Yahoo Tuning Groups Ultimate Backup metatuning [Fwd: asae: Pressing the Mute Button on Our Daily Soundtrack]

--
Kraig Grady
North American Embassy of Anaphoria Island <http://anaphoria.com/>
The Wandering Medicine Show
KXLU <http://www.kxlu.com/main.html> 88.9 FM Wed 8-9 pm Los Angeles

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Begin forwarded message:

<bold><color><param>0000,0000,0000</param>From: </color></bold>Marcos
Fernandes <<sounds@...>

<bold><color><param>0000,0000,0000</param>Date:
</color></bold>December 19, 2004 3:06:25 PM EST

<bold><color><param>0000,0000,0000</param>Subject:
</color>[phonography] Pressing the Mute Button on Our Daily Soundtrack

<color><param>0000,0000,0000</param>Reply-To:
</color></bold>phonography@yahoogroups.com

<fixed>from the Los angeles Times</fixed>

<fixed> December 19, 2004</fixed>

<fixed><color><param>0000,0000,EEEE</param>http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/front/la-et-sounds19dec19,1,7294358</color></fixed>

<fixed> .story?coll=la-headlines-frontpage</fixed>

<fixed> THE NATION</fixed>

<fixed> Pressing the Mute Button on Our Daily Soundtrack</fixed>

<fixed> By Roy Rivenburg</fixed>

<fixed> Times Staff Writer</fixed>

<fixed> December 19, 2004</fixed>

<fixed> Back in the prehistoric 1970s, one of life's little pleasures
was the</fixed>

<fixed> ability to slam down a telephone on annoying callers. Now,
thanks to the</fixed>

<fixed> rise of cordless phones, the best you can do is fiercely poke
the off button</fixed>

<fixed> � or, if money is no object, throw the receiver into a wall.</fixed>

<fixed> The slamming phone, like dozens of once-familiar sounds, is
headed for</fixed>

<fixed> extinction. As technology advances, more and more noises � the
pop of</fixed>

<fixed> flashbulbs, the gurgle of coffee percolators, the clatter of
home-movie</fixed>

<fixed> projectors � are fading into oblivion.</fixed>

<fixed> While audio junkies scramble to preserve samples for future
generations,</fixed>

<fixed> psychologists debate the consequences of this noise exodus.
Some foresee a</fixed>

<fixed> sonic revolution � one that could launch a surprising wave of
silence and</fixed>

<fixed> perhaps force Hollywood studios to rethink the way they tell
stories.</fixed>

<fixed> Inside a bombproof vault a few blocks from the White House,
Dan Sheehy is</fixed>

<fixed> surrounded by audio ghosts: the clicketyclack of typewriters,
the tumble of</fixed>

<fixed> glass bottles inside a soda machine, a 1960s-era telephone
ring.</fixed>

<fixed> Here, sonic blasts from the past are entombed in a hodgepodge
of vinyl</fixed>

<fixed> records, compact discs and reel-to-reel tapes. "We are a
museum of sound,"</fixed>

<fixed> said Sheehy, whose job is to preserve America's acoustic
heritage for an</fixed>

<fixed> obscure branch of the Smithsonian Institution.</fixed>

<fixed> Sounds are like smells, he says. They can transport the
listener to another</fixed>

<fixed> time and place. The buzz of an airplane propeller sends
Sheehy's mind back</fixed>

<fixed> to hot afternoons in 1950s Bakersfield, playing in the yard
while aircraft</fixed>

<fixed> sputtered overhead. "The sound immediately triggers memories
of time and</fixed>

<fixed> temperature," he said.</fixed>

<fixed> A handful of obsolete noises are so ingrained in our
consciousness that</fixed>

<fixed> filmmakers and advertisers still use them to evoke audience
reactions. In</fixed>

<fixed> the 2002 movie "Undercover Brother," for instance, a
phonograph needle</fixed>

<fixed> scraping across a vinyl record signaled an abrupt halt to the
action.</fixed>

<fixed> The emotional power of vintage sounds might explain the
popularity of</fixed>

<fixed> cellphone ring tones that mimic rotary telephone bells. "It's
one of the</fixed>

