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Music in nature, nature in music : sounding the environment in contemporary composition Kinnear, Tyler 2017

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MUSIC IN NATURE, NATURE IN MUSIC: SOUNDING THE ENVIRONMENT IN CONTEMPORARY COMPOSITION  by Tyler Kinnear  B.Mus., University of North Carolina School of the Arts, 2007  M.A., University of Oregon, 2009  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES  (Music)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Vancouver)   April 2017  © Tyler Kinnear, 2017     ii Abstract This thesis examines nature as both a concept and source material in contemporary music. Composers reinforce, revise, and challenge existing conceptualizations of nature through their engagement with natural settings, live or recorded environmental sounds, and/or non-sounding environmental information. How composers understand nature informs the ways in which they employ aspects of the physical world in their music. This study explores the interplay between nature-as-concept and nature-as-source-material in art-based walks, outdoor music, electroacoustic composition, and concert-hall pieces. Through analysis of works representative of these wide-ranging genres, this thesis offers a critical assessment of how nature is imagined in a contemporary musical context. The concept of a continuum is used as both a structural and theoretical tool in this study. A gradual transition from real-world encounters with nature to an abstracted experience of it is made over the course of the thesis. The works discussed in Chapter Two exist as lightly edited recordings made by artists during an outdoor walk/improvisation. The outdoor theatre piece considered in Chapter Three takes place at a lake and draws on that environment in several ways during a performance. The two electroacoustic compositions investigated in Chapter Four combine unmodified and modified nature sounds. The natural world is still present in the concert-hall works discussed in Chapter Five, but recorded nature sounds are combined with live instrumental music based on environmental properties and processes. In addition, this thesis traces four themes across works. These are technology, human presence, myth, and the transformation of the environment.  The works under consideration demonstrate a range of approaches to composing with and conceptualizing nature. Some of the works comment on environmental issues, such as noise   iii pollution and climate change. Others aim to drive understanding beyond the limits of human perception; that is, to open up new psychological spaces. In different ways, the works under focus illuminate the relationship between humans and the natural world. By stimulating discourse around how we think about nature, these pieces encourage critical thought regarding our place as humans in the physical environment.  iv Preface This thesis is the original work of the author, Tyler Kinnear.    v Table of Contents Abstract ......................................................................................................................................... ii Preface ...........................................................................................................................................iv Table of Contents...........................................................................................................................v List of Figures ............................................................................................................................. vii List of Diagrams............................................................................................................................ix List of Musical Examples ..............................................................................................................x Acknowledgements ..................................................................................................................... xii Chapter 1 Introduction .................................................................................................................1 With and Without Nature......................................................................................................................6 Ecocriticism, Ecomusicology, and the Nature of “Nature” ................................................................16 The “Music-Nature” Continuum.........................................................................................................24 Themes Across the Continuum...........................................................................................................28 The Scope of the Thesis ......................................................................................................................35 Chapter 2 Opening Ears, Activating Space...............................................................................37 From Documentation to Artistic Expression ......................................................................................41 Soundwalking and the Concept of a Musical Work ...........................................................................49 Sounds Heard: Hildegard Westerkamp, Lighthouse Park Soundwalk................................................56 Sounds Made: Dallas Simpson, The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph” ...................................67 Sounds Imagined: Janet Cardiff, Wanås Walk....................................................................................87 Soundwalking Revisited ...................................................................................................................100 Chapter 3 Rewilding the Stage and Soundscape in R. Murray Schafer’s The Princess of the Stars.............................................................................................................................................104 Overview of the Patria Cycle and The Princess of the Stars ...........................................................113 Patria and Canadian Identity ............................................................................................................116 Performer-Environment Interaction..................................................................................................117 Echo and Reverberation....................................................................................................................122 Interspecies Dialogue........................................................................................................................129   vi Rewilding the Stage and Soundscape ...............................................................................................133 Chapter 4 From Representation to Transformation: Environmental Sounds as Symbols in Two Electroacoustic Works......................................................................................................138 From Representation to Transformation...........................................................................................154 Environmental Sound as Ecological Message: Hildegard Westerkamp, Talking Rain ....................158 Environmental Sound as Metaphor: Paul Rudy, In Lake’ch.............................................................171 Acousmatic Sounds and (Im)Balanced Soundscapes .......................................................................194 Chapter 5 Sub-ice Sonifications and Spectrograms: Mapping a Natural Formation in Two Concert-Hall Works ..................................................................................................................199 The “Ecoacoustics” of Ice: Matthew Burtner, Iceprints ...................................................................204 The “Re-Performance” of Ice: Carmen Braden, Candle Ice.............................................................233 From Ice to Music: Mapping a Natural Formation...........................................................................255 Chapter 6 Conclusion................................................................................................................260 Bibliography...............................................................................................................................267 Discography ......................................................................................................................................284   vii List of Figures Figure 2.1 “A Vancouver Soundwalk”..........................................................................................43 Figure 2.2 Queen Elizabeth Park Soundwalk................................................................................44 Figure 2.3 Aerial View of Lighthouse Park in Relation to Vancouver Harbour...........................58 Figure 2.4 Flight Routes from Vancouver’s Downtown Seaplane Port ........................................58 Figure 2.5 Emily Carr, Logged-over Hillside................................................................................64 Figure 2.6 Aerial View of The Adoration of Willow Performance Sites .......................................69 Figure 2.7 Willow Trees at “Kneeton” Performance Site .............................................................70 Figure 2.8 Aerial View of “Shelford” Performance Site...............................................................71 Figure 2.9 Aerial View of “Stoke Bardolph” Performance Site....................................................71 Figure 2.10 Simpson’s Interaction with Canada Geese in “Shelford” from 30’19”–30’45” ........78 Figure 2.11 Aerial View of Wanås Walk Performance Area ........................................................89 Figure 2.12 Janet Cardiff, Wanås Walk .........................................................................................92 Figure 3.1  “Setup for the recording and filming of Music for Wilderness Lake” ......................110 Figure 3.2 Layout for the 1985 Production of Princess at Two Jack Lake.................................112 Figure 3.3 Patria Row.................................................................................................................126 Figure 4.1 Spectrogram of Car on Wet Pavement at 0’23”.........................................................164 Figure 4.2 Thirteen Cycles of the Mayan Calendar.....................................................................173 Figure 4.3 “Galactic Channel, Resonant Field Model” ...............................................................175 Figure 5.1 Performance Layout for Iceprints ..............................................................................209 Figure 5.2 Ice-extent Data Sets Mapped to Piano Register .........................................................212 Figure 5.3 Screenshot of “1990s” from Heat and the Heartbeat of the City ..............................216 Figure 5.4 Screenshot of “2080s” from Heat and the Heartbeat of the City ..............................216   viii Figure 5.5 Lament Section from Aria “When I am laid in earth” ...............................................219 Figure 5.6 Candle Ice and Ice Pan, Prosperous Lake, Northwest Territories..............................234 Figure 5.7 Candle Ice Shard, Prosperous Lake, Northwest Territories .......................................235	  ix  List of Diagrams Diagram 1.1 The “Music-Nature” Continuum ..............................................................................26 Diagram 2.1 Schema for a Work Based on a Basic Linear Communication Model .....................50 Diagram 2.2 Nattiez’s Schema for a Work....................................................................................51 Diagram 2.3 Nattiez’s Schema for a Musical Work......................................................................52 Diagram 2.4 Schema for a Recorded Art-based Walk ..................................................................54 Diagram 2.5 Formal Overview of Lighthouse Park Soundwalk ...................................................61 Diagram 2.6 Formal Overview of the On-site Performance in “Stoke Bardolph”........................75 Diagram 4.1 Formal Overview of Talking Rain..........................................................................161 Diagram 4.2 Formal Overview of In Lake’ch .............................................................................174 Diagram 5.1 Bass Lines for the Music Representing 1970–74 in Iceprints................................222 Diagram 5.2 Formal Overview of Candle Ice .............................................................................238 Diagram 5.3 Correlation of Recorded Ice Sounds and Live Instruments in Candle Ice .............241 Diagram 5.4 Fragments Derived from “Candle Ice” Rhythm in m. 101, Braden, Candle Ice ....248    x  List of Musical Examples Example 3.1 Graphic Score for Music Associated with the Dawn Birds....................................120	Example 3.2 Graphic Score for the Three-Horned Enemy .........................................................121	Example 3.3 “Aria of the Princess” at 2’13”...............................................................................125	Example 3.4 “Aria of the Princess” at 0’00”...............................................................................127	Example 3.5 Music for Flute, “Arrival of the Dawn Birds”........................................................131	Example 3.6 Music for Sopranos, “Dance of the Dawn Birds” ..................................................132	Example 5.1 Burtner, Iceprints, 0’00”–0’30” .............................................................................213	Example 5.2 Ice Extent for 1970 .................................................................................................213	Example 5.3 Ice Extent for 2007 .................................................................................................214	Example 5.4 Daniel Crawford, A Song of Our Warming Planet.................................................215	Example 5.5 Lament-like Bass Line, Burtner, Iceprints, 0’00”–0’30”.......................................221	Example 5.6 Example of Tremolo, Burtner, Iceprints, 17’00–17’30”........................................224	Example 5.7 V-shaped Line with Lowest Trough, Burtner, Iceprints, 18’30”–19’00” ..............226	Example 5.8 Harmonic Series Used for 2008, Burtner, Iceprints, 19’00”–19’30”.....................226	Example 5.9 Harmonic Series Used for 2009, Burtner, Iceprints, 19’30”–20’00”.....................227	Example 5.10 Harmonic Series After 2009, Burtner, Iceprints, 20’00”–20’10”/26’00”............228	Example 5.11 “Candle Ice” Pitch Collection in Strings and Piano, Braden, Candle Ice, mm. 1–14.....................................................................................................................................................243	Example 5.12 Imitation of Clinking Ice Shards in Violin, Braden, Candle Ice, mm. 67–81......246	Example 5.13 “Candle Ice” Rhythm at Start of D Section, Braden, Candle Ice, mm. 100–103.248	Example 5.14 Reprise of Opening Section, Braden, Candle Ice, mm. 155–162 ........................249	  xi Example 5.15 Feathered Beaming with Acceleration, Braden, Candle Ice, mm. 3–7 ................250	Example 5.16 Feathered Beaming with Acceleration Followed by Deceleration, Braden, Candle Ice, mm. 54–57 ............................................................................................................................251	Example 5.17 Application of Feathered Beaming to Cello and Piano, Braden, Candle Ice, m. 26......................................................................................................................................................252	Example 5.18 Use of Feathered Beaming in a Solo Musical Line, Serocki, Segmenti, Rehearsal B.....................................................................................................................................................253	Example 5.19 Use of Feathered Beaming in Two Musical Lines in Combination with Other Instruments, Serocki, Segmenti, Rehearsal E ..............................................................................253	   xii  Acknowledgements Although my name stands alone on the title page, this thesis exists because of the contributions of others. I am grateful to the composers and sound artists discussed in the following pages. In particular, Carmen Braden, Matthew Burtner, Paul Rudy, Dallas Simpson, and Hildegard Westerkamp. Each was generous with their time and also in sharing resources pertaining to their work. I am especially indebted to my advisor, David Metzer, for his guidance, critical eye, and tireless support. Thank you also to my readers, Richard Cavell, Alexander Fisher, Hedy Law, Sherry Lee, and Robert Pritchard.  A special thanks to Barry Truax, for helping me navigate the World Soundscape Project Database and also for valuable conversations. The thesis was enriched by Barry’s course “Acoustic Communication” and also the annual Symposium on Acoustic Communication and Soundscape Design (held at Green College, in Vancouver, Canada, 2013–15), which he co-organized with Hans-Joachim Braun (Thank you, Hans!). I also want to thank both the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity and the Wanås Center for Arts and Education for access to archival materials pertaining to Janet Cardiff’s audio walks. My five-day visit to the Banff Centre in 2013 was made possible by a Literary Arts Self-Directed Writing Residency.  Acknowledgement also goes to my colleagues in ecomusicology, especially Aaron S. Allen, William Bares, Andrew Mark, Rachel Mundy, Mark Pedelty, Jeff Todd Titon, and Denise Von Glahn, for their contributions to the field and also their encouragement. Both the Ecomusicologies Conference Series and the Ecomusicology Review have been helpful forums to think about nature, culture, and music. A special thanks to the Vancouver Soundwalk Collective,   xiii an inspiring group of artists that has shaped my understanding of what it means to listen in context.  To my colleagues at the University of British Columbia, our conversations inside and outside the classroom have been invaluable to my research. To the unceded Coast Salish territory that I have called home these last years. I have been privileged to research, reflect, and write in such a beautiful place. Thanks to Michael Dodds, for introducing me to musicology and for encouraging me throughout graduate school.  My deepest thanks to my parents, whose enduring support has enabled me to put these ideas on paper.    1 Chapter 1 Introduction “Th[e] blurring of the edges between music and environmental sounds may eventually prove to be the most striking feature of all twentieth-century music.”  —R. Murray Schafer1 The 1960s and 1970s brought about new approaches to the physical environment in the arts. In the visual arts, Walter De Maria, Michael Heizer, Ana Mendieta, Dennis Oppenheim, Robert Smithson, and others moved beyond the limitations of the gallery by transcending the museum through the use of natural settings and materials in their works.2 Composers and sound artists also began exploring the physical environment in new ways, primarily through their engagement with natural materials and outdoor spaces. Works representative of these approaches include John Cage’s Child of Tree (1975), a concert-hall piece for cacti; Bill Fontana’s Kirribilli Wharf (1976), an eight-channel sound installation that presents recordings of waves lapping against eight blowholes on the underside of a pier in Sydney Harbor; and R. Murray Schafer’s Patria the Prologue: The Princess of the Stars (1981), a live outdoor theatre work realized at a rural lake at dawn. Although many musicians engage natural materials and spaces, they do so for different reasons. Some, such as Schafer, present natural sounds in order to comment on the environmental and social conditions of a particular place. Others, like Cage, use natural source                                                 1 R. Murray Schafer, The Tuning of the World: Toward a Theory of Soundscape Design (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1977), 111. 2 This movement came to be known as “land art” (or “earth art”). On the history and development of land art, see Ran Faye, A History of Installation Art and the Development of New Art Forms (New York: Peter Lang, 2009); and John Beardsy, Earthworks and Beyond, 3rd ed (New York: Cross River Press, 1998); Claire Bishop, Installation Art: A Critical History (London: Tate, 2005). For scholarship on aesthetic approaches to land art, see Amanda Boetzkes, The Ethics of Earth Art (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010); James Dickenson, “Journey into Space: Interpretations of Landscape in Contemporary Art,” in Technologies of Landscape: From Reaping to Recycling, ed. David E. Nye, 40–68 (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1999); and Rosalind Krauss, “Sculpture in the Expanded Field,” October 8 (Spring, 1979): 30–44.   2 materials to expand conceptions of musical sound. Of interest here is how contemporary composers and sound artists represent the natural world in their works. Do they consider humans part of nature or separate from it? In what ways do they employ nature as a compositional resource? What are some of the ways in which they comment on environmentalist topics and issues in their pieces? Through close examination of a series of works from across disciplines that share an interest in sound, this study seeks to illuminate how engagement with environmental sounds in contemporary sonic art inform conceptions of nature and how conceptions of nature shape approaches to environmental sounds in sonic art.  Before introducing the works under consideration, a brief discussion of soundscape studies is in order. That discipline has had a significant influence on a number of composers engaging natural sound. Soundscape studies can be traced to the work of the World Soundscape Project (WSP), a research team formed by Schafer at Simon Fraser University in Burnaby, British Columbia, in 1969. The WSP conducted the earliest systematic study of the acoustic environment in an effort to raise awareness of noise pollution and document sonic landmarks.3 The group turned to Vancouver and the surrounding area for their first study. Their research tools included soundwalking, interviews, field recordings, and sound maps.4 Their findings were published as a 1973 book and double LP titled The Vancouver Soundscape. Subsequently, the WSP conducted similar studies across Canada (Soundscapes of Canada, 1974) and in Europe (Five Village Soundscapes, 1977). The WSP also explored the environmental and social                                                 3 The members of the WSP were Bruce Davis, Howard Broomfield, Peter Huse, R. Murray Schafer, and Barry Truax. Several students assisted the group, most notably Hildegard Westerkamp. 4 A soundwalk is a silent walk (alone or with a group) where the main purpose is to listen actively to the surrounding environment. A sound map is a document that visualizes sounds in a given physical area during a time period. Sound maps capture acoustic events in temporal or spatial terms, or a combination of the two. Examples can be found in “Appendix I: Sample Sound Notation Systems,” in Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 26467.    3 conditions of soundscapes through sonic art. The group worked in electronic-based genres, in particular phonography, radio documentary, and electroacoustic composition. Although genre and compositional techniques vary among early WSP soundscape pieces, each work emphasizes the real-world context of source materials.  Schafer and his team drew on both ecology and communication models to theorize the concept of soundscape. In terms of ecology, the research group considered humans in balance with their surroundings when their sounds were on the same scale as those from non-human sources; that is, where human-associated sounds did not mask non-human sounds.5 Regarding a communication model, the team critiqued what they saw as the transformation of environments from high-fidelity soundscapes (where sound signals are easily recognizable) to low-fidelity ones (where the sheer amount of acoustic information jeopardizes the audibility of certain sound events).6 They attributed the decline in the health of the global soundscape to developments in technology since the Industrial Revolution. The WSP viewed the increase in mechanized sounds in the 1960s as particularly problematic.  From this perspective, nature is perceived as being under the threat of Western technology. The bias toward natural sounds is exemplified in R. Murray Schafer’s 1977 publication The Tuning of the World. In “Chapter Nine: Classification,” he sorts real-world sounds according to three aspects: physical characteristics, referential properties, and aesthetic qualities. While Schafer explains the physical characteristics of environmental sounds in                                                 5 Schafer’s use of an ecology metaphor in his theory of soundscape can be understood as a continuation of the renewed—and popularized—interest in “ecological” thinking in the 1950s. For a discussion of the appropriation of ecology discourse in music, see Brent Keogh and Ian Collinson, “‘A Place for Everything, and Everything in Its Place’: The (Ab)uses of Music Ecology,” MUSICultures 43, no. 1 (2016): 1–15.  6 WSP member Barry Truax went on to develop a communication model for soundscape studies after the research group disbanded in the late 1970s. See, Truax, Acoustic Communication, 2nd ed (Westport, CT: Ablex Publishing, 2001).  4 objective terms, his classification of their referential properties and aesthetic qualities is subjective. Consider, for example, his nine categories for “Classification According to Referential Aspects”: “Natural Sounds, Human Sounds, Sounds and Society, Mechanical Sounds, Quiet and Silence, Sounds as Indicators, Mythological Sounds, Sounds of Utopia, and Psychogenic Sounds of Dreams and Hallucinations.”7 Each category has multiple subcategories, with the exception of “Quiet and Silence.” The scope and intensity of human sounds increases from physiological to societal to mechanical sounds. However, “Quiet and Silence” serves as a pivot point in Schafer’s index. This category is followed by the desired sounds of myth, utopia, and dreams. It is as if stillness and repose provide access to an idealistic world. The progression from natural to industrial to imaginary sounds in Schafer’s “Classification According to Referential Aspects” is consistent with the environmentalist leanings of the WSP. The scheme aligns with the research team’s commitment to creating greater balance between human and non-human sounds in the global soundscape.  Recent scholarship criticizes Schafer for his preference for “hi-fi” soundscapes, arguing for a non-prescriptive definition. For example, Ari Kelman claims that the idea of soundscape becomes a problem when prejudice is held against urban sounds.8 Timothy Ingold argues against the term altogether, asserting that sound is not an object of perception; rather, it is “the medium of our perception. It is what we hear in.”9 To deem natural sounds as well as quiet and silence as more valuable culturally, ecologically, and aesthetically than human sounds suggests a prejudice in favor of nature. This is not to dismiss the importance of “balanced” soundscapes to human                                                 7 Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 139–44. 8 Ari Kelman, “Rethinking the Soundscape: A Critical Genealogy of a Key Term in Sound Studies,” The Senses and Society 5, no. 2 (2010): 212–34. 9 Timothy Ingold, “Against Soundscape,” in Autumn Leaves: Sound and the Environment in Artistic Practice, ed. Angus Carlyle (Paris: Double Entendre, 2007), 11.  5 psychological wellbeing and ecosystem health; rather, it is to say that a hierarchical approach to categorization, as found in Schafer’s taxonomy, warrants close consideration.  This thesis investigates some of the ways in which nature is engaged as a concept and as a source material in the sonic arts since the fundamental work of Schafer and the WSP in the 1970s. Several of the pieces considered in this study identify with the soundscape tradition, notably those by Schafer (The Princess of the Stars) and Hildegard Westerkamp (Lighthouse Park Soundwalk [1977] and Talking Rain [1998]). Works by composers and sound artists that have contributed to the field of acoustic ecology are also examined, including Carmen Braden’s string trio Candle Ice (2014), Matthew Burtner’s piano piece Iceprints (2010), and Dallas Simpson’s outdoor improvisation series The Adoration of Willow (1998). As will be discussed in Chapter Four, acoustic ecology emerged from soundscape studies. The main premise of both fields is to better understand and raise awareness to sonic environments through academic and artistic work. Braden is a board member of the Canadian Association for Sound Ecology (an affiliate organization of the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology).10 Burtner has worked in the Sonic Research Studio in Burnaby, BC (the home of the WSP), and he leads educational workshops on sound, technology, and the environment regularly. Simpson is an active member of the acoustic ecology community in the United Kingdom and has contributed to the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology Newsletter and to several “green” record labels.  Janet Cardiff and Paul Rudy are the only two artists considered in this study that do not identify with acoustic ecology. Cardiff is a media artist who explores notions of reality and perception in her sound installations; and Rudy is a classically trained composer who works in                                                 10 The World Forum for Acoustic Ecology (WFAE) was founded in 1993. Affiliate organizations have since been established throughout the world. For additional information on the WFAE and its affiliate organizations, visit   6 the acousmatic tradition and also sound/music therapy. Natural sounds, though, play a prominent role in the two pieces discussed here (and in other works): Cardiff’s audio walk Wanås Walk (1998) and Rudy’s electroacoustic composition In Lake’ch (2007). Some, but not all of the works discussed in this study focus on environmental challenges. The compositions by Burtner, Rudy, Schafer, and Westerkamp engage ecological concerns; however, works by Braden, Cardiff, and Simpson explore other topics, in particular human psychology, memory, and the perceived quasi-biotic properties of non-living entities. Although not all sonic works comment on environmental issues, each in some way connects to the natural world through the engagement with/representation of real-world locations, presentation of live/recorded natural sounds, and/or the generation of compositional materials from non-sounding environmental information.   With and Without Nature Nature has been a topic of debate in the Western tradition since ancient times. As novelist and critic Raymond Williams once put it: “nature is perhaps the most complex word in the [English] language.”11 He offers three definitions of nature based on uses of the term throughout history: “(1) the essential quality and character of something; (2) the inherent force which directs either the world or human beings or both; and (3) the material world itself, taken as including or not including human beings.”12 Environmental historian Peter Coates adds two categories to the three put forward by Williams: “nature as an inspiration and guide for people and source of                                                 11 Raymond Williams, Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society (London: Fontana Press, 1976), 219. 12 Williams, Keywords, 219.  7 authority governing human affairs; and, nature as the conceptual opposite of culture.”13 These five conceptions of nature have often been used to draw lines in Western culture, like that between homosexual/heterosexual, developed/developing world, etc.14  The word “nature” has been referred to by other names and concepts, as with (natural) environment, natural world, soundscape, and biosphere. Furthermore, nature can be implied when using terms that refer to different aspects of the physical world. These include animals, natural phenomena, and geologic features. The word “nature” is used in this thesis to locate non-human entities and forces in contemporary composition, but not to attribute meaning to them. The effort is made in this study to avoid prescribing a particular understanding of the natural world. Through examining manifestations of nature in sonic art, this thesis attends to how and why composers and sound artists draw on aspects of the natural world in their works. Since the 1990s, humanities and social science scholarship on nature has generally sided with one of two areas of discourse that philosopher Kate Soper has referred to as postmodernism and ecology.15 For her part, she prefers the positions “nature-skeptical” and “nature-endorsing,” respectively.16 The terms “deconstruction” and “reconstruction” have elsewhere been used in reference to the two positions along with other terms.17                                                 13 Peter Coates, Nature: Western Attitudes Since Ancient Times (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 1998), 3. 14 See Carol P. MacCormack and Marilyn Strathern, eds., Nature, Culture and Gender (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1980); Donna Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (New York: Routledge, 1991); Richard H. Grove, Green Imperialism: Colonial Expansion, Tropical Island Edens, and the Origins of Environmentalism, 1600–1860 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995); and Richard Drayton, Nature’s Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the “Improvement” of the World (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000). 15 Kate Soper, What is Nature?: Culture, Politics, and the Non-Human (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1998), 3–4.  16 Soper, What is Nature?, 4. 17 See, for example, David Inglis, John Bone, and Rhoda Wilkie, eds., From ‘Nature’ to ‘Natures’: Contestation and Reconstruction, vol. 3 of Nature: Critical Concepts in the Social Sciences  8 The nature-skeptical/deconstructivist position claims that nature is a social construct, an idea that emerges from the ways in which we discuss and interact with the physical world. Formulated through discourse, nature is best understood through the act of interpretation. How nature is experienced depends on the culture that inscribes it as a concept. In other words, as a cultural construct, nature is a product of the process that is culture.18  Literary theorist Timothy Morton and philosopher Steven Vogel have approached nature as a social construct from different disciplinary angles.19 Morton begins with a critique of ecocriticism, whereas Vogel turns to critical theory. Morton argues that ecocriticism upholds the romanticized conception of nature that it seeks to overcome. He claims that by subscribing to an image of nature that is defined by external forces, instead of human influence, ecocritical writers do not merely uphold an outdated conception of the physical environment but they are also ill-equipped to address contemporary environmental crises. In that light, Morton calls for critical attention to the role of social mediation in shaping artistic representations of the physical world.20 He draws on examples of social mediation in music (e.g., John Cage and Brian Eno), literature (e.g., Henry David Thoreau and William Wordsworth), and cinema (e.g., The Thing and The Lord of the Rings). Morton argues that ecocritical works that present noir and gothic styles are equipped to comment on contemporary environmental conditions. Examples include                                                                                                                                                        (London: Routledge, 2005); John M. Meyer, Political Nature: Environmentalism and the Interpretation of Western Thought (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001); and Michael E. Soulé and Gary Lease, eds., Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, 2nd ed (Washington D.C.: Island Press, 1995). 18 On nature as a social construction, see Peter D. Dwyer, “The Invention of Nature,” in Redefining Nature: Ecology, Culture and Domestication, ed. Roy Ellen and Katsuyoshi Fukui (Oxford: Berg, 1996); Alexander Wilson, The Culture of Nature: North American Landscape from Disney to the Exxon Valdez (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1992); and MacCormack and Strathern, eds., Nature, Culture, and Gender. 19 See Timothy Morton, Ecology without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007); and Steven Vogel, Against Nature: The Concept of Nature in Critical Theory (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996). 20 Morton, Ecology without Nature, 4.  