recorded, to a degree, is authorless. Although of course I realise the author has chosen time and location and so on. As an aside, I also noticed a similar effect in Yasujiro Ozu’s Tokyo Story, Late Spring and other films of his that I’ve been watching recently. In some of the so called “pillow shots” the camera lingers on often empty spaces between scenes, or before the actors arrive or after they’ve departed, giving a sense of quiet. And also, returning to what I mentioned above about experience before concept, they also provide a pause between the reflective and emotional subjects of the films. Before all our joys and worries the world simple exists. I appreciate that feeling in field recordings as well as films.

Empty hull of beached trawler, Exe Estuary 2013 (6'21")

Quiet is also wordlessness or the space between words. A  lack of narrative, plotless-ness.  A situation that’s not leading anywhere. That just is, but is all the better for it’s “is-ness”.  It is static rather than dynamic.

And certainly it’s never hurried. The recordings I’ve done of quiet that I’ve enjoyed listening back to most, are those where I know I’ve been quiet and calm while recording them (as opposed to feeling hurried, rushed and pre-occupied with a million and one other things). This lack of speed, or not rushing things, also has a relationship to duration and the reason I’m interested in durational (in)activity in recorded material.

What can we expect from Very Quiet Records over the next few months?

Over the next few months we have releases from David Velez and Darius Ciuta as well as a collaboration between Jeph Jerman and myself, which I’m pleased to say will be issued on good old fashioned cassette tape. Personally I’m also hoping to work on some very long duration recordings of quiet places.

You also conduct sound walks in southwest England – what does each walk entail and what criteria do you apply when planning the journey?

Like the label, there’s no deep theory with these walks. They are simply arranged to give participants the opportunity to explore places quietly at often unfamiliar times of day - dawn or at night - those taboo times when for instance one “shouldn't really be wandering about on a lonely moor”. Simple, but people really appreciate it.  I’ve done them in wild places. I’ve done them in cities.

The last one we did was up at Bellever Tor in Devon, and it was timed to make the most of moon rise at a point this year when the moon was particularly close. The experience, which is the easiest thing in the world, was breathtaking. The quiet was almost physical as we stood in silence and watched a dim glow on the horizon slowly expand to become this crimson globe..

And sharing quiet is a powerful experience. I don’t insist people are silent (which I think might make everyone feel uncomfortable) but just use time and watch as people gradually become, quite naturally, quieter and quieter. Sometimes, at its best, the group without prompting  just collectively stops, and no-one says anything. Then - often after quite a while - we just move on without a word. It’s akin to the notion of “absence” that I mentioned before.

Finally, with so many ways of documenting our surroundings we ask the question Why field recording?

Simply because I enjoy making and listening to field recordings. Which, conveniently, gives me the opportunity to say a big thank-you to all the wonderful people who have submitted material for the label so far.

Audio works from Very Quiet Records including Bellever (British Library call number DD00000318), Murmur (British Library call number DD00000314) and Freezing the Mic (British Library call number DD00000317) are archived at the British Library. For full details, please visit the Sound and Moving Image Catalogue.

After a few months away, British Bird of the Month heads into autumn with a stunning little wader. About the height of a pencil case ruler, the Lapwing, Vanellus vanellus is instantly recognisable thanks to its upsweeping black crest and petrol-coloured plumage. Flocks can be seen across the British Isles throughout the year, favouring farmland, wetland and meadows during the breeding season and pasture and ploughed fields during the winter months.

As Mark Cocker and Richard Mabey point out in ‘Birds Britannica’ (Chatto & Windus, 2005) the Lapwing probably has more surviving vernacular names than any other British bird species. Green Plover, Peewit, Chewit, Pee-wee, Teewhuppo and Peasiewheep are just a few examples. Most are inspired by the classic “peewit” call which is usually given in flight.

"Peewit" call recorded on Skokholm Island by Lawrence Shove, May 1965

The spring song is a much more elaborate affair, combining wheezing notes with the throbbing hum of whirring wings. A particularly vivid description of the Lapwing’s display flight can be found in Kenneth Richmond’s ‘Birds in Britain’ (Odhams Press Limited, 1962).

“In early spring its crazy, tumbling flight over the territory is a joy to watch as the bird sweeps drunkenly up and down, so low at times that it threatens to dash its brains out on the bare earth, lurching up at the last moment and filling the air with its wild crying”.

The following recording, made in Herefordshire, England in 1974 by Victor C. Lewis captures this combination of the aural and the mechanical.

