MAX ON SPACE & GEOGRAPHY

GEOGRAPHY ON THE TONGUE

The spaces of geography have a funny way of making their way into cities - with different accents. In New York City, for instance, there are three predominant accents. 1) The uptown accent, 2) The Manhattan or the “normal” accent, and 3) The regional Brooklyn-Staten Island accent. The further north you go, usually anywhere past 96th street, you hear the real street slang. People drop their “R’s” and words like “here” turn in to “heah”, and “over” turn into “ova.” There’s a very distinct New York street accent that is really found in, well, found in the hood.

So now, traveling down toward the middle – There is the “normal” accent. “Normal” being what we perceive to be the way the English language should be spoken. We pronounce our all of our consonants and vowels and we say, “coffee,” “orange,” or “forget about it.” The words come out with no deviation from the way they are supposed to be pronounced.

Now, once you start heading south into Brooklyn, the stereotypical New York accent runs rampant. “Coffee” is turned into “Caw-fee.” “Orange” is turned into, “Ah-ringe.” The phrase, “forget about it,” turns into one giant mashed up word – “fuggetaboutit”. In Brooklyn, you don’t hear, “I’m going to call him later.” No, no, you hear, “I’m gonna cawl him lata.” Similar to the uptown accent, all the “R’s” are dropped off of all words and replaced with an “A.”

Different spaces in the geography of the city create these different accents. Despite living in Manhattan for barely a few months, you start to pick up on all of these little nuances, and you catch your self saying, “Whateva, I’ll cawl him lata,” without even realizing it.

[Max Kestenbaum, originally from Los Angeles, studies and plays in New York City.]

ADRIAN ON SPACE & SOUND

SOUND IN ONLINE SPACE

This past year a couple of programs on echo-location grabbed my attention. First was this: the story of a boy who lost his eyes very early yet who has taught himself to "see" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBv79LKfMt4) well enough to skateboard, play basketball and have a fairly average childhood by using "clicking" sounds. If you haven't seen this, I'd spare the time. It is absolutely awe-inspiring and also very emotional too.

Second was the recent Nat Geo program on echo-location which claimed that humans have echo-location ability equal to that of dolphins, or better than bats!

Like any good marketer this news of newly discovered and untapped human potential and promise got me wondering how we could exploit and integrate sound better into what we do. Actually I'm not quite that sad, my friend Rohini asked me to write a companion piece to hers and Adam’s for her blog.

Quite a bit has been written about how companies are using mnemonic cues in their advertising and retail environments, but one still untapped opportunity is the Web. If you think of sound on the Web it's probably in conjunction with unfortunately chosen intro music for some cheesy site. That along with the various boings, chirps, rocket noises, door slams, swooshes and tweets of many modern applications has probably forced your default mode to mute. However, I think the echo-location metaphor proves that there is a different way to think about sound on the Web - as a navigation tool.

For example, volume levels could be used to indicate relative depth or distance from you - useful in the event of working with multiple windows in multiple layers. Tones could guide mouse movements, subtly reinforcing desired actions or warning about potentially dangerous ones. In the same way that a car gives audio cues about operation, when to shift, whether everything is working well or not, etc. I think it's pretty easy to see how sound – and a standard for sound – could be quite useful in a next-generation navigation scheme.

It's interesting to speculate on how many of the current computing idioms evolved to compensate (either consciously or not) for the lack of sound. Now that our hardware is capable, can sound transform how we use technology?

[ This is a contribution from Adrian Ho, a partner at Zeus Jones. http://www.zeusjones.com/ ]

ADAM K ON SPACE & SOUND – 2

BRANDED SPACE

When I think of “sounds of brands” my mind turns to spaces (not necessarily to mechanized products) that advertisers appropriate through the use of sound to help build their own brands. In effect, creating a “branded space” in the consumer’s mindset.

One of the best examples this is a Southwest Airlines television campaign, which first appeared on the airwaves (another space to explore at some point) a few years back. The sound is that of the “ding” that fills the cabin a few minutes after take off. I believe the sound is used to single that it’s okay for a passenger to get out of their seat and move about the cabin. The campaign’s themeline “You are free to move around the country”, which is delivered in the same fashion (audio quality) of a pilot’s announcement over the airplane’s PA system seems to support my understanding of the usage or the significance of this sound.