9 Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein and Ridley Scott’s film Blade Runner. Such works, as Morton views them, reflect on nature as transformed by humans rather than reifying a pristine nature that no longer exists.21 Vogel also approaches nature as a social construct, but he draws upon Marxist criticism to examine the concept. Based on György Lukács’ critique of the idea of immediacy, Vogel claims: “all ‘nature’ is second nature.”22 He goes on to argue that both societal values and cultural norms are purely social constructs and have no connection to the physical world. Vogel observes that we can begin to see the role of social mediation in shaping how we experience the environment when we challenge the view that nature has inherent value (i.e., when we view nature itself as a construct). Ultimately, both Vogel and Morton claim that in order to take greater responsibility for our impact on the environment we must critique how we situate the physical world in social terms. For the two scholars, that entails first interrogating the concept of nature and then finding new ways (and in the case of Morton, new terminology) to engage the physical environment. Morton’s critique of the applications of the concept of nature in ecocriticism is particularly informative to the current study. The burgeoning field of ecomusicology, or the study of music at the intersection of culture and the environment, has its roots in ecocriticism. Those two fields will be discussed shortly. Morton questions the relevance of the concept of nature in light of contemporary ecological circumstances in his 2007 book Ecology without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. He claims that the idea of nature has become an obstacle to contemporary environmental thought. In his words: “[Nature is] the one thing that                                                 21 Morton uses the concept of “dark ecology” (a term he coins) to explain how noir and gothic texts operate in an ecological context. See Ibid., 186–96. 22 Vogel, Against Nature, 35.  10 maintains an aesthetic distance between us and them, us and it, us and ‘over there.’”23 He posits that an ecological view more critically attuned to current environmental conditions is one that avoids the trappings of a subject-object worldview.24 Morton proposes “a poetics of ambience” in an effort to move beyond the constrained understanding of the physical world that he finds in the concept of nature. His use of the term “ambience” is strategic, for it suggests a spatial orientation that breaks down traditional lines between human subjects and non-human objects. The Latin word ambo, as Morton points out, means “on both sides.” He claims that ambience enables engagement with the physical world without reducing it to a thing: Ambience denotes a sense of a circumambient, or surrounding, world. It suggests something material and physical, though somewhat intangible, as if space itself had a material aspect [. . . .] I choose the word ambience in part to make strange the idea of environment, which is all too often associated with a particular view of nature.25   With ambience, Morton reconfigures the physical world such that the space between humans and their surroundings receives greater attention. Here, the sensed world exists as an “intangible” presence, rather than a quantifiable, and therefore self-limiting other. Although Morton urges ecocritics to adopt a concept that he sees as better fit for confronting environmental crises, his idea of ambience draws attention to the space—perhaps even the distance—between humans and their surroundings. In that way, Morton preserves the subject-object relationship that is observed in many applications of the term “nature.” The nature-endorsing/reconstructivist viewpoint can be seen as a response to the deconstructivist position. According to biologist Michael Soulé and historian Gary Lease, such a                                                 23 Morton, Ecology without Nature, 5. 24 On wilderness (nature in its “purest” form), Morton writes: “We possess the wilderness aesthetically—after the aesthetics of Kant, that is. Like an object of value in a shop window as seen by a window shopper, we consume the wilderness in a purposively nonpurposive way.” Ibid., 139. 25 Ibid., 33–34. Italics in original.   11 view is counterproductive to addressing environmental concerns and that nature does indeed have intrinsic value.26 Reconstructionists claim that nature exists as an entity that is separate from our experience and interpretation of it as humans. In line with the reconstructivist position, environmental activist Bill McKibben claims that a “humbler world” requires an “independent nature”; that is, an Earth that is not under human control.27 His position is grounded in the Romantic assumption that nature is pristine and untouched by humans, an argument that dismisses the scientific evidence that all organisms modify their environment, not just humans.  McKibben’s desire to restore nature to an “original” state pervades much environmentalist thought. Journalist J. B. MacKinnon asks: “Where in the billions of years of life on earth could we possibly draw that line [i.e., the ‘original’ baseline that marks nature in balance]?”28 MacKinnon turns to the end of the last Ice Age, a time when the web of life was deemed most complete. In an effort to create what he considers to be a more natural environment, MacKinnon endorses a method in conservation ecology known as rewilding. That method entails the reintroduction of apex predators and keystone species and the expansion of wilderness areas, in particular corridors connecting protected zones.29  Environmental historian William Cronon identifies some of the views of nature that have informed approaches to environmentalism, including nature as naïve reality, moral imperative, Eden, artifice, virtual reality, commodity, return of the repressed, and contested terrain.30 Nature                                                 26 Soulé and Lease, “Preface,” Reinventing Nature?, xv–xvii. 27 Bill McKibben, The End of Nature (New York: Random House, 1989), 58. 28 J. B. MacKinnon, The Once and Future World: Nature as it was, as it is, as it could be (Toronto: Vintage Canada, 2014), 51.  29 See Chapter Two for a discussion of rewilding in the context of Schafer’s The Princess of the Stars. 30 William Cronon, “Introduction: In Search of Nature,” in Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature, ed. William Cronon (New York and London: W. W. Norton & Company, 1996), 34–52.  12 as moral imperative is particularly relevant when thinking about sonic works that engage soundscape studies. That conception frames nature as being inherently “good” in a world of human “evil.” As such, what remains of the natural world is deemed worthy of preservation and human conduct in need of regulation. Several compositions by Schafer and Hildegard Westerkamp also exemplify this conception of nature, with their critique of noise pollution.  Cronon contends that nature as moral imperative is counterproductive to addressing contemporary ecological issues because those that adopt that position often take it as truth. He draws on elements of both deconstruction and reconstruction in order to better understand our troubled relations with the physical world and ultimately to be equipped to improve on those relations. That is to say, he calls for greater attention to the ways in which our interpretations of nature shape how we engage the physical world with the understanding that nature also exists outside of culture. If we are to confront the global environmental crisis, as Cronon views it, we need to give more critical thought to the social, religious, and/or political values that inform any one conception of nature.31  For environmental studies scholar John Farnsworth, neither deconstruction nor reconstruction is fully capable of addressing the concept of nature in the contemporary world. He asserts that both approaches position nature in relation to the human, and therefore are prone to creating an opposition between the two (a concern shared by Morton).32 In an effort to overcome the longstanding conception in Western culture that humans are separate from nature, Farnsworth argues that nature should be “resituated” as a concept, instead of deconstructed or reconstructed. He draws on business scholar David Boje’s application of the verb “to resituate”                                                 31 Cronon, “Introduction,” 52. 32 John S. Farnsworth, “Resituating Nature: New Horizons for a Pesky Noun,” Minding Nature 9, no. 1 (January 2016): 43.  13 to the Western narrative tradition. Farnsworth explains:  As I understand it, Boje’s system is to resituate a story as the final stage in the process of deconstruction. The idea is to ‘reauthor’ the story outside of its constructed hierarchies in such a way as to eliminate dualities. Boje claims that in a resituated story, there are no more centers, so that the story is free to script new actions.33   In line with Boje’s approach to narrative, Farnsworth understands re-situation as the final step in the process of deconstruction. However, Farnsworth locates nature in reality, instead of interpreting nature as a social construction. In that way, the idea of re-situation operates along similar discursive lines as reconstruction. Both perspectives aim to recondition humans to the natural world. The two positions invite new ways of perceiving the world “out there” and how we both experience and shape our surroundings as humans. However, Farnsworth’s “re-situation” of nature and reconstructive approaches differ in how they go about inspiring change. The former moves beyond an object-based ontology to encourage greater awareness and care for the environment. The latter seeks to overturn the work of deconstructive conceptions of nature by re-grounding nature as a thing that can be known and quantified. Farnsworth asserts that aesthetics helps to reveal some of the ways in which we can experience and perceive nature without succumbing to dualistic ways of thinking.34 Farnsworth does not provide a clear definition of aesthetics; however, he argues that when nature is regarded as an aesthetic it is perceived as a process and not as a thing. Aesthetics is, for Farnsworth, one way to retain the term “nature” while at the same time avoiding the antiquated understanding of nature as a material object in relationship to a human subject. The idea of nature-as-process and scholarly responses to that idea will be discussed in detail in the conclusion to the thesis.                                                 33 Farnsworth, “Resituating Nature,” 45. On Boje’s use of the verb “to resituate,” see David M. Boje, Narrative Methods for Organization and Communication Research (London: Sage, 2001). 34 Farnsworth asserts that aesthetics garners understanding of the natural world, whereas Morton claims that aesthetics reduces nature to an object. Compare Farnsworth’s point above to fn 24.  14 Since the 2000s, several scholars have moved beyond the deconstructivist and reconstructivist positions through the use of new terminology that calls attention to the ways in which humans have shaped and have also been shaped by their surroundings. For geographers Bruce Braun and Noel Castree, the degree to which societies have transformed their environments both physically and conceptually warrants adding the adjective “social” before “nature.” Braun and Castree refer to the natural environment collectively as “social natures.”35 Along those lines, sociologist Damian F. White and geographer Chris Wilbert have adopted the term “technonatures” to describe the relationships between humans and the environment in a contemporary context.36 For White and Wilbert, “technonatures” problematizes the idealization of past environmental conditions and more importantly helps to navigate a contemporary world increasingly mediated by technology. Both “social” and “techno” natures are the result of changing environmental conditions where human mediation is greater than ever before. This thesis maintains the concept of nature. However, rather than identifying with either a deconstructivist or reconstructivist stance, it seeks to showcase how contemporary works dealing with nature present elements of both approaches. As artistic products, all of the pieces under consideration have a deconstructive stance. To source sounds and/or non-sounding information from nature and then mediate those materials in a musical space, as part of a representation of nature, is a form of social construction. Works that present recorded sounds are particularly involved in social constructions of nature, as they can change the sounds that we hear and know along with our conceptions of the environments from which those sounds originate. For example, during a performance of Cardiff’s Wanås Walk at a forested area near Knislinge, Sweden the                                                 35 See Bruce Braun and Noel Castree, eds., Social Nature: Theory, Practice and Politics (Toronto: Wiley–Blackwell, 2001). 36 See Damian F. White and Chris Wilbert, eds., Technonatures: Environments, Technologies, Spaces, and Places in the Twenty-first Century (Waterloo: Wilfred Laurier University Press, 2007).  15 participant is cut off from the sounds of their immediate environment through the use of headphones. The audio recording presents a series of fragmented narratives and found sounds—many of the natural sounds on the recording were captured on-site. The participant may imagine certain sounds originating from the actual forest, but there is no way to know without removing the headphones. In that way, the forest in which the walk is conducted is partly constructed. Wanås Walk positions the participant in an actual environment where he or she can see, smell, and touch, but the sounds in the immediate environment are supplanted by recorded ones. The nature that is constructed is essentially an enhanced version of the forest in which the participant is positioned. There are realistic sounds on the recording, such as birds and wind in the trees, but there are also voices, singers, and animals that are not visible in the forest. Reconstruction is the bent of several works examined in the thesis. Pieces that recreate a natural setting in order to get at ideas of a “real” natural world include Dallas Simpson’s The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph,” Hildegard Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and Talking Rain, and Paul Rudy’s In Lake’ch. These works reconstruct nature in different ways. For example, Dallas Simpson’s “Stoke Bardolph” and Hildegard Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk are two works that document actual walks. Simpson and Westerkamp direct attention to aspects of a particular location through both observation (which audiences experience as stationary recordings) and the live performance using materials found on-site. In contrast, Westerkamp’s Talking Rain and Rudy’s In Lake’ch present an abstract journey through a series of heightened natural and man-made environments. Like Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and “Stoke Bardolph,” these two electroacoustic works illuminate soundscapes that each composer deems meaningful.  16 Common among these different approaches to nature is an interest in engaging aspects of the physical world that are understood as being separate from humans, yet to which we share a connection through our interpretation and manipulation of and ultimately our dependence on the environment. To regard nature as a social construction is particularly useful when studying manifestations of the physical world in contemporary music and sound art. The ways in which natural materials, sounds, and/or spaces are engaged in sonic works adds to our social understandings of nature in that they reiterate, revise, or even question how we engage and interpret the natural world.  Ecocriticism, Ecomusicology, and the Nature of “Nature” The study of the intersection of nature and culture in the humanities can be traced to ecocriticism (also known as literary ecology or green literary studies). The field is approximately thirty years old. The institutional foundations were laid down with the formation of the Association for the Study of Literature and Environment in 1992 and the establishment of the journal ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment a year later. In her introduction to The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, Cheryl Glotfelty defines ecocriticism as the study of literature in a time of environmental crisis. She explains that researching representations of nature in cultural products not only illuminates conceptions of nature but also sheds light on contemporary environmental issues. In other words, through the examination of a wide range of texts, including novels, poetry, short stories, and films, ecocritics create knowledge of how humans affect and are affected by the environment.37                                                 37 Cheryll Glotfelty, “Introduction: Literary Studies in an Age of Environmental Crisis,” in The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, ed. Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromm (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1996), xix.  17 The first generation of ecocritics received constructive criticism from several scholars. In his book The Truth of Ecology: Nature Culture, and Literature in America, Dana Phillips highlights three trends in the field that he finds particularly problematic: 1) dependence on a limited set of ecological themes and a generalized understanding of them, 2) rejection of postmodern views on nature and culture, and 3) a tendency to draw analogies across disciplines that may not be compatible with literary studies.38 Phillips urges that ecocriticism follow, in his words, “a less devotional attitude toward its subject matter, both literary and otherwise.”39 He sees interdisciplinary work as part of the solution, asserting that ecocritics can deepen their research by engaging critically with the fields of critical theory, philosophy, and science.  Glen Love also calls for a more skeptical approach to researching the intersections of literature, culture, and the environment. He endorses scientific rigor, instead of the interdisciplinary approach recommended by Phillips. In Love’s words: “Holistic thinking is necessary, even indispensable, but it must also anticipate all the eventualities of a complex system, for which reductionist techniques may be required.”40 He claims that an ecocriticial perspective more attuned to contemporary times is one that accounts for biology and evolutionary theory. The scope of the field of ecocriticism has broadened since Phillips’ and Love’s critical assessments. New avenues of work include animal studies, gender studies, film studies, and queer theory.41 Critical theory has remained a topic of debate in the field, with some scholars arguing against its application to ecocritical scholarship and others endorsing it.42                                                  38 Dana Phillips, The Truth of Ecology: Nature, Culture and Literature in America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), ix–x. 39 Phillips, The Truth of Ecology, 240. 40 Glen A. Love, Practical Ecocriticism: Literature, Biology, and the Environment (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2003), 43. 41 See, for example, Jennifer K. Ladino, “For the Love of Nature: Documenting Life, Death, and Animality in Grizzly Man and March of the Penguins,” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and  18 The study of literary representations of nature has served as a model for the emerging field of ecomusicology. Aaron S. Allen, in the Grove Dictionary of American Music, defines ecomusicology as “the study of music, culture, and nature in all the complexities of those terms. Ecomusicology considers musical and sonic issues, both textual and performative, related to ecology and the natural environment.”43 Steps towards the formation of the field of ecomusicology began with the establishment of two study groups in academic organizations, the Ecocriticism Study Group of the American Musicological Society (in 2007) and the Ecomusicology Special Interest Group of the Society for Ethnomusicology (in 2011). Members of the two study groups have organized the Ecomusicologies Conference Series and contributed to journal special issues and, most recently, the edited collection Current Directions in Ecomusicology: Music, Culture, Nature.44                                                                                                                                                         Environment 16, no. 1 (Winter 2009): 53–90; Adrian Ivakhiv, “Green Film Criticism and Its Futures,” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 15, no. 2 (Summer 2008): 1–28; and Gretta Gaard, “Toward a Queer Ecofeminism,” in New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism, ed. Rachel Stein, 21–44 (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2004). 42 See Louisa Mackenzie and Stephanie Posthumus, “Reading Latour Outside: A Response to the Estok–Robisch Controversy,” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 20, no. 4 (Autumn 2013): 758–77; Simon Estok, Axel Goodbody, and Kate Rigby, eds., Ecocritical Theory: New European Approaches (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2011); Serpil Opperman, “Ecocriticism’s Theoretical Discontents,” Mosaic 44 (2011): 153–69; Opperman, “Ecocriticism’s Phobic Relations with Theory,” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment 17, no. 4 (2010): 768–70; Simon Estok, “Theorizing in a Space of Ambivalent Openness: Ecocriticism and Ecophobia,” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment 16, no. 2 (2009): 199–201; S. K. Robisch, “The Woodshed: A Response to ‘Ecocriticism and Ecophobia,’” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment 16, no. 4 (2009): 697–708; and Estok, “Bridging the Great Divide: Ecocritical Theory and the Great Unwashed,” English Studies in Canada 31, no. 4 (2005): 197–209. 43 Aaron S. Allen, “Ecomusicology,” The Grove Dictionary of American Music, 2nd ed, ed. Charles Hiroshi Garrett (New York: Oxford University Press 2014).  44 Aaron S. Allen and Kevin Dawe, eds., Current Directions in Ecomusicology: Music, Culture, Nature (New York: Routledge, 2016). For more on the Ecomusicologies Conference Series visit Journal special issues on ecomusicology include “Colloquy: Ecomusicology,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 64, no. 2 (2011) and “Sound, Environment, and Action,” Music and Politics 8, no. 2 (2014). The field shows no signs of slowing down. Forthcoming publications include The Oxford Handbook of Ecomusicology (Oxford University Press), journal special issues on ecomusicology in American Music and Journal of Music History Pedagogy, and several manuscripts under contract with the “Music, Nature, Place” book series (Indiana University Press).  19 Drawing on ecocriticism, ecomusicology investigates not only representations of nature in music but also the ways in which it might help to create a more environmentally sustainable world. Allen explains:  In a true pluralistic sense, practicing ecomusicologies can comfortably encompass, on the one hand, our studies of appealing representations of idealized nature and human reflection on nature (à la Beethoven’s Symphony Pastorale). On the other hand, ecomusicology can, and must, also engage with the profound environmental crises that threaten civilization. Musicologists have the capacities to understand those crises from alternative viewpoints and make some contributions, however small, to ameliorating them.45   Along that line of thought, ecomusicology shares a connection to both ecocriticism and acoustic ecology. All three fields are committed to finding ways to improve the world.46 The core principles of ecomusicology, then, are to better understand musical representations of nature and to gain insights from studying the intersections of music, nature, and culture that can help to address environmental challenges. However, as ethnomusicologist Marc Perlman has observed, the environmentalist leanings of ecomusicology are still being formulated. He explains: Ecomusicological findings might possibly recruit music-lovers to the environmentalist cause, or inspire them when they become discouraged. But beyond that, it’s not at all clear what the activist implications of ecomusicology might be.47   Before considering the types of environments—and human relationships to those environments—that ecomusicology wishes to maintain, recover, or even create, attention should first be given to how nature has been engaged in the field.                                                 45 Aaron S. Allen, Jeff Todd Titon, and Denise Von Glahn, “Sustainability and Sound: Ecomusicology Inside and Outside the Academy,” Music & Politics 8, no. 2 (2014), 46 Advocacy ethnomusicology is another field of research with activist leanings. See Jennifer Post, “Introduction,” in Ethnomusicology: A Contemporary Reader, ed. Jennifer Post (New York: Routledge, 2006), 10; and Angela Impey, “Culture, Conservation and Community Reconstruction: Explorations in Advocacy Ethnomusicology and Action Research in Northern KwaZulu,” Yearbook for Traditional Music 34 (2002): 9–24, reprinted in Ethnomusicology: A Contemporary Reader.  47 Marc Perlman, “Ecology and Ethno/musicology: The Metaphorical, the Representational, and the Literal,” Ecomusicology Newsletter 1, no. 2 (2012): 19.  20 Ethnomusicologist Jeff Todd Titon observed two consistent readings of the concept of nature at the Ecomusicologies 2012 conference in New Orleans. Those are representations of nature in music and direct interactions between nature and music, ranging from music performed outdoors to material resources used for making instruments. In his words: “Nature most often was [defined as] wild nature, but pastoral nature and the nature of the built environment also made their appearances.”48 Titon goes on to propose: “an ecomusicological construction of nature worth having, it seems to me, will be based in [a] relational epistemology.”49 By this he is referring to music and sound research driven by ecological models of “diversity, interconnectedness, and co-presence.”50 Though a relational epistemology may prove useful in helping to recondition humans to their surroundings in a time of environmental crisis, it provides yet another broad definition of nature driven by ecological principles. Titon’s definition of a nature “worth having” maintains the understanding that humans are detached from the natural world and should reconnect to it.  Ecomusicology, however, is progressing beyond an older ecological model that privileges notions of balance in nature, as found in Schafer’s theory of soundscape. For example, Titon has advocated for greater adaptation and resiliency to changing environmental conditions.51 Other ecomusicologists that are considering ecological implications with more careful attention include Aaron S. Allen, Andrew Mark, Mark Pedelty, and Robyn Ryan. Allen has explored several instrument-making practices worldwide in terms of the relationship between material sourcing                                                 48 Jeff Todd Titon, “The Nature of Ecomusicology,” Música e Cultura: revista da ABET 8, no. 1 (2013): 10. 49 Titon, “The Nature of Ecomusicology,” 16. 50 Ibid., 8. 51 See Jeff Todd Titon, “Sustainability, Resilience and Adaptive Management for Applied Ethnomusicology,” in The Oxford Handbook of Applied Ethnomusicology, ed. Svanibor Pettan and Jeff Todd Titon, 157–95 (Oxford: Oxford University Press: 2015).  21 and sound standards (e.g., Stradivarius violins) and the environmental sustainability of those practices, or the lack thereof.52 In his ethnographic study of music culture on Hornby Island, British Columbia, Mark investigates some of the ways in which notions of place and belonging in that island community are being challenged by changing environmental, cultural, economic, and political forces, and how local musicians are responding to those forces.53 Pedelty has examined approaches to environmental activism in Western popular music, with attention to both musical style and the physical impact of live music making on the environment.54 Ryan has considered some of the ways in which indigenous musicians in Australia are adapting to climate change.55  As the above scholars demonstrate, ecomusicologists are giving critical attention to the complex environmental, social, and political forces at play in a given context, instead of subscribing to a reductive conception of nature driven by an ecological model of balance and order. In addition to these new perspectives, some ecomusicologists are employing new terminology in an effort to comment on nature in an ecological world. Ana María Ochoa Gautier has argued that one way to move beyond a nature-culture divide in music scholarship is through what she calls “acoustic multinaturalism”; that is, where different ontologies of sound are taken                                                 52 Aaron S. Allen, “‘Fatto Di Fiemme’: Stradivari’s Violins and the Musical Trees of the Paneveggio,” in Invaluable Trees: Cultures of Nature, 1660–1830, ed. Laura Auricchio, Elizabeth Heckendorn Cook, and Giulio Pacini, 301–15 (Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 2012). See also Kevin Dawe, “Materials Matter: Towards a Political Ecology of Musical Instrument Making,” in Current Directions in Ecomusicology, 109–21. 53 Andrew Christopher Whitton Mark, “What is Music For?: Utopian Ecomusicologies and Musicking Hornby Island” (Ph.D. diss., York University, 2015). 54 Mark Pedelty, Ecomusicology: Rock, Folk, and the Environment (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2012); and Pedelty, A Song to Save the Salish Sea: Musical Performance as Environmental Activism (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2016). 55 Robin Ryan, “‘No Tree—No Leaf’: Applying Resilience Theory to Eucalypt–Derived Musical Traditions,” in Current Directions in Ecomusicology, 57–68.  22 into account when interpreting acoustic events in space and time across cultures and history.56 Ochoa Gautier’s “acoustic multinaturalism,” like Titon’s “relational epistemology,” offers a conception of nature that is built on plural perceptions. Both Gautier and Titon examine points of exchange and influence between multiple human and non-human agents, instead of a single human perspective. Music theorist Eric Drott has offered another way for ecomusicology to move beyond a limited understanding of the concept of nature. He argues that the field should attend to “competing orientations of nature” in musical works.57 Drott does not explore the larger concept of nature, but instead provides music scholars with a model that takes into account some of the more nuanced, complex aspects of real-world places that are evoked in musical works. He uses the terms “nature,” “environment” and “landscape” interchangeably. Drott turns to Luc Ferrari’s electroacoustic composition Petite symphonie intuitive pour un paysage de printemps (1974) to explore one piece that reflects opposing perceptions of the natural world. Ferrari’s work offers two different perspectives of the Causse Méjean, a plateau in southern France known for its favorable farming conditions. Those positions are the shepherds that inhabitant the plateau, and whose lives are threatened by changing economic and political conditions, and the tourists visiting the plateau, a social group associated with the modernization of the landscape. The two views are captured in the field recordings presented over the course of the work. A series of flute recordings and machine sounds are also heard, which can be associated with the peasant and tourist positions, respectively. The former involves a bucolic landscape and notions of the pastoral, and the latter is associated with the modernization of rural settings. Drott examines how                                                 56 Ana María Ochoa Gautier, “Acoustic Multinaturalism, the Value of Nature, and the Nature of Music in Ecomusicology,” Boundary 2 43, no. 1 (2016): 107–41. 57 Eric Drott, “The Peasant’s Voice and the Tourist’s Gaze,” in Current Directions in Ecomusicology, 234.  23 the rural voice of inhabitants of the Causse Méjean and the urban voice of tourists visiting that region clash over the course of the composition, specifically how traditional ways of living on the plateau are challenged by the pressures of technology and development.58  Several works in the thesis present two or more opposing perspectives of nature. Schafer’s The Princess of the Stars, Westerkamp’s Talking Rain, and Rudy’s In Lake’ch are three pieces that pit the natural world against modernized humanity. Schafer uses character roles to represent those two perspectives in his outdoor theatre work, specifically Dawn Birds for nature and the Three-Horned Enemy for modernization. In an electroacoustic context, Westerkamp and Rudy juxtapose quiet natural sounds such as flowing water and birds and brash machine sounds like trains and screeching brakes. However, not all of the composers of works examined in the thesis set the natural world against modern life. Burtner’s Iceprints and Braden’s Candle Ice are two works that focus on ice melt patterns without commentary on the impact of humans on the natural formation. The role of humans in shaping those patterns in recent decades is a topic that some audience members may apply when listening to either work, but the exact impact of humans on ice melt trends is not stated explicitly in Burtner’s or Braden’s composition. An alternative way to consider contrasting views of nature, then, is to examine multiple works from different genres. This study aims to find both discrepancies and repetitions in how nature is engaged in works that are diverse in both format and style. The careful examination of a wide range of pieces builds upon the insights into nature that are brought forth by studies of individual works and artists.                                                  58 Drott, “The Peasant’s Voice and the Tourist’s Gaze,” 234–35.  24 The “Music-Nature” Continuum This study uses the concept of a continuum as both a structuring device and a theoretical tool. The concept is not new to composers or music scholars. The idea of a continuum is central to the history of electroacoustic music. Several pieces from the seminal period of the 1950s use the continuum as a structural ideal. For example, in Karlheinz Stockhausen’s Gesang der Jünglinge (1956) electronic sounds and the recording of a boy’s voice are used to create a continuous transition from sine waves to white noise, with the human element located midway on the continuum and the sine waves and white noise as outer poles.59 Works such as Gesang der Jünglinge demonstrate how early electroacoustic composers found the concept of a continuum helpful for dealing with the wide range of sounds that they could draw upon.  In music studies, the concept has been applied primarily to electroacoustic music. John Young distinguishes the endpoints of the continuum based on the recognition of sounds and their identification with a real-world context.60 He uses the terms “Reality” and “abstraction” to describe the two poles. According to Young, “Reality” requires source recognition and a clear or implied physical context and “abstraction” is defined by unidentifiable sounds without a physical context. The midway point of the continuum is absent from Young’s discussion. However, based on the endpoints of the continuum, it is plausible that sounds become blurred and difficult to recognize as the listeners move towards “abstraction.” Barry Truax sets up a similar continuum within the genre of electroacoustic soundscape composition. His continuum presents “found                                                 59 On the continuum concept and the music of Stockhausen, see Elena Ungeheuer, “From the Elements to the Continuum: Timbre Composition in Early Electronic Music,” Contemporary Music Review 10, no. 2 (1994): 25–33. 60 John Young, “Imagining the Source: The Interplay of Realism and Abstraction in Electroacoustic Music,” Contemporary Music Review 15, no. 1 (1996): 73–93. The continuum is discussed on pages 77-79.  25 sound” and “abstracted” as the two endpoints.61 A found soundscape entails minimal processing, thus maintaining recognition of sound sources. An abstracted soundscape is created through digital processing. Yet, in the spirit of acoustic ecology, there is an emphasis on environmental context across the continuum in Truax’s model.  The continuum concept is a constructive research tool for investigating uses of nature in contemporary works. This thesis applies the concept of a continuum to sonic works from a wide range of genres, including art-based walks, outdoor performance pieces, field recordings, electroacoustic compositions, and concert-hall works.62 Nature becomes abstracted as the reader moves along the continuum from real-world performance settings (art-based walks and outdoor works) to virtual environments (electroacoustic compositions) to the use of non-sounding information gathered from natural environments to generate compositional material (concert-hall works).  