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Wolf Notes: Volume 1, Number 2, June 2011
Wolf Notes: Volume 1, Number 2, June 2011
Notes
Volume
1,
Number
2,
June
2011
Michael
Pisaro
Jason
Kahn
Simon
Reynell
Adam
Sonderberg
Jeph
Jerman
Published by Compost and Height
Please do not reproduce content without prior permission from contributors.
wolf notes
How
can
we
outsmart
the
sense
of
continuity
That
eludes
our
steps
as
it
prepares
us
For
ultimate
wishful
thinking
once
the
mind
has
ended
Since
this
last
thought
both
confines
and
uplifts
us?
Contents
Michael
Pisaro
6-
11
Prepared
Piano
(sketchbook)
Jason
Kahn.12
-
32
Notes
on
Unheard
Delhi
Adam
Sonderberg.33
36
Tick
Mark
Studies:
Ramones
-
Ramones
(Sire,
1976)
Simon
Reynell...37
-
40
Thoughts
on
not
being
a
musician
Fantastical
Zoology.41
42
By
Jeph
Jerman
Cover
Image..43
Trevor
Simmons
John Ashbery
An
object,
a
space,
an
infinite
number
of
measurements.
Wolf
Notes
is
an
attempt
at
an
open
platform,
each
individual
is
free
to
refashion
the
composition
devised
in
our
approach,
we
initiate,
they
initiate.
Found
in
juxtaposition,
in
harmony,
at
the
base
and
summit
of
potentiality.
An
openness
is
inescapable
within
any
media,
it
is
to
be
embraced,
to
be
realised.
All
and
any
degree
of
interpretation
will
fall
within
myriad
rooms
of
disposition.
So
to
inhale
and
exhale,
to
move
towards
a
positive
sense
of
production,
Wolf
Notes
in
its
totality
is
hope
to
the
impossibility
of
maximum
openness.
This
work,
and
the
works
contained,
are
not
objective
fact,
they
are
in
a
constant
flux
of
interpretation,
of
feedback
and
feedforward,
we
respond
by
not
responding
by
responding.
Patrick Farmer
Prepared
Piano
(sketchbook)
Michael
Pisaro
(19972000)
1.
Prepare
a
piano.
2.
They
found
the
point
in
the
room
most
distant
from
the
piano.
3a.
The
inside
of
the
piano.
3b.
The
outside
of
the
piano.
4.
The
piano
mirrors
the
clouds
moving
above.
We
watched
the
blue-white
film
projected
on
the
polished
black
screen.
5.
A
birch
tree,
split
long
ago,
as
it
fans
out
like
a
crooked
white
V
written
on
the
shoreline,
demarking
the
sky.
6.
We
open
the
lid
and
then
close
it,
repeating
as
necessary.
7.
I
rolled
a
die,
and
stayed
silently
at
the
piano
for
the
number
of
units
indicated.
8.
She
visited
the
piano
of
a
friend
on
an
evening
he
was
not
present.
9.
They
select,
using
some
procedure,
90
sounds.
After
arranging
these
sounds
in
a
random
order
and
numbering
them,
they
play
a
numbered
sound
when
indicated
with
a
dot,
do
not
play
it
when
indicated
by
a
space,
keeping
a
pulse
of
30
seconds.
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10.
The
pianist
recites
into
the
piano,
at
a
pulse
of
5
seconds
per
number,
all
of
the
numbers
in
his
address
book.
11.
A
sound
is
selected
and
played
on
the
piano
84
times
in
a
row.
This
is
done
once
a
day
at
the
same
time,
from
December
12
to
March
5
(March
4
in
a
leap
year).
12.
A
long
rope
hangs
straight
down
from
the
ceiling,
directly
above
the
piano.
(It
does
not
move.)
13.
Five
Rooms
Ceiling
by
Turrell.
Walls
by
Mauser.
Mirrors
by
Reinhardt.
Space
by
Martin.
Piano
by
Lewitt.
14.
A
repertoire:
Embryons
Desschs
by
Satie
(played
4
times
daily).
One
page
selected
each
day
at
random
from
the
Fitzwilliam
Virginal
Book.
Beethoven
String
Quartets;
or,
once
in
a
while,
a
Bagatelle.
John
Cages
Sonatas
and
Interludes
(played
without
preparation).
Im
a
King
Bee.
Poems
by
Robert
Creeley.
Sonatas
by
Domenico
Scarlatti.
The
Goldberg
Variations.
The
Coo
Coo
Bird.
15.
They
find
an
old,
dead
piano,
and
clear
out
the
insides.
They
fill
the
body
with
evergreen
needles,
continuing
to
replace
the
needles
with
fresh
ones
as
they
turn
from
green
to
brown.
16a.
Main
Street.
16b.
The
Village
Green.
16c.
The
Library.
16d.
The
Train
Station.
16e.
The
School.
16f.
Shop
Windows.
16g.
Lights.
16h.
Your
street.
16i.
Your
house.
16j.
Your
room.
16k.
Good
night.
17.
The
wound
strings,
removed
from
the
piano
and
unwound,
are
strung
together,
the
direction
of
the
line
changing
each
time
a
new
winding
is
addedthis
is
a
path
through
the
city.
18.
She
will
have
disabled
one
hammer
in
the
central
octave
of
the
piano
and
then
played
the
entire
Well-Tempered
Clavier
I
&
II.
19.
We
have
found
a
way
to
add
one
tone
between
E
and
F.
(Not
a
microtone.)
20.
A
white
roomfour
walls,
a
ceiling,
a
floor.
No
shadows;
light
filling
the
space.
In
this
room
is
a
completely
white
piano
of
the
exact
dimensions
of
the
room.
21.
Zither.
22.
Three
pianos
are
lined
up
side
by
side.
(The
second
is
missing.)
23.
Using
your
fingernail,
you
lightly
scrape
the
lowest
piano
string,
starting
at
the
end
of
the
string
farthest
away
from
the
keyboard,
moving
towards
the
keyboard,
once
per
second,
allowing
extra
time
to
maneuver
through
the
supports.
(Pedal
down.)
24.
He
will
have
placed
a
microphone
gently
on
the
piano
strings,
turned
it
on,
keeping
the
amplifier
at
low
volume.
Waiting.
25.
One
morning
the
doorway
was
obstructed
by
a
toy
piano.
26.
She
played
one
or
two
pieces
at
the
piano
of
2
to
5
seconds
length
every
day.
Most
involved
two
or
three
note
clusters
played
in
an
ascending
or
a
descending
series.
There
was
occasional
vocal
accompaniment.