Lapwing display song

As with many farmland birds, such as the Skylark and Corn Bunting, the Lapwing has struggled to adapt to modern agricultural practices and the species has suffered steep population declines in recent years. Organisations such as the RSPB are working to counteract these declines through better habitat management, the lobbying of government and encouraging nature-friendly farming so that this wading bird remains a signature sight and sound of the British countryside.

(Image courtesy of Electrographica)

Dr Jacob Dunn is Lecturer in Human Biology at the University of Cambridge and Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the Universidad Veracruzana, Mexico. His research interests lie in the areas of primatology and evolutionary biology, encompassing and integrating the fields of morphology, behavioural ecology, molecular ecology and eco-physiology. He recently made use of the Library's extensive collection of wildlife recordings.

Can you tell us about your research into the evolution of human speech?

For as long as I can remember, I have been interested in animal behaviour. I have carried out research in a range of related fields, including ecology, physiology and genetics, and have spent several years carrying out fieldwork in rainforests in Peru and Mexico. However, over the last year or so I have become interested in a new area of research, which I am really excited about, examining communication systems in humans and other primates.

In collaboration with Professor Leslie Knapp from the University of Utah and Professor Tecumseh Fitch from the University of Vienna, I am currently studying vocal communication in primates in order to gain insight into the evolution of human speech. Speech is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of our species. Yet, our understanding of the evolution of this quintessentially human trait is far from complete. As most anatomical traits associated with speech are soft tissues, which do not fossilise, it is difficult to establish when, how and why speech evolved in the human lineage. By applying the “comparative model” advocated by Charles Darwin (comparing homologous and analogous structures across a wide range of different species to draw general inferences about the evolution of traits), we use data on the anatomy and acoustics of living primates to shed light on the evolution of vocal communication in our extinct ancestors [1].

Currently, the research is largely focused on howler monkeys, perhaps for obvious reasons - they are the loudest terrestrial animal and vocal communication is clearly a very important component of their natural behaviour. They also have a remarkable vocal anatomy, with a greatly enlarged and specialized hyoid bone (the only bone in the vocal tract), which forms a resonating chamber and serves to amplify their loud calls.

What insights can be gained from studying the vocalisations of non-human primates?

People study the vocalisations of primates for a whole host of different reasons. Some researchers are interested in what vocal communication can tell us about animal cognition. For example, a classic study on vervet monkeys by Robert Seyfarth et al., as far back as 1980 [2], demonstrated that some primates use semantic communication (i.e. the ability to use signs to refer to objects in the external world). You could think of this as monkeys using different ´words´ for specific things in their environment (in this case predators). More recently, studies have shown that some species may even use some form of syntax, stringing these ´words´ together to form ´proto-sentences´ [3]. People seem to be fascinated by the calls that animals make and what they might ´mean´.

Other researchers, are interested in the ´non-linguistic´ underlying information that may be contained within primate vocalisations (both human and non-human primates). For example, the pitch (or ´fundamental frequency´) of a call has long been thought to provide a cue to body size. So bigger individuals should have a deeper voice as they generally have longer vocal folds. However, research has shown that this relationship does not necessarily hold across all species and individuals as the larynx and vocal folds may grow independently of body size (think of what happens to human males at adolescence). Vocal tract resonances (or ´formant frequencies´) may be more constrained by body size, as they depend upon the size of the vocal tract, not the vocal folds. However, there is an incredible range of adaptations in the animal kingdom geared towards lowering the fundamental and formant frequencies, and exaggerating body size, such as the hyoid bone of the howler monkey, the long nose of the elephant seal and proboscis monkey, and the descended larynx of several deer species [4].

In humans, this is a very active area of research. We have known for a long time that women generally find men with deeper voices more attractive (the so called ¨Barry White effect¨) and men find women with higher pitched voices more attractive. However, voice pitch is also related to labor market success and leadership [5, 6], trustworthiness and dominance [7], and many other traits. There is even evidence that men may be able to detect ovulation in women from changes in the pitch of their voice [8]. I am currently working on a project related to this field with Professor Benedict Jones of the University of Glasgow.

How did you hear about the British Library’s collection of wildlife sounds?

I was searching for howler monkey vocalisations online and was lucky to happen across the collection. A few days later at a project meeting I was asked whether I had checked to see whether anything was available at museums. Fortunately, I was ready for the question and knew that the Wildlife Sounds collection held a substantial number of recordings.

You recently visited our Listening & Viewing Service – what did you listen to?