It is through human mediation that artists traverse this “music-nature” continuum. Human mediation is manifested differently depending on the location of a work on the continuum (refer hereafter to Diagram 1.1). At “nature as perceived,” listeners/performers experience a direct encounter with actual environments. In the purest sense, “nature as perceived” entails listening actively to live environmental sounds. One example is David Dunn’s work for solo listener, Purposeful Listening in Complex States of Time (1997–98). In that piece, the listener-performer adopts a series of listening states in twenty quiet, outdoor environments of their choice. The score directs the solo listener to face different directions for a set duration and at times to give attention to live sounds and in other moments to reflect on past or imagined sounds. Although                                                 61 Barry Truax, “Soundscape Composition as Global Music: Electroacoustic Music as Soundscape,” Organised Sound 13, no. 2 (August 2008): 106. 62 The term “art-based walk” will be introduced in Chapter Two.  26 sounds are not modified by technological means in Dunn’s composition, they are still processed. The act of perception is a form of processing. In other words, the listener-performer interprets sounds as he or she experiences them.   <––––––Human mediation––––––> Nature as perceived  Nature modified  Nature abstracted Diagram 1.1 The “Music-Nature” Continuum. The three art-based walks considered in Chapter Two do not fall at the end point of the continuum, but they are close to it. Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and Simpson’s The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph” exist as recordings, whereas Cardiff’s Wanås Walk is conducted live. Additionally, Wanås Walk features technology that is not used in the two recorded walks. The participant moves through a specific site wearing headphones. Cardiff gives directions for where to go, when to stop, and what to observe. Many of the sounds do not align with those in the actual space, including environmental sounds, music, and speech. In that way, the listener-performer is disconnected from their immediate surroundings. Yet, all three art-based walks fall closer to “nature as perceived” than “nature modified” for the reasons that each work connects listeners to a specific real-world location, natural sounds are easily recognizable, and, related, studio processing is kept to a minimum.  Midway on the continuum, nature is encountered through an electroacoustic context. Here, works exhibit greater use of technological mediation, especially studio processing. As a result, it can be difficult to trace a recorded sound to an original source. For example, listeners may recognize the sound of flowing water, but this does not provide the contextual information needed to associate it with a specific real-world location. At times, environmental sounds are manipulated to the point that they are no longer recognizable. One such example is the sound of rocks grinding and rolling (possibly a marble) in Rudy’s In Lake’ch. In other instances, modified  27 sounds are positioned next to unmodified ones (possibly even from the same source). Such is the case in Westerkamp’s Talking Rain where quasi-pitched, drop-like sounds are combined with unprocessed water droplets. However, nature is not fully abstracted in works positioned midway on the continuum, as the referential aspects of prerecorded sounds remain important. Such works maintain an environmental context, but generally refer to a region or a type of setting, instead of a specific site like those experienced in art-based walks.  Closer to the endpoint of the continuum, non-sounding information is used to set parameters of a composition. Works at the very end of the continuum use information from the natural world to generate compositional material but are absent of recorded sounds. Some pieces at the endpoint are context based, such as John Luther Adams’ permanent sound-and-light installation The Place Where You Go to Listen (2004–) and Andrea Polli’s online installation Heat and the Heartbeat of the City (2004). Adams translates data from multiple geophysical monitoring stations in Alaska into sound and light in real-time. Polli converts documented and projected maximum summer temperatures in Central Park, New York, into synthetic noise. Others compositions engage nature strictly in technical terms, instead of commenting on real-world places and/or environmental issues. For example, Natasha Barrett’s Crack (2007), for trumpet, electric guitar, percussion, and live electronics, uses information derived from cracks in both natural and synthetic materials to determine form. Another example is Eduardo Miranda’s Biocomputing Rhythms (2016), for piano and percussion, which uses the electrical impulse of a slime mold in a container on stage to activate mechanical triggers positioned above the instruments. Based on context, The Place Where You Go to Listen and Heat and the Heartbeat of the City are close to, but not at the furthest point of the continuum, whereas Crack and Biocomputing Rhythms are placed at the endpoint.   28 The two works examined in the final chapter of the thesis, Burtner’s Iceprints and Braden’s Candle Ice, are located between “nature modified” and “nature abstracted.” Iceprints and Candle Ice are positioned closer to the “nature abstracted” end of the continuum than Westerkamp’s Talking Rain and Rudy’s In Lake’ch in light of Burtner and Braden each drawing on non-sounding information to set parameters of the score. Burtner uses ice-extent data to determine register in the piano. Braden applies ice formation patterns to phrase structure and also form, and both composers draw on spectrographic analyses to shape musical elements such as rhythm, pitch, and dynamics. Iceprints and Candle Ice are chosen for the final chapter—instead of works at far-end of the continuum—for the reason that both pieces maintain an environmental context, which makes them more suitable for purposes here. A real-world scenario is brought into the works through the use of recorded nature sounds and supplemental materials. Iceprints features three hydrophone recordings of sea ice and marine animals in an unidentified arctic location. Candle Ice excerpts multiple hydrophone recordings of candle ice at Great Slave Lake, Northwest Territories. The two composers also provide introductory notes in the score that explains the background of these source materials.   Themes Across the Continuum Four main themes emerge across the continuum between “nature as perceived” and “nature abstracted.” They are technology, human presence, myth, and transformation. The topics both illuminate aspects of individual pieces and highlight recurring conceptions of the natural world, namely nature as a complex ecosystem with “hidden” acoustic and structural properties.     29 Technology Technology is defined here as the tools that composers and sound artists use to engage the physical world.63 Examples of technology present in works considered in the thesis include the human body (e.g., voice, hands, and feet) and electronics (e.g., audio recording and playback technology). Several composers understand technology as a means by which to enhance awareness of actual environments. For example, both Westerkamp and Rudy modify field recordings in order to illuminate the connotation of a real-world sound. Similarly, Burtner’s use of sonification offers new angles for perceiving patterns in environmental systems. In works from the middle to the abstraction end of the continuum, the recognition of the inherent acoustic properties of nature is often secondary to the sounds brought out by technology. This is not to say that technology suppresses nature, rather, that it provides access to the inner properties of sound and natural phenomena. Technology also helps to create commentary around pressing environmental topics, such as noise pollution and climate change. In terms of noise pollution, Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk uses speech to remark on the transformation of the Pacific Northwest from a quiet region to one defined by mechanical noise, like seaplanes. Regarding climate change, Burtner’s Iceprints maps ice-extent measurements onto the score in order to expose the melting trend in Arctic sea ice over the past 40 years.                                                  63 For more on the concept of technology, see Wiebe E. Bijker, Thomas P. Hughes, and Trevor Pinch, eds., The Social Construction of Technological Systems: New Directions in the Sociology and History of Technology (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2012); Madeleine Akrich, “The Description of Technical Objects,” in Shaping Technology/Building Society: Studies in Sociotechnical Change, ed. Weibe E. Bijker and John Law, 205–224 (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992); Don Ihde, Technology and Praxis: A Philosophy of Technology (Dordrecht: Reidel, 1979); and Jacques Ellul, The Technological Society (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1964). On technology at the intersection of culture and the environment, see Wim Zweers and Jan J. Boersema, eds., Ecology, Technology and Culture (Cambridge, UK: White Horse Press, 1994); Victor C. Ferkiss, Nature, Technology, and Society: Cultural Roots of the Current Environmental Crisis (New York: New York University Press, 1993); and Erik Baark and Uno Svedin, eds., Man, Nature and Technology: Essays on the Role of Ideological Perceptions (London: Macmillan, 1988).   30 The large number of works that employ recording devices and computer software raise questions as to why composers depend heavily on technology to interact with the natural world. Have we as a species become so accustomed to technology that the use of it is second nature? Or have we grown removed from nature to the point that we need technology (the supposed opposite of nature) to engage it? Does technology privilege us with a way to capture the complexities of the acoustic environment that traditional forms of composition cannot contain?  Human Presence Human presence is brought out in a variety of ways in the works under consideration, ranging from the presentation of man-made sounds in electroacoustic compositions (e.g., bodily sounds—footsteps in Westerkamp’s Talking Rain and drinking in Rudy’s In Lake’ch) to the placement of audience members and performers in outdoor locations (e.g., Cardiff’s Wanås Walk and Schafer’s The Princess of the Stars). In several works, physiological human sounds are positioned in opposition to machine sounds. For example, in Rudy’s In Lake’ch, machine sounds overpower nature sounds, whereas physiological sounds such as drinking serve as a transition from a damaged environment to a healing space. Along similar lines, the sound of car tires on wet pavement in Westerkamp’s Talking Rain disrupts the type of rain heard; the car activates a shift to a different nature setting. In contrast, footsteps are presented alongside raindrops striking leaves and soil for an extended passage, and thus evoke a more balanced form of human presence in a natural environment. The presence of mechanical sounds in In Lake’ch and Talking Rain suggest that technologized society is detrimental to the health of the natural world. Yet, paradoxically, both Rudy and Westerkamp turn to studio technology in order to make such commentary.  31 Schafer also comments on what he understands as disruptive and complementary forms of human presence in several of his works, including both outdoor theatre pieces and concert-hall works. This juxtaposition of destructive and harmonious ways of being in nature is exemplified by The Princess of the Stars. In that piece, Schafer positions instrumentalists and audience members on the edge of a rural lake in an effort to recondition them to the natural environment.64 Schafer portrays a destructive relationship when he provides a megaphone to the Three-Horned Enemy, the antagonist of the theatre piece. A holistic relationship between humans and the natural world is evoked when the musicians are directed to interact with their surroundings and to imitate the sounds of birds.   Myth Several composers understand contemporary environmental crises as a consequence of human values. Paul Rudy maintains that the current state of Earth is an erosion of human spirituality, calling for self-reflection.65 Schafer advocates for a reassessment of how sounds function in society. He remarks that in order to create a more sustainable soundscape:  We must return to the waters of instinct and the unshatterable unity of the unconscious, letting the long waves of Ursound sweep us beneath the surface, where, listening blindly to our ancestors and the wild creatures, we will feel it surge within us again, in our speaking and in our music.66   Schafer maintains that humans can return to a state of equilibrium with the planet, an idea that is upheld by many environmentalists. In line with Cronon’s description of nature as moral imperative, Schafer’s theatre works invite both performers and audiences to reconnect with                                                 64 Other works that position performers and audience members at a lake include Music for Wilderness Lake (1979), Patria 9: The Enchanted Forest (1994), and Patria the Epilogue: And Wolf Shall Inherent the Moon (1984–). 65 Paul Rudy, liner notes to In Lake’ch, Twisted Trail Music, TTM 1, 2007.  66 R. Murray Schafer, “Ursound,” Musicworks 29 (Fall 1985): 22.  32 nature so as to cultivate greater care and respect for the physical world.  Rudy, Schafer, and other composers engage myths, collective human stories charged with symbolism, in order to invite listeners to reflect on—and arguably strengthen—their connection to nature. Rudy’s In Lake’ch (Mayan for “I am another yourself”) ruminates on human cosmology. The composer begins with a history that covers changes in the relationship between humans and the environment: from times of shamanism (“Orange Dust: Ancient Chemical Knowledge”) to human domination and destruction (“A Quailing Prairie,” “Veiled Dead Zones”), to reflection (“Hidden Catalyst”), to a final transcendence (“…a Terminus of Blue”). This narrative—the progression from a primordial landscape, to an industrialized environment, to an otherworldly, heavenly realm—is reflected musically through the initial presentation of rich earthly sounds (geothermal activity) followed by abrasive human sounds (scraping metal) and closing with timeless healing sounds (drops of water, sustained vibrant harmonies).  Schafer, in contrast, posits that in order to recover from the human-made ecological crisis the rediscovery of a past, mythological soundscape is needed. He looks to the past to find hope for the future.  In an effort to rediscover this “lost” environment, Schafer leads a troupe of musicians to the Haliburton Wildlife Reserve in Ontario for an annual performance of The Princess of the Stars and And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon, both movements from The Patria Cycle. Over the course of ten days, performers divide into “clans” (each named after a totem animal native to the region) and engage in daily rituals informed by indigenous traditions, such as the “First Dawn Ritual” wherein a First Nations drum calls participants to the ritual by playing the Earth’s “heartbeat” and clan members recite prayers facing the four directions. Through the integration of ancient myths and aspects of natural science (Rudy) and taking music out of the performance hall and into the field (Schafer), environmentalist composers seek to regain lost  33 knowledge of the human relationship to the physical world and to direct culture to a higher plane of consciousness where humans and nature achieve balance.   Transformation  Several works focus on environments transformed by humans. These include Rudy’s commentary on industrialization and environmental degradation in In Lake’ch, Westerkamp’s attention to noise pollution in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk, and Cardiff’s remarks on war and memory in Wanås Walk. Other pieces focus on changes in natural forces over time, as with Burtner’s exploration of ice extent patterns across 40 years in Iceprints and Braden’s depiction of the final melting stages of lake ice in the spring in Candle Ice. The role of human activity in the transformation of arctic and subarctic environments is not engaged directly in those two works. Instead, that topic is alluded to through the now well-established connection between global ice patterns and anthropogenic climate change. Environmental sounds are transformed in several works through studio processing. Hildegard Westerkamp and Paul Rudy apply bandpass filters and equalization to their source materials. However, many of the modified sounds heard in Westerkamp’s Talking Rain and Rudy’s In Lake’ch are still recognizable. These include birdcalls, car traffic, church bells, dogs barking, flowing water, rain, and trains. That sounds remain identifiable in those two works is explained by Westerkamp’s and Rudy’s interest in maintaining an environmental and social context in their compositions.  It is difficult to identify the recorded materials in Iceprints and Candle Ice based on their sonic properties alone. The grinding and cracking of polar ice sheets and the distinct clinking of candle ice are not sounds that many humans encounter in daily life. The recording and post- 34 production techniques used in Iceprints and Candle Ice abstract ice sounds even more. The hydrophone technology draws listeners into a sub-ice environment where they are exposed to foreign sounds and acoustics. In terms of studio processing, Burtner applies a digital filter to the recorded materials in his composition and Braden uses bandpass filters and equalization in her piece. However, context is important to both Burtner and Braden. They use supplemental materials in order to inform listeners of the source and associations of sounds heard in their compositions. Several works aim to transform how listeners experience and perceive the natural world. In the tradition of acoustic ecology, both Schafer and Westerkamp use active listening as a way to observe what they understand as balances and imbalances in the environment. The Princess of the Stars requires listeners and performers to listen across an open lake, to perceive environmental sounds as part of the performance, and to embrace the transformation of musical sounds by the outdoor atmospheric conditions. In contrast, Lighthouse Park Soundwalk raises awareness to the changing soundscape of Vancouver through the use of speech, specifically the impact of mechanical sounds on a quiet natural setting. Where Schafer and Westerkamp draw on the sounds of specific sites in order to inspire the transformation of listeners’ perceptions of nature, Rudy leads listeners beyond Earth. He traces the transformation of humanity from a base existence driven by materialism and consumption to a higher plane of consciousness. In different ways, Schafer, Westerkamp, and Rudy invite their audiences to listen both outwardly to the sounds within a physical space and inwardly to their reactions to sounds. Ultimately, these three works aim to raise awareness to real-world environmental concerns and perhaps even inspire action.   35 The Scope of the Thesis This thesis is not comprehensive in its consideration of contemporary composers and sound artists that are engaging nature in their work. No study could accomplish this without the extensive work of several authors. Such a manuscript would also be inclined to take the form of a survey. Important artists are missing from this study: John Luther Adams, Leah Barclay, David Dunn, Yolanda Harris, and Annea Lockwood, to name a few. The aim here is to examine works that represent a wide range of approaches to nature and works that illustrate the four themes introduced above. The physical spaces encountered in the works under consideration are not pristine, untouched locales. Instead, they are places that have been transformed by humans. Locations include an artificial lake, a dike and flood plain, and a sculpture park. Furthermore, several works considered in this study do not position listeners in a specific place. For example, Matthew Burtner engages the vast Arctic in Iceprints, and Paul Rudy comments on Earth in In Lake’ch. This study argues that works such as Iceprints and In lake’ch have the capacity to stir emotional bonds to the natural world and to connect listeners to actual locations through abstraction, rather than locating listeners vis-à-vis a landscape. Although nature is engaged differently among the compositions considered in the thesis, each piece connects to a real-world context.  The past four decades have witnessed a growing interest in environmental issues and a greater awareness of the impact that humans have on the planet. Contemporary composers have played an important role in this conversation, addressing such topics as climate change, noise pollution, and the dynamic properties of environmental processes. Additionally, the field of ecomusicology has laid the groundwork for research on contemporary music and sound art that  36 draws on nature through the exploration of nature depictions in Western classical and popular music and also through showcasing some of the ways in which composers, musicians, and scholars are working towards creating a more sustainable and just world.  By recognizing these lines of inquiry—both artistic and scholarly—the thesis investigates compositional methods little explored in music scholarship. These include art-based walks and sonification. The concept of a continuum will be used to frame the manifold ways in which nature informs contemporary approaches to the sonic arts. Through the examination of nature across a range of compositional approaches, this study seeks to better illuminate the techniques contemporary composers are using to address environmental issues, how they are maintaining, revising, or even challenging cultural conceptions of the natural world, and in what ways they are redefining concepts of musical structure and perception. 37  Chapter 2 Opening Ears, Activating Space “To walk is to enjoy the transitory; it is a relic of our nomadic past. Walking requires one to be prepared to make quick decisions, not only about where to go, but also about how to judge the world passing by. It sharpens the senses and helps us to deal with the sudden and the unexpected. Walking enables reflections that might transform the commonplace.” —Mirjam Schaub67  On Thursday morning, 17 March 1977, composer and acoustic ecologist Hildegard Westerkamp entered Lighthouse Park, a large park outside Vancouver, British Columbia, noted for its old-growth trees and coastal vistas. With a microphone, Westerkamp set out to capture sonic footage for her weekly radio program, Soundwalking.68 The final work, Lighthouse Park Soundwalk, consists of approximately thirty-five minutes of recorded material from this longer walk.69 The composition begins with a stationary recording in the forest, where a nearby stream, several songbirds, and a distant seaplane are audible. Within an instant, the plane passes overhead, disrupting the sounds of nature as it enters the foreground. As the aircraft sound starts to fade, Westerkamp steps forward, gathers her recording equipment, and welcomes listeners to Lighthouse Park. Without a preface, the listener is introduced to a practice known as soundwalking, an exercise (alone or with a group, preplanned or improvised) where the purpose                                                 67 Mirjam Schaub, Janet Cardiff: The Walk Book (Cologne: Verlag Der Buchhandlung Walther Konig, 2005), 76. 68 Soundwalking aired from 1978–79 on Vancouver Co-Operative Radio. The program was initially thirty minutes in duration, and was co-hosted by Westerkamp, Anne Holmes, and Joan Henderson. After receiving a grant from the Canada Council for the Arts, the broadcast was extended to one hour starting in the fall of 1978. At this point, Westerkamp became the sole host of the program. Hildegard Westerkamp, personal interview by author, Vancouver, British Columbia, 12 July 2013. 69 Lighthouse Park Soundwalk aired 4 March 1979 on Vancouver Co-Operative Radio. A recording is available at (accessed 15 June 2013).  38 is to listen to the immediate environment while moving through space.70  Since Westerkamp’s radio program, interest in art-based walks has grown exponentially.71 For purposes here, the term “art-based walk” is used to refer to performance-based art works that combine active listening and physical movement. Approaches within the genre vary greatly. Some artists build on the original concept of soundwalking, giving focus to the sounds of the immediate environment and reflecting on the historical, cultural, and/or political facets therein.72 Others show interest in exploring new dimensions of sound and space through technological mediation, whether to make the inaudible audible or to re-conceive the everyday experiences of observation and navigation.73                                                  70 In The Tuning of the World, R. Murray Schafer distinguishes a “listening walk” from a “soundwalk” on the basis that the latter calls the participant to make sounds through performance, whereas the former does not. See The Tuning of the World, 212–13. The concept of soundwalking has broadened to include both. For purposes here, a soundwalk is defined as a listening walk where sound making is optional—the decision is typically made by the organizer of the walk.  71 Soundwalking also serves as a research tool, with growing interest in fields such as communication, geography, and urban design. See Ozgun Eylul Iscen, “In-Between Soundscapes of Vancouver: The Newcomer’s Acoustic Experience of a City with a Sensory Repertoire of Another Place,” Organised Sound 19, no. 2 (August 2014): 125–35; Jennifer Schine, “Listening to a Sense of Place: Acoustic Ethnography with Billy Proctor in the Broughton Archipelago, British Columbia,” Master’s thesis, Simon Fraser University, 2013; Mags Adams, “Hearing the City: Reflections on Soundwalking.” Qualitative Researcher 10 (July 2009): 6–9; Toby Butler, “A Walk of Art: The Potential of the Sound Walk as Practice in Cultural Geography,” Social & Cultural Geography 7, no. 6 (2006): 889–908. 72 Examples include Helmi Järviluoma’s sonic memory walks, Andra McCartney’s soundwalks, and soundwalks organized by members of the Vancouver Soundwalk Collective. See Helmi Järviluoma, “Lesconil, My Home: Memories of Listening,” in Acoustic Environments in Change, ed. H. Järviluoma, M. Kytö, B. Truax, H. Uimonen, and N. Vikman, 172–92 (Tampere, Finland: TAMK University of Applied Sciences, 2009); Andra McCartney, “Performing Soundwalks for Journées Sonores, Canal de Lachine,” in Performing Nature: Explorations in Ecology and the Arts, ed. Gabriella Giannachi and Nigel Stewart, 217–34 (Bern: Peter Lang, 2005); and Tyler Kinnear, “Reflections from the Vancouver Soundwalk Collective,” The World Forum for Acoustic Ecology Newsletter 9, no. 4 (2012): 11. 73 Consider, for example, Christina Kubisch’s electrical walks, where participants are equipped with headphones that generate sound from nearby electromagnetic currents, and Yolande Harris’ Displaced Sound Walks (2010–), where participants record a walk with binaural microphones, listen back to the recording, and then conduct the same walk while listening to the recording over headphones. On Kubisch’s electrical walks, see Christoph Cox and Christina Kubisch, “Invisible Cities: An Interview with Christina Kubisch,” Cabinet Magazine 21 (Spring 2006), For more on Harris’ Displaced Sound Walks, see Yolande Harris, “Presentness in Displaced Sound,” Leonardo Music Journal 23 (2013): 13–14. Technologically mediated forms of soundwalking have  39 This chapter focuses on art-based walks in outdoor, natural settings. Generally speaking, these locations are significantly less populated than urban environments and are understood culturally as places of repose and renewal. The locations chosen are also typically marked by a low ambient noise level, what R. Murray Schafer calls a “hi-fi environment.”74 In a hi-fi environment, human sounds are heard in relation to a larger ecosystem of sounds (they are on the same scale as the environment). In a lo-fi environment, human sounds often dominate acoustic space (they redefine the scale of the environment).75 There are lo-fi natural sounds, of course, like a waterfall and a windstorm. However, such sounds are generally absent from the writings of Schafer and the WSP.76 They instead focus on lo-fi human sounds that are deemed damaging to otherwise hi-fi soundscapes.  The following pages investigate some of the ways in which contemporary artistic approaches to walking treat nature as both concept and source material. What draws artists to nature locales? Do artists treat nature sounds differently than human-made sounds? In what ways do artists interact with their surroundings? How does the design of an art-based walk inform an audience’s perception of environmental sound? Each of the walks discussed in this chapter are preserved on a recording that features little or no electronic processing. The intent of recording an art-based walk is often for documentation purposes. It is also how some artists share their work with audiences. These recordings are best described as creating an immersive experience                                                                                                                                                        become increasingly accessible to the general public. Participants can now download various applications on their mobile device and conduct a soundwalk at their own leisure. These include audio tours (, real-time signal-processing software (, and the playback of geotagged field recordings (   74 Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 43. 75 R. Murray Schafer, ed., The Vancouver Soundscape, World Soundscape Project, Document No. 5 (Burnaby, BC: Sonic Research Studio, Simon Fraser University, 1973), 48. 76 Schafer mentions powerful natural sounds, such as ice deformation and the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883. He also gives heavy rain and thunder as two examples of what he calls “sacred noise.” Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 27, 51.  40 for the listener; that is, a strong allusion to physical presence in a particular real-world setting. How artists position and direct the microphone(s) helps to create immersion. In this way, art-based walks can be positioned at one end of a continuum between artistic practices that feature nature as perceived and those that present nature abstracted. Furthermore, several patterns emerge from investigating walks through nature spaces, including the use of technology and the assertion of human presence in the environment.  In order to explore some of the ways in which artists realize walks in nature settings, three works will be discussed: Hildegard Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk (1977), Dallas Simpson’s The Adoration of Willow series (with particular attention to his “Stoke Bardolph” performance) (1998), and Janet Cardiff’s Wanås Walk (1998). These artists represent wide-ranging backgrounds. Westerkamp is a classically trained composer and musician. Simpson is self-taught as an artist—his formal training lies in science. Cardiff is a media artist, with a specialty in installations. She often collaborates with her husband, George Bures Miller, whereas Westerkamp and Simpson work alone. Each of the works above entails a private walk, an exercise conducted alone, either by the artist (Westerkamp, Simpson) or by a single participant (Cardiff). Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph” are experienced as recordings—the actual walks have already taken place; Wanås Walk, on the other hand, is enacted live. Lighthouse Park Soundwalk consists of stationary recordings of forest ambience interspersed with quotations from published journal entries and short stories by writer, painter, and British Columbia resident Emily Carr (1871–1945) read on location.77 “Stoke Bardolph” presents a live performance on found objects, including tree trunks, branches, fallen sticks, rocks, and a pool of water. Wanås                                                 77 Emily Carr, Hundreds and Thousands: The Journals of Emily Carr (Toronto and Vancouver: Clarke, Irwin and Co., 1966); The Book of Small (Toronto, Oxford University Press: 1942).  41 Walk requires a participant to retrace a route planned by the artist while listening through headphones to a multi-track recording. On the recording are ambient sounds from the site combined with verbal cues indicating where to go, at what pace to walk, and when to pause. Also present is a series of fragmented narratives, including stories, conversations, and internal dialogue, along with excerpts of prerecorded music. Each work raises questions regarding the roles of composer, performer, and audience as understood in Western art music. For all three pieces, the artist is both audience member and performer. The sounds that Westerkamp, Simpson and Cardiff produce as well as recording techniques are informed by their listening. They create sounds in response to both external stimuli and their own sound making. Whereas listening informs the act of performance, the performance provides the audience with information about the artist’s approach to listening. The audience takes on a performative role as well, either through their participation in a live walk (Cardiff) or by envisioning a walk in their mind when listening to a recording (Westerkamp, Simpson). Thus, there are two performances at hand: the realization of a walk and the replaying of a recorded walk. By refashioning the conventional roles of a musical work, artists working with mobile listening explore the environment in unorthodox ways. Before examining each artist’s approach, a brief discussion of the origins of soundwalking is presented.  From Documentation to Artistic Expression The genesis of soundwalking began with the work of the World Soundscape Project (WSP) in the 1970s, a group in which Westerkamp was actively involved.78 With the WSP, soundwalking was often the initial step in studying a “new” soundscape. These walks were                                                 78 For more on the WSP, see Introduction. See also website of the Sonic Research Studio at Simon Fraser University (  42 primarily improvised and were recorded for research purposes.79 For the 1973 publication, The Vancouver Soundscape, the group presented a soundwalk in the form of a map and set of directions that led participants through an area around the former Canadian National Rail Station (CNR Station) (see Figure 2.1). The directions provided information for where to go, offered cues for making sounds, such as depositing coins for bus fare and humming to the sound of a specific neon light, and drew attention to specific sound sources, including the former Fleck Brothers Clock and a resonant, metal staircase near the CNR Station. The same model was used the following year for a soundwalk featured in Westerkamp’s article “Soundwalking,” this time in Queen Elizabeth Park (also in Vancouver). However, the route is not specified for Westerkamp’s walk, just the order in which sites are visited (see Figure 2.2). Westerkamp’s directions are more elaborate than those accompanying “A Vancouver Soundwalk.” She invites participants to physically stimulate objects and activate spaces with their hands and through vocalization. At one moment, the composer directs the soundwalker to place his or her ear against the surface of a metal sculpture. She also encourages them to think critically about what they hear: “Do you hear any sounds which do not seem to belong here?” “Is this park as attractive acoustically as it is visually?”80 Whereas the improvised, recorded WSP walks served as a tool for researchers to collect data, the published, self-guided “A Vancouver Soundwalk” and “Queen Elizabeth Park Soundwalk” held the purpose of educating the public about the soundscape and the importance of active listening.                                                  79 Howard Broomfield, Bruce Davis, and Peter Huse were likely those that conducted the walks (they made the majority of early WSP recordings). Many of these walks survive in the recently digitized WSP tape collection at Simon Fraser University. See (accessed 30 July 2013). 80 Hildegard Westerkamp, “Soundwalking,” Sound Heritage 3, no. 4 (1974): 23. This article is reprinted in Autumn Leaves: Sound and the Environment in Artistic Practice, ed. Angus Carlyle (Paris: Double-Entendre), 2007.   43  Figure 2.1 “A Vancouver Soundwalk.” The numbers on the map correspond to sites where listeners are asked to listen to specific sound sources and/or produce sounds themselves. Schafer, ed., The Vancouver Soundscape, 70. Image courtesy of the Sonic Research Studio, Simon Fraser University. Used by permission.   