(for
Cocoa)
27.
The
piano
imagines
a
greater
or
final
piano.
It
believes
that
in
the
future
there
will
be
a
piano
that
exceeds
the
potential
of
present
day
pianos.
All
one
hears
now
is
faint
singing.
Someday
there
will
be
a
piano
of
pure
singing,
the
pianos
idea
of
itself.
28.
A
film
of
a
piano,
projected
on
a
pinkish-white
screen.
The
music
comes
from
behind
the
screen.
Shown
at
the
Champs-lyses
theatre
with
the
lights
on,
the
film
is
barely
visible.
The
music,
played
on
a
broken
violin,
is
barely
audible.
Someone
leaves
in
disgust:
This
is
not
a
piano.
As
reported
in
the
Paris
papers
the
next
day,
the
showing
was
attended
by
at
least
100
people,
14,
or
no
one
at
all.
A
riot
did
or
did
not
ensue.
Refreshments
were
or
were
not
served.
29.
One
note
played
on
a
piano
with
the
pedal
down.
All
the
other
strings
resonate
in
proportion
to
their
proximity
to
the
original.
30.
They
imagine,
in
as
much
detail
as
possible,
the
notes
Eb
and
E,
as
played
on
the
piano.
After
five
minutes,
they
play
these
tones.
They
repeat
this
until
they
can
anticipate
every
sound
to
be
heard.
31.
Two
pianos
are
in
precisely
the
same
place
at
the
same
time.
In
the
next
moment,
they
are
gone,
and
there
is
nothing
but
a
shimmering
of
the
air.
32.
The
very
sophisticated
machinery
perceives
exactly
when
the
chord
begins
and
exactly
when
the
chord
ends.
No
words
will
have
been
used
to
describe
the
precise
duration.
33.
We
live
in
the
distance
between
the
beginning
of
the
sound
and
the
hearing
of
the
sound,
says
Antoine.
34a.
All
pianos.
34b.
The
pianos
of
America.
34c.
This
piano.
34d.
Not
a
single
piano.
34e.
(blank)
It
is
not
yet
named,
but
is
always
there.
35.
The
piano
is
a
single
material,
which
for
its
use
requires
division
into
secondary
materials.
Its
sounds
are
those
of
material
unfolding
in
time.
Time
only
carries
them
to
the
full
extension
of
the
material.
Beyond
this
lies
an
area
uncounted
by
time.
36.
(Materials)
Sound
1
Sound
2
Sound
3
Sound
4
Sounds
1
and
2
Sounds
1
and
3
Sounds
1
and
4
Sounds
2
and
3
Sounds
2
and
4
Sounds
3
and
4
Sounds
1,
2
and
3
Sounds
1,
2
and
4
Sounds
1,
3
and
4
Sounds
2,
3
and
4
Sounds
1,
2,
3
and
4
37.
From
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38.
Left
hand:
F,
Gb,
B,
e.
Right
hand:
g,
bb,
gb1,
ab1.
(Or
any
other
sound.)
39.
A
piano
is
something
to
touch.
(to
John)
Michael
Pisaro
is
a
composer
and
guitarist,
a
member
of
the
Wandelweiser
Composers
Ensemble
and
founder
and
director
of
the
Experimental
Music
Workshop.
Several
CDs
of
his
work
have
been
released
by
such
labels
as
Edition
Wandelweiser
Records,
Compost
and
Height,
confront,
Another
Timbre,
Cathnor,
Nine
Winds
and
others,
including
most
recently
"transparent
city,
volumes
14",
an
unrhymed
chord,
hearing
metal
1,
A
Wave
and
Waves
and
"harmony
series
(1116)".
He
has
performed
many
of
his
own
works
and
those
of
close
associates
Antoine
Beuger,
Kunsu
Shim,
Jrg
Frey
and
Manfred
Werder,
and
works
from
the
experimental
tradition,
especially
John
Cage,
Christian
Wolff,
James
Tenney
and
George
Brecht.
10
11
Notes
on
Unheard
Delhi
By
Jason
Kahn
For
the
month
of
November
2010
I
was
an
artist
in
residence
in
Delhi
with
the
Swiss
Arts
Council
Pro
Helvetia
and
the
media
research
center
Sarai.
One
of
my
proposed
projects
for
this
residency
was
a
continuation
of
my
Unheard
Cities
series
of
works,
which
I've
been
realizing
since
2002.
Unheard
Cities
explores
how
we
perceive
urban
sound
environments
in
the
form
of
installations,
musical
performances
and,
in
the
case
of
Unheard
Delhi,
works
for
radio.
In
Unheard
Delhi
I
interviewed
eight
people
with
the
question,
What
is
your
favorite
sound
or
sound
environment
in
Delhi?
I
recorded
all
the
answers
and
then
went
out
in
the
city
and
recorded
the
corresponding
sounds.
The
resulting
recordings
and
interviews
were
then
mixed
together
for
an
approximately
60-minute
long
audio
portrait
of
the
city.
I
produced
an
earlier
version
of
this
piece,
Unheard
Zrich,
in
2007.
The
piece
works
on
several
levels,
perhaps
the
first
being
that
the
interviewees
come
to
reflect
on
the
sound
environments
of
the
city
in
which
they
live.
Many
of
the
people
I
interviewed
had
great
difficulty
in
answering
the
question.
The
idea
of
a
favorite
sound,
let
alone
any
sound
at
all,
is
fairly
alien
as
this
seems
to
be
a
topic
most
people
don't
think
about,
especially
in
Delhi
where
the
sheer
density
and
volume
of
sound
often
makes
ignoring
the
surrounding
sounds
a
prerequisite
for
getting
through
the
day.
If
someone
does
think
about
the
sounds
of
their
city
then
it
is
inevitably
the
sounds
which
disturb
that
come
to
mind.
Asking
about
the
sounds
which
please
is
therefore
a
double
challenge.
On
another
level,
the
answers
provided
by
the
interviewees
creates
a
kind
of
sonic
map
for
me
to
find
my
way
through
the
city
with.
These
peoples'
sounds
lead
me
through
the
city,
in
search
of
where
these
sounds
occur
and
on
the
way
I
quite
naturally
encounter
other
sound
12
environments
which
I
otherwise
might
have
never
come
across.
Finally,
the
sound
of
the
interviewees'
voices
provides
another
image
of
the
city
in
which
they
live.
Not
only
do
the
recordings
of
the
sounds
they
designated
but
their
voices
themselves
lend
a
sonic
mirror
to
the
greater
urban
soundscape
in
which
they
live.