I listened to 49 recordings of howler monkeys, of which 15 were used for my research. The Service then did a fantastic job of transcribing the tapes, reels and CDs that I had listened to onto a CD, which they sent to me through the post a week or two later. 

Unidentified Howler Monkey (recorded by Richard Beard 1'20")

Black Howler Monkey chorus (recorded by Richard Ranft 2'01")

How will these recordings help further your research?

These recordings form part of a larger database of primate vocalisations, which we will use to analyse similarities and differences among species. These data complement data on morphology, vocal anatomy, behaviour, genetics and physiology, which will help us to gain a more comprehensive picture of primate communication systems.

Links

Dr Jacob Dunn: http://www.prime.bioanth.cam.ac.uk/jacob.html

Professor Leslie Knapp: http://www.anthro.utah.edu/faculty/leslie-knapp.html

Professor Tecumseh Fitch: http://homepage.univie.ac.at/tecumseh.fitch/

Professor Benedict Jones: http://facelab.org/People/benjones

References

1. Fitch, W. T. (2000). The evolution of speech : a comparative review. Trends in Cognitive Sciences 6613, 258–267.

2.  Seyfarth, R. M., Cheney, D. L., and Marler, P. (1980). Monkey responses to three different alarm calls: evidence of predator classification and semantic communication. Science 210, 801–803.

3.  Ouattara, K., Lemasson, A., and Zuberbu, K. (2009). Campbell ’ s monkeys concatenate vocalizations into context-specific call sequences. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 1–6.

4.  Frey, R., and Gebler, A. (2010). Mechanisms and evolution of roaring-like vocalization in mammals. In Handbook of Mammalian Vocalisations, S. Brudzynski, ed. (Elsevier), pp. 439–450.

5. Mayew, W. J., Parsons, C. a., and Venkatachalam, M. (2013). Voice pitch and the labor market success of male chief executive officers. Evolution and Human Behavior, 1–6. Available at: http://linkinghub.elsevier.com/retrieve/pii/S1090513813000238 [Accessed April 17, 2013].

6.  Klofstad, C. a, Anderson, R. C., and Peters, S. (2012). Sounds like a winner: voice pitch influences perception of leadership capacity in both men and women. Proceedings. Biological sciences / The Royal Society 279, 2698–704. Available at: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/22418254 [Accessed January 30, 2013].

7. Vukovic, J., Jones, B. C., Feinberg, D. R., Debruine, L. M., Smith, F. G., Welling, L. L. M., and Little, A. C. (2011). Variation in perceptions of physical dominance and trustworthiness predicts individual differences in the effect of relationship context on women’s preferences for masculine pitch in men's voices. British journal of psychology (London, England : 1953) 102, 37–48. Available at: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21241284 [Accessed March 1, 2013].

8. Haselton, M. G., and Gildersleeve, K. (2011). Can Men Detect Ovulation? Current Directions in Psychological Science 20, 87–92. Available at: http://cdp.sagepub.com/lookup/doi/10.1177/0963721411402668 [Accessed February 7, 2013].

Jay-Dea Lopez is a sound artist and field recordist from the Northern Rivers region of NSW, Australia. His work reflects the social and environmental anxieties of the early 21st century. Initially trained in classical performance he now uses field recordings as a way to question our natural and social environments. Lopez' field recordings and compositions have been used in film, radio, theatre, festivals and gallery installations. His blog Sounds Like Noise brings together raw field recordings, composed pieces and thoughts on the latest happenings in the world of phonography.

When and why did you become interested in field recording?

I started field recording about 3 ½ years ago after a lifetime’s interest in sound and music. Although there wasn’t a “defining moment” that triggered an interest in field recording, I bought my first sound-recorder shortly after listening to a lecture about acoustic ecology by Bernie Krause. Krause spoke of field recording’s ability to reveal the health of environmental systems in ways that visual recording didn’t. This seemed quite revolutionary to me at the time.

Your blog posts often focus on the natural sounds of northern New South Wales, where you live. What inspires you about the sonic landscape of the region?

This is a sub-tropical coastal region with a long Aboriginal history. It was also the site of Australia’s counter-culture revolution in the 1970s. Local towns include Byron Bay and Nimbin. It is an area where World Heritage forests border farmland and the Pacific Ocean. In a short distance it is possible to record the sounds of the ocean, rivers, forests, swamps, farms and suburbia. I often think of it as my “sound bank”.

Bell-birds (1'30")

Can you recall any particular memorable recording experiences?