44  Figure 2.2 Queen Elizabeth Park Soundwalk. Hildegard Westerkamp, “Soundwalking,” Sound Heritage 3, no. 4 (1974): 22. Image courtesy of the Royal BC Museum, BC Archives, catalogue number NW 902 S725. Used by permission.  With her radio program Soundwalking, Hildegard Westerkamp took listeners to various locations in and around Vancouver, British Columbia. Sites visited included a shopping mall, the former Stanley Park Zoo, several nature reserves, including Lighthouse Park and Burnaby Mountain, and a residential neighborhood under the flight path of airplanes headed for and departing from Vancouver International Airport. Although listeners were familiar with the places  45 featured on Soundwalking, listening to unaccompanied environmental sounds on the radio was a new experience for many.81 The composer explains:  I was attempting to make radio a place of environmental listening by broadcasting the soundscapes that listeners experienced in their daily lives. With that I had hoped to create a state of resonance within listeners so that when they encountered sounds in the actual environment, recollections of the radio broadcast would alert them to the soundscape in which they lived—creating participating listeners, that is, listeners of the broadcast who could then also be receptive to the soundscape as a whole.82   As a mediator between those listening to her broadcast and the environment in which she was recording, Westerkamp encouraged her audience to experience locales from the perspective of sound and to think critically about what they heard. In this context, soundwalking served as a tool for raising public awareness to the conditions of sonic environments.   Reminiscent of her focus on particular sites in Queen Elizabeth Park, Westerkamp’s radio show Soundwalking showcases specific moments from her recorded walks.83 The source material chosen for radio play includes sounds representative of a particular location as well as memorable experiences during the walk, such as an encounter with a passerby or a distinct combination of environmental sounds that struck the composer as worth sharing. Westerkamp preserves the original order of much of the recorded material and does not mix recordings from different locations. Crossfading is the only type of audio production used in Soundwalking. This technique creates a seamless transition between excerpts.  Westerkamp’s method for recording urban environments for her radio show was different from her approach to nature settings. The composer likely felt little need to direct the                                                 81 Perhaps the most well-known Canadian broadcast to use field recordings in the context of discussions around place prior to Westerkamp’s work is Glenn Gould’s Solitude Trilogy: Three Sound Documentaries (1967–77). 82 Westerkamp, “Radio that Listens,” 88. 83 The actual walks were anywhere from two to three hours in duration. Hildegard Westerkamp, personal interview by author, Vancouver, British Columbia, 12 July 2013.  46 microphone in the city or to stimulate her surroundings by making sounds, since sounds (primarily human-related) came to her without effort. She asserts:  In the city many sounds present themselves to the microphone; the recordist can remain quite passive and end up with a lot of sound on tape. Not so in quiet environments. There the recordist often needs to take a more active role with the microphone in order to record any sound at all. It is a wonderful opportunity to search for the microscopic sounds in such sonic environments. By recording them at close range, an entirely new world of acoustic complexity can be discovered, all with a relatively silent backdrop.84   This opposition of urban and rural settings is heightened by the difference between the lo-fi conditions of an urban area such as Vancouver and the iconic quietude of an unpopulated Pacific Northwest nature setting. The social codes of public spaces also distinguish Westerkamp’s approach to urban and nature spaces. Keeping in mind the technology available at the time, it was—and still is—rather unusual to walk through an urban environment at a slow pace in silence with a recorder, microphone, and headphones. For this reason, passersby occasionally approached Westerkamp to ask what she was doing, whereupon she engaged in conversation.85 By contrast, Lighthouse Park Soundwalk features only a few instances where human sounds (other than those produced by the composer) are audible. These are mostly at a distance; however, there is one direct encounter at 34’45” where two passersby with their dog greet the composer. Following her work for radio in the late 1970s, Westerkamp would go on to apply the concept of soundwalking to several electroacoustic soundscape compositions, notably A Walk                                                 84 Westerkamp, “Radio that Listens,” 91. The type of ecosystem is another important factor to consider when thinking about sound activity. For example, a temperate rainforest sounds sparse compared to a tropical rainforest. 85 One example is Under the Flightpath (1981), where a resident in a Vancouver neighborhood approaches Westerkamp on the sidewalk to ask her what she is recording. Following initial conversation, the resident becomes increasingly open to sharing his frustration towards living under the flight path of Vancouver International Airport.   47 through the City (1981) and Kits Beach Soundwalk (1989). These pieces differ from the early soundwalk compositions in their creative use of post-production techniques. Although the association of environmental sounds with a real-world context is maintained (i.e., where the source of a sound is recognizable), soundwalking is primarily used as a tool for structuring a work. In Kits Beach Soundwalk, for example, soundwalking is used to take listeners on an acoustic journey from Kitsilano Beach in Vancouver, British Columbia, through a series of narrated dreams and back. (Westerkamp’s work with soundscape composition is discussed in detail in Chapter Four.) What remains central to her practice—from her early works for radio through to her later electroacoustic compositions—is a dedication to highlighting everyday sound as important and worthy of attention. Like the original idea of soundwalking, the works under consideration employ various forms of sound performance. Sound performance is where the artist introduces sounds into the environment. This includes the use of supplemental materials during the walk, such as reading poems (Lighthouse Park Soundwalk), playing a recording (Wanås Walk), and physically stimulating found objects (Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and “Stoke Bardolph”). Through sound performance, Westerkamp, Cardiff, and Simpson activate the space around them. “Activation” is understood here as both the physical and conceptual stimulation of the environment. In the physical sense, activation entails sounding a stationary object and stimulating the acoustics of a given space. In the conceptual sense, activation is defined by engagement with a sound source or silent object based on its signification. For example, the sound of a gentle stream, regarded by many as a relaxing sound, becomes a point of inquiry when Westerkamp uses the microphone to survey water flowing over rocks. Through sound performance, she enters into conversation with environmental sounds, including those that she deems pleasurable and those that she regards as  48 disruptive, and, in turn, brings attention to the social significance of quiet, nature sounds. Through live outdoor performance, Simpson enters into communion with a location, to come closer to knowing its collective “voice.” Cardiff replays ambient sounds and fragmented narratives where they were originally recorded in order to call into question the perception of what is real. It is difficult to explain these walks as music in the conventional sense. The artists under consideration do not describe their work from a decidedly compositional perspective. Additionally, Westerkamp is the only artist to discuss her compositions in the context of soundwalking. Simpson describes his walks as a form of “environmental performance,” while Cardiff refers to her pieces as “audio walks.” The disciplinary background of each artist is also wide ranging. Westerkamp studied flute performance and since has had a career as an acoustic ecologist and composer. Simpson was formerly a chemist and is currently an audio engineer. Cardiff has a background in photography and now creates art installations, many of which include sound.86 Although approaches to working with art-based walks vary, active listening and sound performance are central components of this practice.  Recent scholarship considers how soundwalking operates as an experimental art form                                                 86 Existing scholarship on Westerkamp explains her soundwalking practice and the influence it has had on her career. Simpson is noted for his use of binaural technology. Writings on Cardiff’s audio walks emphasize the elements of film noir and dérive aesthetics, as well as the artist’s use of juxtaposition and fragmentation techniques, and the effects these have on participant experience. See Andra McCartney, “Sounding Places: Situated Conversations through the Soundscape Compositions of Hildegard Westerkamp,” Ph.D. diss., York University, 1999; Matthew Barnard, The Sounds of Displacement: A Portfolio of Binaural Compositions, Ph.D. diss., University of Hull, 2010; David Pinder, “Ghostly Footsteps: Voices, Memories and Walks in the City,” Ecumene: A Journal of Cultural Geographies 8, no. 1 (2001): 1–19; Rebecca Duclos, “Reconnaissance/Méconnaissance: The Work of Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller,” in Articulate Objects: Voice, Sculpture and Performance, ed. Aura Satz and Jon Wood, 221–46 (Bern: Peter Land AG, 2009).  49 and assesses different methods.87 Soundwalks are generally seen as part of a larger history of art-based walks, such as Dada excursions, Situationist dérives, and Fluxus walks. For some, soundwalking is one of several instances where sound “mobilizes” the listener; that is, where heightened awareness of the acoustic environment mediates the everyday act of observation by highlighting the real-world sounds as important.88 Here, the act of listening is considered within a broader investigation of the relationship between human perception and urban space.89 What follows is a discussion of art-based walks as fixed works. As such, an exercise in listening and sound performance is documented using recording technology and played back at a later time.  Soundwalking and the Concept of a Musical Work In The Tuning of the World, R. Murray Schafer writes: “When the soundwalker is instructed to listen to the soundscape, he is audience; when he is asked to participate with it, he becomes composer-performer.”90 These roles are similar to those found in Western classical music, the tradition in which Schafer is trained and locates his creative practice. For example, framing time to listen to the soundscape is akin to attending a concert in a music hall, where the audience remains silent and directs their attention to the performance at hand. Additionally, as                                                 87 See John Levack Drever, “Soundwalking: Aural Excursions into the Everyday,” in The Ashgate Research Companion to Experimental Music, ed. James Saunders, 163–92 (Farnham, UK: Ashgate, 2009); and Andra McCartney, “Soundwalking: Creating Moving Environmental Sound Narratives,” in The Oxford Handbook of Mobile Music Studies, ed. Sumanth Gopinath and Jason Stanyek, vol 2, 212–37 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). 88 The “mobilization” of the listener through soundwalking is not unlike iPod culture, whereby a song can serve as a soundtrack to visual stimuli. For more information on iPod use in public-private urban spaces see Michael Bull, Sound Moves: iPod Culture and Urban Experience (London and New York: Routledge), 2007. 89 See Candice Boyd and Michelle Duffy, “Sonic Geographies and Shifting Bodies,” Interference: A Journal of Audio Culture 2 (2012), (accessed 20 June 2013); and Brandon Labelle, Acoustic Territories: Sound Culture and Everyday Life (New York: Continuum, 2010). 90 Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 212–13.  50 Schafer mentions, the soundwalker takes on the roles of composer and performer when they participate in the environment. One way to participate in the soundscape is by physically stimulating surfaces. Through sound performance, the soundwalker goes from playing a passive role (receiving sounds) to an active one (producing sounds). Although recorded art-based walks have not been understood as musical works (soundwalking, for example, is referred to as a practice), this chapter asserts that there is value in examining them as such. Lighthouse Park Soundwalk, “Stoke Bardolph” and Wanås Walk modify the concept of a work by employing the roles of composer, performer, and audience member in unconventional ways. The manner in which Westerkamp, Simpson, and Cardiff refashion these roles also shapes how nature is encountered in their walks.  One possible entry point for considering the relationships between composition, performance, listening, and conceptions of nature in art-based walks is to investigate the aforementioned pieces in relation to the “work concept,” a term coined by Lydia Goehr. According to Goehr, a musical work is understood as something that is composed, performed, and received.91 In basic terms, a musical work can be visualized as a conventional communication model (see Diagram 2.1). One critique of this model is that it remits audience interpretation by reducing the work to a unidirectional schema.  Sender (composer) ---> Message (score) ---> Receiver (audience) Diagram 2.1 Schema for a Work Based on a Basic Linear Communication Model.                                                 91 Goehr claims that the work-concept emerged in the late eighteenth century as a result of changing socio-economic conditions. Where music was at once written as a craft or service, around 1800 writing music was legitimized as a form of self-expression. See Lydia Goehr, The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: An Essay in the Philosophy of Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), esp. 113. For a different position of when this conceptual shift took place see Harry White, “‘If It’s Baroque, Don’t Fix It’: Reflections on Lydia Goehr’s ‘Work-Concept’ and the Historical Integrity of Musical Composition,” Acta Musicologica 69 (1997): 94–104.  51 Building on the scholarship of Jean Molino, Jean-Jacques Nattiez offers an alternative model to the concept of a work, which accounts for the intersection of production and reception—Nattiez refers to these as “poietic process” and “esthesic process,” respectively (see Diagram 2.2). He labels the intersection of the poietic process and the esthesic process as “trace.” Nattiez describes the trace as the physical result of the two processes, meaning that the receiver has not responded to the poietic process.92 Yet, the reverse arrow between “trace” and “receiver” enhances Nattiez’s concept of a work by making the “receiver” an active agent in the creation of a work. From that perspective, the esthesic process has the capacity to shape a work, unlike the unidirectional model in Diagram 2.1.  Poietic Process   Esthesic Process  “Producer” ------> Trace <------ Receiver Diagram 2.2 Nattiez’s Schema for a Work. Jean-Jacques Nattiez, Music and Discourse: Toward a Semiology of Music, trans. Carolyn Abbate (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 17.  Nattiez builds upon this bi-directional model to represent the concept of a musical work (see Diagram 2.3). His schema for a musical work accounts for aspects specific to Western classical music, in particular music of the common practice period. As Diagram 2.3 shows, Nattiez replaces “trace” with “musical result.”93 Where “trace” is understood broadly as the end of the poietic process and the beginning of the esthesic process, “musical result” refers specifically to the combined outcome of the interpretation of a score through performance and the impressions of the audience in response to that performance. The audience may have an idea of the composition prior to its performance based on past performances or score studies. If the performance differs from what the audience expects (tempo changes, playing notes that are not                                                 92 Nattiez, Music and Discourse, 17. 93 Ibid., 73.   52 written, rhythm discrepancies, etc.), then the score can serve as a way to validate whether this departure is deliberate or unintentional.94 Ultimately, Nattiez demonstrates that a piece of music cannot be reduced to a single component (such as “score” or “musical result”). In other words, Nattiez views a musical work as a composite of the differences of production, performance, and reception. Poietic Process ---> Score ---> Musical Result <--- Esthesic Process          Interpretation     (performance)  Diagram 2.3 Nattiez’s Schema for a Musical Work. Nattiez, Music and Discourse, 73.  For many contemporary works, the poietic process and the esthesic process do not meet at the musical result. Nattiez explains:  If on the other hand we believe that the work is not wholly “produced” unless it has been played, the poietic process extends until the performance is complete. Performance shows itself in this case to be the last stage of the poietic, as well as the first stage of the esthesic. In musics without a score, this border is displaced, since the producer and the performer find themselves intermingled.95   There are numerous variations in the final stage of the poietic process. Many types of works eliminate the “score” and are self-operating (i.e., the performance does not include human agents). For example, Luc Ferrari’s Presque rien n°1 ou Le lever du jour au bord de la mer (“Almost nothing no. 1, or daybreak at the seashore”) (1967–70) exists as an audio recording of excerpted field recordings made by the composer during the summer of 1968 in the town of Vela                                                 94 Roman Ingarden argues that variations in performance do not affect the work itself (i.e., that the concept of a musical work is not dependent on performance). Roman Ingarden, Ontology of the Work of Art: The Musical Work, the Picture, the Architectural Work, the Film, trans. Raymond Meyer and John T. Goldthwait (Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1989), 25. 95 Nattiez, Music and Discourse, 72, italics in original.  53 Luka on the isle of Korčula in Yugoslavia (now Croatia).96 As well, outdoor sound installations typically do not call for a score or live performers. Such is the case with Gordon Monahan’s Piano on Frozen Lake Nipissing (2014), Gayle Young’s Les Tuyeaux Sonores (1994), and Alvin Curran’s Music from the Center of the Earth (1991), to name but a few. In this way, recorded walks are not unique. However, the distinction between composition and performance is less recognizable.97 Additionally, recorded walks entail not one, but two performances. (Refer to Diagram 2.4 hereafter.) During the first performance, the artist conducts a physical walk through a specific environment. Both the artist’s physical movement through space (his or her walking pace, when and where to pause) and the production of sounds (stimulating found objects, use of voice) shape the initial walk as a performance. Where Westerkamp and Simpson conduct a single walk, Cardiff realizes multiple walks over several days. The second performance occurs when the audience plays back the recording.                                                            96 A sound engineer could be said to be the performer in the case of electroacoustic music on the basis that he or she is adjusting various parameters of sound on a mixer during playback.  97 Andrew Kania and Theodore Gracyk explain that there are three types of music recording: a musical work (i.e., a piece in the form of a recording that depends on playback, such as electronic music), documentation of a performance of a musical work (e.g., a recording of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony), and a recording of a composition (i.e., where a musical work is recorded in the studio in ways that cannot be performed live, such as Glenn Gould’s 1981 studio sessions of Bach’s Goldberg Variations). Andrew Kania and Theodore Gracyk, “Performances and Recordings,” in The Routledge Companion to Philosophy of Music, ed. Theodore Gracyk and Andrew Kania (London and New York: Routledge, 2010), 85.   54 Poietic Process               Esthesic Process    <---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> Enacts Walk(s) ---> Post-production ---> Recording ---> Musical Result      (sound performance, recording  (interpretation, equipment and techniques)   audience participation)  Diagram 2.4 Schema for a Recorded Art-based Walk.  In the case of recorded walks, the listener retraces the artist’s movement through and interaction with the environment through audio playback. Thus, the esthesic process extends past the musical result to the initial stage of the poietic process. In the case of Wanås Walk, the listener conducts an actual walk at the location where Cardiff made her recordings. Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and “Stoke Bardolph” are experienced as recordings. Listeners could hypothetically visit the sites where Westerkamp’s and Simpson’s walks took place, but this is not a component of either work. Technology also plays an important role in mediating the listener’s experience of a documented walk. The placement of microphones determines the perspective from which the listener will receive a sonic environment. The condenser microphone set-up used by Westerkamp captures a general field of sound.98 At times, she holds the microphones waist high. In other moments, she directs them towards her mouth. In one instance, Westerkamp positions the microphones directly over a small stream, creating a heightened experience of the water through proximity. Both Simpson and Cardiff use binaural microphones, which capture a three-dimensional perspective. Simpson inserts custom-modified binaural microphones into his ears;                                                 98 Westerkamp uses two AKG condenser microphones positioned in an X-Y configuration. Hildegard Westerkamp, personal interview by author, Vancouver, British Columbia, 12 July 2013.   55 the recording is literally experienced from Simpson’s hearing perspective. Cardiff places binaural microphones on a dummy head, which she carries in front of her.  After the initial walk, Westerkamp, Simpson, and Cardiff each modify their recordings. Westerkamp and Cardiff make deliberate compositional decisions by reorganizing material from their respective walk(s). Westerkamp crossfades the audio excerpts that make up Lighthouse Park Soundwalk, creating a seamless transition between sonic footage from a longer walk. Cardiff selects a recorded walk to use as the master track and then layers individual sounds on top. Simpson applies minimal post-production; he simply “cleans up” the recording by removing certain physiological sounds, such as coughing and swallowing. In essence, Simpson’s piece documents a performance, whereas Westerkamp’s and Cardiff’s work, while containing archival remnants of a walk, emerge as new compositions due to studio editing.  Both Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and “Stoke Bardolph” are experienced in settings removed from the performance location. The musical result of both works is arguably informed by whether or not listeners have visited the physical environment associated with their compositions. For example, someone who has been to Lighthouse Park might compare the sounds heard during his or her visit to those in Westerkamp’s piece. The listener might also relate his or her own reactions to Westerkamp’s encounter. In contrast, Wanås Walk is the only work under consideration where the audience is asked to conduct a physical walk (marked “interpretation” in Diagram 2.4). The recording functions as a “score” in the form of verbal cues. The recording also features sounds that are intended as experiential; these include Cardiff’s voice, pre-recorded music, and ambient sounds recorded on-site (e.g., animals, vehicles, and conversation).  The aforementioned art-based walks maintain the poietic and esthesic processes central to  56 the idea of the musical work. However, stages within the model are reordered. As a result, the concepts of “performance” and “composition” are blurred. The function of each step in the poietic process is consistent among all three works: a walk is enacted, various post-production techniques are used, and a final recording is presented to the audience. Audiences encounter all three works through an audio recording, whether played over loudspeakers or headphones.  The three artists discussed in this chapter invite audiences into the creative act by presenting an individual encounter with a nature setting. Hildegard Westerkamp brings the changing soundscape of Lighthouse Park into the homes of Vancouver residents by recording her walk (with excerpts from the writings of Emily Carr read along the way) and playing excerpts back over a local radio station. Dallas Simpson also presents listeners with documentation of a specific soundscape—in the case of Adoration of Willow, a floodplain outside Nottingham, England. However, Simpson’s aesthetic is not to sensitize listeners to the changing relationship between humans and the sonic environment but to physically stimulate the environment so as to “voice” it. Janet Cardiff instructs participants to retrace her footsteps through a forested area near Knislinge, Sweden. Those enacting this audio walk must physically visit the site. In so doing, participants simultaneously engage the disjointed narratives of the artist while maintaining their own physical presence in—and therefore their own experience of—the environment. Individual works will be discussed now in detail to better understand how each artist creates a particular encounter with nature.  Sounds Heard: Hildegard Westerkamp, Lighthouse Park Soundwalk  Hildegard Westerkamp invites listeners to experience Lighthouse Park from the perspective of sound rather than, for example, capturing the Park’s visual grandeur or its rich  57 history as the first non-First Nations settlement on the North Shore (part of what is now Greater Vancouver).99 What arrives at her ears and ours (through the recording) is not what one might expect in a nature reserve. Over the course of the 1970s the sonic profile of Lighthouse Park was changing as a result of increased seaplane traffic. The Park lies adjacent to a major flight path for seaplanes entering and leaving Vancouver Harbour (see Figures 2.3 and 2.4). Seaplanes were, in part, what informed the WSP’s claim that the city was “slipping steadily into the lo-fi condition.”100 The research team came to this conclusion by counting over-passing seaplanes at Ambleside Park in West Vancouver (see Figure 2.3). During an eight-hour period on three separate days in 1970 and again in 1973, the WSP noted an increase from 61 seaplanes to 106—nearly a 43% increase in air traffic. What they found even more striking was the result of asking residents of West Vancouver to conduct the same exercise. Residents observed a mere fraction of the planes counted by the members of the WSP: 8 compared to 65 in 1969 and 16 to 106 in 1973.101 By the time Westerkamp recorded her soundwalk in Lighthouse Park in 1977, it is likely that traffic had increased further.                                                 99 Lighthouse Park is regarded for its stand of old-growth native trees (one of the last remaining on the North Shore). The Point Atkinson Lighthouse was installed in 1875. 100 Schafer, ed., The Vancouver Soundscape, 48. 101 Ibid., 48–9. This passage also features a diagram comparing seaplane traffic to commercial aircraft traffic in and around Vancouver.   58  Figure 2.3 Aerial View of Lighthouse Park in Relation to Vancouver Harbour.  Figure 2.4 Flight Routes from Vancouver’s Downtown Seaplane Port. The WSP notes that it is unusual for a city to have a seaplane base within such close proximity to its downtown core. Schafer, ed., The Vancouver Soundscape, 48. Image courtesy of the Sonic Research Studio, Simon Fraser University. Used by permission.   59 As mentioned at the start of this chapter, Lighthouse Park Soundwalk begins with a stationary recording of forest sounds (songbirds and a nearby stream) and a seaplane overhead. Aside from her brief introduction to the Park and general description of the exercise at hand, Westerkamp encourages her radio audience to focus their attention on the sounds of the forest reserve. It is not until six minutes into the piece that she engages the environment through sound performance. At this moment, Westerkamp reads aloud a series of excerpts from Emily Carr’s published journal entries.102 Several of these excerpts poetically describe the transformation of both the physical and sonic profile of the West Coast by Westerners. That is to say that the famed quietude of the West Coast was already endangered when Carr wrote the short stories. By reciting Carr’s prose, Westerkamp repurposes the historic theme of environmental loss to reflect the changing soundscape of 1970s Vancouver. Through listening Westerkamp draws attention to everyday sounds that may otherwise go unnoticed and, through speaking, she highlights balances and imbalances in the soundscape. In her 1974 article on soundwalking, Westerkamp encourages the general public to engage their surroundings in the following way: Go out and listen. Choose an acoustic environment which in your opinion sets a good base for your environmental composition. In the same way as the architect acquaints himself with the landscape into which he wants to integrate the shape of a house, so we must get to know the main characteristics of the soundscape into which we want to immerse our own sounds. What kinds of rhythms does it contain, what kind of pitches, how many continuous sounds, how many and what kinds of discrete sounds, etc.? What sounds can you produce that add to the quality of the environmental music? Create a dialogue and thereby lift the environmental sounds out of their context into the context of your composition, and in turn make your sounds a natural part of the music around you.103    As Westerkamp claims, the soundwalker is encouraged to listen before he or she acts. Moreover,                                                 102 These excerpts are found on pages 56, 125–26, 128, 193, and 260 in Carr, Hundreds and Thousands. 103 Westerkamp, “Soundwalking,” 25.  60 sound performance should be “a natural part of the music around you,” meaning that the sounds produced should reflect the ambient noise level of a given environment. This idea of balance between human and non-human sounds is one that pervades Schafer’s The Tuning of the World. He claims that greater interdependence between humans and their surroundings would ultimately lead to “the recovery of positive silence.”104 A “positive” silence is the same type of silence that Emily Carr observed of old-growth forests in Coastal British Columbia. That type of silence, as Schafer, Westerkamp, and Carr view it, is one that is restorative. Human sounds are still welcome, of course, but they are on scale with other sounds in the environment. Westerkamp demonstrates this aesthetic in a hi-fi environment such as Lighthouse Park by speaking quietly and unstrained for the duration of the walk. In contrast, a seaplane masks quieter sound sources when it passes directly overhead, temporarily transforming the Park into a lo-fi environment. Westerkamp understands listening and sound performance as “orientation” and “dialogue,” respectively. Orientation characterizes moments when the composer is focused on the sounds around her (i.e., she is deliberately quiet and often still). This entails both stationary moments and instances where the microphone is used to explore a specific sound source. Dialogue emerges when the composer responds to sounds inherent in the environment through sound performance. Lighthouse Park Soundwalk may be divided into five broad sections according to the composer’s use of orientation and dialogue (see Diagram 2.5).                                                         104 Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 258.  61 Section  Time  Mode  Specific Actions  1  0’00”–6’06” Orientation Fade-in, pause, welcomes listeners  2  6’07”–19’45”  Dialogue Series of quotes read aloud  3 19’46”–26’59”  Orientation Explores the acoustic properties of a stream  using the microphone, walking, occasional pause  4  27’00”–31’29” Dialogue Quote, strikes rocks, quote, throws sticks  5  31’30”–36’30” Orientation Walking with occasional pause, greets passerby, fade-out   Diagram 2.5 Formal Overview of Lighthouse Park Soundwalk.  As shown above, orientation and dialogue become more varied as the work progresses. The first section consists primarily of stationary field recordings. In the third section, there is more physical movement—the composer is heard walking and the microphone is used to scan the surface of a small stream. By the fifth section, passages marked by the sounds of footsteps are more frequent and longer. While Westerkamp pauses several times near the end the work, these moments are significantly shorter than those found at the start of the composition. As well, dialogue in the second section is limited to spoken voice. In the fourth section, however, Westerkamp extends her sound making beyond physiological sounds to include performance with found objects.   Extending the Ear through the Microphone  Westerkamp uses the microphone to both document a soundwalk and to create a heightened experience of environmental sounds. The composer directs the microphone according to her listening—she monitors the recording through headphones (Cardiff does as well; Simpson does not). The microphone brings attention to acoustic information that is not easily—or perhaps instinctually—recognizable by ear alone. In the composer’s words:    62 At the point when the ear becomes disconnected from direct contact with the soundscape and suddenly hears the way the microphone “hears” and the headphones transmit, at that point the recordist wakes up to a new reality of the soundscape. The sounds are highlighted and the ears are alerted precisely because the sounds are on a recording.105   By amplifying environmental sounds using technology and highlighting them as important through audio documentation, Westerkamp transforms a hi-fi environment such as Lighthouse Park into a trove of “undiscovered” sounds.  There is one moment in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk where the composer demonstrates how the microphone can be used to experience the acoustic details of a sound source. At 20’48”, she positions the recording device at the edge of a small creek. The proximity of the microphone to the water shifts the listening focus from a broader field of forest sounds to a microcosm of liquidity. Westerkamp proceeds to scan the stream for complex timbral features that may stand out.106 For a brief moment, we are seemingly transported “inside” the sound source. However, just as the microphone starts to highlight intricate timbral qualities of the stream, an aircraft enters the acoustic space (at 22’10”). Not long after, Westerkamp retreats from the stream (at 22’55”). The sound of flowing water encourages listeners to focus inward, whereas planes direct attention outward—they literally fill acoustic space and redefine the scale of the Pacific Northwest soundscape. Pausing to record the stream up close, Westerkamp shares her brief                                                 105 Hildegard Westerkamp, “Speaking from Inside the Soundscape,” in The Book of Music and Nature, ed. David Rothenberg and Marta Ulvaeus (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2001), 148. 106 The composer explains her approach to recording in a recent interview with Cathy Lane: “The moving microphone is very much my preference—guiding me and the listener through an environment. I always monitor with headphones while recording the sounds so that my listening guides the microphone. Even though I might have a certain intent beforehand, often the environment suggests all sorts of other possibilities and I will follow some of those spontaneously. Water is always a good example: imagine yourself at a river recording it from a more distant perspective and then you zero in on a certain part of the water flow by gradually moving the mic towards it, until you are so close that you can only hear this one water gesture. Then you move equally close to other flow formations and explore the fabulous variety of individual water voices that make up the sum total of the river sound at that location where you are recording.” Cathy Lane and Angus Carlyle, eds., In the Field: The Art of Field Recording (Axminster, UK: CriSAP, 2013), 118.  