BTW: The term in advertising for this kind of device (the “ding”) is called a mnemonic.

What’s important to recognize is that this sound is not unique to Southwest’s jets, or the specific brand experience of this airline. The sound is created equally (so-to-speak) by all the different airlines and (I believe) is an industry standard used by all the different manufacturers of passenger jets (e.g. Boeing and Airbus). In this respect, the sound can be considered as ubiquitous to airline travel.

The smarts of the Southwest folks and their agency is to take ownership of the sound and link it to the Southwest brand, enabling the brand to be filled with many compelling associations and feelings about airline travel – all of which can be said to “take off” and “land” in the area of personal empowerment.

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 7

SOUNDS OF BRANDS

Being in advertising has always made me think about my relationship with brands through a given day. Now, writing about Space & Sound makes me more acutely aware of my relationship with brands – through sounds.

As the early morning light vignettes the western skies, the iPhone alarm goes off. The resonant “ageng-kogeng-kogeng-geng” sound of a padded wooden Gamelan gong-beater is stifled halfway through the ring.

The kettle gurgles like a freshwater brook as it makes me my Bru Instant Coffee. I place the rice milk back in the refrigerator and it suddenly lets out a contented hum; if it were human, I’m almost sure it would snuggle up to me. I sit down to write this piece with my Macbook’s soft-touch keypad soothing my senses. It’s reassuring to hear that all the letters are appearing on the screen – as they should – without invading my space.

My Sonicare toothbrush buzzes, leaving each tooth squeaky-clean. As my blow-dryer blows my hair out into soft black silk, I wish it would be soundless like my Conair flatiron, which sometimes hisses at the wet strands.

In his previous post, Guy observes that music can both fill and create space. At the gym, it’s my very own world of auditory space through my iPod and my Bose headphones. I start on Level 2 with “Frenzy at The Feeder” by Brooks Williams, his complicated acoustic licks vying with Dan Crary’s flatpickin’ fretwork on “Dill Pickle Rag”. Level 3 meets the svelteness of “Cocktail Swing”. (Heavens, whatever did I do before Paul Englishby?) My endorphins escalate to the next level with a super-tight scratch, a tangoey mix oozing with vinyl soul by Gotan Project. Then, some pure gangsta rap, by one of its purest exponents Dr Dre, pounds into my ears. I identify with the fury at Level 6; it’s a strange mix of his anger and my elation. Sugar Ray Norcia winds me down, personally conveying his woes, and I wonder at how the Blues make me feel both low and high.

At night, Vedant turns on his new buy – the Venta Humidifier. I secretly think he has developed a “relationship” with it – not only because it moistens the air, but also because “it laps at the water gently all night like a thirsty puppy”, warming the cockles of his paternal heart.

How do brands or objects define your auditory space? What do they therefore mean to you?

Should a brand try to arrogate this space?

GUY ON SPACE & SOUND – 3

MUSIC TO MY EARS

Music is a particular kind of sound that deserves its own thread. But thinking about sound and space as I have here has helped me to understand what music is—or really, what the difference is between music and the other kind of sound, noise.

When is music music and when is it noise? When is noise noise and when is it music? At first glance this seems so particular to the person and the personality. My grandpa always used to call rock ’n’ roll “that banging”—it was noise to him. And I’ve been to a concert or two where the “music” I was supposedly listening to really just seemed like noise.

Can we explain this without just saying that it’s all a matter of taste? I think we now can, when we think, as we have been, about how sound and space interact.

Two kinds of sound: noise and music. The difference between them is that, while noise can only fill space—banish it—music can both fill and create space. Or, I should say, music can do either. Depending on the sensibility of the listener, that is.

Rock ’n’ roll was noise to my grandpa because for him, it could only crowd him in. Deny him space. It was and is music to me because, if I love it, it creates a beautiful bubble of peace within and around me. This is how the iPod works on the crowded, noisy train. And the fiddle in the coal mine, for that matter. Music takes a suffocating environment and creates breathing room. But if you can’t appreciate the particular music, it has the opposite effect: it’s noise to you, and banishes your personal space.

