Dominic Lash
Being a blend of eight untreated field recordings of different lengths collected in upstate New York between the 27th July and the 3rd August 2010 at various locations (and at various points of the day and night) on the premises of the Omi International Arts Centre. Who said the countryside was quiet?
Edited and compiled in Geneva and Oxford in January 2011. Special thanks to Jeffrey Leppendorf and everyone involved in Music Omi 2010.
Brian Beaudy
'How Would You Describe Yourself' - Vancouver, BC - field recordings and equalizer.
This began as a series of recordings involving the capture of natural sounds within an urban environment – downtown Vancouver in the summer. As I focused on the sound event of my choice with my microphones, I similarly edited the recordings to remove the majority of the dynamic range of traffic, pedestrian and HVAC sound. What resulted are sounds no more or less valuable to the ear than those that were removed (at least to me).
Edited and compiled in Geneva and Oxford in January 2011. Special thanks to Jeffrey Leppendorf and everyone involved in Music Omi 2010.
'How Would You Describe Yourself' - Vancouver, BC - field recordings and equalizer.
This began as a series of recordings involving the capture of natural sounds within an urban environment – downtown Vancouver in the summer. As I focused on the sound event of my choice with my microphones, I similarly edited the recordings to remove the majority of the dynamic range of traffic, pedestrian and HVAC sound. What resulted are sounds no more or less valuable to the ear than those that were removed (at least to me).
Liquid Spite – Strachan Bay, Broughton Island & Port McNeill, BC – field recordings, equalizer and effects.
A product of my most recent bought of work in remote locations along the west coast of British Columbia. The spring there generally involves a great deal of rain, fog and wind: whose patterns and rhythms supplant the traffic, pedestrians and machines of the city. The effects of listening to the recordings once I had returned to the city surprised me. Much of it was psychologically comparable to listening to rush-hour traffic – a stressful and inadvisable practice. While the sound of rain on the roof of my house lulls me to sleep, the same sound on the roof of the bunkhouse on a ship is just a reminder of the dismal day ahead. Listening back now, without the immediacy of recent memory, I find them more pleasant. The dull echoes of distant trains and subways cannot replace the soothing hum of the ship's masts and cables. I suppose that “noise pollution” is what you make of it.
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