63 private encounter with a complex nature sound with her audience. This intimate listening experience may transmit to listeners the reward of taking time to orient themselves with the nuances of the more delicate sounds of nature.  Speaking Back to the Soundscape Westerkamp’s response to noise pollution in 1970s Vancouver is not dissimilar to Emily Carr’s encounter with the clear-cutting of forests around Victoria, British Columbia, in the 1930s. Westerkamp’s critique of the soundscape—through her recitation of quotes about the former quietude of the Pacific Northwest forest—pits the natural environment against the Western conception of economic progress. Vancouver experienced a growth spurt in the 1960s, which included, among other large-scale projects, the completion of the Vancouver International Airport main terminal in 1968. Comparably, Carr viewed the coastal forest of the Pacific Northwest as intimate and spiritual, whereas most settlers saw it as untamed and challenging, yet bountiful as a resource. The tension between these views is reflected in her forest paintings from the 1930s and 1940s. For example, in Logged-over Hillside (Figure 2.5) Carr visualizes both the vitality of the landscape (reflected in the exposed saplings, open sky, and impressive light) and the aftermath of clear-cutting (marked by mangled stumps and lone trees—some alive, others dead).107 Several of Carr’s short stories also present opposed perspectives of the land. For example, in “Silence and Pioneers” two vivid descriptions of a pre-colonized Pacific Northwest forest bookend a series of stories about the rewards and struggles of colonial life on Vancouver Island.                                                 107 For a detailed discussion of Emily Carr’s paintings of clear-cut forests in the context of logging in British Columbia cir. 1930, see Andrew Hunter, “Emily Carr: Clear Cut,” in Emily Carr: New Perspectives on a Canadian Icon, ed. Charles C. Hill, Johanne Lamoureux, and Ian M. Thom, 200–47 (Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre; National Gallery of Canada; Vancouver Art Gallery, 2006).  64  Figure 2.5 Emily Carr, Logged-over Hillside, c. 1940, oil on wove paper, mounted on plywood 59.6 cm x 87 cm, purchased 1947, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, Photo © National Gallery of Canada, used by permission.  Westerkamp reads aloud excerpts from Carr’s short stories and journal entries in order to “speak back” to the soundscape. At times, Carr’s words are used to iterate the natural state of the forest; that is, where loud machine sounds are absent. On several occasions, the composer speaks directly to a passing seaplane that interferes with her listening or jeopardizes the audibility of her voice. It is here that Westerkamp creates a dichotomy between the “natural” profile of the Park and the “unnatural” presence of mechanical noise. Such is the case at 27’00”, when Westerkamp reads aloud the opening passage from Carr’s “Silence and Pioneers.”108 The loudest plane in the                                                 108 “The silence of our Western forests was so profound that our ears could scarcely comprehend it. If you spoke your voice came back to you as your face is thrown back to you in a mirror. It seemed as if the forest were so full of silence that there was no room for sounds. The birds who lived there were birds of prey—eagles, hawks, owls. Had a song bird loosed his throat the others would have pounced. Sober-coloured, silent little birds were the first to follow settlers into the West. Gulls there had always  65 piece passes overhead while Westerkamp recites prose about the former quietude of the Pacific Northwest. Strikingly, the composer remains calm in speech; she does not strain to match the decibel levels of the encroaching plane. Where Westerkamp reads texts to respond to the soundscape, specifically the human-associated sounds in that space, she performs on found objects as a way to inquire into the acoustic features of the land itself. For example, at 29’26” she strikes two rocks together in order to stimulate the acoustics of the surrounding terrain.109 At 30’47”, Westerkamp throws two sticks immediately following the recitation of an excerpt about the preservation of nature through human storytelling (source unknown). Both gestures assert human presence in the forest on the scale of a hi-fi environment. Unlike a seaplane, which fills a large area of space with sound, the acoustic profile of the stick is limited to a relatively small area. Along similar lines, the details of forest acoustics (as activated by the rocks) are best heard in low ambient noise conditions. The sound of planes in the context of a forest reserve invites listeners to revisit the social meaning of                                                                                                                                                        been; they began with the sea and had always cried over it. The vast sky spaces above, hungry for noise, steadily lapped up their cries. The forest was different—she brooded over silence and secrecy.” Carr, Hundreds and Thousands, 119. 109 This section of the piece is reminiscent of Pauline Oliveros’ Sonic Meditations, exercise VII “Removing the Demon or Getting Your Rocks Off” (1974) and Hugh Davies’ Sounds Heard at La Sainte-Baume, exercise VII (1974). Oliveros directs a group of performer-listeners to “sit in a circle with persons facing in and out alternately.” Each person strikes a pair of rocks together, building energy to the point where a pre-decided word is shouted. Oliveros, Sonic Meditations (Baltimore, MD: Smith Publications, 1974), 3. Davies’ work consists of a series of seven listening and sound-making directions in different environments, the last exercise reads: “In a small secluded valley high up in the mountains, surrounded by rock on all sides: strike two stones together in regular rhythms at different speeds, sometimes with accelerando or ritardando, relating these in various ways to the echoes you hear. Face in different directions, to vary the direction and time-delay of the echoes. Invite other people to join in.” Hugh Davies, Sounds Heard: A Potpourri of Environmental Projects and Documentation, Projects with Children, Simple Musical Instruments, Sound Installations, Verbal Scores, and Historical Perspectives (Chelmsford, UK: Soundworld Publishers, 2002), 44.  66 nature spaces. Does the sound of planes disrupt the idea of wilderness? Or is the overall ambience level of nature spaces not significant in what defines a natural environment?110  Making Room for Nature’s Quiet Sounds Lighthouse Park Soundwalk prioritizes listening to the environment with an awareness of what is present and arguably what is threatened. The composition begins with Westerkamp focused on the act of observation. After an extended exercise in active listening, she enters into sound performance (dialogue) with her surroundings. As a mediator between the environment and her radio audience, Westerkamp sets out to condition listeners to their immediate environment and, more specifically, remind them of their sense of duty to maintain a healthy, balanced soundscape. At the same time, several dualities exist in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk. These include pristine wilderness/destructive humanity (i.e., noise pollution), inward/outward listening (manifest by the water-seaplane example), and lo-fi/hi-fi environments (demonstrated by the general ambience of the Park, the volume of sounds made by Westerkamp, and those of the overhead aircraft). These dualities are established through her recitation of Emily Carr’s text, her use of the microphone to explore the sound of flowing water, and her approach to stimulating found objects. Westerkamp presents the Pacific Northwest forest as a place of stillness, a place where                                                 110 Westerkamp is among several artists who advocate for the preservation of hi-fi nature soundscapes in their work. Others include Gordon Hempton and Bernie Krause. In part from the efforts of Hempton and Krause, The United States National Park Service has taken steps to reduce disruptive human-associated sounds on federal land (air traffic, ATV use, etc.) as well as promote the importance of sound in the overall experience of nature. See “Soundscape/Noise – Yosemite National Park (U.S. National Park Service),” (accessed 21 February 2014); and “The Olympic Wilderness: If Wilderness Could Speak,” ZBeTALEmWutIM4dxB_lpJnB&v=r40Tmvdsg-4 (accessed 21 February 2014).   67 quiet was once respected but is now threatened by the domination of seaplanes and other man-made noises. To reiterate her concern for the overall “health” of the soundscape, Westerkamp privileges the quieter sounds of nature and stresses the radio as a productive medium for raising public awareness to them: If we can hear the small, quiet sounds of nature amplified on radio or in any electroacoustic context[,] we may understand that even these less perceptible sounds have an important place in the environment as a whole and warrant respect and protection. The small, quiet sounds in the natural environment are symbolic of nature’s fragility, of those parts that are easily overlooked and trampled, whose significance in the ecological cycle is not fully understood.111  Technology provides Westerkamp with the tools needed to access these delicate sounds. Listening through headphones to sounds heightened by a microphone invites reflection, which encourages response through sound performance. For the composer, technology is also a way to raise awareness of the environment, encouraging audiences to forge a relationship with their immediate surroundings through sound. Upon turning off the radio, audiences are left where they started, with an invitation to listen more attentively to the soundscape. As the recorded environment ends, a living sonic environment begins.   Sounds Made: Dallas Simpson, The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph” Since the mid-1990s, Dallas Simpson has developed a practice of live environmental performance. These improvisations are conducted alone, often in the early morning or late at night, and with little or no preplanning. The majority of Simpson’s performances have taken place in England. The sites include a forest reserve (Aquapump, 1997), several churches (Sacred Thresholds, 2013), and a railway tunnel and viaduct (Monsal Head, 2014). Simpson enters into contact with materials found on site using primarily his hands and feet. A number of the objects                                                 111 Westerkamp, “Radio that Listens,” 91.  68 he uses are natural (e.g., feathers, rocks, and twigs), but Simpson also performs with man-made items. Examples include a metal bucket and nails driven into a tree in The Adoration of Willow (1996–98). On occasion, he interacts with historical remnants. Such is the case with World War II machinery in For Alderney: Invasion, Occupation, Liberation, Reconstruction, and Incantation (2000) and third-century Roman mosaics in The South Downs (2013).112 The Adoration of Willow is a series of four improvisations at different sites in the floodplain of the River Trent near Nottingham. Each performance is titled after a nearby town or village. Simpson initiated this project in 1995 with his “Kneeton” improvisation, which was followed, in order, by “Colwick,” “Shelford,” and “Stoke Bardolph” (see Figure 2.6). The series is a tribute to the willow tree, as the title suggests. The willow has a rich history that can be traced to Ancient Egypt and Greece. In England, the species has been used to control erosion, harvested to make baskets, fishing nets, and other items, and consumed for medicinal purposes.113 The willow tree is associated with a wide range of themes in the arts. These include lost love in Shakespeare’s Othello (Act IV, Scene 3, “The Willow Song”), wisdom in Hans Christian Anderson’s Under the Willow Tree (1853), and superstition in the British folk song The                                                 112 Simpson explains that his mother’s audio diaries were an important influence on the development of his practice: “I was greatly inspired by my mother’s (Peggy Simpson) audio diaries, in the 1970’s and 80’s, which consisted of a vocal narrative, emotive and subjective descriptions of locations that my mother made on location, recorded directly to a portable cassette recorder. She has a unique style, which I could not emulate, so I tried to find a way of ‘allowing the environment to speak for itself’. In other words, how could I facilitate the environment to speak ‘directly’, without using any vocal narrative, and hence create a sonic reality, a unique, creative sonic ‘voicing’ of the environment?” Dallas Simpson, “Live Location Environmental Binaural Performance: An Artist’s Outline of an Evolving Theory and Practice,” unpublished manuscript, last modified 2 January 2014, Microsoft Word file. 113 Reverend Edward Stone (1702–68), the claimed discoverer of salicylic acid (the active ingredient in aspirin), was prompted to research the medicinal properties of the willow during a walk near Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire. Stone was suffering from various “agues,” and he claims that by chewing on a small piece of bark his discomfort was eased. Stone would go on to distribute powdered bark from pollarded willow trees to individuals suffering from pain and/or fever. John M. S. Pearce, “The Controversial Story of Aspirin,” World Neurology: The Official Newsletter of the World Federation of Neurology (December 2014), (accessed 22 January 2016).  69 Banks of Green Willow.  Many of the willow trees located in the floodplain of the River Trent are gnarled, split, and twisted as a result of pruning and weather (see Figure 2.7). Some are now partly submerged due to human modification to both the watercourse and the surrounding land.114 The River has been re-routed for the navigation of ships, while the floodplain has been excavated for gravel and cultivated for agriculture. Many former excavation sites are now restored as nature conservation areas and public parks, including the location where Simpson’s Colwick performance took place. Although some listeners may regard the performance sites in the series as natural areas, human intervention is apparent in the terrain (see Figure 2.6).   Figure 2.6 Aerial View of The Adoration of Willow Performance Sites.                                                 114 The River Trent has a rich history as a trade route, boundary (the River has historically divided England and Scotland), and material resource (e.g., dredging for roadways, energy for grain mills, and moist, nutrient rich banks for willow holts). For more information, see Richard Stone, The River Trent (Chichester, West Sussex, England: Phillimore & Co., 2005).  70  Figure 2.7 Willow Trees at “Kneeton” Performance Site, 1995. Image by Dallas Simpson. Used by permission of the artist.  Each work in The Adoration of Willow begins with a walk-in to the performance site, is followed by an improvisation using found objects, and concludes with a walk-out to the start location (refer hereafter to Figures 2.8 and 2.9).115 Both the start/end location and the performance site for The Adoration of Willow, “Kneeton,” “Colwick,” “Shelford,” and “Stoke Bardolph” are also similar: a road bordering a field and a copse of willow trees, respectively. Yet, the environmental sounds present during the walk-in and walk-out sections of each performance are different. For example, bird activity dominates those sections in “Shelford,” whereas sheep vocalization is prominent in “Stoke Bardolph.” The duration of the walk-in and walk-out for each composition also varies, ranging from approximately five (“Shelford”) to fifteen minutes (“Stoke Bardolph”). The physical distance between the start/end location and the                                                 115 Simpson uses this same three-part structure for other art-based walks. With certain performances, the transition between sections marks both a change in the types of sounds heard and in spatial acoustics. See, for example, Sacred Threshold and Monsal Head.   71 performance site combined with moments where Simpson pauses to listen explain the varying lengths.   Figure 2.8 Aerial View of “Shelford” Performance Site.   Figure 2.9 Aerial View of “Stoke Bardolph” Performance Site.   72 “Stoke Bardolph” begins with active listening, a technique that is also used at the outset to Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk. However, a key difference between the opening passages of the two works is how the act of listening is presented on the recording. Westerkamp holds two condenser microphones stationary when paused. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, one exception is when she guides the microphone over a water stream in an effort to capture its rich acoustic properties. Simpson, on the other hand, choreographs the position of sounds in acoustic space through subtle body movements, such as head and torso rotation. For example, at 3’50” he pauses to listen as a flock of sheep approaches from the right. Then, at 4’39”, Simpson turns 90 degrees to face the flock. The in-ear binaural microphones heighten the location of sheep vocalizations in the left and right channels, a contrast from the strong center channel in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk—the result of using two condenser microphones in an X–Y configuration. Two distinct groups of sheep stand out, creating a call-and-response-like effect; that is, until 5’20” when Simpson turns back towards the copse of willow trees and continues walking. As Simpson makes his way to the performance site, there is a gradual change in the external sounds heard (i.e., sounds not made by Simpson). Birdcalls and songs replace sheep vocalizations as the dominant environmental sound approximately six minutes into the recording; however, sheep are occasionally audible in the distance (e.g., 8’30”, 9’20”, and 10’24”). There is also a change in terrain and walking pace. At 10’45”, Simpson passes through a gate and descends from the dike into the flood plain. This is audible on the recording as a transition from grass to brush. Simpson slows his pace and starts to drag his feet as he prepares to conduct his improvisation in the willow copse.   73 Classifying Sounds in the Willow Copse  Upon his arrival at the performance location, Simpson starts to activate materials found on site using his hands and feet. Over the course of approximately twenty-five minutes (the duration of the on-site performance), he explores the acoustic properties of individual objects and surfaces, performs with two or more materials simultaneously, and on occasion uses a found object to interact with other sounds in the environment. Based on these different techniques, Simpson’s creative approach to sound performance suggests a detailed exploration of the sonic properties of physical surfaces such as rock, water, and wood.  A logical way to categorize sounds heard during the on-site performance is according to their source and the means by which they are created:  Source Air: wind through trees, Simpson whipping a stick  Animals: sheep, birds, insects Earth: metal nail, stone Water: contact between Simpson and a pool of water, rain  Wood: leaf, bark, twig, branch, trunk   Mode of disturbance Hands: tap, pat, rub, snap (breaking object), throw, whip, pat Feet: step, stomp, drag, snap Object (i.e., bringing two objects into contact): rubbing, tapping, striking, throwing  Simpson connects sounds both heard and made to the four classical elements. He writes:  [T]here are somewhat obscure allusions to elemental realms—earth, water, air, and fire—in varying combinations, proportions and duration. [For example:]  Earth: footsteps treading the ground Air: birdsong, birds in flight, sounds of wind Fire: breath of animals, animal calls, my breathing Water: squelch of water underfoot, running water116                                                  116 Dallas Simpson, e-mail correspondence with the author, 27 May 2013. Barry Truax is another composer that has linked environmental sounds to the classical elements. Truax’s album The Elements and Beyond: Soundscape and Electroacoustic Works (2014) presents a cycle of four soundscape compositions inspired by water (Chalice Well), fire (Fire Spirits), air (Aeolian Voices), and earth (Earth and Steel).   74 Some sounds are more strongly tied to an element than others in “Stoke Bardolph.” For example, listeners are likely to attribute liquid water (flowing, dripping, splashing, etc.) to the element of the same name. In contrast, animal vocalization is more difficult to associate with a specific element. Some listeners may designate animal calls a symbol of air on the basis that air passing through the syrinx vibrates the walls of the vocal organ to produce sound, while others may connect it to fire given that animal breath is warm. Simpson categorizes animal calls under both elements. Several passages create a dialogue between two sounds, each alluding to a different element. Such is the case from 22’50”–23’40” where Simpson whips a branch while moving in a water pool (air and water).  Simpson creates a vocabulary of sound types through his engagement with found objects. This vocabulary is revised with each subsequent performance in The Adoration of Willow series. Some techniques figure prominently in all four improvisations, such as rubbing hands over bark and tapping stones on tree trunks. Other approaches to sound performance are used primarily in early works in the series, especially playing metered rhythm. For instance, from 22’44”–23’07” in “Colwick,” Simpson whips a branch and taps a stone against a log in such a way that he creates an interlocking pattern of eighth and sixteenth notes organized in 2/4 meter. Metered rhythm is absent from “Stoke Bardolph,” as it is difficult to discern a recurring pattern with stressed beats. Simpson occasionally taps a steady rhythm (often repeated eighth notes) in order to activate an object with distinct timbral properties, such as a hollow log. In this way, rhythm is used in “Stoke Bardolph” to direct attention to timbre, whereas strict rhythm is emphasized in “Colwick.” Although “Stoke Bardolph” was recorded in close proximity to the River Trent, the river is not audible on the recording. Instead, water sounds are created by Simpson’s movement  75 through a pool of water in the floodplain. Several times during the performance he alternates between standing in the water pool and at the base of a willow tree. Simpson’s movement between the pool and dry ground captures the proximity of the water to the tree while also organizing the twenty-five minute on-site performance into discrete sections (see Diagram 2.6). From 20’16”–29’15”, Simpson alternates four times between the two locations at increments of approximately two minutes. However, from 29’15–39’00” he remains on dry ground for approximately ten minutes, the longest time spent at a single location in the willow copse. His decision to remain on dry ground for an extended period is explained perhaps by the reason that he is drawn to materials that he has not yet explored. Simpson steps into the water a final time, and only briefly (39’00”–40’20”), before returning to dry ground in preparation for the walk-out.    Diagram 2.6 Formal Overview of the On-site Performance in “Stoke Bardolph.” Sections in blue represent the water pool; those in dark red correspond to dry ground. The times set against the colored strips represent the approximate duration spent at a location; those below the colored strips mark the arrival at a location.    Not only are environmental sounds intentionally organized through this periodic movement between physical spaces, but also a pattern seems to emerge from this repetition. This pattern is one that is imposed on the environment by Simpson, rather than one modeled after nature. Yet, his alternation between the dry ground and the water pool directs attention to the ecology of the willow copse, in particular the symbiotic relationship between a willow tree and a flood plain. A willow provides biofiltration, soil erosion control, and wildlife habitat, while a flood plain has the moist soil needed for a willow tree to thrive. Simpson’s movement between the two locations also enhances listeners’ perception of the elements earth and water. Reference is made to these two elements through his engagement with dry and wet surfaces. Listeners can  76 trace Simpson’s movement between the physical spaces as well as focus on his combination of water sounds with materials sourced from dry ground, such as a rock, twig, or branch. In this way, the elements water and earth are understood in relation, rather than in isolation.  The Relational Properties of the Willow Copse  Simpson’s use of sound performance highlights not only the sonic characteristics of materials found on site but also the relational properties between the willow tree, his body, and the surrounding landscape. He often performs with individual parts of a tree—a leaf, twig, branch, or trunk. Attention is directed to the tree as a larger formation through his activation of leaf and wood materials. This component-whole relationship is revealed gradually over the course of “Stoke Bardolph,” rather than through the immediate succession of sounds.  The relationship between Simpson’s body and the willow copse is more subjective than that between a tree and its parts. Simpson deliberately reduces his physical presence in one way, while consciously emphasizing himself in another. He removes coughing, breathing, and swallowing from the recording using post-production techniques. This erasure of internal bodily sounds enables Simpson to place greater focus on his contact with the surrounding environment through touch. There are several passages in “Stoke Bardolph” where he performs for an extended period of time with a specific body part. His choice is such that human anatomy corresponds to tree structure. For example, he uses primarily his fingers to play with leaves and twigs, and his palms and forearms to perform on branches and trunks.  The interconnection of the tree and a nearby water pool are also captured in “Stoke Bardolph.” This is perhaps most apparent when Simpson takes different parts of the tree with him into the water. For example, at 15’20”, he flicks one end of a fallen twig with his fingers while wading in the pool. At 22’33”, he picks up a branch from the ground and carries it into the  77 pool, which he then whips in the air. During one passage, Simpson uses a found object to interact with an external sound, a technique present in other works in the series. From 29’30”–29’40”, he taps a stone against another rock surface in response to a distant train. The pattern created by the rock taps loosely corresponds to the distant sound of train wheels striking the space between segments of track. Simpson’s interaction with the train gradually shifts from striking the rock to rubbing it, first against stone and later on wood. Westerkamp uses a similar technique in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk when she recites excerpts from Emily Carr’s collection of short stories The Book of Small. However, Simpson’s approach is one of mimicry, whereas Westerkamp comments on sounds in her immediate environment through speech. Interaction with external sounds extends to animals in The Adoration of Willow, “Shelford,” a technique not used in “Stoke Bardolph.” Starting at 30’19” in “Shelford,” Simpson responds to a flock of Canada geese by patting his hands on the surface of a pool of water. The spatialization of sounds and the correlation between geese calls and Simpson’s water pats stand out on the recording. The geese are first heard in the right channel, gradually pan to left, and then return to the right. However, listeners do not hear the geese as if they were in flight, given that there is no Doppler effect as the birdcalls move across the stereo field. A more plausible explanation for the panning is that Simpson is turning his head with microphones in ear. Similar to the walk-in in “Stoke Bardolph” (where sheep vocalizations were prominent), the on-site performance in “Shelford” captures both animal activity and Simpson’s active listening.  There is a strong pulse or even a pattern to the geese calls in “Shelford” (see Figure 2.10). This musical quality is heightened when Simpson starts patting on the water. Several of his pats align with the geese, while others fall slightly before or after. Although the water pats may heighten listeners’ awareness of the geese, the volume level is such that the birds are unlikely to  78 hear Simpson’s sound making. Even less probable is that the geese, presuming that they do hear Simpson’s sounds, are consciously responding to him. This perceived moment of dialogue entails a one-way association where Simpson is making a connection that is not necessarily heard or reciprocated by the animals to which his own sound making is directed. Nonetheless, listeners may interpret this rhythmic interplay as communication between species.   Figure 2.10 Simpson’s Interaction with Canada Geese in “Shelford” from 30’19”–30’45”.  Simpson’s use of sound performance in this passage sheds light on his understanding of animals in the environment. His attempt at synchronization with the geese is an effort to connect with them through sound, perhaps even to speak their “language.” Yet, he is not using his voice to imitate the geese, but is instead activating an external surface. Simpson’s contact with the water enables him to create a link between not only himself and the geese but also between the pool and the birds. Simpson’s approach is different from artists who use musical instruments as well as techniques, such as melody and phrasing, to interact with animals. For example, David  79 Rothenberg uses wind instruments and electronics to perform with birds, insects, and whales.117 In contrast, Simpson uses basic rhythms that mimic the geese without adding human musicality or expressivity.   “Stoke Bardolph” and other works in The Adoration of Willow series invite listeners to consider relational properties in the environment through sound performance. In this line of thought, Simpson’s engagement with objects and surfaces in the willow copse as well as his interaction with other sounds in the area represents a relational epistemology.118 According to philosopher Barbara Thayer-Bacon:  A relational (e)pistemology emphasizes the transactional nature of knowing in a variety of ways. Most important, it emphasizes the connections knowers have to the known and helps us understand that we are not spectators to Reality reporting on “it;” we are part of this world, this universe, affecting “it” as we experience “it.”119  Self-awareness of one’s role in shaping the environment is one idea that is central to Simpson’s                                                 117 Rothenberg often releases his albums in tandem with a book. See, for example, Why Birds Sing, Whale Music, and Bug Music. Other examples of interspecies music include R. Murray Schafer’s large-scale outdoor theatre work The Princess of the Stars (see Chapter Three), Jim Nollan’s waterphone improvisations with orcas off the coast of British Columbia, and Paul Winter’s saxophone duets with animals in National Parks in the United States. It is tempting to regard interspecies music as an aesthetic exchange; that is, that certain non-human animals produce and experience sounds for pleasure, and that humans can participate in this experience. Yet, animal communication does not always complement musical collaboration. Take for example, Paul Winter’s “Elk Horns” (from his Grammy-winning 1994 album Prayer for the Wild Things). The track opens with an alternation between soprano saxophone and a nearby elk. In the context of human music, the elk is a performer. However, in terms of animal communication the animal is responding to Winter in defense—the bugle of an elk is a signal of territorialization. 118 The majority of existing scholarship on relational epistemology focuses on human interaction. See, for example, Nurit Bird-David, “‘Animism’ Revisited: Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epistemology,” Current Anthropology 40 (1999): 67–91; and Joanne Brownlee and Donna Berthelsen, “Developing Relational Epistemology through Relational Pedagogy: New Ways of Thinking about Personal Epistemology in Teacher Education,” in Knowing, Knowledge and Beliefs: Epistemological Studies across Diverse Cultures, ed. Myint Swe Khine, 405–422 (New York: Springer, 2010).  Jeff Todd Titon encourages ecomusicologists to consider using a definition of nature that is grounded in relational epistemology; that is, music and sound research driven by ecological models of “diversity, interconnectedness, and co-presence.” Titon, “The Nature of Ecomusicology,” 8. See Chapter Three for a discussion of co-presence in R. Murray Schafer’s Princess of the Stars. 119 Barbara Thayer-Bacon, “A Pragmatist and Feminist Relational (e)pistemology,” European Journal of Pragmatism and American Philosophy 2, no. 1 (2010): 17. Thayer-Bacon puts the “e” in parenthesis in order to ground the term in daily life. Ibid., 2.   80 approach to outdoor improvisation. He explains:  [T]he artist must be in a continual state of awareness in assessing the fragility or robustness of the location and to judge what is appropriate or inappropriate behaviour, while equally assessing when to remain respectfully silent and when the location invites participation, the latter perhaps being more appropriately described as spiritual judgments.”120    Simpson’s attention to both sonic and visual stimuli informs his decisions regarding where to go, when and how to interact with objects and surfaces, and when to pause and listen. With this approach, he is aware of not only his surroundings but also his physical presence in the environment. In a rural setting such as Stoke Bardolph, Simpson treats the materials used in his performance with care and respect. He is mindful of when and how to generate sounds in addition to the impact of his physical movement on the flora and fauna in the willow copse.121  In addition to an awareness of self and the environment, “Stoke Bardolph” exhibits an exchange between Simpson and his surroundings. This “transaction” (to borrow from Thayer-Bacon) is exemplified by his interaction with other sounds, such as a distant train and nearby geese. These passages do not entail an actual exchange (i.e., where Simpson’s sounds elicit a response from another source), but are instead an allusion to one. In each example, Simpson coordinates his own sounds to others through rhythm and timbre. This use of basic musical elements is less interpretive than speech. Through his focus on the sonic properties of materials, rather than on their semantic meaning, Simpson avoids reducing nature to human systems of                                                 120 Dallas Simpson, “Aspects of Environmental Binaural Performance,” The World Forum for Acoustic Ecology Newsletter 9, no. 6 (2012): 4. 121 It is rare for Simpson to throw or break objects when performing in nature. The only such moment in “Stoke Bardolph” is at 33’15” when he breaks a stick with his hands. This action follows his interaction with the distant train using the rock. One interpretation is that by breaking the stick Simpson shifts focus away from the distant environment and back to the immediate space of the willow copse.   81 thought.122  In line with relational epistemology, “Stoke Bardolph” breaks down the familiar discourse of the environment as a collection of material objects by directing attention to the cohabitation of the perceiver and the perceived. Neither is Simpson a passive subject or the willow tree a mundane object. He transforms the willow copse from a material environment conceptualized in representational terms into a sensate space. Fallen branches, twigs, and stones are transformed from mute objects into creative tools, and the performance location is suspended as an area that functions to raise livestock and control flooding and is showcased as a vibrant space rich in musical properties and symbolism.  The Intersection of Physical and Spiritual Realities “The primary attribute of live location performance is that it is centred around the experience of now as a continual state of communion with the physical realm.” — Dallas Simpson123  Some listeners may experience environmental sounds in “Stoke Bardolph” as pure sonic phenomena, while others may relate them to the rich history and symbolism of the willow tree. Simpson, for his part, connects the work to his Bahá’í Faith. He explains: “[the walk-in] alludes to the Valley of Search, a mystical journey representing the first stage in the progress of the soul and inspired from The Seven Valleys of Bahá’u’lláh, founder of the Bahá’í Faith.” He continues:                                                 122 This idea resonates with what Maurice Merleau-Ponty calls “the primacy of perception”; that is, an attempt to capture something before it is distorted by thought. For more on Merleau-Ponty’s concept, see Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception, trans. Donald A. Landes (New York: Routledge, 2012). See also Timothy Ingold, The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill (London: Routledge, 2000). Simpson’s approach also raises larger questions regarding the phenomenology of hearing. Arguably, the act of hearing involves pre-rational judgments regarding the identity—and even the meaning—of sounds. That is to say that it is perhaps more difficult to escape interpretation than Simpson’s approach to found sounds suggests. 