Where my fridge hums and gurgles I have delved in with a mic to discover the subtle rhythms, pops and crackles it omits, deciphering how these change in pitch, depth, speed and resonance from one part to another, combining to form the whole audible to the naked ear.
In search of clarity I have explored Manchester's backstreets and alleyways in the early hours to find particles of sound unaffected by crowds and traffic. This is where the most interesting pure sounds can be found and dissected, air vents behind buildings, whistling, grinding, a cacophony of tone and pitch, layers compressed so tight as to give the impression of a single airy blast, actually constructed of infinite vibrations.
There is something about these sounds that draws me towards them, the audible signifier of the life of the building, the hidden engine, the sonic organs hidden beneath the sheen of capitalist venture.
Where the sound of space and machinery is synonymous with certain industry, the retail and service sectors prefer to create their own sonically controlled world, laced with muzak and hollow foyers, pushing the true sounds that power them into the no mans land of non spaces.
So maybe it is the empty spaces that allow these sounds to develop, maybe the lack of capitalist distractions in these forgotten areas allows you to tune into the drone, to hear the true unaestheticised life of the city, breathing, wheezing, choking, laughing.