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 6

ASIAN SOUNDSCAPES

I wake to an early morning tropical thunderstorm cleansing the sky of pent-up emotions. A roar and a rumble, a growl and a grumble, a clap and a crash, a blam-bang-boom!

Ah, rain in Singapore! It’s an event unto itself. These drops, they are large and powerful, no drippy drizzle, no fickle trickle – just an instant connection to God via the tangible forces of Nature.

The rain stops abruptly. Sounds dawn like light, with many-hued bugs and little-kingdom creatures chirping and croaking and buzzing and whizzing and whirring and fluttering and twittering ... signs of such intense life.

At the Hindu Temple, the pealing of brass bells – gleaming with tamarind rub, no doubt – wakes the gods from their slumber. A Poojari blows a conch. Gongs clang. Drums roll. Cymbals clink. As these rhythmic sounds of worship come to a hushed halt, the gods are invoked with Sanskrit mantras accompanied by tiny hand bells that tinkle thinly. The sounds are intoxicating, like incense upon the ear.

Later, a piece of driftwood cups my body like a soft wooden spoon at the open-air home of my Aussie friend “Dive”, and I'm sacrificed to Indonesian painters and photographs of vast Australian landscape. Parrots screech goodbye on trees laden heavy with mangoes like full, green breasts, and cicadas mate unceasingly in my ears.

It’s the weekend; I find myself upon a nearby island, where the meditative deep-breathing ocean inhales and exhales. It fringes the powdery white sands and kisses them with its frothy sea-saliva. The land within, braided thick and long as Rapunzel’s hair with tropical rainforest, is filled with magical, mysterious sounds.

The voodoo-chant of the Kecak dance makes my skin tremble like a cow's hide would, were it jabbed with a finger. Seventy men in black-and-white-check sarongs gather around a fire murmuring, “Chak-a-chak. A chak-a-chak-chak...” and the vocal symphony draws me into a trance.

Back in Singapore, it’s a goodbye cocktail at the Scarlet Hotel rooftop with Suzanne, who understands the crevices of my heart like none else can. We exchange confidences, her eloquence and expressiveness never failing to astonish me, and I leave with the sound of her dear voice echoing on my mind…

… until I am back again. Oh, February!

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 5

“THE SOUND OF OM”

To most, Om is the hum of a yoga class as it congregates, the peace in the Yoga Teacher’s shuttered eyes. It’s a charismatic chant, a mystical mantra, a bottomless breath that emanates from the core of your being.

To me, Om is also the sound of the bluey-green Andaman Sea in Phuket expanding and exhaling – its very restiveness bringing rest to what seemed my troubles only a moment ago.

Om is also the rustle of fall leaves in Central Park when the wind pirouettes with them. Om is the silent hush of a tropical rainforest at McRitchie Reservoir in Singapore, contrasted only by the psychedelic screech of parrots. Om is the sound of the heater in my cold New York office, or the sound of the fog in San Francisco when it starts rolling in. Om is the contented purr of my wine cooler when it’s just been filled. Om is the sound in my inner ear when I’ve peeled away all the layers of sound and I’m not listening to anything.

In other words, Om is Omnipresent.

According to the Vedas, the oldest sacred texts of Hinduism, “Om” is a combination of three syllables: Aa. Au. Ma. “Aa” represents the state of being awake, “Ma” the state of deep sleep, and “Au” nestles snugly somewhere in-between the two that flank it like a spiritual sandwich. “Om” also represents Creation, Preservation and Dissolution. As well as Past, Present and Future.

And so the three sounds wafted in together like wispy feathers on the breath of the universe to blend in a chord of perfect harmony. So powerful was the accuracy of this sound, that the entire universe came to be.

The Upanishads (the Hindu Scriptures that teach the Vedanta) say that "Om" is “the original primordial creative sound”, the mother sound of the first word ever uttered by the human tongue. Which may also explain the similarity of the derivatives, “Mama”, “Maman”, “Amma”, “Ahm”, “Mëmë”, “Mére”, “Mãe”, “Madre”, when we call out to that sometimes endearing lady.