123 Dallas Simpson, “Aspects of Environmental Performance,” (accessed 18 February 2016).  82 “The journey evolves to phases of exploration and discovery where transcendence and musicality is concentrated in time to brief single ‘notes’ that form the central pivot around which the work revolves.”124 Based on this outline, the three-part form of the work can be interpreted such that the walk-in is a procession to a sacred space, the improvisation is a discovery and exploration of that space using symbolic markers (found objects), and the walk-out is a recession from the site.  The “notes” referred to above are objects with pitched qualities, such as metal nails and twigs. It is possible to make pitched sounds using these materials due to their density and surface tension. Where the materials of a given object determine its density, either an environmental or human force can create surface tension. In other words, surface tension exists when one object is attached to another, such as a twig to a tree, or when pressure is applied to an object, for instance Simpson gripping a twig in his hand. In the context of The Seven Valleys, these “notes” are perhaps akin to water drops in The Valley of Knowledge (the third stage), where “[i]n the ocean he findeth a drop, in a drop he beholdeth the secrets of the sea.”125 In other words, these pitched objects can be heard as sacred “drops” in the “sea” that is the willow copse. Certain groupings of finger taps and foot stomps also take on spiritual significance when heard as an expression of Bahá’í Faith, in particular the number nine, a symbol of perfection. Applications include the nine-pointed star and nine-sided temples.126 With this additional information in mind, Simpson’s work invites interpretation as a ritual activity.                                                 124 Dallas Simpson, e-mail correspondence with the author, 27 May 2013. Written in 1860, The Seven Valleys follows the journey of the soul through a series of realms leading closer to God. See Bahá’u’lláh, The Seven Valleys and the Four Valleys, trans. Ali-Kuli Khan, assis. Marzieh Gail (Wilmette, IL: Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1952). For more on the life and writing of Bahá’u’lláh, see Adib Taherzadeh, The Revelation of Bahá’u’lláh, 4 vol (Oxford, UK: George Ronald, 1976). 125 Bahá’u’lláh, The Seven Valleys and the Four Valleys, 12.  126 Shoghi Effendi, Directives from the Guardian (Wilmette, IL: Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1973), 414.  83 A ritual can be broadly defined as the repetition of a series of physical actions. However, there is debate concerning the function of rituals in society. The field of anthropology offers insight in this regard through the wide range of approaches. Victor Turner regards rituals as social processes that create a sense of cohesion among societal groups.127 Clifford Geertz challenges the idea that rituals create unity. He argues instead that rituals present narratives that encourage humans to interpret their experiences and through that interpretation identify with a particular social group.128 Yet a different position is taken by Don Handelman when he argues that rituals have no greater capacity to reveal social norms and trends than do other activities.129 For Handelman, a more productive way to think about the concept is by distinguishing between two classes of rituals: models and mirrors. Models serve as a standard for how rituals are conducted. In contrast, mirrors reflect how the world is actually viewed by people. Historian Edward Muir summarizes Handelman’s argument:  In effect, rituals that mirror re-present someone or something in a public way. Such rituals can inform and incite emotions, clarify a situation, and even enact a passage from one status to another, but unlike a model they do not offer an alternative for the future constitution of society.130   Although Turner, Geertz, and Handelman approach the concept of ritual differently, they share the view that rituals are more than a series of abstract actions. Through the repetition, refinement,                                                 127 Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1969).  128 Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Culture (New York: Basic Books, 1973). Geertz’s perspective on ritual is informed by his view that culture is a semiotic concept. He writes: “Believing, with Max Weber [the historic sociologist], that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretative one in search of meaning. It is explanation I am after, construing social expression on their surface enigmatical.” The Interpretation of Culture, 5. 129 Don Handelman, Models and Mirrors: Towards an Anthropology of Public Events (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 130 Edward Muir, Ritual in Early Modern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 5.   84 and rejection of steps within a series of acts over time, a ritual takes on meaning that both defines groups of people and also raises larger questions of authority and power within a society.131  Of interest here are the ways in which actions inform the concept of ritual. According to David Parkin, rituals stand apart from other formalized acts for the reason that they are driven by physical movement, rather than by speech. He writes: “Ritual is a formulaic spatiality carried out by groups of people who are conscious of its imperative or compulsory nature and who may or may not further inform this spatiality with spoken words.”132 The repeated enactment of a ritual helps to affirm that the function and meaning of actions therein are acknowledged and agreed upon by its participant(s). However, no two enactments are the same. This is for the reason that both steps carried out and social and environmental conditions vary from performance to performance.133 “Stoke Bardolph” showcases the repetition and variation of formalized actions central to the concept of ritual. That work maintains the three-part structure of “Kneeton,” “Colwick,” and “Shelford” and also presents some of the same performance and recording techniques used in earlier works. These include rubbing hands and tapping fingers on parts of trees and                                                 131 For a rich discussion of ritual as a force in shaping Western culture, see Muir, Ritual in Early Modern Europe. Muir examines how the concept of ritual transformed the concepts of time, body, and spirituality in Christian Europe from 1400–1700. He argues that it was over the course of those three centuries that the concept of ritual emerged as a distinct activity. 132 David Parkin, “Ritual as Spatial Direction and Bodily Division,” in Understanding Rituals, ed. Daniel de Coppet (London: Routledge, 1992), 18. Parkin makes this assertion in response to Claude Lévi-Strauss’ claim that ritual action is empty of words and is therefore irreverent when compared to myth. According to Lévi-Strauss: “The value of the ritual as meaning seems to reside in instruments and gestures: it is a paralanguage. The myth, on the other hand, manifests itself as a metalanguage; it makes full use of discourse, but does so by situating its own significant oppositions at a higher level of complexity than that required by language operating for profane ends.” Quoted in Parkin, “Ritual as Spatial Direction and Bodily Division,” 11.  133 Stanley Jeyaraja Tambiah, “A Performative Approach to Ritual,” Proceedings of the British Academy 65 (1979): 115. For more on ritual and performance, see Michael Bull and Jon P. Mitchell, eds., Ritual, Performance, and the Senses (London: Bloomsbury, 2015); and Ronald L. Grimes, “Ritual Theory and the Environment,” in Nature Performed: Environment, Culture and Performance, ed. Bronislaw Szerszynski, Wallace Heim and Claire Waterton, 31–45 (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2003).  85 choreographing sounds in the environment through head and torso rotation (i.e., movement of the binaural microphones). At the same time, there are differences. For example, the durations of the walk-in and walk-out sections differ among the four works in the series. Simpson also refines his approach to sound performance with each improvisation. Such is the case with his use of rhythm. Rhythm in “Stoke Bardolph” is used primarily to direct attention to timbre; in “Shelford” it is a way to interact with animals; and in “Colwick” it is organized into interlocking, metered patterns. In line with the idea that speech is a supplement to ritual, spoken narration is absent from the walk-in and on-site performance in “Stoke Bardolph.” However, speech plays an important role in the conclusion to the work. Upon his arrival at the end location, Simpson whispers three times: “Yá Bahá’u’l-Abhá” (“O Glory of Glories”). The phrase is used in the Bahá’í Faith as an expression of gratitude to God.134 While many listeners (excluding those that identify with the Bahá’í religion) are unlikely to recognize Simpson’s references to The Seven Valleys, the spoken prayer at the end of the work invites them to consider the previous sections in a spiritual light.   In addition to the spoken phrase at the end of “Stoke Bardolph,” Simpson’s use of physical objects with pitched qualities also serves a ritualistic purpose. Like ceremonial objects used in traditions around the world, those featured in Simpson’s work serve as a link between physical and spiritual realities.135 The power of these objects is generated from their pitched qualities. They are distinguished from other environmental sounds in that they present regular                                                 134 Bahá’í Reference Library, (accessed 27 January 2016). 135 For more on object function and meaning, see Sally M. Promey, ed., Sensational Religion: Sensory Cultures in Material Practice (New Haven and London: Yale University Press: 2014); Pierre Lemonnier, Mundane Objects: Materiality and Non-verbal Communication (Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2012); and Daniel Miller, “Artefacts and the Meaning of Things,” in Companion Encyclopedia of Anthropology, ed. Tim Ingold, 396–419 (London, Routledge: 1994).  86 wave fluctuations (i.e., they are not categorized as “noise”). Based on this distinction, otherwise mundane items such as a metal nail or a twig are transformed into tools for expression.  At times, Simpson choreographs the location of a pitched object in acoustic space. Such is the case at 16’58”–17’32”, when he alternates between flicking the tip of a twig near his left and right ear. A hollow D4 is produced by his activation of the twig with his finger. Since the sound of the twig does not pan across the stereo field it is difficult to know whether Simpson is turning his heard or moving the object. In other passages, Simpson directs attention to the intervallic space between them. From 17’43”–18’10”, for example, he performs with a different twig (positioned to his right) while using his other hand to flick a piece of bark (to his left). An Eb4 is heard from the twig and a Bb3 from the bark, creating a perfect fourth.  The symbolism of pitched objects in these and other passages does not suggest transcendence to a spiritual realm, but rather a sacred presence in the immediate environment. Through his discovery and engagement with these “notes,” Simpson cultivates a personal relationship between himself, the willow copse, and his Bahá’í Faith. He cultivates a spiritual bond with willow trees over the course of the four improvisations that make up The Adoration of Willow, an approach absent from the other two works discussed in this chapter. In Lighthouse Park Soundwalk, Westerkamp explores an old-growth forest threatened by noise pollution. She reads quotes as a way to create a dialogue between past observations of the Pacific Northwest soundscape and her own. In Wanås Walk, Cardiff projects a fragmented narrative onto the forest reserve and sculpture park where the audio walk is set. These composed sounds bring the forest to life with voices and sounds of the past while also blurring the boundary between what is real and what is imagined. Simpson does not conduct his walk in order to comment solely on the “reality” of the environment or to create a heightened experience of it. He instead creates a  87 private ritual wherein certain objects, surfaces, and locations emerge from the periphery of human attention and offer artistic, environmental, historical, and spiritual insight.  For Simpson, “Stoke Bardolph” is a spiritual experience, informed by his discovery of and engagement with “notes” and the association of these encounters with his Bahá’í Faith. Whether listeners will experience “Stoke Bardolph” as a sacred work depends primarily on their recognition of its ritual aspects, namely the procession and recession from a sacred performance site, the use of symbolic objects (what he calls “notes”), and the meaning of the phrase “Yá Bahá’u’l-Abhá.” The work also opens up to the practice of soundwalking by raising listener awareness to the soundscape. Similar to the initial walks of the WSP, Simpson combines active listening with sound performance in order to introduce audiences to sounds not generally encountered—or thought about—in daily life. Moreover, an off trail, partially submerged, and overgrown willow copse, becomes a venue for environmental improvisation and for Simpson spiritual nourishment.  Sounds Imagined: Janet Cardiff, Wanås Walk  Janet Cardiff’s audio walks explore the perception of space and time through the combination of recorded speech and environmental sounds. Each walk maps a fragmented narrative onto a specific route, which an individual listener then traces with the guidance of an audio recording. The headphones and portable audio playback device used to conduct a Cardiff walk are available on loan from a nearby establishment, often a cultural institution. This format has been used since her first walk, Forest Walk (1991). Over the course of twelve minutes, the participant meanders through a boreal forest neighboring the Banff Center for the Arts in Alberta, Canada, while listening to a series of disjointed audio excerpts. The recording presents  88 directions given by Cardiff (at what pace to walk and where to go), the artist describing her surroundings in real-time, excerpts from a conversation between Cardiff and her husband and collaborator George Bures Miller, a weather report, piano music, and birdcalls, among other sounds. Since Forest Walk, Cardiff has created audio walks in North and South America and Europe.136 These range from five minutes (Waterside Walk [1999]) to fifty minutes in duration (The Missing Voice: Case Study B [1999]). Her audio walks can be divided into two categories based on their location: cityscapes and nature settings. Spaces in the former category include public buildings and side streets, while those in the latter feature public parks and the grounds of cultural institutions. These natural areas are manicured—they feature walking paths, lawns, picnic tables, etc.—and are either in close proximity to a rural town (Wanås Walk [1998], Knislinge, Sweden) or in the heart of a major city (Her Long Black Hair [2004], Central Park, New York). Many of the audio walks set in rural locations are conducted in a forest, including the work under consideration in this chapter, Wanås Walk.137 At thirteen minutes in duration, Wanås Walk guides the listener through a forested area of the Wanås Estate outside Knislinge, Sweden (see Figure 2.11). The Estate consists of a castle, farm, sculpture park, and art education center. This combination of history and contemporary art is a unique feature of Wanås.138 Cardiff may have chosen the forested area for the reason that no art works are installed there, allowing her to explore a more “natural” setting. As she describes it:                                                 136 She has also combined audio with video in her walk-based practice. See, for example, In Real Time (1998) and Alter Bahnhof Video Walk (2012). 137 Cardiff’s interest in forests is maintained in her and Miller’s recent sound installation Forest (for a thousand years) (2013). In that work, the audience sits on tree stumps and listens to a wide-range of sounds played through twenty-two speakers positioned discretely around the seating area.  138 The castle dates to the late fifteenth century, the barn and stables to the mid eighteenth century, and the sculpture park to 1987. “Wanås (GER® Certified),” (accessed 18 February 2016).   89 “This was a very bucolic site, a farm, with animals, forests, and it was very quiet.”139 The recording played during the walk presents environmental sounds, several spoken voices, and an a capella duet between a soprano and baritone. Many of the source materials used in Wanås Walk were recorded on-site over the course of several days. In contrast, both Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph,” were recorded during a single walk. In addition to researching possible routes for Wanås Walk and gathering sounds to use in the work, Cardiff spoke with local residents about the history of the Wanås Estate. Of particular interest to her was a past war in the area.140 The castle at Wanås (labeled “Wanås Gods AB” in Figure 2.11) saw frequent bloodshed during the Northern Wars in the seventeenth century. Wanås Walk can be experienced with the Northern Wars in mind.   Figure 2.11 Aerial View of Wanås Walk Performance Area. Images from the ground are available at                                                    139 Schaub, Janet Cardiff: The Walk Book, 276. For additional information on the genesis of Wanås Walk, see Marika Wachtmeister, Konsten på Wanås/Art at Wanås (Stockholm, Sweden: Byggförlaget Kultur, 2001).  140 War is a common theme in Cardiff’s audio walks. Audio walks that engage that theme include Münster Walk (1997), A Large Slow River (2000), and The Missing Voice.  90 The work centers on two unnamed lovers during wartime. The story is told from the perspective of an older woman and an adult man (possibly one of the lovers). The exact relationship of the older woman to the lovers is not explained in the work; perhaps she knew them or heard or read their story. Although the majority of references to war are general observations on life and survival, Cardiff alludes twice to a brutal practice at the Wanås Estate; that is, hanging enemies from trees.141 At 3’58”, the older woman states: “They [i.e., the lovers] had been tied up on to the trees so that the crows would pick out their eyes and the rains would drown them in their sorrows.” Then, at 6’27”, she remarks: “We tried to untie their bonds but the ropes had grown into the trees and the branches had enveloped their bodies and become part of their skin.” These references help to illuminate history in an area that lacks physical markers of war. One exception is the graveyard encountered at the end of the walk, discussed in detail shortly. Akin to a museum audio guide, Cardiff uses storytelling and commentary to enhance the participant’s own experience of the historic forest at the Wanås Estate.  Mediated Listening in the Forest Consistent among Cardiff’s audio walks is the problematization of what is real and what is imagined. Hearing is cut off from the outside world with the use of over-ear headphones during the walk, while vision, smell, and touch function as normal. At the same time, Cardiff enhances the participant’s experience of their surroundings through audio playback. Certain                                                 141 According to the Zeitz Foundation: “During the Snapphane wars Wanås was the centre for the Danish resistance and their enemies were hung from the 500 year old oak that still stands in the park.” “Wanås (GER® Certified),” (accessed 18 February 2016). The term “snapphane” refers to a member of the seventeenth-century pro-Danish rebel group that fought against the Swedes in the Second Northern and Scanian Wars. The Northern Wars refers to the series of wars fought in northern and northeastern Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. For more on the Northern Wars, see Robert I. Frost, The Northern Wars: War, State and Society in Northeastern Europe 1558-1721 (London and New York: Routledge: 2000).  91 environmental sounds on the recording may align with visual stimuli. These include footsteps on different surfaces, a passing car, and animal activity. Other sounds draw the listener into an imaginary realm. For example, at 3’46” the sound of bird wings flapping is presented immediately after the older woman describes birds in flight. She states: “As the birds flew, their wings would spark and they would cry out in surprise, making them go mad in their excitement.” This combination of environmental sounds with fairytale-like speech creates a displaced reality where the perceived and imagined mingle. The participant navigates the forest while surrendering to Cardiff’s composed soundscape.  Art critics and scholars have focused on the disorientation of the participant from their immediate environment in Cardiff’s audio walks. For example, David Toop describes his experience of The Missing Voice (Case Study B) in London as follows:  I am leaving myself behind. My radar, the detection system that alerts me to safety and location, seems to be switched to low intensity readings because I am in three places at once: inside Cardiff’s urgent narrative [. . .] in step with her voice of guidance [. . .] [and] in my own sense of the here and now.142   Also in reference to The Missing Voice, Brandon Labelle explains that the separation of the participant from their surroundings depends on the use of mobile listening technology. He writes: “Cardiff’s play relies upon the headphonic, as a psychological opportunity to literally split the listening body: to create an envelope in which to unhinge time and place, dislocate one’s bearings.”143 Not only does technology create a gap between the participant and their immediate surroundings, but also between Cardiff and her own listening/recording perspective. As with the majority of her audio walks, she used a Kunstkopf system (or artificial head) to capture sounds                                                 142 David Toop, Haunted Weather: Music, Silence, and Memory (London: Serpent’s Tail, 2004), 123. 143 Brandon Labelle, Background Noise: Perspectives on Sound Art (New York: Continuum, 2006), 226.  92 for Wanås Walk (see Figure 2.12). This binaural technology locates the participant in the spatial environment as experienced by Cardiff, similar to Simpson’s “Stoke Bardolph.”   Figure 2.12 Janet Cardiff, Wanås Walk, 1998. Image by Anders Norrsell. Used by permission.  Yet, the recording strategies of the two works are different, which yields contrasting listening experiences. Cardiff’s insertion of the microphones into a Kunstkopf creates a discrepancy between her own listening perspective and that of the artificial head. Although the microphones are positioned ear-distance apart, the artificial head is not the same shape and size as hers. The contours of the outer ear are also different. Furthermore, in order for Cardiff to capture her own head rotation on the recording she must rotate her hand holding the Kunstkopf. In contrast, Simpson positions each microphone directly in his outer ear. The shape and size of his head and also the contours of his ears inform the spatialization and quality of sounds on the recording. As a result, listeners experience Cardiff’s movement through and engagement with the environment from the disembodied perspective of the Kunstkopf, whereas they encounter Simpson’s presence through his ears.   93 Although the over-ear headphones separate the participant in Cardiff’s work from their surroundings, the audio recording played during the walk introduces them to hidden layers of history at Wanås. At times, environmental sounds on the recording are difficult to discern from actual sound sources in the area. Examples include a car passing, nearby conversation at a picnic table, flies buzzing, and birdcalls and songs. Certain sounds may even correspond to events unfolding around the participant in real-time. For example, from 0’52”–1’11” a horse whinnies three times in the left channel; first in the midfield, then near, and then far. It is possible that the listener may see a horse at the nearby stables at the same time as the animal enters on the recording. With this correlation of image and sound, some participants may ask: “Is this horse the same one as heard through the headphones?” Environmental sounds on the recording that do not correlate to a source in the immediate space are used to heighten the spoken narratives. Examples include birds taking flight as the older woman describes them and the sound of an animal rustling in leaves while Cardiff shares a nightmare about rats and ravens trying to eat her. Without a visible source, these sounds have an otherworldly quality.  This combination of composed sounds with the visual stimulus of the forest could be said to create a new space, what geographer David Pinder refers to as a “space-between” and computer scientist Lev Manovich as an “augmented space.”144 Although Pinder and Manovich use different terms, the space that they describe is essentially a heightened reality where recorded sounds are projected onto the location in which the audio walk takes place. Both the separation of the listener from their surroundings via mobile listening technology and the creation of an “augmented/between” space through the use of audio playback help to explain the blurring of boundaries between reality and imagination in Cardiff’s audio walks. However, Wanås Walk                                                 144 David Pinder, “Ghostly Footsteps,” 1–19; and Lev Manovich, “The Poetics of Augmented Space,” Visual Communication 5 (June 2006): 219-40.  94 exhibits a fluid transition between temporal and psychological domains not discussed in existing scholarship on Cardiff.145 The participant is directed to several different realities over the course of the work. These are the historic past, the recent past (i.e., the walk conducted by Cardiff), the present moment as experienced by the participant, and an imagined reality of the forest evoked by the two singers and several anonymous voices. Wanås Walk draws the participant into these different realities through the use of five narrative perspectives. These perspectives are Cardiff, an older woman, a soprano and baritone, an adult man, and several anonymous voices. The work begins with Cardiff speaking directly to the participant, sharing personal thoughts, giving directions, and describing her surroundings. At 1’27”, the perspective shifts to an older woman describing a once-inhabited place (plausibly the Wanås Estate) now in disrepair. Whereas Cardiff’s initial presence grounds the listener in the forest as she experienced it, the older woman connects them to the forest as it once was. Although neither Cardiff nor the older woman is present in the forest with the participant, they both describe objects and animals therein (e.g., stones, trees, and birds). It is likely that the participant will either see or hear some of these same things during the excursion.  After the older woman describes the post-war environment and Cardiff directs the participant to “take the path to the left, not the main one,” a solo soprano enters in the background on the recording. The singer intones a series of modes on the vowel sound “ou.” The melody initially outlines a Bb major pentatonic scale, but shifts to Bb major with the introduction of the leading tone (A). As if in response to the soprano, at 2’15” the baritone sings a Bb major pentatonic scale. His melody then changes to G aeolian with the introduction of the second scale                                                 145 Scholars Rebecca Duclos and David Pinder have each examined Cardiff’s use of technology to navigate multiple psychological spaces within a specific physical space. However, critical discussion of the temporal dimensions of the psychological materials engaged in Cardiff’s audio walks is lacking in those two studies. See Duclos, “Reconnaissance/Méconnaissance”; and Pinder, “Ghostly Footsteps.”  95 degree of that mode (A). The baritone occasionally hints at Bb major pentatonic, but does not change to Bb major like the soprano.  At 4’06”, when the soprano and baritone return, Cardiff suddenly tells the participant to stop walking and to listen to the singers. It is as if the participant is unable to hear the singers on his or her own. Soon after the older woman remarks: “You can still hear them calling to each other if you listen.” With the participant’s attention directed to the soprano and baritone, they sing a chant-like duet using the same modes as the passage starting at 1’51”. There is a distinctly older, modal style to the baritone melody, with its absence of the sixth scale degree (E) and frequent step-wise motion around the reciting tone (G). Such is the case at 4’22” when the baritone sings the pitches Bb2–A2–F2–G2–D2–F2–G2. The liturgical style of the duet is another way in which the past is evoked in Wanås Walk. The use of archaic melodic lines and call-and-response style makes the music seem as if it is from the time of the Northern Wars.  The adult man, introduced at 5’03”, is the first character that Cardiff interacts with through speech. Preceding his entrance, she asks the adult man to tell her about a specific dream he had during childhood. Similar to words of the older woman, the adult man describes the conditions of war and events that took place. However, the dialogue between Cardiff and the adult man marks a larger shift in the work; that is, Cardiff’s ability to communicate with ghosts. At 9’12”, she enters into call and response with an anonymous voice whistling in the far left channel. After Cardiff leads the participant into a graveyard at 10’31”, several male voices yell “hey” from different locations. Startled by their calls, Cardiff begins to breath heavily. The adult man whispers: “Breath into my mouth.” In this moment, her breathing (left channel) and his (right channel) are heard in alternation in close proximity to the microphone.   96 Thus, over the course of Wanås Walk different narratives are introduced, cut off, and reappear. Certain sounds skew reality, such as recorded environmental sounds, the singers, and the anonymous voices yelling “hey.” The spatialization of these sounds creates the effect of a live experience. In the case of the anonymous voices, it is unclear whether their calls are directed at Cardiff or at the person conducting the walk. In contrast, the older woman and adult man use storytelling to inform the listener of events that took place at Wanås. Cardiff serves as a mediator between the participant and these other characters. She not only shares her past experience of the forest, but also speaks directly to ghosts.  Narrative Perspectives at Play “My mind is full of images from another place and another time. Do you know those moments when the past overlaps with the present, for just an instant?”  — Janet Cardiff, Wanås Walk  Cardiff’s approach to narrative structure in Wanås Walk is similar to techniques used by early twentieth-century modernist literary figures. Novels by Virginia Woolf, in particular, share striking similarities to Cardiff’s own approach to narrative. The alternation of blocks of content, abrupt shifts in time, and unconventional uses of syntax and punctuation (e.g., incomplete sentences and ellipses) pervade Woolf’s texts. Scholars agree that this manipulation of conventional narrative structure was for Woolf, and others, a way to create “consensus” (to borrow from Elizabeth Deeds Ermarth) among the inconsistencies of human thought and behavior.146 As Jessica Berman puts it: “[In Three Guineas (1938),] Woolf uses narrative fragmentation and hiatus as textual strategies to interrupt the forced fusion of sensibility and to                                                 146 Elizabeth Deeds Ermarth, Realism and Consensus in the English Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983).  97 alleviate the misapprehension that there is true uniformity of perspective.”147 In other words, the use of these modernist techniques enables ambiguities to surface without questioning the coherency of the text. Juxtaposed, characters in a Woolf novel yield insight into the psychological self that may otherwise be left out when they are instead used in the service of better understanding a unified identity.  The Waves (1931) demonstrates how Woolf avoids representing reality in objective terms through the juxtaposition of different characters. The novel begins with a vivid third-person description of a nearby ocean and then the immediate environment (a house and garden), is followed by a series of discrete statements by six characters, and then returns to the immediate environment, where it is described by one of the characters (Louis) in first person. Several important elements of narrative are left unknown, namely the relationship among the characters, the exact location, and the date. Only the general setting (a beach house) and the time of day (night transitioning to dawn) are provided.  When the characters are introduced, they do not speak to each other.148 Instead, they each name an object or sound and proceed to either describe or imitate it:                                                    147 Jessica Berman, “Woolf and the Private Space,” in Virginia Woolf in Context, ed. Bryony Randall and Jane Goldman (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 471. Toril Moi extends this idea to the relationship between the author and her characters, asserting that Woolf avoids identifying herself with a specific character through the use of this technique. Moi, Sexual/Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory (London and New York: Routledge, 1986), 8. Lena Hammergren applies Woolf’s approach to writing to her own work as a dance historian. Hammergren claims: “This perspective of different personas can make us understand that . . . the past and the present continuously and actively insinuate themselves into one another, resulting in an elusive identity both in regard to the ‘I’ of the text and to the history of which it is speaking.” Hammergren, “Different Personas: A History of One’s Own?” in Choreographing History, ed. Susan Leigh Foster, (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), 191. 148 This is not the case in other novels by Woolf. See, for example, The Voyage Out (1915) and To the Lighthouse (1927).  98 ‘I see a ring,’ said Bernard, ‘hanging above me. It quivers and hangs in a loop of light.’ ‘I see a slab of pale yellow,’ said Susan, ‘spreading away until it meets a purple stripe.’ ‘I hear a sound,’ said Rhoda, ‘cheep, chirp; cheep chirp; going up and down.’ ‘I see a globe,’ said Neville, ‘hanging down in a drop against the enormous flanks of some hill.’ ‘I see a crimson tassel,’ said Jinny, ‘twisted with gold threads.’ ‘I hear something stamping,’ said Louis. ‘A great beast’s foot is chained. It stamps, and stamps, and stamps.’149  It is as if this passage presents the thoughts of each character, instead of speech in a real-world social context. One interpretation is to consider these different characters as separate narrators; that is, where their observations are made at different times. Another way is to think about them as a single voice. When the first statement of each character is isolated, the excerpt reads: “I see a ring . . . I see a slab of pale yellow . . . I hear a sound . . . [and so forth].” In this way, the narrative “I” is divided among six voices.    Similar to the opening section of Woolf’s The Waves, Cardiff’s Wanås Walk has passages that present several different narrative perspectives in quick succession. For example, from 4’07”–4’50”, the listener is exposed to the immediate environment, the recorded sonic environment, as well as the perspectives of Cardiff, the older woman, and the singers. At 4’07”, the singers are accompanied by birdcalls; however, the birds quickly fade out and the singers are all that is heard on the recording. As the soprano and baritone sing a duet, the older woman posits: “some nights they call to the moon to take them away.” The singers fade out soon after. At 4’40”, an animal rustles nearby in the leaves just before the track fades out completely (the only such instance in the work). With the recorded track temporarily silent, external sounds are likely to penetrate through the headphones. At 4’50”, the listener is brought back to their immediate space when forest ambience and birdcalls fade in and Cardiff directs the participant to                                                 149 Virginia Woolf, The Waves (London: The Hogarth Press, 1931), 7.  