My
hope
is
that
people
hearing
these
pieces
will
also
come
to
reflect
on
the
sounds
of
the
places
in
which
they
live,
and
not
just
the
sounds
which
disturb
them
but
also
the
sounds
in
which
they
find
solace,
shelter
or
joy.
As
a
side
note,
it
occurred
to
me
much
later
after
finishing
the
piece
that
the
word
sarai
translates
in
Hindi
to
An
enclosed
space
in
a
city
or
beside
a
highway.
Where
travelers
and
caravans
can
find
shelter,
companionship
and
sustenance.
A
tavern,
a
public
house,
a
meeting
place.
A
destination
and
a
point
of
departure.
A
place
to
rest
in
the
middle
of
a
journey.
For
many
of
the
people
I
interviewed
it
was
clear
to
me
that
the
sounds
they
chose
created
for
them
a
space
of
shelter,
a
sense
of
companionship
or
even
a
place
of
destination,
where
they
would
go
for
enjoyment
or
rest.
In
this
sense,
Unheard
Delhi
is
not
just
about
sounds
but
about
social
spaces
and
how
sound
contributes
to
the
creation
of
these
spaces.
In
the
following
texts
I
give
the
name
of
each
interviewee,
their
vocation,
an
excerpt
from
their
interview
and
notes
about
how
the
recordings
of
their
sounds
were
made.
These
texts
follow
the
order
of
the
final
version
of
Unheard
Delhi.
13
1.
Alankar
(student)
People
coming
out
on
the
streets
marching
together,
trying
to
bring
out
a
collective
voice,
sound.
Alankar's
sound
designated
a
collective
space
symbolized
by
the
sound
of
people
demonstrating.
As
such,
this
meant
that
I
had
to
find
a
demonstration
in
Delhi.
In
fact,
there
are
often
demonstrations
in
Delhi
but,
like
many
things
in
India,
it
is
not
easy
to
find
out
when
or
where
they
are.
As
a
side
note
I
should
mention
that
I
was
in
Delhi
with
my
partner
and
three
of
my
children
(at
that
time
ages
three
years,
six
years
and
seven
months).
This
made
me
far
less
mobile
and
flexible
than
if
I
had
been
in
Delhi
alone.
We
often
all
trooped
out
into
the
city
together,
the
whole
family
in
tow
behind
me,
searching
for
these
sounds.
And
it
was
often
a
matter
of
pure
luck
or
coincidence
that
I
managed
to
find
the
sounds
to
be
recorded.
In
several
cases,
the
sounds
designated
by
the
interviewees
were
already
sounds
I
had
recorded
during
our
previous
wanderings
through
the
city,
in
which
case
I
didn't
have
to
seek
these
out.
But
this
was
seldom
the
case.
But
in
Alankar's
answer
I
was
presented
with
a
particular
challenge.
Time
was
also
very
short
for
this
project.
I
was
only
in
Delhi
for
around
one
month
and
I
was
not
just
producing
Unheard
Delhi
but
had
given
a
concert
(of
recordings
made
in
the
city)
and
exhibited
a
new
installation.
Some
of
the
interviews
were
done
near
the
beginning
of
my
stay,
which
gave
me
more
time
to
record
the
sounds,
but
some,
like
Alankar's,
were
made
closer
to
the
end,
which
put
me
under
additional
time
pressure
to
find
the
sounds.
I
would've
rather
had
the
luxury
of
many
more
leisurely
wanderings
through
the
city,
but
this
just
wasn't
possible.
The
recording
used
for
Alankar's
answer
was
made
one
day
before
our
departure,
near
Connaught
Place
in
the
center
of
New
Delhi.
We
were
actually
in
search
of
gifts
to
bring
back
for
family
and
friends
and
were
on
our
way
to
a
huge
emporium
for
traditional
handcrafts.
As
we
came
closer
to
the
emporium,
I
heard
the
sound
of
what
seemed
to
be
a
demonstration
in
the
distance.
The
sound
was
loudest
right
in
front
of
the
emporium
but
no
demonstration
was
in
sight,
though
police
in
full
riot
gear
with
automatic
weapons
stood
at
each
corner
of
the
intersection.
It
finally
dawned
on
me
that
a
demonstration
in
another
part
of
the
city
was
being
transmitted
at
a
blaring
loud
volume
over
loudspeakers
mounted
on
each
corner
of
the
intersection.
It
was
strange
to
think
that
this
was
the
demonstration
I
had
looked
so
long
for,
but
in
fact,
it
was
a
demonstration,
albeit
a
disembodied
one.
The
police
were
there,
the
traffic
was
snarled
and
people
stood
around
on
the
street,
as
if
waiting
for
the
demonstration
to
appear
around
the
corner
any
second.
The
best
place
to
record
this
was
right
next
to
a
group
of
police,
who
kept
eying
me
suspiciously.
Although
my
recording
equipment
was
rather
unobtrusive,
I
still
felt
a
sense
of
dread.
My
worst
fear
was
to
be
questioned
and
to
have
my
equipment
confiscated.
Even
worse
was
the
idea
of
losing
this
recording
which
I
had
searched
so
long
for.
In
the
end
everything
was
OK.
14
2.
Shweta
Upadhyay
( journalist)
During
that
gap
between
wakefulness
and
sleep
you
really
feel
like
you
are
connected
to
something
beyond.
This
was
a
case
of
me
having
already
recorded
a
sound
which
an
interviewee
had
chosen.
Shweta
Upadhyay
responded
with
the
sound
of
the
muezzin's
morning
call
to
prayer.
Like
Alankar,
her
sound
connected
her
to
a
specific
space.
In
this
case
not
of
protest
but
a
sense
of
spirituality
infusing
that
place
where
one
is
neither
awake
or
asleep.
Near
the
beginning
of
my
stay
I
had
made
an
early
morning
trip
to
the
Jama
Masjid,
Delhi's
main
mosque
and
one
of
the
city's
most
important
cultural
and
historical
sites.
I
sat
on
the
steps
leading
up
to
the
main
entrance
and
the
muezzin
began
to
sing.
For
anyone
who
hasn't
experienced
this,
it
certainly
does
have
an
otherworldly
feel
to
it,
instantly
transporting
one
to
another
place.
During
my
time
in
Delhi
I
never
left
the
house
without
my
recorder
and
microphones
clipped
to
the
collar
of
my
jacket
or
shirt.
I
was
constantly
recording
and
on
this
morning
at
the
Jama
Masjid
I
was
able
to
capture
the
sound
of
the
muezzin,
though
I
hadn't
been
planning
on
recording
this.