The first time I lowered hydrophones into a freshwater creek will always remain my most memorable recording moment. I had expected to hear the movement of water but instead was presented with melodic and rhythmic calls from water bugs. It was like eavesdropping onto another planet. We sit by the edge of creeks and streams without realising the beauty of the soundscape that lies beneath the water’s surface. Without the use of hydrophones we would never be privy to this knowledge.

Creek Bugs (3'33")

Listening to Art is a series of composed soundscapes inspired by Australian works of art. Where did the idea for this series come from and do you have any plans to take this further?

 “Listening to Art” was inspired by Chris Watson’s interpretive soundscape of John Constable’s painting “The Cornfield”. Watson combined field recordings to represent elements from the painting’s pastoral scene, guiding the viewer to examine the work in detail.

Inspired by this I began to produce my own series of interpretive soundscapes of Australian printmakers. Their diversity of themes and images has pushed me to broaden my field recording and compositional range. I’ve now worked with themes such as colonial mythologies, the queer experience, urban landscapes, grief, space and isolation. I like the idea of sound and vision complementing one another; they don’t have to compete for attention.

(Land, ho and Anchors Aweigh - Travis Paterson)

Land, ho (3'01")

The interest shown towards this series has given me the confidence to curate a touring exhibition in 2015. The show will comprise original work by 6 established and emerging Australian printmakers, each print with an accompanying soundscape. 

“The Great Silence” was recently released on the 3Leaves label. Could you tell us about the CD and why you decided to create this composition based on Australia’s colonial past?

 “The Great Silence” is a term describing the way in which Australia has often erased the violence of its colonial past. The official colonial narrative celebrates the European exploration of an “empty and silent land”. This denies the legitimacy of the Aboriginal people who have lived here for approximately 50,000 years.

My interest in creating a composition based on this term started when I read about the way the colonialists experienced Australia’s native sounds. Many of the first colonialists were prisoners or soldiers. They didn’t want to be here. Their accounts of the Australian soundscape therefore reflect this with journal entries describing Australia’s native sounds as “deathlike”, “dismal”, “gloomy” and “appalling”. During one of his explorations Ernest Giles stated that the “silence and solitude of this mighty waste were appalling to the mind”. It was an interesting example of the way in which we interpret sounds through our emotional states.

My composition “The Great Silence” attempts to imagine our way into this early colonial period. It layers nocturnal field recordings from a local forest and farmland. I chose to work with nocturnal field recordings because the sounds at night still remain “foreign” to us. I wondered if we might experience them in the same way as the colonialists. Some of the recordings are treated to create a slightly unsettling atmosphere. Are our reactions to these sounds much different from those early settlers? How far has our way of listening advanced since colonisation?

The Great Silence - extract (5'02")

Finally, with so many ways of documenting our surroundings we ask the question Why field recording?

I have previously referred to field recording as a “preternatural experience”. With headphones on the sounds directed through the microphone somehow alter our sense of time. As our engagement with the sonic environment deepens the clock adjusts its flow to the movement of sound. What was once unheard and peripheral becomes central. Perspectives change. It is beyond natural, it is preternatural.

Audio works from Jay-Dea Lopez including The Great Silence (British Library call number 1CD0335802)and Systemic Collapse (British Library call number DD00000299) are archived at the British Library. For full details, please visit the Sound and Moving Image Catalogue.

Simon Elliott has recently retired after 35 years in the NHS, building an international career in medical ultrasound scanning and technology. He has been an active member of the Wildlife Sound Recording Society since joining in 1975, and has collaborated with the British Library Sound Archive for over 30 years. He believes strongly in the role of the British Library in making the world of sound freely available for science and education.

I cannot remember a time when I was not interested in the natural world. Growing up on the very edge of Sheffield, the woods, fields and wild moorland of the Peak District were the playground of my childhood. Happy with my own company, I would potter about (I’m now approaching 60 and I still love pottering) trying to observe and get close to birds and animals, learning fieldcraft skills that are useful to this day.

Then, in the late Sixties, a few things coincided which cemented the path to my lifelong interest in wildlife sound recording: a neighbour bought me a BBC record of bird songs by Ludwig Koch, and my father returned from a business trip to the USA with a present of a very early portable cassette recorder. Naturally, I put everything together and went out into the garden to record my first bird – the song of a Chaffinch - in 1968. I was hooked. Penniless student days followed, but a successful medical career has enabled me to develop and pursue my hobby here in Britain and across the world, at all times of day and year, when those long working hours and family demands permitted. It has been a rewarding pastime, and one without limits: there’s always something making a sound somewhere, always a new recording to be made.