99 continue on the path. Nature sounds are caught in a gap between the past and the present in this passage. It is difficult to know whether these animal and tree sounds, like the horse, are the same as those in the immediate area or if they are a personification of the past lovers and their environment. The brief moment of silence midway through the excerpt offers the only moment in the work for the participant to listen to the actual forest (albeit through over-ear headphones). Although there is no direct connection between Woolf and Cardiff, both artists invite the reader/listener to think about different types of past. Woolf focuses on the psychological past, whereas Cardiff turns to a historical one. Both disrupt the narrative structure in order to capture the past not as a complete image but as a collection of fragmented perspectives. This lack of clear narrative raises questions regarding the identity of each character in Wanås Walk. Is the participant supposed to hear each voice as a representation of Cardiff? Are Cardiff, the older woman, and the female lover the same person?   Wanås Walk concludes with an attempt to claim that there is a sense of truth to these different perspectives. The older woman asserts that her story is real: “I am trying to tell you some truth by going back and remembering. To know that I really did live and now you walk in this place where I walked.” Soon after, Cardiff makes a similar claim about her experience. However, rather than using plain language, she turns to touch, the most intimate of the senses, to confirm that what she has experienced is real. She states: “Dead leaves under my feet. Nettles against my bare legs. My shoes are wet through to my toes. The wind is on my face.” Cardiff continues her description of sensed phenomena, but with a shift from touch to hearing: “The leaves are moving in the breeze. The birds are singing. There’s a car in the distance. These things are real aren’t they?” Her decision to use speech to connect herself—and the participant—to the “reality” of the forest is a technique similar to that in Westerkamp’s Lighthouse Park Soundwalk.  100 However, the “reality” that Cardiff describes at the end of her work is different from that of Westerkamp. Cardiff describes sensed phenomena to ground herself in the forest, whereas Westerkamp uses the words of Emily Carr to politicize the changing soundscape of the Pacific Northwest and to inspire listeners to take action.  Although Cardiff does not comment on the “wellbeing” of the forest, she does use speech to direct listeners to aspects of her surroundings that she deems worthy of attention. This includes both giving directions to the participant and describing nearby objects—a moss-covered tree, a large stone, a compost pile, etc. In a way, Cardiff’s voice plays a more authoritative role in Wanås Walk than Westerkamp’s does in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk. The participant depends on Cardiff’s directions for where to go and how to interact with their surroundings. Cardiff also uses speech to disorient the listener from their immediate environment. Her projection of multiple narratives onto the forest reconfigures daily aural and visual experience. The person conducting the walk is faced with the challenge of navigating their physical environment while at the same time making sense of what they hear. Through the combination of live participant experience and realistically spatialized speech and environmental sounds, Wanås Walk has a disjointed effect on listeners at the same time as it enhances their experience of a particular place.  Soundwalking Revisited The three artists discussed in this chapter immerse listeners in outdoor nature settings. These are spaces where humans are not the dominant force. In other words, flora, fauna, and natural phenomena are more prominent than buildings and roads. These locations, as different as they may be (a wilderness reserve, a watercourse surrounded by farmland, and a sculpture park),  101 are all used for relaxation and repose. These spaces are also imbued with rich cultural history, an aspect that each artist draws upon. Westerkamp and Cardiff use historic voices in their works—Emily Carr and survivors of war, respectively. Simpson centers his piece on an iconic symbol, the willow tree, using touch instead of speech.  Aspects of the original concept of soundwalking carry over to all three works. Audiences enact a walk, either live or in their mind while listening to a recording, where the main purpose is to focus on the sounds around them as well as their relationship to those sounds. Westerkamp, Simpson, and Cardiff each use listening, walking, and sound performance to draw listeners closer to the natural world. For Westerkamp, soundwalking is a way to highlight the aesthetic appeal of nature while also directing attention to the growing noise pollution problem. Although Simpson is not as explicit with his environmental message, he also raises awareness to the sonic richness of nature. Simpson draws on soundwalking in order to “voice” the willow copse, in particular physical objects that are otherwise mute—leaves, twigs, branches, tree trunks, and stones. Cardiff looks for signs of the past in the present. For her, listening, walking, and sound performance enable exploration of the historical, temporal, and psychological layers of a particular place. At the same time as Wanås Walk distorts everyday perception, it is the only art-based walk under consideration that physically positions listeners in an actual location. Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and The Adoration of Willow, “Stoke Bardolph” are experienced as recordings. In this way, Wanås Walk is similar to “A Vancouver Soundwalk” in its use of a predetermined route and cues for listening (see Figure 2.1). Both Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and “Stoke Bardolph” are improvised walks at the time of recording. Cardiff, on the other hand, sends participants out with a set of directions (i.e., the recording) for where to go and what to listen for.  102 However, unlike “A Vancouver Soundwalk,” the listener is closed off from their surroundings in Wanås Walk through the use of over-ear headphones. The recording displaces them, not away from their immediate environment, but from their everyday perception of it.  Another aspect of soundwalking present in these works is focus on sounds in the environment that are not necessarily apparent to audiences. Both Westerkamp and Simpson focus on “hidden” sounds inherent in the environment. Westerkamp focuses on the rich timbral properties of flowing water through placement of the microphone in close proximity to a streambed; Simpson holds a twig near his ear and proceeds to bring out its resonant, pitched qualities by flicking it. In contrast, Cardiff directs listeners to another dimension of the forest, a realm of ghosts. She tries to convince the participant that these ghosts are actually there through her observation of and later interaction with them.  Although all three artists present these “hidden” sounds to audiences through their recordings, there is no audio processing on these tracks. Westerkamp and Cardiff use basic editing techniques such as crossfading and/or multitracking, while Simpson removes only his internal bodily sounds—coughing, sneezing, swallowing, etc. Through the decision not to process sounds, focus is given to the inherent sonic properties of sounds heard in the forest. For Westerkamp and Simpson, these are sounds encountered in both their immediate space and also heard in the distance—water and seaplanes in Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and water and a distant train in “Stoke Bardolph”). For Cardiff, it is imagined voices that reside in the forest. As discussed, the anonymous voices representing ghosts are just as realistic as environmental sounds in Wanås Walk.  103 Soundwalking draws participants outside of their habitual routines of listening in order to bring new awareness to not only the sonic environment but also their psychological self.150 As John Levack Drever explains: “One of the underpinning goals of soundwalking is about circumnavigating habituation, in a process of de-sensitization and consequently re-sensitization, in order to catch a glimpse (un coup d’oreille) of the ‘invisible, silent, and unspoken’ of the everyday.”151 Artists such as Westerkamp, Simpson, and Cardiff use elements of soundwalking in order to bring some of the “invisible, silent, unspoken” aspects of the environment to the attention of listeners. Westerkamp focuses on the changing soundscape of the Pacific Northwest, a region under the threat of increased noise pollution. Simpson showcases the sonic potential of a willow copse near Stoke Bardolph through his physical contact with materials found on site. Cardiff is not concerned with environmental sounds per-se, but with the actual environment as a place inhabited with both real and imaginary voices. Although each artist engages the natural environment for different reasons in their work, all three transform how nature is experienced. By taking listeners on a walk (either an actual walk or a recorded one), Westerkamp, Simpson, and Cardiff revitalize nature settings as places of both active listening and dialogue.                                                 150 This inquiry into human thought is not limited to art-based walks. Consider, for example, Dhomont’s Forêt Profunde, an electroacoustic composition that draws on psychologist Bruno Bettelheim’s analysis of children stories, The Uses of Enchantment. For more on Dhomont’s work, see Chapter Four.   151 Drever, “Soundwalking,” 165.   104  Chapter 3 Rewilding the Stage and Soundscape in R. Murray Schafer’s The Princess of the Stars   Canadian identity and nature are two prominent—and arguably inseparable—themes in the music and writing of R. Murray Schafer. In his collection of essays On Canadian Music, Schafer claims that Canadians have relied largely on colonial models for their identity, and, as a result, have failed to distinguish their culture.152 Schafer’s concern extends to the relationship between Canadians and the natural environment. Ellen Waterman explains:  For Schafer, the central problem in the development of Canadian identity is the alienation of Canadians from the vast northern wilderness they inhabit. Only by seeking an integrated relationship with the land can Canadians develop an indigenous cultural identity.153    In the spirit of reconditioning Canadian audiences to the land they call home, Schafer has written several compositions for no less than an iconic Canadian setting; that is, the wilderness lake. These include Music for Wilderness Lake (1979), Patria the Prologue: The Princess of the Stars (1981), Patria the Epilogue: And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon (1984–), and Patria 9: The Enchanted Forest (1994).154 On site, Schafer deploys symbols and themes that imbue nature with elevated, if not spiritual qualities. Several of these symbols have existing association with the wilderness lake. For example, in The Princess of the Stars canoes are used to enact the drama                                                 152 R. Murray Schafer, On Canadian Music (Bancroft, ON: Arcana Editions, 1984), viii–ix.   153 Ellen Waterman, “R. Murray Schafer’s Environmental Music Theatre: A Documentation and Analysis of ‘Patria the Epilogue: And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon’” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, San Diego, 1997), 72. 154 Other contemporary composers that have written works for natural settings include David Dunn, John Luther Adams, and Emily Doolittle. Dunn’s Sky Drift (1977), for a group of singers and a wind and brass ensemble, premiered in a dry lake bed in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park in California; Adams’ Inuksuit (2009), for 9 to 99 percussionists, premiered on the grounds of the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity in Banff, Canada; and Doolittle’s Reeds (2010), for reed trio and dancer, premiered at an urban pond in St. John’s, Newfoundland.  105 and the vocal calls at the start of the work emulate the Common Loon.155 Princess is the first composition by Schafer in which musicians not only explore acoustic phenomena at a rural lake but also converse with birds in the area and perform on found objects such as rocks and wood. In that way, Princess is not merely a work staged against an outdoor backdrop; rather, it calls for direct engagement with the environment. The work depends on dialogue between performers, listeners, the physical environment, and birds in the area for its full effect. These on-site interactions play a key role in the music and drama of Princess, and in this way, the environment is encountered differently than in art-based walks (see Chapter Two). Sound performance is also present in some art-based walks (e.g., Lighthouse Park Soundwalk and The Adoration of Willow Series), but the central idea of such works is that an individual engages with the environment through mobile listening. Princess, on the other hand, is a collective effort driven by music making.  The eighty-minute music-theatre work calls for four sound poets/actors, six dancers, solo soprano or mezzo-soprano, a double SATB chorus, instrumental ensemble, and approximately twenty canoeists. The canoeists enact the story by paddling the sound poets/actors and dancers around the lake to choreographed patterns. Where art-based walks offer a private, immersive experience of the natural world through active listening and occasional sound performance, Princess is a shared experience where performers actively engage their surroundings and the audience witnesses these encounters. This chapter examines how Schafer’s outdoor theatre work re-imagines the performance setting of Western classical music and, in turn, sensitizes both performers and audience members to the natural world.                                                 155 For discussion of the formation of colonial and post-colonial Canadian symbols, see Daniel Francis, National Dreams: Myth, Memory, and Canadian History (Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 1997), especially chapter six, “The Ideology of the Canoe: The Myth of Wilderness.”  106 The inclusion of non-human sounds in the environment as part of the music and drama takes us one step towards “nature modified” on the continuum (see Introduction). Nature is not modified by technology (although Schafer does equip characters with megaphones of different sizes); rather, it is processed in terms of its recontextualization in the plot and music. Schafer portrays the performance site as grand and mythical through the projection of sounds into the environment and the movement of characters in canoes on the lake. By mapping a tale of mythic proportions onto the lake, any environmental, socio-political, and cultural issues associated with the body of water—or the larger land plot—are reduced. Consider, for example, Two Jack Lake, the site of the 1985 production of Princess. Although Two Jack Lake adheres to Schafer’s required features for the performance site, the lake is anything but untouched wilderness. A canal runs from Two Jack Lake to the largest man-made lake in Banff National Park: Lake Minnewanka. Lake Minnewanka Scenic Drive passes by Two Jack Lake, and connects two campgrounds that are located near the shoreline. Furthermore, the area has a rich history of indigenous peoples dating back approximately 10,000 years. However, Schafer draws exclusively on the indigenous cultures of the Plains and Eastern Woodlands of Canada and the United States.  Schafer’s borrowings from indigenous culture reflect his interest in creating harmony between humans and the natural world. By infusing the plot with First Nations stories, audience members and performers are encouraged to experience the wilderness lake as a place that is both sacred and rich in mythology.156 Schafer also animates the outdoor performance setting through music. Specifically, he uses the lake as a site for staging a series of ritualized acts, similar to the                                                 156 Victoria Adamenko has coined the term “neo-mythologism” to explain the use of ancient myths in twentieth-century music. See Adamenko, Neo-Mythologism in Music: From Scriabin and Schoenberg to Schnittke and Crumb (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 2007).  107 willow copse in Simpson’s The Adoration of Willow series. In the case of Princess, these acts include marking the sunrise and dawn chorus in the plot (the arrival of the Sun Disk and Dawn Birds, respectively), the activation of outdoor acoustics, interaction with birds on site, and the use of found objects such as logs and rocks. By drawing on First Nations legends and also enhancing the outdoor setting with musical sounds, Schafer mythologizes nature. The idea of myth is the means by which Schafer validates nature as having inherent value.  Schafer’s interest in locating musicians outdoors and inviting them to actively listen to and perform with their surroundings stems from his dissatisfaction with Western classical music aesthetics, in particular those associated with the concert hall. His efforts to revitalize music theatre led to the development of a theory known as The Theatre of Confluence.157 Similar to Richard Wagner’s concept of Gesamtkunstwerk, Schafer’s idea of a confluent theatre aspires to give the arts an equal part in shaping a staged work. However, Schafer critiques Wagner’s concept on the basis that it maintains a hierarchical relationship among the arts, where music is still privileged as the “highest” form of art.158 Schafer responded to this challenge by encouraging alternative ways of performing and experiencing a music-theatre work. Among these techniques is a multi-sensory engagement with the performance site, increased audience participation in the form of travel to the performance location and movement through the site during the performance, and, in the spirit of Cage, recognition of sounds of the environment as part of the work.  Kate Galloway and Ellen Waterman have both researched collaboration between                                                 157 See “The Theatre of Confluence I,” “The Theatre of Confluence II,” and “The Theatre of Confluence III,” in R. Murray Schafer, Patria: The Complete Cycle (Toronto: Coach House Books, 2002).    158 For more on Schafer’s and Wagner’s conceptions of art see John Rea, “Richard Wagner and R. Murray Schafer: Two Revolutionary and Religious Poets,” Canada Music Book 8 (Spring/Summer 1974): 37–51.  108 musicians and the environment in Schafer’s works. Galloway considers aspects of ritual as well as audience and performer participation in a comparative analysis of four works from Schafer’s Patria Cycle.159 Waterman investigates the collaborative efforts of staging Schafer’s And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon from 1985 to 1996. In addition to documenting its performance history, Waterman claims that the epilogue to the Patria cycle is a culmination of Schafer’s career-long development of the Theatre of Confluence.160 This chapter builds on the work of both Galloway and Waterman in that it asks some additional questions of collaboration in Schafer’s music. However, a point of departure for the present effort is to investigate musician-environment interaction in Patria through score and recording analysis, rather than participant-observation. In terms of Schafer’s conception of nature, Ellen Waterman asserts that he maintains a romantic aesthetic of nature.161 Maria Anna Harley associates Princess with deep ecology, claiming that it “expresses a world-view according to which people do not have dominion over nature, but are a part of it, a world-view of profound and powerful connections between human self-awareness and the peaceful and symbiotic co-existence of all living beings.”162 Of particular interest is Schafer’s integration of nature into Princess as a musical force and how the production is mapped onto a natural, opposed to an urban, environment. In light of Schafer’s aim at                                                 159 See Kathleen Anne Galloway, “‘Sounding Nature, Sounding Place’: Alternative Performance Spaces, Participatory Experience, and Ritual Performance in R. Murray Schafer’s Patria Cycle” (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 2010). Galloway has also considered the transformative powers of participating in any one of Schafer’s outdoor productions and the notion of pilgrimage to the performance site. See “Roughing It in the Woods: Community and Emplaced Experience in the Cultural Practice of R. Murray Schafer’s Patria,” MUSICultures 39, no. 2 (2012): 30–60; and “Pathways and Pilgrims: The In-Between Spaces in the Patria Cycle,” Intersections: Canadian Journal of Music 28, no. 1 (2007): 134–45. 160 See Waterman, “R. Murray Schafer’s Environmental Music Theatre.” 161 Ellen Waterman, “Patria at the Millennium,” TOPIA: A Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies 6 (Fall 2001): 30–31. 162 Maria Anna Harley, “Canadian Identity, Deep Ecology and R. Murray Schafer’s ‘The Princess of the Stars,’” In Northern Soundscapes: Yearbook of Soundscape Studies, ed. R. Murray Schafer and Helmi Jarviluoma, vol. 1 (Tampere, Finland: University of Tampere, Department of Folk Tradition, 1998): 136–37.  109 reconditioning humans to the soundscape,163 the wilderness lake serves as a space to employ new compositional techniques, a way to cultivate acuity to sounds beyond the concert hall, and a means to comment—and even build—national identity. Princess is not the first work by Schafer composed for a specific outdoor setting at a designated time. Music for Wilderness Lake positions three trombone quartets around the shore of a small rural lake at dawn and at dusk (see Figure 3.1).164 Over the course of approximately twenty minutes the twelve musicians use sound to survey the body of water and surrounding terrain. The work sets out to create a dialogue between the performers and their outdoor location. Schafer explains in the introduction to the score: “Music for Wilderness Lake returns to a more remote era, to an era when music took its bearings from the natural environment, a time when musicians played to the water and to the trees and then listened for them to play back to them.”165 More than a spiritual offering, Schafer has the twelve trombonists explore the acoustic properties of the lake. Techniques include sustaining a pitch while turning slowly in a circle or while raising and lowering the bell of their instruments. In one instance, the ensemble is instructed to howl like wolves. With the three quartets half a kilometer apart, there is an approximately one-and-a-half second time delay among them. Thus, in order to sound together each group must attack at a precisely different time. In certain sections the performers are scored                                                 163 Schafer’s work in soundscape education and research began with a series of booklets including Ear Cleaning (1967) and The New Soundscape (1969), developed further with his role as director of the World Soundscape Project in the 1970s, and culminated in his book The Tuning of the World (1977). 164 Sound generally travels the greatest distance at dawn and at dusk, as wind is often minimal and sound refraction is at its peak due to thermal conditions (i.e., cool air near the surface of the lake and warm air higher up). Music for Wilderness Lake was premiered at O’Grady Lake (near Bancroft, Ontario) on September 22, 1979, by the Sonaré ensemble. The performance was recorded for radio play by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) and was made into a documentary film in 1980 by Fichman-Sweete Productions (now Bullfrog Films). See (accessed 5 June 2014).  165 R. Murray Schafer, “Music for Wilderness Lake” (Bancroft, ON: Arcana Editions, 1981), 2.    110 to enter subsequently, producing a full, consonant blend, while in other moments they are asked to enter simultaneously, creating a rough, competing sound texture.    Figure 3.1  “Setup for the recording and filming of Music for Wilderness Lake.” © 1981 R. Murray Schafer, “Music for Wilderness Lake,” Bancroft, ON: Arcana Editions, 4. Used by permission.   Like Music for Wilderness Lake, Princess is written for a specific outdoor setting. The work is realized on a rural lake of a certain size and shape, during a particular season (autumn), and must start precisely fifty-two minutes before dawn.166 Princess was premiered at Heart Lake outside Toronto in 1981, and has since been staged at Two Jake Lake (1985), and at Wildcat Lake (1997) and Bone Lake (2007), both part of the Haliburton Forest and Wildlife Reserve in                                                 166 “The lake should be about half a kilometer wide and a kilometer long with an irregular shoreline to allow the principal characters to enter in their canoes from ‘off stage.’” R. Murray Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars (Toronto: Arcana Editions, 1986), 4.  111 Ontario. As Schafer remarks, “it is a different theatre every time.”167 This is in part due to air pressure, temperature, and wind direction, which shape the performers’ sounds. In addition to atmospheric conditions, the contours of the shoreline and surrounding terrain, non-human sounds in the environment, and the position of the audience in relation to the sunrise also inform any production of Princess. For example, the sunrise was at “stage” center during the 1985 performance at Two Jack Lake (see Figure 3.2).168 In contrast, the sunrise was at “stage” right during the 2007 production at Bone Lake.169                                                  167 Schafer, Patria: The Complete Cycle, 106. 168 The 1985 performance was part of the Banff School of Fine Arts Festival of the Arts (8–10 August), in conjunction with the Parks Canada Centennial. 169 The layout for the 2007 production of Princess at Bone Lake can be found in Galloway, “Roughing It in the Woods,” 43. Available from: (accessed 25 June 2014).  112  Figure 3.2 Layout for the 1985 Production of Princess at Two Jack Lake. Tim Wilson, “The Place of the Princess,” Banff Letters (Spring 1985): 30. Available from the Banff Centre Library and Archives. Used by permission.  The position of the musicians also shapes the production. At Two Jack Lake Percussion 1 and 3 were located on the shore opposite the audience, while Percussion 2 was positioned to their immediate right and Percussion 4 was behind them to the left. At Bone Lake all four percussionists were positioned in front of the audience: Percussion 1 and 2 were located less than halfway down shore and Percussion 3 and 4 were closer to the far end of the lake, with 1 and 3 on the left side and 2 and 4 on the right. The flute, clarinet, brass quartet, and characters were also stationed differently for the 1985 and 2007 productions. Only the placement of the double chorus was consistent at Two Jack Lake and Bone Lake: four singers (SATB) were positioned to the immediate right of the audience and four were placed to the left at both locations.   113 Overview of the Patria Cycle and The Princess of the Stars The Princess of the Stars is the Prologue to Schafer’s music-theatre cycle, Patria (1966–; Patria is Latin for “homeland”).170 The musical forces, duration, performance location(s), and the role of the audience vary among the twelve works that currently make up the cycle. Some are performed in a wilderness setting, while others are realized in an urban environment. In Princess, the audience maintains a conventional role as silent onlookers.171 In others works, such as RA (1983) and The Enchanted Forest, the audience functions as active participants in the drama. The longest work in the cycle, And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon (known colloquially as the Wolf Project), sends a troupe of artists into Haliburton Forest and Wildlife Reserve.172 Participants are divided into “clans” (each named after a totem animal native to the region) and, over the course of eight days, engage in a series of ritual activities. These include greeting the sun and four cardinal directions, dancing, storytelling, and performing various types of music. The clans convene on the final day to perform a ceremony whereupon Wolf is united with Ariadne (characters first introduced in Princess).                                                   170 For an overview of the cycle see (accessed 5 June 2014).   171 Schafer invites audience members to move freely around the production site as long as they remain quiet and do not disrupt the performance at hand. He explains: “What makes my pieces different is that the audience is actually moving to a location, sitting on a shore or on a beach. They’re free to get up and walk around, they don’t have to stay there. In fact a lot of people at the first Princess [at Heart Lake] got up and walked around the lake to hear it from the other side, which they’re free to do.” Tim Wilson, “The Place of the Princess,” Banff Letters (Spring 1985): 31. 172 A growing pool of dedicated participants has performed and developed this work since 1992. As material is added and revised with each performance, it is difficult to distinguish what material is attributed to Schafer and what belongs to others. For more on And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon see Emily Doolittle, “Thoughts on R. Murray Schafer’s Wolf Project,” unpublished paper, 2001, (accessed 6 June 2014); Galloway, “Roughing It in the Woods”; Erin Elizabeth Scheffer, “The Self and the Wolf: An Examination of R. Murray Schafer’s Wolf Project” (Master’s thesis, Florida State University, 2010); Ellen Waterman, “Confluence and Collaboration Part One: Performing R. Murray Schafer’s And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon,” Musicworks 70 (February 1998): 6–10; and Waterman, “Confluence and Collaboration Part Two: Performing R. Murray Schafer’s And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon,” Musicworks 72 (October 1998): 16–24.  114 Though Patria explores different world cultures and time periods (ranging from ancient Egypt to Medieval Europe), several archetypes, symbols, and themes appear throughout the cycle. For example, Patria features four recurring characters: a masculine, instinctual hero who is sent on a series of journeys in search of spiritual power (Wolf/Theseus), an innocent princess who waits for the hero to redeem her (Princess/Ariadne), a sly creature who makes work for the hero and keeps the princess captive (the Three-Horned Enemy/Minotaur), and a venerating god that reigns over the protagonists (the Sun Disk/Ra).173 According to the ancient Greek myth “Theseus and the Minotaur,” King Minos of Crete forced the Athenians to supply seven boys and seven girls every nine years in order to avoid additional sanctions. Those offered served as prey to Minotaur, a half-man half-bull that lived in the labyrinth on Minos’ grounds. The sacrifice of Athenians ended when Theseus, the son of an Aegean ruler, was sent to Crete as one of the youths to be sacrificed. Once in the labyrinth he killed the Minotaur and managed to escape with the aid of Minos’ daughter, Ariadne. Ariadne fell in love with Theseus upon his arrival, and gave him a sword and a ball of thread to help him in the labyrinth. Theseus unraveled the ball as he moved through the maze and retraced the thread after killing the Minotaur with the sword. The character names and roles in that classical story parallel those in Schafer’s The Princess of the Stars. Wolf is a hero that must battle a monster (in this case to rescue the Princess of the Stars, instead of saving a people), Three-Horned Enemy is a monster that controls a space (in this case a lake, instead of a maze), and the Sun Disk is a ruler (in this case of the universe, not a kingdom). There are two similarities between the Princess of the Stars and Ariadne: 1) she                                                 173 Waterman, “Patria at the Millennium,” 25. At moments in the cycle, the creature is destructive and evil, and in other instances that character is well intentioned. For discussion of the changing role of the Three-Horned Enemy, see Kirk Loren MacKenzie, “A Twentieth-Century Musical/Theatrical Cycle: R. Murray Schafer’s Patria (1966–)” (Ph.D. diss., University of Cincinnati, 1992), 70.  115 is the daughter of a ruler and 2) a hero is infatuated with her. Unlike Ariadne, the Princess is not in love with Wolf, nor does she assist him over the course of Schafer’s work. There are other ways in which Schafer’s narrative differs from the classical story. For example, there is no sacrificial rite in Princess and the Three-Horned Enemy does not have human qualities—that character is amphibious with plated armor, a beak, and webbed feet. Schafer’s narrative is more indebted to indigenous legends through the mythologization of natural phenomena, animals, and the sun and moon. The Princess of the Stars tells the story of the Sun Disk’s daughter, the Princess of the Stars, who has fallen from the sky and is held captive at the bottom of the lake by the Three-Horned Enemy. The work begins with an unaccompanied aria by the Princess at the far end of the lake (she is the only character not visible to the audience). During the aria, the Presenter is paddled in a single canoe from just beyond the position of the Princess. Upon his arrival in front of the audience, the Presenter informs them of the events leading up to the Princess’ capture. He then turns the audience into trees—only through this transformation can they witness the actions of characters who, according to Schafer, are beyond the perception of humans. For the remainder of the work, the Presenter translates the language of the characters into English.174 Wolf arrives at the lake to find the Princess with the help of six Dawn Birds. The Three-Horned Enemy challenges Wolf’s efforts. As a fight ensues between the two characters, the Sun Disk interrupts, driving away the Enemy and commanding Wolf to embark on a journey that will lead him to the Princess. The Sun Disk orders the Dawn Birds to cover the lake with ice and to not sing until                                                 174 The shoreline also separates the audience from the action, and in this way functions as a proscenium. For a rich discussion of correlations between wilderness space and theatre space see Adam Sweeting and Thomas C. Crochunis, “Performing the Wild: Rethinking Wilderness and Theater Spaces,” in Beyond Nature Writing: Expanding the Boundaries of Ecocriticism, ed. Karla Armbruster and Kathleen R. Wallace, 325–40 (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 2001).  116 Wolf succeeds. The work concludes as it began, with the voice of the Princess heard in the distance.  Patria and Canadian Identity Music scholars have discussed at length Schafer’s engagement with Canadian identity in both his writing and music.175 With regards to Patria, Ellen Waterman asserts that the significance of the cycle as a critical work does not fit a neat definition of Canadian art:  Patria simultaneously occupies the terrain of cultural product, with effects that can be evaluated and critiqued within historical and current Canadian culture, and its own unified world in which archetypes, symbols, and themes (both musical and literary) circle endlessly back on themselves. For the composer, and for many of his collaborators, the symbolic world of Patria is the more vital. For cultural critics, however, Patria presents an essentialized worldview disturbingly out of touch with current Canadian society. In assessing Patria’s place in Canadian art, it is the tension between these two points of view that is most interesting, for Patria raises important questions about what counts as “authentic” Canadian art and about the roles both imagination and memory play in creating cultural identity.176  As Waterman and others have noted, Schafer’s universalizing of elements from indigenous cultures is problematic. For example, in Princess Schafer uses the legends of first peoples to explain natural phenomena (e.g., dew on the grass is the blood of the Princess who fell from the sky, and mist over the lake is a sign of her struggle as prisoner of the Three-Horned Enemy) and features a libretto with keywords from indigenous languages.177 And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon adopts the Medicine Wheel, features indigenous chants, and divides participants into clans                                                 175 See, for example, Waterman, “R. Murray Schafer’s Environmental Music Theatre” (especially chapter two); Harley, “Canadian Identity, Deep Ecology and R. Murray Schafer’s ‘The Princess of the Stars’”; Scheffer, “The Self and the Wolf,” 17–30; and Waterman, “Patria at the Millennium,” 28–29. 176 Waterman, “Patria at the Millennium,” 22. 