Many
of
the
sounds
chosen
by
the
people
I
interviewed
had
a
certain
clarity
to
them,
the
ability
to
cut
through
the
dense
environment
of
Delhi's
sound
fields
and
create
a
space
of
their
own.
The
muezzin's
call
was
like
a
knife,
penetrating
the
relative
early
morning
stillness
of
Old
Delhi.
I
also
experienced
this
call
later
during
the
day
and,
surprisingly,
it
still
had
the
same
effect,
piercing
through
the
city's
wall
of
noise.
15
16
3.
Iram
Ghufran
(film
maker)
That
delicate
crackling
kind
of
sound.
Iram
Ghufran
was
responsible
for
Sarai
hosting
me
and
I
spent
a
lot
of
time
speaking
with
her
about
her
experiences
with
sound
in
Delhi.
It
was
initially
very
hard
to
interview
her
as
she
couldn't
think
of
any
sound
whatsoever
in
the
city
which
pleased
her.
Her
initial
response
to
my
question
was,
The
sound
of
my
hard
disc
when
I
turn
it
on
each
morning,
which
I
couldn't
quite
accept
as
an
appropriate
answer
as
this
sound
could
have
occurred
anywhere
in
the
world
where
she
might
have
had
her
hard
disc
with
her.
Although
another
interviewee
(Chandrika
Grover,
see
below)
gave
a
similar
response
about
the
sound
of
water
flowing
from
her
tap,
I
considered
this
as
more
specific
to
Delhi
and
therefore
pressed
Iram
for
other
sounds.
In
the
end,
she
actually
gave
me
more
answers
than
I
could
use.
It
was
as
if
once
I
planted
this
idea,
something
which
she
admittedly
never
had
given
much
thought
to,
the
trickle
became
a
flood.
Her
first
answer
was
then
the
sound
of
food
frying
at
a
roadside
stand.
I
loved
her
description
of
this
sound
and
how
it
created
this
sense
of
intimacy
and
shared
experience
with
all
people
who
came
from
Delhi.
I
just
couldn't
for
the
life
of
me
imagine
how
I
would
be
able
to
capture
this
in
a
recording.
Aside
from
the
fact
that
the
city
was
virtually
always
too
loud
to
record
something
this
quiet,
I
couldn't
see
getting
close
enough
to
the
frying
food
to
record
it
even
if
I
did
by
some
miracle
find
a
quiet
place
with
a
food
stand.
A
few
days
later
after
her
interview
I
was
going
through
recordings
I
had
already
made
in
the
city
and
stumbled
across
the
very
sound
she
had
described!
This
had
been
recorded
on
my
early
morning
trip
to
the
Jama
Masjid
in
Old
Delhi
(see
above).
On
my
way
to
the
mosque
I
stopped
at
one
of
these
stands
to
drink
some
chai.
It
was
still
dark
and
the
city
was
very
quiet.
A
man
was
preparing
samosas
and
pakoras
in
the
hot
oil.
I
drank
my
chai
standing
very
close
to
the
frying
food
and
was
thus
able
to
record
this
sound,
though
at
the
time
I
remember
being
more
entranced
with
this
early
morning
atmosphere
than
with
the
sound
of
the
frying
food,
which
was
in
fact
more
a
byproduct
of
the
whole
recording
experience.
I
think
this
was
one
of
my
favorite
recordings
of
Unheard
Delhi.
17
4.
Chandrika
Grover
(director
of
Pro
Helvetia
New
Delhi)
When
you
turn
on
the
tap
in
the
morning
and
water
flows
from
it,
it's
sweet
music
to
my
ears.
Chandrika's
answer
was
at
once
very
simple
and
for
me
very
understandable.
In
the
short
time
living
in
Delhi
we
had
experienced
daily
water
problems.
Water
came
from
a
reservoir
on
the
roof
pumped
by
an
incredibly
loud
and
old
water
pump,
which
more
often
than
not
did
not
pump
or,
rather,
only
pumped
in
the
mornings,
but
not
in
the
afternoons.
And
then
only
one
of
our
bathrooms
in
the
apartment
had
water
flowing
to
the
toilet
and
one
to
the
sink,
and
the
water
heater
wouldn't
always
fill...and
so
on.
Chandrika's
answer
made
more
than
perfect
sense
for
me!
And,
of
course,
our
problems
paled
in
comparison
to
those
many
people
in
Delhi
who
perhaps
didn't
have
any
running
water
at
all.
Living
in
Zrich,
where
crystalline
rivers
gush
from
the
mountains
and
lakes,
one
easily
takes
for
granted
the
value
of
water.
But
in
Delhi,
even
in
the
more
affluent
parts
of
the
city
like
the
one
we
were
staying
in,
the
availability
of
water
is
a
daily
uncertainty.
The
sound
of
water
for
Chandrika
therefore
defined
a
state
of
mind
and
a
portent
for
the
day's
arrival.
I
made
this
recording
in
our
apartment
on
a
day
when
the
water
was
in
fact
running.
I
only
had
to
make
sure
the
water
pump
was
off
before
starting
the
recorder!
18
5.
Ish
Shehrawat
(musician)
You
can
really
enjoy
these
complete
moments
of
silence
and
complete
chaos.
Ish
was
one
of
the
interviewees
who
I
didn't
have
to
prod
for
an
answer.
Maybe
because
he
is
a
musician
or
maybe
because
he
was
born
and
raised
in
Delhi,
but
he
seemed
to
have
no
problem
in
connecting
with
what
I
was
after
in
my
interview.
His
first
answer
referred
to
the
parks
in
Delhi,
which
created
a
context
and
a
contrast
to
the
city's
magnificent
chaos.
For
him,
it
was
important
to
have
these
quiet
places
to
reactivate
the
process
of
hearing
again.
The
city's
dense,
churning
sound
environment
tends
to
blot
this
out.
Though
I'd
have
to
say
that,
like
Ish,
I
also
found
a
certain
sense
of
enjoyment
in
the
city's
noisiest
areas.
There
was
something
incredibly
invigorating,
when
not
at
the
same
time
utterly
taxing,
of
being
in
the
Chawri
Bazar
Road
in
Old
Delhi
on
a
weekday
afternoon
with
the
streets
too
full
to
move
through,
clogged
with
rickshaws,
taxis,
the
odd
cow
and
this
incredible
mass
of
humanity
inching
its
way
forward
through
the
dust
and
exhaust
fumes.
I
felt
at
times
like
I
was
trapped
in
a
television
tuned
between
stations,
spewing
white
noise
and
an
endless
flicker
pattern
of
snowy
static
and
abrupt
glitches.
