Show Notes
“I don't feel like nature is somehow healing me - I feel as if my body is remembering what it's supposed to be like.”
Earth.fm’s Wind Is the Original Radio podcast is pleased to share the second part of curator Melissa Pons’ conversation with sound designer and field recordist Andy Martin. (You can find part one here.)
Here, in another thought-provoking instalment, Andy shares his thoughts about deep listening, questioning (in part because of the varied ways in which it is defined) the difference from just… listening.
In the field, Andy “describe[s] [him]self as a witness”, of anything from “the trickle of water to hummingbirds which are out to kill each other” - but he refutes the idea of there being any “inherent meaning in a soundscape; it just is; it just exists”. Where deep listening often aspires to finding meaning or making a connection - “an intentional beauty or a message within the soundscape” - he asserts his conviction that there are no such intentions, beyond those of individual wildlife.
“I can listen in wonder and awe”, but “there's nothing there that is a meaningful, special interaction for me; it is just life existing. If we're looking for a deeper connection, a deep meaning within the soundscape [...] we're missing the reality of what's there, and we're trying to put our own feelings, our own belief systems onto that reality - and that's not my job. [...] My job is to listen and bring forth.” What Andy sees as people’s misinterpretations of the natural world overriding the reality means that, “The moment I hear someone describe a dawn chorus as an outpouring of joy, they've lost me. Because that's what it sounds like to us - but that's not necessarily what it is.”
Further topics discussed in this episode include:
The idea that, by entering other beings’ habitats, uninvited, recordists make themselves into “voyeur[s]”: “To imagine that I am not making a disruption when I go into that space [...] I think is very foolish” - one of the benefits of rolling out hundreds of metres of mic cables to listen while recording (another being the avoidance of self-noise: “I sniffle, I cough, I shuffle - I make a lot of noise”)
The difference between American robins’ dawn and dusk calls and whinnies
The close evolutionary relationship between birds, dinosaurs, and crocodilians - plus, a hair-raising story of being alone in a Louisiana swamp, hearing alligators booming in the twilight and legging it for his car. (Really, who can blame him?)
Hearing soundscapes in those fog-shrouded swamps of the Atchafalaya Basin change over course of a year and noting the different times at which different species of frogs and insects sing, and the different frequencies in which they do so: Bernie Krause's acoustic niche theory in action
The potential selfishness of making nature recordings, and whether it's necessary to assign a 'higher cause' to justify making doing so in ways that may exoticize the environments in which they are made
Acknowledging the unlikeliness “that someone'll hear [his] recordings and dedicate themselves to some sort of ecological practice”... but also acknowledging the value of influencing people on a smaller scale - including himself. Though Andy states that he makes recordings for the enjoyment of hearing the more-than-human beings’ comings and goings, he also notes that listening to them has changed his own behaviour to the extent of affecting how he brought up his daughter
The privilege of being involved in the Giving Contest organised with George Vlad and Thomas Rex Beverly: a call for donations for environmental causes, with nature sound recording bundles as prizes
The way that spaces like the Amazon rainforest, which we think of as untouched wilderness, were affected by Indigenous, pre-colonial farming and water management: places where humans have in fact influenced ecosystems for thousands of years. More modern examples include the American bullfrogs which are
More from Wind Is the Original Radio
The Earth's orbit around the sound finds itself at the point where we, from our planet, measure the sun's relative location exactly above the Equator's, making its way South. This marks the autumnal equinox in the Northern Hemisphere and the vernal equinox and the beginning of spring in the Southern Hemisphere.
Solstice comes from the Latin solstitium - sol (sun) and sistere (to stand still): the moment when the sun appears to pause in its movement. A brief illusion of stillness. The longest day, the fullest expansion of light, and yet, from this very point, transformation has already begun. The brightest moment already carries the beginning of its own disappearance. Gathering recordings captured during different solstices, across distant places and years, this mix follows movements of appearance, disappearance, and return. Each recording holds a specific moment of listening, a fragment of a landscape that has already changed, a trace of something that cannot happen twice in the same way. Some recordings have been split and reintroduced at different moments, creating small cycles inside the composition. They disappear and resurface, carrying the memory of their previous occurrence while being transformed by their new surroundings. Like seasons, tides, or the movement of light, repetition becomes a way of sensing change rather than sameness. Different environments slowly orbit around each other: distant temporalities briefly aligning, moments of stillness revealing movement, and sounds returning as reminders that nothing ever truly stands still.
Welcome to the wind is the original radio podcast!
This hour long mix comprises of field recordings made on and around Spring Equinoxes of various years. It takes you down through the Northern Hemisphere – from my sitting room in East London to a cottage balcony in the tropical forests of Borneo. Listen for Slovenian jackals, Polish moor frogs, a Himalayan shepherd herding sheep, a hippopotamus getting ready for the night in Sierra Leone and choirs of birds singing across the globe.
We are delighted to share a special set by artist Asa 808, a 2-hour journey ideal to softly immersive oneself in the nature sounds, instruments and spoken word.