<fixed> biggest ring tones we sell," said Tom Valentino, president of
Valentino</fixed>

<fixed> Production Music, the nation's oldest sound-effects warehouse.
In a similar</fixed>

<fixed> vein, slot machines that pay out vouchers instead of cash
often play a</fixed>

<fixed> recording of cascading coins because research found customers
missed the</fixed>

<fixed> jackpot noise.</fixed>

<fixed> Valentino has heard a lot of sounds come and go over the
years. In 1932, his</fixed>

<fixed> father got into the business by recording a milk wagon
traveling down a New</fixed>

<fixed> York street, the first of what is now a library of more than
50,000 sound</fixed>

<fixed> effects. (The elder Valentino also worked with Orson Welles on
"War of the</fixed>

<fixed> Worlds" and once captured the chug of a steam train running
full tilt by</fixed>

<fixed> greasing the railroad tracks at Grand Central Station so the
locomotive</fixed>

<fixed> couldn't move.)</fixed>

<fixed> Many of the company's recordings are now historical relics. A
slamming car</fixed>

<fixed> door from the 1960s, for example, sounds more metallic than
today's</fixed>

<fixed> rubberized thunk.</fixed>

<fixed> Sounds are always mutating, Valentino said, but the pace
accelerated after</fixed>

<fixed> the advent of computerization. Electronic cash registers
eliminated the</fixed>

<fixed> ka-ching of their ancestors; digital cameras erased the
traditional</fixed>

<fixed> shutter-click and advancing-film noises of their predecessors;
PowerPoint</fixed>

<fixed> presentations chased away the clunks and whirs of slide
projectors.</fixed>

<fixed> The lifespan of sounds seems to be shrinking, Valentino said:
"We sent our</fixed>

<fixed> engineers to Ft. Bragg 25 years ago to record military tanks.
All those</fixed>

<fixed> sounds are now totally historical."</fixed>

<fixed> So are old pinball machines, car horns and pull-chain toilet
flushes. Even</fixed>

<fixed> the scratch of chalk on a blackboard is being exiled by the
squeak of</fixed>

<fixed> markers on dry-erase boards.</fixed>

<fixed> A Subtle Shift</fixed>

<fixed> For most of history, the soundscape rarely changed.</fixed>

<fixed> "From the birth of man until the late 1800s, the predominant
sounds human</fixed>

<fixed> beings heard arose from nature," said Rex Julian Beaber, a
psychologist and</fixed>

<fixed> attorney in Century City.</fixed>

<fixed> The Industrial Revolution upended all that, unleashing a
cacophony of</fixed>

<fixed> man-made noise. Today, another sonic revolution is underway.
Although many</fixed>

<fixed> observers fear the planet is about to become louder (check
your local Dolby</fixed>

<fixed> surround-sound cinema), Beaber foresees a wave of silence.
Modern</fixed>

<fixed> technologies are turning down the volume of our mechanized
society, he says.</fixed>

<fixed> So far, the differences are subtle, such as the click of a TV
channel knob</fixed>

<fixed> being muzzled by electronic remote controls. But eventually,
when the roar</fixed>

<fixed> of the internal combustion engine is muted by the whir of
electric or</fixed>

<fixed> fuel-cell motors, "we will return to the world from which we
came, one in</fixed>

<fixed> which the big sounds we hear are from nature," Beaber predicts.</fixed>

<fixed> Such a transformation would be stunning, said Diana Deutsch, a
UC San Diego</fixed>

<fixed> psychology professor who studies the perception of sound.</fixed>

<fixed> "If you go to the mountains today, the silence is so
remarkable you just</fixed>

<fixed> listen to it. We evolved under that. Our ears have not evolved
to handle the</fixed>

<fixed> noises we're bombarded with daily�. If indeed we were able to
return to a</fixed>

<fixed> truly quieter world � free from the noise of jet engines,
bulldozers,</fixed>

<fixed> pneumatic drills and the like � I believe it would be a
blessing."</fixed>

<fixed> But it could also be a bit unsettling.</fixed>

<fixed> Although the invention of a digital leaf blower probably
wouldn't upset</fixed>

<fixed> anybody, other changes in the sonic tapestry might create a
sense of loss.</fixed>

