Subscribe to enjoy similar stories. Some time ago, I came across a podcast episode with US-based sound artist Brian House, who records everyday sounds that are beyond the range of human hearing and makes them audible for us. While he had been recording all sorts of sounds, what he was talking about in that podcast was rats.
He’d used special microphones to record the street sounds of New York City and then isolated the sounds the rats made—and when he remixed it to the frequency humans could hear, it sounded remarkably like a form of speech though the overall effect is rather disquieting. I can’t remember the larger point about coexistence he planned to make with his installation but as he took you through the process of stripping away the layers of noise from city life, it was a reminder about how much we can’t or don’t hear though we surround ourselves with sound. Some of it is intentional—the music we plug into to drown out the world or someone else’s speech; much of it we’d like to live without, like the grate of construction drills.
The racket of modern living is itself a source of stress—which is why silent retreats, sound healing, sound gardens, and meditative experiences based on concentrated listening are becoming popular. Sound—soothing, discordant or its absence—is the foundation for an entire world of mindfulness programmes. Our cover story tracks the rise in demand for sound healing, the different forms it takes, and the impact of sound, and noise, on overall well-being.
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