Finding
a
place
to
record
Ish's
sound
proved
to
be
no
problem
at
all,
as
right
around
the
corner
from
where
we
lived
was
the
Kamla
Nehru
Ridge
Forest,
a
huge
national
park
full
of
monkeys
and
dense
clusters
of
screaming
birds.
Being
somewhat
of
an
anomaly
for
Delhi,
the
park
was
often
full
with
joggers,
hikers
or
people
picnicking.
It
was
therefore
somewhat
difficult
finding
a
quiet
spot
in
the
park
which
could
somehow
capture
what
Ish
was
referring
to.
During
the
recording
the
birds
gradually
grew
in
intensity.
At
first
my
presence
frightened
them
away,
but
after
a
few
minutes
they
seemingly
decided
I
posed
no
threat
and
resumed
their
chorus
at
full
volume.
Near
the
end
of
the
recording
you
can
hear
a
man
in
the
distance
singing
on
a
squeaky
swing.
19
20
6.
Iram
Ghufran
(film
maker)
They
go
on
making
the
sound
and
it's
dying
in
all
the
noise
that
is
around
it.
In
her
interview
Iram
discussed
one
of
the
archetypal
problems
in
urban
sound
environments:
the
drowning
out
of
small,
more
subtle
sounds.
Here
she
was
referring
to
the
bell
on
the
bicycle
rickshaws.
Although
I
would
tend
to
agree
with
her
in
general
about
these
small
sounds
getting
drowned
out,
I
would
in
particular
disagree
with
her
about
the
rickshaw
wallah's
bell.
Even
in
the
noisiest
depths
of
a
hopelessly
traffic-clogged
Old
Delhi
street,
these
bells
always
seemed
to
magically
appear,
ringing
clearly
above
the
din.
I
began
to
ask
myself
if
there
perhaps
wasn't
something
in
the
design
of
these
bells
which
made
them
specially
suited
to
this
most
hostile
of
environments.
If
anything,
I
didn't
hear
them
dying
in
all
the
noise
around
them,
but
ripping
this
noise
asunder
in
the
most
subversive
of
ways,
almost,
it
seemed,
working
on
a
subconscious
level.
I
always
knew
to
get
out
of
the
way
when
I
heard
the
ring
of
a
rickshaw
wallah's
bell.
As
with
many
of
the
recordings
in
Unheard
Delhi,
recording
a
rickshaw
wallah's
bell
posed
a
number
of
problems.
I
couldn't
imagine
just
recording
this
on
the
street,
even
if
it
was
practically
always
going
on.
Registering
this
on
a
psychological
level
was
one
thing,
but
somehow
transferring
this
experience
to
a
recording
was
another.
And
I
didn't
feel
right
just
walking
up
to
a
rickshaw
wallah
and
trying
to
explain
that
I
wanted
to
record
his
bell.
Even
if
I
did
feel
right
about
this
I
still
probably
couldn't
have
done
it
as
most
of
these
driver's
don't
speak
much
English
and
I
figured
it
would
be
near
to
impossible
to
get
my
point
across.
In
the
end,
I
hit
upon
a
very
elegant
solution.
Every
morning
different
vendors
visited
the
courtyard
of
our
apartment
complex.
There
was
a
man
selling
bread,
another
man
came
with
the
milk,
and
yet
another
who
brought
vegetables.
The
vegetable
vendor
arrived
on
a
large
flatbed
bicycle,
piled
high
with
all
kinds
of
vegetables.
And
he
had
a
bell,
the
same
bell
that
all
the
rickshaw
wallahs
had.
We
had
already
gotten
to
know
each
other
over
the
several
weeks
that
we
had
been
living
at
the
apartment.
I
just
came
out
one
morning
with
my
microphones
and
recorder
and
asked
him
if
I
could
ring
his
bell
a
few
times.
He
seemed
to
understand,
or
at
least
not
care,
and
I
made
the
recording.
And
then
I
bought
our
vegetables
for
the
day
plus
a
tip
for
his
bell.
21
22
I
left
my
family
at
the
playground
and
went
back
to
the
roundabout.
It
was
still
empty
but
I
went
ahead
and
took
a
seat
and
started
the
recorder.
Almost
as
if
by
magic
the
vendors
started
to
appear
from
different
directions,
circling
the
rotunda
and
calling
out
their
wares.
Neighbors
walked
by,
staring
at
me
curiously.
A
pack
of
stay
dogs
approached
me
cautiously
and
sniffed
at
my
shoes.
Nobody
actually
entered
the
rotunda
but
I
did
get
the
sense
that
it
was
the
heart
of
this
neighborhood,
that
sooner
or
later
everyone
converged
here.
The
sounds
I
recorded
represented
the
vortex
of
this
small
community
and
I
felt
that
the
recording,
even
if
it
didn't
capture
Priya's
precise
description,
did
impart
that
sense
of
this
particular
place.
23
8.
Sajid
Akbar
(musician)
Like
a
concentrated
wave
of
sound
of
these
people
just
enjoying
these
rides.
Sajid
Akbar
contacted
me
out
of
the
blue
while
I
was
in
Delhi.
He'd
been
to
my
installation
at
the
Bhuta
Gallery
in
the
Crafts
Museum
and
had
a
few
questions
about
this.
I
asked
if
he
would
be
interested
in
doing
an
interview
for
Unheard
Delhi,
to
which
he
readily
agreed.
I
only
mention
this
here
as
one
of
the
great
problems
facing
me
in
producing
this
piece
was
finding
enough
people
to
interview,
especially
when
working
under
such
pressing
time
constraints.
I
had,
in
fact,
interviewed
several
other
people
for
the
piece
but
some
of
their
answers,
though
perhaps
very
interesting,
for
various
reasons
couldn't
be
recorded.
For
example,
one
person
liked
the
sound
of
a
specific
truck
horn
that
had
actually
recently
been
outlawed
in
Delhi
and
which
therefore
no
longer
existed.
Or
some
people
gave
the
same
sound
as
others.
The
sound
of
trains,
either
their
horns
or
of
the
actual
train
passing
by,
or
of
birds
singing,
were
sounds
several
people
mentioned.
And
then,
some
sounds
I
just
couldn't
track
down.
So,
the
more
people
I
could
interview,
the
better.
But
it
was
difficult
to
find
enough
people
and
to
find
the
time
to
interview
them.
Delhi
is
huge
and
it
sometimes
took
me
well
over
an
hour
to
meet
someone
to
make
a
five-minute
interview.
I
couldn't
very
well
expect
people
to
take
time
out
of
their
day
and
come
to
me.