ADAM K ON SPACE & SOUND

THE POETICS OF SPACE

I have a fuzzy recollection of a summer school course I took as a college student, entitled, “Architecture As Archetype”. It was taught by a young visiting teacher named Jeff Orberdorfer. I have no idea where Jeff went off to after his “visitation”, but I do know that he grew up in a place called Levittown – one of the first post-war planned communities in America. He made it a point to tell us where he hailed from on the first day of class. Was this a matter of pride or pity (more about Levittown below) or simply part of the prelude to the course’s core subject matter: “Space”?

In some academic circles, as well as in the boardrooms of some new homebuilders, Levittown has an archetypical status of its own. It’s the master of all master-planned communities, and is often billed as the ideal American suburb. A series of similarly designed cost-engineered “spaces” repeated over and over, producing a checkerboard grid-like space as seen from the heavens. I believe Jeff used the term “rectilinear” to describe the full spatial effect. From Jeff’s humanistic point of view, Levittown’s architectural style was as “American as apple pie”, but without any “taste”, whatsoever. Thinking back on it all, I wonder if this lack of “aesthetic space” in Jeff’s Levittonian childhood was what compelled him to take up the study and teaching of Architecture? It certainly produced a critical frame of reference for him – and for all of his students.

One of the required readings in Jeff’s course was a book by Gaston Bachelard called, “The Poetics of Space”. Now, here’s where my memory really starts to fail. I can’t remember anything about the book that matched the alluring and quite frankly, brilliance of its title.

If not altogether empty, my recollection of Bachelard’s work is that of a dry, barren, pedagogical space. Perhaps something was lost in translation? French was Bachalard’s mother tongue. More likely though, I was simply a student at a loss – meaning the book was beyond my level of comprehension. Anyway, today his book on space is packed in a box that’s stored in the bowels of my garage. (A case of poetic justice?)

Enter Ro’s On Space & Sound – 2 “Soundscapes”. Here (for me) is the beginning of a book that’s worthy of the title, “The Poetics of Space”. Ro takes sound, memory and other stimuli, and creates a space where life’s richness unfolds, collides, dovetails and blends into a beautiful aesthetic. The pastiche is an ode to how space can be experienced, as well as how it can be thought about. As a result, I not only want to read more from Rohini the “sonic-flaneur”, but also want to re-read Bachelard’s book. If for no other reason than to possibly clear up some of the fuzziness that now exists in the space between by ears.

GUY ON SPACE & SOUND – 2

THERE’S NO SOUND IN SPACE …

Sound is the captive animal of space. It will only consent to propagate when space is absent to at least some degree, and the less space there is, the more sound can multiply.

I say this as a kind of a scientist. Right? Sound does not propagate in a vacuum; it can’t, because a vacuum has no medium with which to transmit the vibrations that constitute sound. So the less of a vacuum a given region is, the more at ease sound will be, and the better it will propagate.

But actually, this is completely untrue. And discovering why it’s untrue helps us understand space even better, and what “space” means … because don’t we say, as I did in my earlier post, that sound actually fills space? That sound banishes space? That it crosses the lines dividing the senses by filling a visual void with aural matter?

Now, you could dismiss these musings as sophistry or mere semantics. “Space” in the scientific context doesn’t mean the same thing as it does in the humanistic context. You’d be half-right; but this sophistry of mine is justified because it lets us look at space in a new way, a meaningful one.

Because just as the contemplation of sound and space lets us throw down the barriers between the senses, also it lets us see in a new way that the concept of “space” encompasses both emptiness and its opposite. Think about this statement:

The more compressed or filled a given space, the better sound can propagate within it.*

Not an entirely accurate statement, but accurate enough to show that “space” can actually mean anti-space. In two ways:

1. A compressed space is a small space … so an infinitely compressed space would actually not be space at all.
2. A filled space contains no emptiness (if it’s fully filled), and thus no space.

All this just leads me to believe that, when perceiving space in any context whatsoever, we actually aren’t perceiving either the enclosure or the enclosed, but rather the border between the two. A hovering sphere would be a space of fullness within the emptiness of its surroundings.