(Sheffield Star 1969)

One other item was hugely influential – a little book called ‘Watching Wild Life’ by David Stephen. My original copy, here in my hand, shows that I bought it in August 1966, and I believe it is still the best and most inspiring book about fieldcraft. The author described how to get close to wildlife and study their behaviour, with amazing pictures (over which I drooled) of him sitting in a Golden Eagle nest, watching Capercaillie and Otters, or building pylon hides just to get close to crows. To me at that time these things were a dream, and it is immensely fulfilling to know that I too have now climbed into the nests of eagles (and many others) to place my mics, recorded the sounds of a wild Capercaillie brushing my mic with his wing, and the conversation of a pair of Otters basking in spring sunshine.

European Otters W1CDR0001554 BD10 (1'06")

Golden Eagle chicks W1CDR0000018 BD3 (1'09")

All these influences have led me to concentrate on recording the vocabulary of my subjects, and to work out ways of getting close to them with minimal disturbance. I set out to record their conversations, without them knowing that I and my equipment are there. This can create enormous practical difficulties, like trying to record bird calls in close up on a wave swept shore, placing a mic 20 metres up a pine tree in an Osprey nest, abseiling down to a Peregrine nest, or wading out into an icy lake in the dark to record wildfowl. But it is so much fun, and although I’m often content to sit and record any sound around me, such as waves or merely wind in the trees above, really I am never happier than sitting in my hide, on the end of perhaps hundreds of metres of cable, listening in to the intimate conversations of undisturbed wild animals.

Osprey chicks W1CDR0000489 BD16 (1'26")

I’m fortunate to have lived and worked in the far North of England for over thirty years, with relatively quiet woodland, hills and beaches within half an hour of home. I know that I would now find it difficult to live away from the sea, for this constantly changing coastline always has something to offer the sound recordist. When inland areas are quiet, even in the middle of winter our coast is alive with migrating or wintering birds, often providing spectacular but challenging opportunities. And if not there, I’m likely to be hidden away in a wood or by a lake in deepest Northumberland, day or night.

Little Grebe documentary piece (1'26")

Far from home, my favourite locations must be the Pacific Northwest of Canada and the USA, for its wonderful forests, mountains and sea life (or should I say seafood); equally, pretty much anywhere where there’s a Frigatebird soaring overhead will do, for the Tropics offer an intoxicating mix of sun, sea, and wildlife. There are sounds which take me straight back to these places, like the wistful rising song of a tiny Swainson’s Thrush in British Columbia, the penetrating calls of a solitaire in a Caribbean rainforest, or the ghostly nocturnal wailing of Wedge-tailed shearwaters in their burrows on a cay on the Great Barrier Reef.

Swainson's Thrush W1CDR0001350 BD34 (1'13")

Rufous-throated Solitaire W1CDR0000218 BD36 (1'44")

Wedge-tailed Shearwaters 022A-WA07044X0001-0002M0.WAV (2'05")

So why be a wildlife sound recordist, especially when the cameramen get all the credit? It’s over 120 years since Koch made the first recording of a singing bird, yet few people today know what we do or even that we exist, and it’s still regarded as ‘a bit unusual’ even among serious naturalists. Well for me, it has taken me to six continents and to some memorable places, and to be on location at the best time for recording forces me to be out there when no-one else is about, when everything else is (hopefully) quiet, and then be privileged to see and hear events and behaviour that few other people have seen, or more importantly, have heard.

Simon Elliott summer 2013

A selection of Simon's recordings can be found in the Environment and Nature section of British Library Sounds. Recordings have also been used on British Library audio publications including British Mammals and Wild Scotland.  For a complete inventory of Simon's archived recordings, please visit the Sound and Moving Image Catalogue.

Ian Todd has been recording the sounds of nature for over two decades. He is a member of the Wildlife Sound Recording Society (WSRS) and a longtime contributor to the British Library's collection of wildlife and environmental recordings.

1. When did you first become interested in recording the sounds of nature?

I first became interested in the sounds of nature around 1989 after having been a bird watcher for a few years. I began to find myself drawn to avian vocalisations rather than the visual aspects of bird watching. I soon realised the lacunae in my knowledge, and set about rectifying this via the-then BLOWS (British Library of Wildlife Sounds) cassettes "British Bird Song and Calls", as compiled by Ron Kettle in 1987.

