Blog Assignment 2: What I Hear
On my soundwalk I took a trip around midtown at 3pm, from 58th street and 10th avenue to the park at 59th and Central Park South, coming back out and ending at Columbus Circle.
I notice certain sounds right away.
Rain on the tin roofing, rain falling hard onto wet concrete and streams in the cracks, sound echoing against the plastic bins of debris.
Someone coughs close by enough to stick out, far enough away that if I had been talking to someone I might not have noticed.
Children's voices create a cacophonous sound. women's voices carry over the din of the city, some brighter than others.
I take a long walk under scaffolding down the North side of 58th street.
Underneath the scaffolding the sound becomes tunneled. Wheels on a dolly beat a steady rhythm over the sidewalk cracks behind me and over that the lilting voices of two French woman come in and out of ear shot. The swishing rustle of the plastic bag against my coat underlies the sounds around me. The steady consistency of sound is interrupted with the music of a car growing and shrinking as it passes by, an abrupt metal scrap of a shovel on concrete, the metallic thunder of loose manholes underneath car tires. The space opens up to the left and suddenly the depth of the space changes with sounds echoing from deep within a parking garage.
The sound flattens and opens up on the street corner, out from underneath the city canopy of construction. The powerful flapping of a pigeon's wings is heard, a present sound with a timbre unlike the harshness of sirens, yells, clangs, or beats of other sound signals.
A siren in the distance increases slightly in volume and sounds at a consistent distance for a while as I wait at the light. Vehicles pass, mostly trucks and vans all with different engine sounds, some quite distinct, some markedly unpleasant. A ch-ching of a bike bell comes out of the din of car engines, distant sirens, and the muddles voices of strangers in conversation. An unexpectedly pleasant contrast to the low, heavy keynotes of the neighborhood (a sound that, in a quiet neighborhood, I remember thinking was more of an annoyance).
I wander my way to Central Park, entering from the south side. An immediate calmness and emptiness of sound greets me in the park at first entrance. The sound is diluted across an open space and the sound is now defined by the chirping and whistles of birds, and the gritty, crunchy footsteps of boots on wet gravel paths. Here I can really tune into the conversations that walk by me, the jingle of a dog collar from far away, the echoes of people under a bridge, the long echo of snow water falling down grates along the walkways. Here the cacophony of sound from the streets are background noise.
There's a feeling like being in a bubble in the park. Around almost all sides I am surrounded by city street noise in the distance, overhead the sound of a plane I couldn't seem to find with my eyes comes down, a conversations and distant laughing and varied footsteps come toward me no matter where I walk, and even the grates in the ground remind me how far down beneath me the sound of the city continues. After being in the park a little while it didn't feel so quiet.
Leaving the park was an aurally assaulting experience. Midday in midtown means trucks and sirens and loose metal sheets covering street construction. Horns honk, seemingly in a call and answer, one close, one far, each with it's own distinct voice. I notice that the sounds are far reaching in the ear facing the street and muted in the other ear by the building on the other side. When the building opens up like at Columbus circle or in a parking garage, the space opens with it, but still the sounds are distinct and echo clearly.
I learned things about city sound that day. Footsteps are almost imperceptible on the streets, but they fill the spaces of sound in between larger sound signals. Voices color sound all around you, and foreign languages add to the varying patterns. Cracks in the sidewalk and the street dictate the rhythm of the physical sound-makers that pass over them. Moving sounds grow and fade, as do sound signals that you move toward, but quiet sounds like a hushed conversation, seem to appear out of the background when you get very close. There are so many sounds that you have to remember to focus on different things to get it all in or your brain will block some of it out.
And street corners are the loudest places to stand.
I notice certain sounds right away.
Rain on the tin roofing, rain falling hard onto wet concrete and streams in the cracks, sound echoing against the plastic bins of debris.
Someone coughs close by enough to stick out, far enough away that if I had been talking to someone I might not have noticed.
Children's voices create a cacophonous sound. women's voices carry over the din of the city, some brighter than others.
I take a long walk under scaffolding down the North side of 58th street.
Underneath the scaffolding the sound becomes tunneled. Wheels on a dolly beat a steady rhythm over the sidewalk cracks behind me and over that the lilting voices of two French woman come in and out of ear shot. The swishing rustle of the plastic bag against my coat underlies the sounds around me. The steady consistency of sound is interrupted with the music of a car growing and shrinking as it passes by, an abrupt metal scrap of a shovel on concrete, the metallic thunder of loose manholes underneath car tires. The space opens up to the left and suddenly the depth of the space changes with sounds echoing from deep within a parking garage.
The sound flattens and opens up on the street corner, out from underneath the city canopy of construction. The powerful flapping of a pigeon's wings is heard, a present sound with a timbre unlike the harshness of sirens, yells, clangs, or beats of other sound signals.
A siren in the distance increases slightly in volume and sounds at a consistent distance for a while as I wait at the light. Vehicles pass, mostly trucks and vans all with different engine sounds, some quite distinct, some markedly unpleasant. A ch-ching of a bike bell comes out of the din of car engines, distant sirens, and the muddles voices of strangers in conversation. An unexpectedly pleasant contrast to the low, heavy keynotes of the neighborhood (a sound that, in a quiet neighborhood, I remember thinking was more of an annoyance).
I wander my way to Central Park, entering from the south side. An immediate calmness and emptiness of sound greets me in the park at first entrance. The sound is diluted across an open space and the sound is now defined by the chirping and whistles of birds, and the gritty, crunchy footsteps of boots on wet gravel paths. Here I can really tune into the conversations that walk by me, the jingle of a dog collar from far away, the echoes of people under a bridge, the long echo of snow water falling down grates along the walkways. Here the cacophony of sound from the streets are background noise.
There's a feeling like being in a bubble in the park. Around almost all sides I am surrounded by city street noise in the distance, overhead the sound of a plane I couldn't seem to find with my eyes comes down, a conversations and distant laughing and varied footsteps come toward me no matter where I walk, and even the grates in the ground remind me how far down beneath me the sound of the city continues. After being in the park a little while it didn't feel so quiet.
Leaving the park was an aurally assaulting experience. Midday in midtown means trucks and sirens and loose metal sheets covering street construction. Horns honk, seemingly in a call and answer, one close, one far, each with it's own distinct voice. I notice that the sounds are far reaching in the ear facing the street and muted in the other ear by the building on the other side. When the building opens up like at Columbus circle or in a parking garage, the space opens with it, but still the sounds are distinct and echo clearly.
I learned things about city sound that day. Footsteps are almost imperceptible on the streets, but they fill the spaces of sound in between larger sound signals. Voices color sound all around you, and foreign languages add to the varying patterns. Cracks in the sidewalk and the street dictate the rhythm of the physical sound-makers that pass over them. Moving sounds grow and fade, as do sound signals that you move toward, but quiet sounds like a hushed conversation, seem to appear out of the background when you get very close. There are so many sounds that you have to remember to focus on different things to get it all in or your brain will block some of it out.
And street corners are the loudest places to stand.
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