<fixed> That's where Folkways Records enters the picture. In 1948,
Moses Asch, an</fixed>

<fixed> electronic engineer who spent the early part of his career
installing</fixed>

<fixed> public-address systems, set out to immortalize "anything that
is sound."</fixed>

<fixed> Most of his catalog was music (he was the first to sign Woody
Guthrie and</fixed>

<fixed> Leadbelly), but he also issued recordings of elevators,
jackhammers,</fixed>

<fixed> mosquitoes, cocktail parties, calliopes and an acetylene torch
cutting</fixed>

<fixed> through an automobile engine, to name a few.</fixed>

<fixed> Before his death in 1986, Asch agreed to donate his archive to
the</fixed>

<fixed> Smithsonian Institution � on the condition that everything
would permanently</fixed>

<fixed> stay in print and be available for purchase.</fixed>

<fixed> "Do you delete the letter Q from the alphabet just because you
don't use it</fixed>

<fixed> as much as the others?" he reasoned.</fixed>

<fixed> Asch's legacy is mind-boggling. "If I did nothing but listen
to the</fixed>

<fixed> collection 40 hours a week, it would take two years to hear
everything,"</fixed>

<fixed> Folkways director Sheehy said.</fixed>

<fixed> At the label's website (www.folkways.si.edu), visitors can buy
or sample</fixed>

<fixed> hundreds of acoustic oddities, from "Supervised Surgical
Operation on a</fixed>

<fixed> Small Boy With a Cyst in His Neck" to "Sonoran Spadefoot Toad
When Seized by</fixed>

<fixed> a Hognosed Snake."</fixed>

<fixed> (At least one recording might be fake. A 1950 disc, "Sounds of
the Rain</fixed>

<fixed> Forest," is rumored to have been taped in a New York shower.)</fixed>

<fixed> Tuned In, Tuned Out</fixed>

<fixed> Why do some antique sounds, such as steam locomotive whistles,
remain widely</fixed>

<fixed> missed while others go to the graveyard barely noticed?</fixed>

<fixed> Part of it is personal taste. "Noise for one person is hi-fi
for someone</fixed>

<fixed> else," said Steven Feld, a professor of anthropology and music
at the</fixed>

<fixed> University of New Mexico in Santa Fe.</fixed>

<fixed> Culture also plays a role.</fixed>

<fixed> Author Nick Harrison illustrates the point in "Promises to
Keep," a book of</fixed>

<fixed> spiritual meditations, with a story about a Native American
and a native New</fixed>

<fixed> Yorker walking through Manhattan.</fixed>

<fixed> When the American Indian says he hears a cricket amid the
clamor of the</fixed>

<fixed> city, the New Yorker snorts, "You're crazy."</fixed>

<fixed> But the Native American listens again, then crosses the
street, digs into a</fixed>

<fixed> planter and finds the insect. When the New Yorker expresses
amazement, the</fixed>

<fixed> Indian replies, "My ears are no different from yours. It
simply depends on</fixed>

<fixed> what you are listening to. Here, let me show you."</fixed>

<fixed> The American Indian then drops a fistful of coins onto the
sidewalk and</fixed>

<fixed> every head within a block turns around.</fixed>

<fixed> Although the story might be apocryphal, the point about people
listening</fixed>

<fixed> differently is accurate, Beaber said: "A lot of hearing is
learned."</fixed>

<fixed> In the U.S., movies and TV have trained the human ear to think
some</fixed>

<fixed> studio-created sounds are more "real" than the originals. In
winter scenes,</fixed>

<fixed> for example, the crunch of someone walking across 50 pounds of
cornstarch</fixed>

<fixed> seems more authentic than the muffled noise of real snow,
Valentino says.</fixed>

<fixed> However, the ability of Hollywood sound engineers to conjure
audience</fixed>

<fixed> emotion will fade in the near future, Beaber predicts.</fixed>

<fixed> Right now, sounds such as creaking doors help create drama on
the screen, he</fixed>

<fixed> said. But the day is coming when door technology, which hasn't
changed in</fixed>

<fixed> centuries, will switch to an airtight, silent mechanism like
something out</fixed>