I soon found myself spending hours listening to the two, later three, audio cassettes; later on acquiring the CD version. Around this period, I was spending a lot of time driving as a component of my work, and this furnished me with ample opportunities for familiarising myself with the avian vocalisations of the birds I encountered as a birder.

(Illustration by Matilda Harrison; Designed by The Public)

2. Can you tell us about some of the challenges you faced in the early days when you were new to this field?

The main challenges I encountered at this stage lay in knowing what field-equipment to use, and then being able to afford what I wanted. The WSRS certainly helped on both these aspects, although in 1994 I "lost" a year by following a bad piece of advice regarding choice of microphones.

3. Your recordings tend to focus on natural soundscapes rather than individual species. Is there a particular reason for this?

Once I started to use a pair of Sennheiser ME66 short-gun electrets I increasingly realised that it was soundscapes I wanted to pursue. In reality, I'm not all that interested in single-species clinical portraits, and probably never have been. Even when I regularly used to listen to these, in an effort to improve my oral identification skills, I frequently found myself "peering" into the backgrounds, a practice I had first developed when getting to grips with the BLOWS ID cassettes.

4. Your recording locations have included France, Spain, Macedonia, Turkey, Poland, Colombia, Goa and The Gambia. You've also recently returned from a recording trip to Finland. Where next?

I'm not entirely sure of where to go next, but Colombia is again a possibility, and if so, then we would like to go to Los Llanos, the flat plains to the east of the Andes.  My friend, Sean, is married to a Colombiana, and has visited the country well over a dozen times, but even he's never been to this region.

Also, I understand that there may be a sound-recording expedition to Mongolia in the offing, but this is as yet, uncertain, and perhaps "hush-hush".

5. You've contributed several hundred recordings to the Sound Archive, many of which are now available on British Library Sounds. Your recordings from The Gambia and Goa are particularly popular with users - Passing Cattle with Native Cowherd and Common Langurs and Forest Birds come to mind. Can you tell us a little about these particular recording trips.

Passing Cattle with Native Cowherd - I doubt I could have invented a more apt name - was recorded near the creek at Tanji on the Gambian coastline, at around 1555 hours GMT ( "Gambian Maybe Time") on the 5th October 1997. It was a Sunday, but certainly not a day-of-rest either for the sun, or for me.  The Gambian heat was relentless, and the earth at Tanji parched and Godless.  I was skulking about trying to find shade, and happened on a desiccated little coastal field, near the beach. As I crouched under a bush, I heard an approaching racket, and realised that a small herd of miserable-looking cattle - skin and bone would have  been a good descriptor - was about to pass through my field. I deployed my microphone-rig (crossed pair of  ME66 pair of Sennheiser electret short-gun microphones) and took in the soundscape, somewhat fearful all the time for the safety of my mic-rig. The cowherd gave me a cursory nod.

Passing Cattle with Native Cowherd

Sean and I visited The Gambia three times in the 90s - October '96, October '97, and finally in March '98.  The middle visit was by far my best for wildlife soundscapes, even though at the time my recorder was but a humble prosumer MiniDisc recorder (when one reflects that this recorder was working on around one-eighth of the bit-rate that I now use, I'm surprised that the material sounds as "good" as it does!).

The Homeward Journey before Dusk

Actually, I was using the same MiniDisc setup and bit-rate for the sounds I captured (badly, I think) in Goa, in early 1999. This time there were four of us on the trip, Sean again, and two bird-watching friends. I was the only sound-recordist, so I was hard-pressed to be able to take time out for my soundscaping. However, I did capture the sounds of these Common Langurs (Presbytes entellus) crashing through thick foliage in the Bondla Nature Reserve in Eastern Goa, one hot afternoon in January, and I knew what they were, which is more than I can say for myself regarding the avian identifications, as I never got around to sorting these out. No doubt I could if pressed, however.

Common Langurs and Forest Birds

6. Finally, with so many ways of documenting our surroundings we ask the question Why field recording?

Put simply, because this is what I've found myself doing, and what I've come to be interested in.  Also, I'm not trying so much to "document" my surroundings, as to CAPTURE them. Sound is my best way of achieving this. I'm no photographer, and I can't paint landscapes. Anyway, I've long realised that I'm hooked.

Actually, in 2004, after a trip to Shetland, I did do some serious soul-searching, as the soundscapes that I achieved there were on the bland side, but it didn't take me long to realise that I was simply not interested in any other approach.