* A smaller space, or a space more dense with matter, transmits sound more effectively.

PARIT ON SPACE & SOUND

"NIJO CASTLE"

Sensuous sussurations of scarcely sensed sound saturate this sublime space. She surveys the serenity and slips unbeknownst even unto herself, into the saga. And I am there too, sneaking into the mise-en-scène.

Silent, solemn, sombre it might be but with a looming sense that the Samurai's stealth will soon overcome the shifty Shogun, shattering the serenity to shards. She knows, suggests it but won't say it.

The picture is perfect and yet perched perilously. Precariously. Push one pixel out of place and perhaps the protagonist might be in peril.

What if the shoulder had not been squeezed?

Would the sepulchral silences have splintered?

[This piece is a contribution from Paritosh Joshi.]

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 4

“NIJO CASTLE”

The Shinden-style structure stood serene, surrounded by walls of stone slab; it was silhouetted against a sooty sky, which was lit only by a sickle-shaped sliver of silver.

We stepped upon the stretch of slats with silken tread. But soft-footed though we were, a sound startled us when our soles sunk onto the strips. The sound was wispy, sibilant, like a soulful strain streaming from a flute.

Perhaps it sprung from the slightest slits between the slats? The more surreptitious our stalk, the more strident it seemed, shadowing our every step. Step: squeak. Step: squeak. Step-step: squeak-squeak. A sonnet by a spirited bird of song no doubt – the Nightingale.

So the sweet soprano sang to signal those who dwelt within – to warn them of a sly and stealthy Samurai, who came scheming to slay the Shogun with shining sword in hand.

The Shogun’s soldiers were stationed in strategic spots in the subsidiary halls, which surrounded the inner Shinden, or the sanctum – safe within which was the Sovereign. They stood stalwart but silent in these secret spaces, ready to stave off the shifty Samurai, seize him and strike him senseless when the songbird gave so much as the slightest sign.

Spellbound with this saga and the song of the floors swelling like a sea into my auditory senses, I’d stepped into the seventeenth century. So much so that when my sweetheart placed his hand upon my shoulder to give it a little squeeze, I sprung out of my skin with a start.

[This encounter with Sound in the Space of Nijo Castle in Kyoto, and the impact of its nightingale floors upon me has been described with figures of sound.]

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 3

DO SOUNDS HAVE A COLOR, A TASTE OR A FEELING?

Does the anticipated sound of an alarm clock go off a little before the clock itself does? Does the sound of an espresso machine waft into your nostrils? Does a newspaper taste better when you hear the amplified sip of that coffee inside your own head?

Does the clank-clatter of crockery remind you of domesticity? Does the cooing of doves bring a feeling of drowsy afternoon peace?

Does the subdued sound of silverware conjure up images of an upscale restaurant - "Daniel", perhaps? Does the pop of a wine cork cover your taste buds with dried dark fruits and leather even before you take a sip? Does the sound of iced water being poured into a glass evoke the sound of a glug-glug, especially if you've had too much of that wine?

Does the drip-drip of a tap torture your sleep if you haven't drunk that water? Can the sound of a repetitive song in your delirious sleep be Blue? Can the pounding of your head the next morning be Orange?

Can the sound of an espresso machine then be the sound of a Messiah who hast come to deliver?

Guy is treading the area of synesthesia.

BEN ON SPACE & SOUND

DEFINING "REAL" SOUND

When being briefed on the start of a job that requires sound design, I hear constant requests to "always keep in mind that it needs to sound REAL". Conceptually I get it, but always wonder what that statement means to others.....For something to sound "real".

Does "real" mean that the sound will take you back to a distant memory? Will it give you the expressions on the faces of the children playing in the park? Will the sound capture the moment, the feeling, and the space surrounding it?

Space and sound. I experiment with this a lot...I chase it like I am running in a hallway with no end. It's a question with no answer, to make sounds become real within space. Walk in your closet, close the door and speak or clap, open the door and do it again. Listen to the acoustics change, your footsteps sound different with the slightest opening or closing of the door. I try to achieve this in my work and it is impossible... To capture what one is feeling when one hears a sound...The sounds surround us, become a part of us within the space we are in. The two go hand-in-hand. One without the other is meaningless.