I
did
manage
to
make
several
of
the
interviews
which
finally
ended
up
on
the
piece
at
Sarai,
which,
luckily
enough,
was
just
a
ten-minute
walk
from
our
apartment.
Sajid's
answer
referred
to
the
World
of
Wonders,
an
amusement
park
out
on
the
absolute
nether
reaches
of
Delhi,
in
an
area
devoid
of
name,
only
designated
as
Sector
18.
Which
all
sounded
very
mysterious
to
me.
The
train
ride
out
there
was
really
long,
passing
through
vast
swathes
of
Delhi
slums,
an
incredibly
dense
landscape
of
tightly
clustered
apartment
buildings
and
narrow
streets
packed
solid
with
people.
When
we
reached
the
Sector
18
metro
station
the
scene
outside
was
like
a
riot
with
this
fantastically
loud
wall
of
traffic
noise
echoing
between
the
road
and
the
train
station
above.
It
took
us
around
ten
minutes
just
to
cross
the
street
to
start
on
our
way
to
the
amusement
park.
Anytime
we
tried
to
cross
a
road
in
Delhi
without
traffic
lights
we
were
virtually
like
sitting
ducks,
but
we
miraculously
always
manged
to
avoid
calamity.
We
continued
on
through
what
seemed
like
an
endless
area
of
shopping
plazas
and
came
to
another
perilous
road
crossing
to
a
huge,
even
by
Western
standards
huge,
shopping
mall.
I
felt
like
I
was
suddenly
back
in
Los
Angeles.
The
only
difference
was
that
in
Los
Angeles
they
would
never
have
allowed
such
massive
sound
leakage
from
the
mall's
ventilation
system.
Two
ten-meter
air
vents
exhaled
spent
air
from
the
mall's
ventilation
system.
It
felt
like
two
jet
engines
warming
up
for
take
off,
though
the
sound
itself
was
much
much
deeper,
fairly
rumbling
my
stomach
with
its
vibrations.
We
moved
on
and
finally
came
to
the
World
of
Wonders
which,
as
one
might
expect,
was
far
from
that.
It
was
a
rather
sad
affair.
Something
like
an
abandoned
carnival
attraction
in
a
JG
Ballard
novel,
re-animated
by
a
small
group
of
people
who
had
survived
some
unspeakable
calamity
and,
yearning
for
a
connection
to
their
decimated
world,
managed
to
get
some
rides
and
a
semblance
of
wonder
running
again.
Due
to
lack
of
visitors,
many
of
the
rides
were
not
running.
Luckily
enough,
though,
one
pendulum-
like
affair
was
working
and
people
were
riding
it,
yelling
and
screaming
in
ernst.
This
provided
a
24
great
recording,
with
their
peals
of
laughter
panning
back
and
forth
across
the
stereo
field.
I
could
very
well
imagine
Sajid's
amusement
at
passing
this
ride
each
day
on
his
way
to
work,
which
was
perhaps
the
greatest
wonder
of
this
sad
amusement
park.
25
9.
Iram
Ghufran
(film
maker)
A
sound
which
is
really
exciting,
fun
and
just
very
vibrant.
November
is
the
month
for
weddings
in
Delhi
and
there
is
probably
no
bigger
celebration
for
a
family
than
having
it's
son
or
daughter
joined
in
holy
matrimony.
Iram
refers
here
to
the
baraat
procession,
which
is
when
the
bridegroom
travels
on
a
horse
to
the
wedding
ceremony
at
the
bride's
house,
accompanied
by
his
friends
and
family
and
a
troop
of
drummers.
I
thought
to
myself,
Great,
this
will
be
an
amazing
recording
but
where
will
I
find
this?
When
I
asked
around
the
inevitable
answer
was,
Oh,
everywhere.
November
is
the
month
of
weddings.
But
everywhere
was
for
me
nowhere
in
Delhi,
as
I
couldn't
find
myself
traipsing
around
the
city
on
an
endless
search
for
a
wedding
procession.
But
then,
as
was
often
the
case
during
our
stay
in
Delhi,
the
answer
came
almost
as
if
by
magic.
Someone
from
Sarai
told
me
the
day
after
Iram's
interview
that
there
would
be
a
wedding
right
next
door
that
evening.
Incredible!
Things
started
to
get
going
around
nightfall.
I
went
back
to
Sarai
with
my
daughter
Josephine
and
we
stood
outside
the
bride's
house
trying
to
record
the
music,
which
didn't
really
seem
to
be
happening
yet.
Suddenly,
a
huge
roar
of
drums
erupted
and
the
procession
spilled
out
on
the
street
with
horses,
a
throng
of
people
in
all
their
finery
and
several
men
bringing
up
the
back
with
generators
in
tow
to
power
all
the
lights.
We
stood
by
the
side
of
the
road
and
recorded
the
procession
as
it
meandered
back
and
forth
between
the
bride's
house
and
a
Hindu
temple
not
far
away.
The
drums
panned
back
and
forth,
receded
in
the
background,
pushed
to
the
foreground.
It
was
a
pulsing
mass
of
buzzing,
snapping
snare
drums
supported
by
deeper
tuned
dhol
drums.
As
Iram
stated,
just
vibrant.
26
27
10.
Ish
Shehrawat
(musician)
All
the
trains
going
by,
taking
out
different
intervals.
It's
almost
like
a
song.
I
found
it
interesting
how
Ish
tuned
into
environmental
sounds
as
musical
statements.
It
probably
should
have
come
as
no
surprise
to
me,
as
Ish
is
a
musician,
but
then,
I
seem
to
know
many
musicians
who
wouldn't
consider
these
sounds
as
musical.
For
me,
though,
Delhi
proved
to
be
one
of
the
most
musical
cities
I'd
ever
spent
time
in.
And
here
Ish
came
up
with
a
good
example
of
a
sound
environment
which
probably
only
exists
in
Delhi.
He
had
lived
near
a
train
station
for
some
time
and
became
entranced
with
the
incoming
and
outgoing
trains
tooting
their
air
horns.
The
description
sounded
great
but
I
couldn't
really
imagine
what
this
actually
could
sound
like
nor
how
I
would
be
able
to
find
this.
I'd
already
been
at
the
Old
Delhi
train
station
and,
though
there
were
in
fact
trains
sounding
their
horns
there,
it
lacked
the
density
and
clarity
of
Ish's
description.
Several
days
before
going
home
to
Zrich,
we
made
our
way
to
one
of
Delhi's
classic
tourist
destinations,
Humayun's
Tomb,
the
so-called
little
brother
of
the
Taj
Mahal.
