The mysterious silence of the volcano

The sudden eruption of Iceland's Eyjafjallajokull volcano on Wednesday morning after nearly 200 dormant years, has had an interesting affect on our soundscape here in the UK and across much of Europe too.

Anyone who has heard my recordings or read earlier posts will be well aware of the low pitched rumble that creeps into even the most beautifully peaceful sounding places. The boom of the aircraft fighting to be heard amongst the birds and the breeze.

Well no aircrafts have left or arrived in British airspace for three days now as the ash clouds from the volcano have made it too dangerous to fly. The roar overhead has left us.

I would love to say that I've really noticed the quiet in the sky, but to be honest I haven't, because day to day there are so many other industrial and traffic related noises around the city that clarity hasn't exactly been restored. For people living closer to airports and flight paths, or for those out in the country where it's a bit quieter though, there is a real difference.

I rode out into the countryside today and must admit that it was strange to sit and listen without the bassy wobble above. I actually felt a little unnerved hearing the trees creak. I'm not used to it being so quiet. Something familiar was missing.

It made me realise that normally, even when I think I am only hearing one plane overhead, the sound of all those planes in the sky must be merging together and dispersing infrasonics (frequencies too low to hear) all around us. Adding a hidden depth to our soundscape which has gradually become the norm.

This deep bass bubble which engulfs us has been popped, giving us the clarity and freedom to hear nature unspoiled, but we are so used to it being there that the countryside sounds tinny and empty without it.

It would take longer than we're going to be allowed to get used to a world outside the bubble, as the planes will surely be back in the sky within the week. I hope though that this experience enables me to hear, feel and understand more clearly, the often unnoticed affect of the sonics of airtraffic on my environment.

He Thought of Cars

Standing outside Central Library at 5.30 this afternoon provided an interesting juxtaposition between an area of constructed quiet and a world of man made noise.

A cacophony of traffic noise circle and whir around me forming a reverberant, distorted ambiance, housing swirling sirens stripped of their harshness by distance, lending them a smooth, pleasant tone as they gently swell and constrict, each drawn out intensity appearing to last an age amongst the more immediate chaos.

Trams scuttle into the station, metal grinding and rattling together on the tracks, synthesised with a drawn out aching mid range screech and the unbroken sound of the horn, disrupted by the spontaneous thuds and bangs that break their enchanting rhythms.

But today it is the buses that really grab my attention. Their engines purr like tigers. Vibrating, warm and inviting, rumbling low frequencies seeping into the lower regions of my torso; shuddering high pitched wails, the sound of metal straining, bursting, stretching and screeching into almost ultrasonic territories. It is inescapable. Beautiful. Intense.

Heals clop brashly on the concrete amongst rushing bodies and booming voices, all fighting to be heard amongst the commotion. It is proven that loud and uncomfortable sounds lead to increased stress and annoyance and it is all the more evident from this scene.

It is worth noting though that by focusing on the sounds around you and actually listening to them you can reduce their adverse effects, and I must admit to finding it peculiarly relaxing listening to the sonic heave of rush hour unfold before me.