Soundscape as Stories

Moments of Pause: Creating an Experience

I recognized our classroom right away on our first day of class this semester. The roundtable layout of the desks, the dim, natural lighting from the glass doors that opened into the courtyard, but most importantly, the fan that impeded all other sonic experiences of the space. The last time I was here, in this room was the first time I experienced what my doctor described as a panic attack. It was the first day of a summer semester, just like this one, of my PDP in an English Language Arts methodology course. We were going around the room introducing ourselves with some sort of fun facts about our reading habits –– in the same formation we sat in on our first day of class this semester. I had never struggled with introductions in the past. As an adolescent, I was a relentless extrovert who thrived on talking about myself. I suppose the weight of general humility and the development of my prefrontal cortex was enough to swing that pendulum so far in the opposite direction that a simple ice breaker sent my nervous system into a panic. I recall the feeling of my blood pounding. I recall feeling that my arms didn’t work and that my breathing was so quick that I thought I might pass out. I don’t remember what we discussed in that first class. All I remember from that class is the sound of that fan and the way it washed out all other sounds like a blanket pulled over my face.
I think back to one of our first classes this semester, in which we discussed the cost of tickets to a Taylor Swift concert and how impractical that use of money is, how a fraction of that money could be better used to support local artists by going to smaller gigs. These don’t seem like comparisons of the same art form. A small intimate setting, focusing on the relationship between each individual instrument is not the same experience as attending a multimedia production of lights, backup dancers, and the spectacle of the performance that so many contemporary consumers are hungry for. The setting is focused on direct, intimate relationships. The draw of an icon like Taylor Swift, Billie Eilish, The Weeknd, and many other artists is not solely about the musical quality of the performance, but about the spectacle of a production and, in extension, a sense of globalized community. One is not more valuable than the other, but the combination of sounds in those spaces create different experiences.
I have thought about the noises that happen in each of those spaces that are not intended by the artist. In an attempt to make any sort of definition, I can only settle on the conclusion that the difference between music, sound, and noise can only be made subjectively (what a boring answer this is) from the listener in combination with the intentions of the source of the music/sound/noise. The purpose of music, as is any art form, is to create an experience for the audience, and any accidental or intentional sounds serve the same function. As Christopher Small points out, music is possible without an audience, although it is not possible without a performer (10). The performer can perform for an audience of just their own ears; they could be improvising alone with an instrument in their hands or singing in the shower. In this context, the experience that music creates is paired with solitude and expression, adding to the reflective nature of being “alone.” Sound, in whichever way you choose to describe it, creates an experience in combination with the other elements at play in a space, all moving together to immerse the participant in an experience.

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Active Listening

Decolonizing as a public school teacher feels paralyzingly dichotomous. While attempting to enjoy my summer, keep up with sound journals and readings, move homes, work my part time job, I have also been attempting to think about and plan for the English First Peoples 10 course that I will be teaching this upcoming Fall. For a number of reasons, I am terrified to teach this course. I am aware of procedures in place for teaching sensitive material. I am aware of the definition of “reconciliation.” I am aware of resources that are available to me. I am aware that there are stories and voices I can bring into the classroom that are not my own. I am also aware that I am a leader in a classroom of adolescents who will develop into adults and who are active citizens in our community and in our world. I am aware that I only have access to the English language to communicate with these students. And I will teach it in a square classroom.
Just as Western ideologies have specific ways of conceptualizing the experience of music as demonstrated in Music Theory and White Supremacy, they too only provide finite vocabulary for communicating ideas about the world. I feel that learning through lived experience and developing relevant life skills can only be mimicked in a classroom with the utmost of calculated planning and expertise. I feel that I do not have the skills necessary to offer that, nor the time I would need to facilitate the experiences I want to and should offer. I don’t even know the procedure to organize a field trip.
I once saw a social media post that said “everyone is always telling introverts to come out of their shells instead of telling extroverts to shut… up.” As a former extrovert, I think about this sentiment daily, and I found it frequently coming to the forefront of my mind over the course of this semester. I think often about the noise I’ve made as an ignorant young person and the possible impact of that noise. This haunts me as I now embark on a career that requires me to use my voice selectively and intentionally giving instructions, feedback, and facilitating discussion. In juggling logistics, intention, personal learning, and the countless facets involved in teaching in our society, I’m always reminded to humble myself and assess where my noise is needed in a space and where it may benefit everyone if I only listen.

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Soundscape as Stories

The Wash
persistent thrum of waves
awash a breathing plate––
millions of neighbors
snug in their Togetherness
Many-a-gull and the
crash of a clam who
falls to meet its final feast.
Bells to call a crossing giant
pulls along her iron destiny
reminders of needs and wants
and the blurry line between.
laughter––splash–– a snack complaint
a collection of vocal thrums:
evidence of a life worth living.




References

Neely, Adam. “Music Theory and White Supremacy.” YouTube, YouTube, 7 Sept. 2020,
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kr3quGh7pJA&t=1s.
Small, Christopher. “Musicking — the meanings of performing and listening. A lecture.” Music
Education Research Vol. 1, No. 1, 1999.