<fixed> "Once people have lived in a world where doors don't creak,"
that sound</fixed>

<fixed> effect will lose its dramatic punch, Beaber said.</fixed>

<fixed> It's happening with shoes. Although the clip-clop of leather
soles against</fixed>

<fixed> sidewalks is still a movie staple, in real life the sound of
walking has</fixed>

<fixed> largely been anesthetized by rubber soles.</fixed>

<fixed> Eventually, Hollywood will have to rely more on visual cues
than audio</fixed>

<fixed> effects, Beaber said.</fixed>

<fixed> Select Significance</fixed>

<fixed> Nostalgia for expired noises is similar to not noticing the
hum of a</fixed>

<fixed> refrigerator until it shuts off. "You only remember the sound
in</fixed>

<fixed> retrospect," said Deutsch, the UC San Diego professor. And
then you quickly</fixed>

<fixed> forget about it again.</fixed>

<fixed> When compact disc players first hit the market, music lovers
initially grew</fixed>

<fixed> hyper-aware of all the cracks and pops on their old phonograph
records, she</fixed>

<fixed> noted. Some people even missed the scratches, comparing the
background noise</fixed>

<fixed> to the crackle of a fire.</fixed>

<fixed> In the long run, every audio dinosaur will suffer the same
fate, Beaber</fixed>

<fixed> said. Air raid sirens, stock tickers, Pong video games � each
one carries</fixed>

<fixed> significance for the generation that grew up with it, but once
that</fixed>

<fixed> generation dies, the sound becomes lifeless.</fixed>

<fixed> Imagine a newspaper story in the 1920s about vanishing noises,
Beaber said.</fixed>

<fixed> The prime example would be the clop of horse hoofs on pavement.</fixed>

<fixed> "People would be talking about how the world just wouldn't be
the same</fixed>

<fixed> without that sound," he said.</fixed>

<fixed> But flash forward to 2004. "Do we find ourselves longing for
the sound of</fixed>

<fixed> those hoofs now? Of course not," Beaber said. "Humans adapt
and move on."</fixed>

<fixed> Becoming disconnected</fixed>

<fixed> The list of dead and dying sounds keeps growing.</fixed>

<fixed> One of the chief habitats for endangered audio species is the
telephone. The</fixed>

<fixed> busy signal has been curtailed by call-waiting. The clink of
coins in pay</fixed>

<fixed> phones is being overtaken by credit cards. And the soothing
whoosh of rotary</fixed>

<fixed> dialing has been replaced by the tones of push buttons.</fixed>

<fixed> Even the relatively young screech of telephone modems is being
hustled out</fixed>

<fixed> of earshot by DSL and cable computer connections.</fixed>

<fixed> Modernization has also taken a toll on other sonic standbys,
including:</fixed>

<fixed> The wavy electronic frequency noise heard when changing
stations on a</fixed>

<fixed> manually tuned radio (virtually eliminated by digital tuners).</fixed>

<fixed> �� The hum of adding machines (deep-sixed by the gentle
tap-tap of</fixed>

<fixed> calculator keys).</fixed>

<fixed> �� The telegraph.</fixed>

<fixed> �� The ticking and winding of watches (succumbing to digital
and electronic</fixed>

<fixed> timepieces).</fixed>

<fixed> �� The rat-a-tat of daisy-wheel printers (courtesy of inkjets
and lasers).</fixed>

<fixed> �� The click and clink of pull-chain light switches
(extinguished by mercury</fixed>

<fixed> switches).</fixed>

<fixed> Roy Rivenburg, Times staff writer</fixed>

<fixed> If you want other stories on this topic, search the Archives at</fixed>

<fixed> latimes.com/archives.>

<fixed> Article licensing and reprint options</fixed>

Michelle Nagai

---

Treetheater Projects

1049 Manhattan Ave. #2

Brooklyn, NY 11222

http://www.treetheater.org

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[Fwd: asae: Pressing the Mute Button on Our Daily Soundtrack]

🔗Kraig Grady <kraiggrady@...>

🔗ambassadorbob <peteysan@...>

🔗Kraig Grady <kraiggrady@...>

🔗ambassadorbob <peteysan@...>