After
having
a
look
at
the
tomb,
we
went
down
to
the
surrounding
park
to
fly
some
kites
we'd
bought
for
the
kids
on
a
trip
to
Varanasi.
It
was
a
warm
and
windy
day.
I
took
a
break
from
kite
flying
and
went
over
to
sit
in
the
shade
to
cool
off.
Suddenly
I
heard
in
the
distance
what
sounded
like
a
train
horn.
And
then
another.
I
realized
that
this
was
the
sound
Ish
had
been
referring
to.
The
wind
carried
the
sound
of
these
horns
over
from
the
Nazrat
Nizamuddin
railway
station,
about
nine
kilometers
away
from
Humayun's
Tomb.
It
was
in
fact
a
beautiful
sound,
like
a
song
and
a
bit
mournful.
Perhaps
I
had
been
reflecting
on
the
fact
that
we
would
soon
be
leaving
Delhi,
a
city
which
could
in
equal
parts
drive
one
crazy
and
be
utterly
captivating
at
the
same
time.
This
was
another
case
speaking
for
never
leaving
the
house
without
my
recording
equipment.
Given
the
time
constraints
I
was
working
under,
I
most
certainly
would
have
never
found
this
sound
no
matter
how
hard
I
had
tried.
28
11.
Iram
Ghufran
(film
maker)
Every
bell
is
like
somebody
praying,
somebody
asking
for
something.
Iram
answered
here
with
one
of
the
most
ubiquitous
sounds
to
be
heard
in
India:
temple
bells.
In
an
intensely
spiritually
conscious
country
like
India,
there
are
temples
everywhere
and
most
of
them
have
bells.
Even
in
the
courtyard
of
our
apartment
building
the
neighbors
had
erected
a
small
Hindu
temple,
complete
with
its
own
priest
who
spent
the
days
there,
sitting
in
a
space
not
much
larger
than
himself.
And
here
again,
an
answer
where
a
sound
is
appreciated
not
just
for
the
pleasure
of
it
in
and
of
itself,
but
as
a
symbol
of
something
else.
As
in
Shweta
Upadhyay's
link
to
the
muezzin's
morning
call
to
feeling
you
are
connected
to
something
beyond,
so
too
do
the
sound
of
these
temple
bells
represent
a
connection
to
a
place
or
force
beyond,
something
all
powerful,
benevolent
and
nurturing.
Though
in
her
interview
Iram
referenced
this
sound
to
a
park
near
her
house,
I
felt
that
the
real
issue
here
was
the
sound
of
the
bells
and
what
they
represented,
not
the
park
near
Iram's
house
where
she
sometimes
heard
these.
And
for
this
reason
I
decided
to
make
the
recording
at
a
Hindu
temple
near
our
apartment.
Once
again
I
was
amazed
at
how
many
of
the
sounds
recorded
for
Unheard
Delhi
were
either
found
in
the
neighborhood
where
we
were
staying
or
from
sounds
which
I'd
already
recorded
before
the
actual
interviews
had
been
made.
29
30
31
Jason
Kahn.
Born
1960,
New
York,
USA.
Composition,
installations,
percussion,
electronics.
Based
in
Zrich,
Switzerland.
Exhibitions
and
concerts
in
museums,
galleries,
art
spaces,
festivals
and
clubs
throughout
Europe,
North
and
South
America,
Australia,
Egypt,
Hong
Kong,
India,
Israel,
Japan,
Korea,
Lebanon,
Malaysia,
Mexico,
New
Zealand,
Russia,
Singapore,
Turkey
and
South
Africa.
Sound
pieces
for
film,
dance
and
radio.
http://jasonkahn.net
32
Tick
Mark
Studies
Ramones
Ramones
(Sire,
1976)
By
Adam
Sonderberg
The
albums
we
love
have
it
easy.
If
theyre
within
earshot
they
can
luxuriate
in
the
praisebe
it
ham-fisted,
needlessly
abstract
or
recklessly
passionateheaped
upon
them.
Its
a
relationship
complicated
primarily,
if
at
all,
by
extra-musical
associations:
various
and
sundry
hormone-
and/or
adrenaline-churning
experiences
involving
love,
loss,
theft,
success,
or
abject
failure.
I
cant
remember
when
I
first
heard
the
Ramones
debut
album,
but
my
relationship
with
these
fourteen
songs
is
doubtlessly
mirrored
in
the
lives
of
countless
other
listeners
of
all
ages,
thereby
rendering
a
rhapsodic
appreciation
of
its
power
to
excite,
inspire,
and
transform
largely
superfluous
(and
also
outside
the
purview
of
Wolf
Notes).
The
Tick
Mark
Studies
came
about
as
an
attempt
to
frustrate
my
experience
with
this
and
other
beloved
records.
In
the
process,
I
hoped
to
interrogate
my
listening
habits
and,
as
a
result,
cultivate
a
new
form
of
active
listening.
The
following
pages
consist
of
two
attempts
to
graphically
represent
all
of
the
single
snare
hits
present
on
Ramones.
My
idea
of
active
listening
consists
of
a
passive
body
(usually
sitting
comfortably
or
recumbent)
and
active
mind.
By
transcribing
the
activity
of
the
snare
drum,
my
body
played
an
active
role
in
listening,
and
this
made
for
a
physically
tense
hour.
The
resulting
document
draws
inspiration
from,
and
is
indebted
to,
the
visual
aesthetics
of
Minimalism;
it
attempts
to
transcribe,
embody,
and
acknowledge
the
aural
and
visual
rigor
that
comprised
the
foundation
of
the
Ramones
masterfully
executed
craft.
33
34
35
Adam
Sonderberg
is
a
composer,
one-third
of
Haptic,
and
former
co-director
of
the
Dropp
Ensemble.
He
is
the
author
of
the
recently
published
American
Hours
with
German
Efficiency
(Entracte)
and
maintains
a
blog
by
the
same
name.
36
Thoughts
on
Not
Being
a
Musician
By
Simon
Reynell
Theres
a
note
on
the
stairs:
Things
are
not
very
good.
He
refuses
to
eat
because
of
diarrhea
so
juice,
coffee,
tea
(in
red
canister).
My
mothers
gone
to
a
rehearsal
for
an
Easter
performance
of
the
St.
Matthew
Passion,
and
Ive
come
back
to
the
house
where
I
grew
up
in
Bradford
to
look
after
my
father
for
the
hours
while
shes
away.
Hes
93
and
has
been
subject
to
debilitating
infections
for
much
of
the
past
year.