(Photo: Robert Malpas)

Further recordings from Ian Todd can be found within the Soundscapes and Weather collections in the Environment and Nature section of British Library Sounds.

For a complete list of Ian's recordings, please refer to the Sound and Moving Image Catalogue

To celebrate World Listening Day, the World and Traditional Music section has made available, to listeners in British Library Reading Rooms, a collection of field recordings from five European villages, which form part of the World Soundscape Project Collection. These recordings can be located in the Sound and Moving Image catalogue between call numbers C1064/6 and C1064/42.

The World Soundscape Project (WSP) was a small group of researchers and composers dedicated to studying the acoustic environment. It was based at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, Canada, and led by Raymond Murray Schafer (his birthday, July 18th, was chosen to celebrate World Listening Day). The WSP took an inter-disciplinary approach to the environment, integrating, amongst other things, acoustics, architecture, music theory, sociology, anthropology, linguistics and history. This allowed for analysis of the acoustic environment in all its complexity. The research became the basis of ‘Acoustic Ecology’, a discipline that R. Murray Schafer developed to further investigate ‘soundscapes’, which are understood as the sonic interface between living beings and their environment.

The WSP group in the churchyard, Dollar (Scotland), 1975. Left to right: R. M. Schafer, Jean Reed, Bruce Davis (standing), Peter Huse, Howard Broomfield.

The World Soundscape Project’s first fieldwork was carried out in the immediate surroundings of Vancouver and released in 1973 by Ensemble Productions Ltd. These recordings can be listened to in the British Library Reading Rooms on a two-disc publication entitled The Vancouver Soundscape  which was re-issued with additional tracks in 1996 by Cambridge Street Records .

Album cover of LP.

Shortly after recording the Vancouver soundscape, the group embarked on a cross-Canada tour to document their national soundscape. The recordings formed the basis of a radio series, Soundscapes of Canada, first presented on CBC-FM Ideas in 1974. They are also available in British Library Reading Rooms. These radio programmes had an educational slant to them, which reflects a strong concern of the WSP with raising awareness of the importance of listening. The programmes were designed to interest listeners in their immediate auditory environment with the ultimate hope of involving them as active participants in building a more balanced soundscape.

In 1975, members of the World Soundscape Project (Peter Huse, Jean Reed, Howard Broomfield, Bruce Davis, and R. Murray Schafer), travelled through Northern Europe by Volkswagen bus with the initial idea of comparing the soundscape of Canada with those of selected European villages. They wanted to document the sonic patterns of village life and so they chose villages with the following criteria in mind: “First of all, we hoped it would be off a main road, that it would be self-contained and not contiguous with other settlements, that its buildings would be fairly closely grouped so that the sound making activities of the village would constitute the largest events in the quiet countryside beyond, that the village would have a strong and cohesive social life – but not so cohesive as to resist curious intruders like ourselves – that it would have a few acoustic signals of distinction, a few unusual vernacular sounds, some good ambiances to record in, and a native speaker who knew both the regional dialect and spoke fluent English” (Five Village Soundscapes, 1977, p. 2, DOC0002179). Speaking a common language with local residents allowed the WSP’s members to conduct interviews with them about their experiences of the soundscape, and to then contrast these subjective experiences with the ‘objective’ measurements they were making. These measurements were not only in the form of sound recordings: isobel maps, morphology charts, and maps notating pitches and source of predominant hums, to name a few, were also used as a means of analyzing the soundscape. These records, along with further research on each village, can be found in a book entitled Five Village Soundscapes, also available at the British Library. This publication reveals the pioneering methodologies being used in fieldwork by the WSP.

Pitches of predominant hums heard in Skruv, originating from the factories and the shopping centre.

Here is an excerpt from 'Skruv, Sweden Feb 18/75' (C1064/8) in which you can hear a conversation with residents in Skruv, the first European village the WSP visited:

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Also recorded in Sweden are these church bells ringing in the old town of Stockholm to announce the beginning of Sunday service at Storkyrkan on 16 February 1975 (extracted from 'Stockholm, Sweden Feb 14, 16/75', C1064/7). You can hear the sound recordist move into the reverberant atmosphere of the church where the tolling of the bells remains audible.