GUY ON SPACE & SOUND – 1

SEEING WHAT WE HEAR

The contemplation of sound invites us to account for the subjugation of the Tiny and the Great.

Sound fills. Fills what? Space, but invisibly. Sound flattens. It can knock us off our feet, even when dulcet. Sound is being used in the Gulf of Aden this very day to bring pirates low, depressed, sick, ineffectual. And push them out of cargo ships’ spaces.

The contemplation of sound reminds us of the interconnectedness of the full five senses. The English word “space” comes from the Latin spatium, meaning room, area, distance, all visually perceived. Yet sound, in the realm of hearing, fills—removes—space that’s in the realm of sight.

There are sensors that allow scientists to see sound. And we all of us have sensors that allow us to feel sound’your gut can feel sound, as every go-goer who’s stood in front of a club speaker knows. From now on when we contemplate space, let’s contemplate it in all five sense realms.

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 2

“SOUNDSCAPES”

The sky is an opaque black of mysterious quality. There are no sounds upon my ears but the delicate tinkle of coffee being stirred into thin-rimmed white China. Ah, a sound so evocative. Maybe it’s the memory of my caring mother stirring milk in a steel tumbler for me as a baby. Or maybe it’s the moment of solace I always resort to over an ornate tea service at The Raffles in Singapore, where space is my very own. Strange that each vignette, while having soothing qualities, is quite the opposite of the other – one is in a sheltered environment, the other, an independent one.

As I hear myself sip, my senses dawn like the sky, softly, slowly, through pink and gold… into the palest powdery blue.

An hour or two later, I step out into the city, and the sounds are suddenly more assertive, as if I accidentally flicked the wheel on my iPod.

A truck assaults my ears with a deafening honk... the sound of impotent control. The subway attendant yells at a meek ticket buyer through the speaker… the sound of oppressed power. Baffle gates beep-beep, open and slam-shut as metro cards mechanically slide through… the sounds of repetitive drudgery promising a fresh new day every day. Express trains chug-whoosh-thunder past, their speed never failing to thrill… the sound of your own heart beating.

On the train, a foursome of harmonious black voices makes music as the band moves through the cars… the sound of a concert that invited itself to you.

On the street, a revving car pounds rap into your skull… the sound of protest against marginalization turned full on so to be all-inclusive. Strains of a rather loud female Brooklyn accent fade in. They segue into the gruff intonations of a Bangladeshi fruit seller who says, “two dollars”. An ambulance wails to cabs and cars to make way… the sound of help that is helpless. The sibilance of Spanish melds into the hiss of meat at a hot dog cart… the sounds of all the world on one city street.

A pan-handler asks you to help him out, please… a sound that’s switched off almost as soon as it comes on.

Sounds layer themselves into your psyche, but there are so many such as this one that we learn to selectively deaden ourselves to. Then, we carry this auditory space we individually own – like a buffer, a winter coat, an outer layer of aura, even.

After the day’s auditory assault, I return to my meditative Mecca, my temple of Asian buddhas, my retreat of tealight serenity: to my own world of sound.

Or more likely, the lack of it.

RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 1

“THE TOAST”

I have a favorite toast.

I’ll fill your glass quarter-ways from the brim and ask you to raise it. I’ll ask you to close your eyes; then, I’ll touch my glass to yours. Just when the resounding ring fades away, I’ll touch it again, yet again, and again. I’ll ask if you see a little stone village called “Saint Paul de Vince” hugging the hillside, and whether you hear distant church bells peal as evening birds flutter away into lavender skies.

Chances are, you will.

Then we’ll open our eyes and sip a blend of Grenache, Carignan and Cinsault, and swallow the breathtaking Manhattan citiscape, as our ears fill with the sounds of “Out of Nowhere” by Art Tatum. Touched with hints of honky-tonk, the keys on the piano will cascade like drops of water, each note chasing the other in a complex and coordinated dance of footwork.

We'll take another sip, and start a conversation about this:

How does sound define your space, create it, conjure it up, leave it?

How many pockets of sound does your space encounter on a given day?

And how do you deal with them?