Hes
had
trouble
swallowing
for
some
time,
and
from
his
bedroom
upstairs
I
hear
an
ugly,
phlegmy
cough
every
minute
or
so
as
he
tries
to
clear
his
windpipe.
His
balance
is
poor,
and
several
falls
have
left
his
skin
marked
with
countless
dark
bruises
which
refuse
to
heal.
Intellectually
hes
still
pretty
much
there,
and
he
listens
every
day
to
the
news
in
French
and
German
as
well
as
English,
but
the
constant
ailments
make
him
miserable
and
hes
ready
to
die.
In
my
late
teenage
years
I
hated
him
and
we
had
furious
futile
arguments
about
politics.
But
by
the
time
I
started
to
have
children,
wed
learned
to
step
round
our
ideological
differences.
He
retired
from
his
job
as
a
cardiologist
and
mellowed,
and
I
managed
to
control
my
Oedipal
rages.
So
for
my
children
as
they
grew
up
he
was
a
lovely
granddad:
kind,
supportive,
non-judgmental
and
quietly
loving.
[Ive
just
been
up
to
check
on
him,
and
hes
asleep
now,
curled
up
with
only
his
wrinkled
face
and
unruly
grey
hair
poking
out
of
the
covers,
looking
wizened
and
horribly
vulnerable]
My
mother
is
still
active,
playing
viola
in
several
amateur
orchestras
and
chamber
groups.
For
her
80th
birthday
a
few
weeks
back
16
of
her
musical
friends
came
and
spent
the
day
playing
chamber
music
in
various
formations
in
four
rooms
round
the
house.
When
I
was
young
she
was
just
a
housewife,
but
my
fathers
sister
who
was
an
inspirational
music
teacher
encouraged
her
to
take
up
music
again,
and
it
became
first
a
passionate
hobby,
then
a
means
of
earning
an
independent
income
as
she
started
teaching
violin
and
piano
at
a
local
school.
Culture
and
academic
achievement
were
the
two
most
highly
valued
things
in
my
parents
house,
and
classical
music
was
the
constant
soundtrack
as
we
grew
up
-
Radio
3
in
the
kitchen,
and
records
on
the
gramophone
in
the
living
room.
And
there
was
always
a
piano
in
the
corner
first
an
upright,
then
later
a
rather
beautiful
baby
grand.
Yet
neither
I
nor
my
two
brothers
ever
learned
to
play.
My
fathers
belief
was
37
38
For
decades
Ive
told
myself
that
Ive
left
starting
too
late.
How
can
I
envisage
playing
the
piano
without
having
already
done
years
of
practice?
My
hands
will
never
be
supple
enough.
In
my
Methodist-infused
consciousness,
music
like
everything
else
worthwhile
-
should
be
the
product
of
hard
work
and
studied
application.
And
the
fact
that
I
like
atonal
music
shouldnt
exempt
me
from
many
hours
of
practicing
scales.
But
with
some
of
the
music
I
love,
instrumental
virtuosity
is
no
longer
important,
let
alone
essential.
Anyone
can
make
interesting
sounds
with
digital
electronics.
Then
it
becomes
even
more
terrifying,
because
theres
no
longer
an
excuse
to
hide
behind.
Whats
to
stop
me
composing
a
great
piece
of
electronic
music
except
my
own
mediocrity?
I
fear
that
Ill
be
found
out
and
just
confirm
that
Im
not
creative
at
all,
for
all
my
secret
hopes
and
pretensions.
Self-consciousness
and
timidity
are
mixed
with
sharp
self-criticism;
I
was
a
high
achiever
academically,
so
I
can
quickly
pick
holes
in
and
dismiss
any
creative
project
that
I
tentatively
try
my
hand
at.
[Hes
woken
and
has
stumbled
to
the
toilet.
Incontinence
would
be
the
ultimate
humiliation
for
a
man
whos
always
been
proudly
independent,
and
would,
Im
sure,
prompt
him
to
take
the
pills
that
would
end
it
while
my
mothers
away
playing
music.
Thats
why
she
wants
me
here,
so
I
can
refill
his
glass
of
grapefruit
juice,
and
keep
him
listening
to
the
radio
and
the
ticking
of
his
bedside
clock
until
shes
back
to
continue
the
vigil]
*
*
*
*
*
*
So
am
I
stuck?
Condemned
to
endlessly
serve
other
peoples
creativity
instead
of
exploring
my
own?
Its
all
too
easy
to
blame
my
parents
for
the
way
they
brought
me
up.
And
its
also
too
easy
to
chastise
myself
in
a
pattern
of
self-criticism
that
does
nothing
to
break
the
circle.
My
fathers
dying
is
inevitably
a
time
for
self-reflection,
and
perhaps
thats
the
jolt
I
need
to
start
doing
as
well
as
serving.
Im
already
55
and
the
clock
keeps
ticking.
Im
sure
that
at
first
my
voice
will
warble
embarrassingly,
and
my
early
steps
will
be
gauche
and
clumsy,
but
perhaps
its
time
at
last
to
risk
making
a
song
and
dance.
March,
2011
Simon
Reynell
has
worked
in
television
for
25
years,
mostly
over
the
past
12
years
as
a
documentary
sound
recordist,
in
2007
he
founded
Another
Timbre
Records
and
in
2009
curated
the
Unnamed
Music
festival
in
London
and
Leeds.
39
40
Fantastical
Zoology
by Jeph Jerman
I
would
postulate
an
animal
that
lives
at
the
far
reaches
of
the
atmosphere,
"hanging"
in
space
and
moving
by
electric/mechanical
energy
originating
in
its
thought
processes.
Doesn't
need
to
eat,
as
it
exists
in
a
state
of
not
quite
becoming,
a
nebulous
almost-form
caught
at
the
transition
stage
between
consciousness
and
form.
Very
difficult
to
see,
but
occasionally
they
do
dip
closer
to
us
and
can
be
witnessed
with
infra-red
cameras
or
goggles.
When
seen,
they
resemble
slightly
jelly
fish
without
trailing
tentacles
or
more
accurately
giant
cells
that
constantly
change
shape,
as
the
edges
are
continually
shifting
back
and
forth
between
thought
and
energy.
They
can
be
called
down
by
attracting
attention
to
oneself.
Jeph
Jerman
is
an
American
sound
artist
who
has
recorded
under
the
name
Hands
To
and
as
a
member
of
many
groups
including
Animist
Orchestra
and
His
Masters
Voice.
41
42
Trevor
Simmons
is
based
in
South
London,
has
a
studio
in
Camberwell.
More
of
his
work
can
be
seen
at
www.okya.co.uk/trevor_simmons
43
www.compostandheight.com
44