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During their time in Europe, the World Soundscape Project members were asked by R. Murray Schafer to keep a sound diary. This was yet another way of creating a record of their impressions of the sound events they were experiencing: “A sound diary has no ending for listening continues throughout life, perhaps more vigilantly for the experience of writing about it” (The European Sound Diary, 1977, p. 79, DOC 0002178). This published selection of their diary entries is also available in the British Library’s Reading Rooms. In it you can also read 'London Soundwalk', which maps out a walk through sonically interesting environments in London. The soundwalk begins close to the British Library, at the Friends House on Euston Road, inviting listeners to experience the importance of silence in Quaker worship.

Another complement to the sound recordings is the metadata: the description of each recording, which you can read in the catalogue entries. It was created by the recordists whilst in the field and prepared as a catalogue by Hildegard Westerkamp and Bruce Davis for the World Soundscape Project Tape Library at Simon Fraser University where the original reel-to-reel tapes are archived. The British Library’s catalogue entries are transcriptions of this catalogue and they provide important contextual information about the recordings whilst also conveying the recordists’ attitudes towards the sound events. These descriptions have a sonority of their own and add an important layer of meaning to the recordings. R. Murray Schafer asks: “Can descriptions of sounds ever be adequate to their original stimulations? Probably not, although with a great writer they may serve to evoke reverberations in the imagination” (The European Sound Diary, 1977, p. 81, DOC 0002178).

After visiting Skruv in southern Sweden, they travelled to Bissingen in southern Germany, an agricultural village moving towards industrial life. This extract from 'Bissingen, Germany March 6/75' (C1064/15) allows us to hear the rhythmic qualities of a blacksmith labouring.

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Further ahead in this recording, you can hear the blacksmith speaking about the sound of horse and ox carts leaving every morning for the fields. This is a sound that disappeared around the late 1950s when farmers began using motor vehicles. This quote from Jean Reed’s diary points towards how memory can preserve sounds: “Today the buoy at Le Ster is moaning constantly. I wonder how the people here like it. I find it strangely comforting. It has nothing to do with me, but I find myself listening to it and trying to store up its haunting sound in my memory forever” (The European Sound Diary, 1977, p. 58, DOC 0002178). The buoy she writes about is located in the small fishing village of Lesconil, France, where the fish auction you can hear in an extract from 'Nogent-Le-Retrou, France April 10/75' (C1064/31) took place in April 1975.

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The WSP acknowledged the importance of documenting ‘disappearing’ or ‘antique’ sounds without disregarding the new sounds in their contemporary soundscape. Moozak, electricity hums, ring and telephone tones, radio and PA systems are heavily featured in the recordings. R. Murray Schafer conceptualized the splitting of sound from source, made possible by modern technology, with the term ‘schizophonia’. The following quote, describing the soundscape of the medieval village of Cembra, Italy, relates to this idea: “The windows of an Italian village seem always to be open. They are like a radio, tuning in on the happenings of the world, eavesdropping in the literal sense. They are like telephones, for often one hears women talking across the roofs of the town between airing bedding, shaking mops, and supervising children playing in the streets” (Five Village Soundscapes, 1977, p. 17, DOC 0002179).

In the following extract, from 'Cembra, Italy April 1,2/75' (C1064/28) you can hear a vehicle driving through Cembra with an attached P.A. system through which it announces laundry services:

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Cembra, Italy (1975).

The World Soundscape Project carried out an exhaustive aural interpretation of five European villages and several cities where R. Murray Schafer had been invited to lecture at music schools and academies. He encouraged students and teachers to listen to their surroundings and asked them to reflect on how the soundscape might influence modern music. The WSP also met up with composers such as Leo Nilsson and Otto Laske and discussed the relationship between their music and the soundscape in which they were living. These frogs recorded in a pond at the rear of a hotel where the WSP group was staying ('Rennes / Montreuil, France April 18/75', C1064/30) are described by the recordist as sounding like a Gamelan, and possibly even resemble electronic music from the 1970s.

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In R. Murray Schafer's seminal book The Tuning of the World,  he writes: 'Today all sounds belong to a continuous field of possibilities lying within the comprehensive dominion of music. Behold the new orchestra: the sonic universe! And the musicians: anyone and anything that sounds!' (The Tuning of the World, 1977, p.5). World Listening Day 2013 reminds us to open our ears and listen to the musicality of the sonic universe.

Bruce Davis blowing his horn by Hadrian's wall (1975).

For further information on the World Soundscape Project, please visit www.sfu.ca/sonic-studio. You can also gain access to the World Soundscape Project Tape Collection, including the soundfiles, by contacting Barry Truax ([email protected]) and requesting a guest username and password. All sound files and images have been used with the kind permission of the World Soundscape Project, Simon Fraser University.