177 Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 87–88. The only characters that do not speak keywords from indigenous languages are the Three-Horned Enemy, who utters non-lexical vocables, and the Sun Disk, who uses an invented language reflecting qualities of Latin.     117 named after totem animals.178  Erin Scheffer asserts that Schafer’s engagement with indigenous cultures is “undoubtedly Thoreauvian.” She elaborates: In the process of creating music which explores First Nation’s culture, Schafer changes the musicians and actors who participate in his Patria Cycle, especially the Wolf Project, into a semblance of Thoreau’s “half savages,” those who live civilized lives, go into the woods, and sing native chant, recite Micmac phrases and are divided into clans according to Iroquois governmental structure.179  Along this line of thought, Schafer’s use of native languages, legends, and rituals is without question controversial. In the interest of writing music that is distinctly Canadian but also maintains its position in the Western art music tradition, he retains Western instruments, notation, and style, but fuses them with different aspects of indigenous cultures. Schafer’s own “colonization” of indigenous cultures is ironic given his intentions are driven by a search for a Canadian identity not tethered to colonialism. Ultimately, the cost of freely using elements of First Nations culture in works such as Princess and And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon is that questions of appropriation are raised.   Performer-Environment Interaction  The musicians and characters of Princess enhance our experience of nature through the types of sounds that they project. The vocal style of the characters as well as the music that corresponds to events in the story is primarily mimetic. Wolf slides between pitches and at times howls. The Three-Horned Enemy projects gruff articulations. The Princess sings glissandi, tremolos, and wide interval leaps—this is the only character performed by a classically trained                                                 178 For background on the use of the Medicine Wheel and clan names in And Wolf Shall Inherit the Moon consult Waterman, “R. Murray Schafer’s Environmental Music Theatre,” 108–13. 179 Scheffer, “The Self and the Wolf,” 11–12.  118 singer. The Sun Disk performs in a manner similar to Wolf, but with more pronounced glissandi and a larger accompaniment, notably antiphonal singing and sustained cymbals and gongs. The six Dawn Birds feature music that corresponds to their movement on the lake. These vocal and instrumental parts consist of independent lines reminiscent of birdcalls, some actual species, others invented. In addition to their distinct singing styles, several characters are equipped with megaphones of different sizes. The Princess, the Sun Disk, and Wolf use non-electric megaphones. The Three-Horned Enemy uses a 20-watt megaphone and an optional walkie-talkie with additional walkie-talkies positioned in trees around the audience.180 Listeners familiar with soundscape studies may distinguish the contrasts in vocal style and amplification technology on the basis that some contribute to a balanced soundscape while others “pollute” it. This hierarchy of sound types is fundamental to Schafer’s model of soundscape.181 In The New Soundscape (1969), Schafer claims: “Motors are the dominant sounds of the world soundscape. All motors share one important feature: they are low-information, high redundancy sounds. That is to say, despite the intensity of their voices, the messages they speak are repetitive and ultimately boring.”182 Schafer contrasts monotonous motors with the more                                                 180 Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 6. 181 Central to Schafer’s theory of soundscape is the changing relationship between Western society and the sonic environment. Through a series of historical developments traced to the Industrial Revolution, Schafer concludes that human-associated sounds now dominate the environment, in particular those produced by machines. In addition, the focus among industrialized societies on material wealth and economic progress has, for Schafer, bred inattention to and arguably detachment from the sounds of the environment. Recent scholarship has criticized Schafer’s polarization of “hi-fi” and “lo-fi” soundscapes. For example, Ari Kelman claims that the concept of soundscape becomes a problem when prejudice is held against urban sounds. Ari Kelman, “Rethinking the Soundscape: A Critical Genealogy of a Key Term in Sound Studies,” The Senses and Society 5, no. 2 (2010): 212–34. Timothy Ingold argues against the term “soundscape” altogether, claiming that sound is not an object of perception; rather, it is “the medium of our perception. It is what we hear in.” Timothy Ingold, “Against Soundscape,” in Autumn Leaves: Sound and the Environment in Artistic Practice, ed. Angus Carlyle (Paris: Double Entendre, 2007), 11. 182 R. Murray Schafer, The New Soundscape: A Handbook for the Modern Music Teacher (Toronto: Clark & Cruickshank, 1969), 57–58.  119 complex sounds of birds.183 Birdsong carries important information for not only birds (attracting a mate and territorial display) but also for humans (species identification and season). Some machine sounds have a communication role, such as the bell and steam whistles on a train, while others are the mere byproduct of a human action, for example an airplane or the rattling and scraping metal of a train. This hierarchy based on content and decibel levels carries over to Princess. It is exemplified in the contrast between the delicate melodic lines associated with the Dawn Birds and the brash vocalizations of the Enemy. The polarity of the two characters also extends to the notation in the score. “Arrival of the Dawn Birds” and “Dance of the Dawn Birds” (Editing Units 8 and 9) feature a part-score in graphic notation and individual parts in either conventional or graphic notation. The part-score consists of hand-drawn lines that allude to the rich avian sounds of a dawn chorus (see Example 3.1).184 The percussion parts are written as flat lines (akin to woodpeckers); the flute, clarinet, and trumpet lines feature contour (like many songbirds); and the choral parts consist of shapes, some of which look like birds in flight. The individual parts for flute, clarinet, and trumpet are in conventional notation, while the singers and percussion are in frame notation (these parts are discussed in detail later in this chapter).                                                  183 See, for example, Schafer, The New Soundscape, 59. In a recent interview with Leath Tonino, Bernie Krause articulates that the presence of non-informative human-associated sounds has not only increased, but sounds such as airplanes and car traffic are proven to have negative impacts on other species. He asserts: “This sort of incoherent human noise can have a profound effect on certain organisms. It can cause chorusing frogs to lose their synchronicity. It can mask the sounds of other creatures, who may miss their chance to claim territory or locate a mate. The disruption and confusion also create a perfect opportunity for predators to make their move.” Leath Tonino, “Call of the Wild: Bernie Krauss on the Disappearing Music of the Natural World,” The Sun 465 (September 2014): 5. See also Bernie Krause, The Great Animal Orchestra: Finding the Origins of Music in the World’s Wild Places (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2012), especially chapter seven, “The Fog of Noise.” 184 The visual layout of this section resembles Schafer’s Snowforms (1981). Snowforms consists of a graphic score with hand-drawn lines that emulate the contours of snow-covered hills. A comparison may also be made between Schafer’s part-score and a spectrogram representing a hi-fi soundscape rich with animal activity.     120 The use of these two types of notation concurrently is not common in contemporary music. One interpretation is that Schafer uses conventional notation to create linearity or forward motion in the music and graphic notation to blend human performers in with the spontaneity of nature. “Spontaneity” is created here by the rate and spatialization of birdcalls audible over any given period of time. Human performers emulate these randomized elements of bird activity in “Arrival of the Dawn Birds” and “Dance of the Dawn Birds” by deciding when, and for the singers and percussionists what to play.      Example 3.1 Graphic Score for Music Associated with the Dawn Birds. © 1986 R. Murray  Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, Bancroft, ON: Arcana Editions, 35. Used by permission.   In contrast to the music associated with the Dawn Birds, the Three-Horned Enemy presents a series of sound masses with no text explaining how to interpret them.185 As seen in “Aria of the Three-Horned Enemy” (Editing Unit 12; see Example 3.2), the rough shape of each vocal burst suggests a crude form of noise comparable to motors. In line with Schafer’s                                                 185 Schafer also uses graphic notation for Wolf and the Sun Disk. These parts feature accent, rhythm, and intervals (represented with numbers and + and – signs). In contrast, the Enemy is provided with accent, rhythm, and relative intervals (represented by the amount of space between two note heads). Schafer provides a brief note on page 6 in the preface to the score explaining the parts of Wolf, the Enemy, and Sun Disk. However, there is no mention of specific musical elements, numbers, or + and – signs. For discussion of these elements see MacKenzie, “A Twentieth-Century Musical/Theatrical Cycle,” 132.    121 understanding that motors lack important information, the Enemy pollutes the outdoor performance location through its projections. The potential for the Enemy to disrupt acoustic space is even more apparent when compared to the acoustical fineness of the music associated with the Dawn Birds. Given its role as trickster in Patria, however, the Enemy may symbolize the power and temptations of technology, in addition to noise pollution. The Enemy’s use of an electronic megaphone enhances its abilities beyond the limits of the human voice; that is, its vocalizations penetrate the environment at a level only attainable through modern-day technology. Where the Enemy uses electronic amplification to bolster its identity, other characters turn to non-electronic megaphones and the acoustics of their immediate environment, in particular echoes.    Example 3.2 Graphic Score for the Three-Horned Enemy. Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 50. © 1986 Arcana Editions. Used by permission.    122 Echo and Reverberation The unaccompanied aria that opens the work (“Aria of the Princess,” Editing Unit 1) exemplifies one of the key ways in which Schafer directs musicians to engage their surroundings: the activation of outdoor acoustics. Over the course of approximately seven minutes, the soprano/mezzo-soprano explores echoes and reverberation around the lake.186 Echo and reverberation are both categories of sound reflection. Echo entails the discernable repetition of sound waves (i.e., the reflection of sound off of a surface is audible as a repeated sound event). In contrast, reverberation involves the repetition of sound waves at a rate where they are not discernable (i.e., the reflection of sound is more closely spaced in time than echo, resulting in an overlap of sound events). Schafer’s integration of environmental acoustics in the “Aria of the Princess” is arguably Thoreauvian, like his treatment of indigenous cultures in the work (see Erin Scheffer’s observation above). The soloist’s voice is thrown back from remote surfaces and, at times, the sense of space between her voice and the distant terrain closes and a sensation of union is created.  Thoreau ruminates on the sounds of New England in a number of his journal entries. These include natural phenomena, animals, his own sounds (namely his voice and flute playing), and other human-associated sounds (trains, bells, wagons, etc.). For Thoreau, human sounds are                                                 186 These echoes vary depending on the physical attributes of the performance location as well as atmospheric conditions. Two commercially-available recordings demonstrate this variability: Patria – R. Murray Schafer, “Aria of the Princess,” performed by soprano Wendy Humphreys, recorded September 8, 1995, Opening Day, ODR 9307, 1996, CD; and Canadian Composers Portraits: R. Murray Schafer, “Aria of the Princess,” performed by Wendy Humphreys, (date unknown; possibly September 12-14, 1997), Centrediscs/Centredisques, CMCCD 8902, 2002, CD. The first was recorded at Lake Muskoka, near Gravenhurst, Ontario, and the second at Wildcat Lake near Haliburton, Ontario. The echo at Lake Muskoka is less prominent than at Wildcat Lake. Also, bird activity is abundant on the Lake Muskoka recording. The Wildcat Lake recording presents heavy rain, occasional birdcalls, wind interference, and (at 7’30”) an overhead airplane. Note that the microphones were likely placed further away from the singer at Wildcat Lake, as the voice sounds more distant than on the Muskoka recording.  123 improved by the attributes of the environment.187 In other instances, he perceives both human and non-human sounds as a larger whole. In his journal entry of 11 January 1855, he writes:  I hear faintly the cawing of a crow far, far away, echoing from some unseen wood-side [. . . .] It mingles with the slight murmur of the village, the sound of children at play, as one stream empties gently into another, and the wild and tame are one. What a delicious sound!188   As this encounter demonstrates, Thoreau viewed human sounds as aesthetically pleasing when mixed with non-human sounds. Furthermore, he understood instances where the physical terrain shaped environmental sounds as a type of enhancement.   Jeff Todd Titon notes that, for Thoreau, echo is a signal of “co-presence”; that is, of a sound associated with its source as well as a sound restated.189 Titon writes of this acoustic phenomenon:  Echo, I have been thinking, is to hearing what reflection is to seeing. Reflection challenges our normal perception of space. Echo transforms our perception of both time and space. Both are doublings (though not exact imitations); original and near-copy are both present, the reflection simultaneously with the original, the echo later, though usually overlapping in time. (That is, the original sound remains in memory, if not still present to the ear, when the echo is heard.)190   In the context of Princess, echoes empower the Princess by resounding her aria far beyond the lake. Her voice is slowed down, amplified, and the timbre modified. If we understand timbre as that which defines her identity from the perspective of sound, then in these moments the echo is                                                 187 There are numerous places in his journal where Thoreau revels in the appeal of echoes. See, for example, “The Echo of the Sabbath Bell Heard in the Woods,” in The Journal of Henry D. Thoreau, ed. Bradford Torrey and Francis H. Allen, vol. 1 (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), 83. 188 Torrey and Allen, eds., The Journal of Henry D. Thoreau, 822. 189 Jeff Todd Titon, “Echo and Reflection,” Sustainable Music Blog, 30 August 2012, (accessed 2 August 2014). On the phenomena of echo, Thoreau writes: “The echo is, to some extent, an original sound, and therein is the magic and charm of it. It is not merely a repetition . . . but partly the voice of the wood.” Henry D. Thoreau, Walden: A Fully Annotated Edition, ed. Jeffrey S. Cramer (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004), 120. 190 Titon, “Echo and Reflection.”   124 simultaneously its own entity and also a heightened version of the original—we hear the Princess, but we also hear the mountains actively shaping her voice. While some listeners may interpret the dual presence of the voice of the Princess and the “voice” of the physical environment as a form of synergy, this is not a union between a human voice and nature. Instead, the echo assists the Princess in her call for help; it passes her message out beyond the lake.191  Schafer uses different lengths of pause between phrases to explore acoustic space in “Aria of the Princess.” Sustained notes followed by a longer pause permit distinct echoes. Extended figurations followed by a short pause create strong reverberation. One example of the alternation between echoes and reverberation is from 2’13”–3’20” (see Example 3.3). At 2’13” a quick succession of notes unfolds, gradually building to fortissimo. After a long pause (represented by a curved fermata), Schafer presents a series of sustained notes followed by increasingly shorter breaks (first single-and-double inverted triangle fermatas and then commas). At 3’07”, the vocal line builds to arguably the most prominent echoes heard in the aria, where a triple forte Eb freefalls by an octave. This glissando is repeated twice as a sequence descending by perfect fifth. Schafer deems the echoes stimulated at the end of this section important, as he writes at the bottom right of the score: “pause for echoes.”                                                 191 It is tempting to compare the Princess of the Stars to Eurydice: both are trapped, awaiting the rescue of someone driven by love (Wolf, in the case of Princess; Orpheus, in the case of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice). However, in Princess the echo resounds the voice of the prisoner, not the hero. Furthermore, the Princess has greater control of the echo than that of Orpheus in canonic musical settings. For example, in Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo the echo silences Orpheus. For more on echoes in opera see, Daniel K. L. Chua, “Untimely Reflections on Operatic Echoes: How Sound Travels in Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo and Beethoven’s Fidelio with a Short Instrumental Interlude,” The Opera Quarterly 21, no. 4 (2006): 573–96.  125  Example 3.3 “Aria of the Princess” at 2’13”. Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 8. © 1986 Arcana Editions. Used by permission.  Schafer diversifies the echoes that the singer potentially triggers through the use of both pitch and interval. In terms of pitch content, “Aria of the Princess” is based on the prime and retrograde form of an all-interval twelve-tone row known as a “wedge” series (see Figure 3.3).192 The row is used throughout the Patria cycle as a unifying device; hence, it is commonly referred to as the “Patria row.” Although Schafer refers to Princess as “almost completely a 12-tone piece of music,” the composition is not strictly serial.193 In “Aria of the Princess” he follows the row sequence, but is flexible in his application of twelve-tone techniques. For example, Schafer often elaborates on a given pitch class in the row using the previous pitch class before                                                 192 For discussion of this “wedge” series in other works in the Patria cycle see MacKenzie, “A Twentieth-Century Musical/Theatrical Cycle,” 138–46; and Stephen Adams, R. Murray Schafer, Canadian Composer Series, no. 4 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1983), 140–44.  193 Tina Pearson, “Beyond RA: R. Murray Schafer in Conversation,” Musicworks 25 (Fall 1983): 9. Several sections of Princess are freely composed, such as “Battle on the Water” (Editing Unit 13) and “Arrival of the Sun Disk” (Editing Unit 14).    126 proceeding through the sequence. In other scenes, such as “Dance of the Dawn Birds,” pitch collections from the row are used, but the row is not stated in its entirety. In this way, Schafer rejects the strict control that serial techniques can offer, and instead uses the “wedge” series as a formal device.  Figure 3.3 Patria Row.  The “wedge” series is distinct in terms of its measured interval displacement; that is, the space between pitch classes widens consistently regardless of row transformation. The Patria row starts on middle C and expands by semitone in alternating directions.  Schafer utilizes this quality of expansion by structuring the aria as a loose palindrome. The prime form of the row unfolds until 3’07”, where the row folds back in retrograde. This is particularly applicable in an outdoor context. As the intervals widen the singer activates a variety of echoes, and as they close back towards middle C those same echoes are triggered, but are now narrower in scope.  Another important feature of this row is the tritone, in particular the Eb–A, which serves as a lynchpin for the series. The Eb–A tritone creates a pole in the middle of the row, where the corresponding tritone for each pitch expands outward (Eb–A, Bb–E, D–Ab, etc.). Schafer uses tritones primarily to create momentum leading to a resting point that is followed by a change in pitch content, sometimes the introduction of new pitch classes in the series. Such is the case at 2’13” where the Eb–A tritone features prominently in a brisk, repeated motive (see Example  127 3.3). This passage builds to fortissimo where (after an extended pause) new pitch classes are introduced (E–Ab[written G#]–F).194 The same effect is created at 5’55, but with the order as Eb–A. The only other appearance of tritones is at the end of the aria, where the soloist fades out on F#–C.  As central as tritones are, of greater interest to Schafer is the interval between neighboring pitch classes. For example, the aria begins with the voice moving between C and Db (the first two pitch classes of the row in prime form) (see Example 3.4). The singer sustains a C5, crescendos and accelerates through a C5–Db5 oscillation, peaks on a Db5 tremolo, decrescendos and slows down through the same C5–Db5 oscillation, and fades on C5 to a square fermata.195 By extending the amount of time spent on each pitch class, Schafer allows the singer ample time to spend with the echo stimulated by each pitch class.   Example 3.4 “Aria of the Princess” at 0’00”. Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 8. © 1986 Arcana Editions. Used by permission.  The Princess repeats her aria while the Presenter is paddled from the far end of the lake towards the audience during “The Dawn Light Breaks” (Editing Unit 2). This section extends the dialogue between the Princess and the environment to include the Presenter, double chorus, and                                                 194 This is the only passage in the aria where three new pitch classes are stated in sequence. Schafer consistently spends time acclimatizing a new pitch class to others before it before introducing the next in the row. 195 Maria Anna Harley points out that such passages share characteristics with the call of the Common Loon. Harley, “Canadian Identity, Deep Ecology and R. Murray Schafer’s ‘The Princess of the Stars,’” 128.   128 four percussionists. The Presenter pauses three times on the lake (at approximately two-minute intervals), reciting “KÁ-NI-O-TAI” and “NÍ-O-TAI” to the audience ( “KÁ-NI-O-TAI” and “NÍ-O-TAI” are variations on the Onondaga and Seneca word for “lake”). Following each recitation, select voices from the two SATB groups (positioned on opposite sides of the lake) repeat the music sung by the Princess but with indigenous words for “lake,” “princess,” “moon,” “wolf,” and “star.” The soprano and alto in Group One are the first to enter, followed by the soprano and alto in Group Two, and finally the tenors and basses in both groups.196  The performers not only stimulate new echoes, but also echo the Princess by responding to her calls. Schafer writes in the score: “At times a singer may also echo another singer who has previously echoed the Princess. The effect of the echoes should be gradually accumulative, but never to the point where the aria of the Princess is obscured.”197 As the musicians transmit the voice of the Princess around the lake, it is a challenge to discern whether the message is from a mythic or a human source. This effect is created through the distribution of musicians and their position away from the immediate shore of the lake (see Figure 3.2)—not to mention that this scene is also performed pre-dawn. Schafer encourages the audience to not associate sound with source during this scene, and to allow the spatial richness of the Princess’ voice echoing around the lake to saturate their ears.                                                   196 A similar effect is created during “Arrival of the Sun Disk” (Editing Unit 14), where the two SATB groups not only stimulate echoes but also echo each other antiphonally. In the score Schafer writes: “The singers should be spread out somewhat for this section. Also they should turn continuously in different directions in order to take advantage of varying echoes and reverberation.” Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 58. 197 Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 10.  129 Interspecies Dialogue  In addition to stimulating outdoor acoustics, Schafer turns to birds in the area for musical effect. The dawn chorus is a key feature of “Arrival of the Dawn Birds” and “Dance of the Dawn Birds” (Editing Units 8 and 9), and any production of Princess must be timed accordingly.198 Audience members may identify certain birds imitated by the double chorus, while others are “unrecognized or mythical.”199 The music for the double chorus consists of transliterations of birdsongs; that is, syllables used by ornithologists to imitate bird species. (Schafer is mindful here not to conform birdsong to Western notation through the use of rhythm and pitch.) The flute, clarinet, and trumpet also participate in this interspecies dialogue, but with invented birdsong motives. Like “Aria of the Princess,” these parts are based on the Patria row. Schafer isolates pitches in both prime and retrograde orderings to imitate birdsong. The percussion is arguably the most convincing in terms of its imitation of species (specifically woodpeckers and sapsuckers) due to its timbre and emphasis on rhythm (versus melody). Through the use of both transliterations and stylized motives, Schafer creates a texture where musicians co-inhabit acoustic space with birds, but enhance what is heard in nature alone. While the imitation of birds using a twelve-tone row may seem restrictive (even unnatural), the stylistic features of these melodic figures are convincingly avian. For example,                                                 198 Note that bird activity in September (when Princess is performed) is reduced compared to May when bird migration is at its peak. In the midst of global climate change, bird species present at future performance sites in Canada may change in the future. Species range will shift north to more habitable environments, thus enhancing the performance of Princess, but carrying with it the irony of “original” habitat loss. See “The Audubon Birds and Climate Change Report,” (accessed 13 October 2014). 199 Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 88. During the 1985 Two Jack Lake performance it would have been possible to hear the birds mentioned in the score excluding the Common Yellowthroat, which does not inhabit Alberta. Several birds not transcribed may also have been audible during the autumn performance, notably the Marsh Wren and Nighthawk. For a detailed explanation of which musicians imitate which bird(s) consult Harley, “Canadian Identity, Deep Ecology and R. Murray Schafer’s ‘The Princess of the Stars,’” 126–28.  130 the opening flute passage shares rhythmic and intervallic qualities with a number of North American birdsongs (see Example 3.5). These include sustained notes, quickly repeated dyads, and arabesque-like figurations. As the flute introduces new stylized birdsong motives (marked by numbers), the clarinet and trumpet enter in canon sixty-seconds apart, where their entrances are announced by the tam tam in Percussion 4. They preserve the rhythm and intervals played by the flute, but change the pitch content. Such is the case with the opening passage up to 0’10”, which follows the retrograde form of the row (as opposed to prime form in flute).200 Upon the arrival of the Dawn Birds at the center of the lake (now the start of “Dance of the Dawn Birds”), the sopranos and altos enter, followed by the tenors and basses. The horn and tuba later join with rising and descending dyads that correspond to the wing motion of the Dawn Birds. The ensemble builds at the same time as the dawn chorus, and the dense layering of musicians enhances (if not overrides) the bird activity.                                                 200 Other motives include a G–F# dyad displaced at the octave (at rehearsal number 3), a retrograde of the first three pitches (B–Db–C) in the form of a sextuplet (at rehearsal number 6), and a retrograde of pitches two through eight (E–A–Eb–Bb–D–B–Db) (at rehearsal number 11).  131  Example 3.5 Music for Flute, “Arrival of the Dawn Birds.” Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 37. © 1986 Arcana Editions. Used by permission.   Although the music is inspired by the soundscape, the sonic environment is instilled with distinctly human qualities. This is not only through the use of a twelve-tone row and a canon in the flute, clarinet, and trumpet, but also through the use of frame notation in the double chorus and Percussion 2 and 3 (see Example 3.6).201 Each part consists of six frames connected by arrows.202 After the completion of a given frame, the musicians are given the option to move to any of the other five frames. The tempos for each part also vary. The sopranos and altos play up to four different tempos and the tenors and basses pick from among five; the flute, clarinet, and trumpet follow duration times marked on the score; the percussionists decide on their own                                                 201 For more on frame notation see Erhard Karkoschka, Notation in New Music: A Critical Guide to Interpretation and Realisation, trans. Ruth Koenig (London: Universal Edition, 1972), 55–61.   202 Schafer is not the first composer to use these notation symbols. For example, John Cage’s Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1958) features arrows (at letter “J”), overlapping frames (at letter “K”) and long hand-drawn lines connected by pitches where performers determine what to play in between (at letter “M”).   132 tempo; and the horn and tuba follow the physical movement of the Dawn Birds’ wings. The measurement of repetition also varies, ranging from an exact number of repeats to “one full breath.”    Example 3.6 Music for Sopranos, “Dance of the Dawn Birds.” Schafer, Patria: The Prologue The Princess of the Stars, 40. © 1986 Arcana Editions. Used by permission.  We might say that this section of Princess emulates the organization of a dawn chorus through layering and chance elements. The accumulation of different tempos and repetitions, along with randomization, creates music that builds like a dawn chorus.203 The location, number,                                                 203 Einojuhani Rautavaara’s Cantus Arcticus Op. 61 (Concerto for Birds and Orchestra) (1972) and John Luther Adams’ Songbirdsongs (1974–79) are two other examples that capture the spontaneity of bird activity in nature. In the third movement of Cantus Arcticus, “Swans migrating,” four groups of musicians enter subsequently over a field recording of swans—Rautavaara writes in the score that the performers are “only summarily synchronized musically.” For each of the nine movements in  133 and rate of birdcalls during a dawn chorus are not pre-determined, but the number and rate steadily increase. Likewise, the flute joins the initial birds of the dawn chorus, followed by the clarinet and trumpet, and then the chorus and percussion, which represent other species. As musicians are added to the texture, the ensemble emulates the emergent properties of the dawn chorus.   Rewilding the Stage and Soundscape “By mythologizing the fluctuations of nature we have intensified our own experience of it. We begin to flow with it rather than against it. We no longer spite it or shut it out as we do in covered theatres. This is our stage set, and we have become one with it, breathing it, feeling it in all its mystery and majesty.” —R. Murray Schafer204  The Princess of the Stars creates a heightened experience of nature by staging a mythic story on a lake where musician-environment interaction plays a key role. At times, performers explore outdoor acoustics. In other instances, they interact with fellow performers or birds. Schafer invites us to reconsider concert-hall aesthetics through his use of unconventional compositional techniques in an outdoor setting and also by giving nature an active role in his work. Princess also revisits how we understand our place in the environment as humans; specifically, how we shape the natural world and what we might do to improve the quality of the soundscape. This enhanced experience of nature through music overlaps with the concept of rewilding.  The idea of rewilding entails the physical restoration of ecosystems as well as reconditioning our relationships to those ecosystems.205 Michael Soulè and Reed Noss assert in                                                                                                                                                        Songbirdsongs, two piccolos and three percussionists choose from a number of birdsong motives. The musicians are also given choice (to an extent) over when to enter.   204 Schafer, Patria: The Complete Cycle, 108.  134 their formulation of rewilding successful ecosystem restoration is not dependent on science-based conservation efforts alone. They emphasize that human values play an important role, in particular “the ethical issue of human responsibility” and “the subjective, emotional essence of ‘the wild’ or wilderness.”206  George Monbiot weighs further the human element when he states that rewilding enables not only “the mass restoration of ecosystems” but also “the rewilding of our own lives.” Monbiot continues:  I believe the two processes are closely intertwined—if we have spaces on our doorsteps in which nature is allowed to do its own thing, in which it can be to some extent self-willed, driven by its own dynamic processes, that, I feel, is a much more exciting and thrilling ecosystem to explore and discover, and it enables us to enrich our lives, to fill them with wonder and enchantment.207  In an effort to restore the dynamicism of ecosystems, Monbiot asks us to reconsider how we manage the natural environment. Do we continue to maintain outdoor spaces according to aesthetic preferences, or do we reduce our involvement and let nature take its own course? Proponents of rewilding argue that a hands-off approach not only increases biodiversity and                                                                                                                                                        205 Michael Soulè and Reed Noss define rewilding as “the scientific argument for restoring big wilderness based on the regulatory roles of large predators.” Michael E. Soulè and Reed Noss, “Rewilding and Biodiversity: Complementary Goals for Continental Conservation,” Wild Earth 8, no. 3 (Fall 1998): 22. Thus, large areas of land must be preserved for large predators as well as corridors to connect these spaces. Ibid., 22. The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative (Y2Y) is one example of a contemporary effort to establish a single wildlife corridor—it aims to expand and connect protected parks from Colorado, USA, to the Yukon, Canada. Soulè and Noss’ efforts for restoring ecosystems are in response to human abuse to the environment through “overgrazing, riparian habitats, irrigation and hydroelectric projects, [etc.].” They assert that “[rewilding] is one essential element in most efforts to restore fully functioning ecosystems. Repairing all past insults requires a comprehensive effort.” Ibid., 24. Caroline Fraser informs us that the term was likely coined by Dave Foreman but first appeared in Jennifer Foote, “Trying to Take Back the Planet,” Newsweek, 5 February 1990. Caroline Fraser, Rewilding the World: Dispatches from the Conservation Revolution (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2009), 356. 206 Soulè and Noss, “Rewilding and Biodiversity,” 24.  207 George Monbiot, “The Great Rewilding: A Conversation with George Monbiot,” by Jennifer Sahn, Orion (January/February 2014), See also George Monbiot, Feral: Searching for Enchantment on the Frontiers of Rewilding (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014).  135 improves the resiliency of ecosystems but also invites us to revisit how we conceptualize the natural world. Although Schafer’s concerns are not with species imbalance (not to overlook his use of a large predator as a protagonist—Wolf), imbalances in human-environment relationships are a central theme in his outdoor theatre work. He sets out to recondition (or at least reawaken) those involved in a Patria production to the soundscape by positioning each person at the center of the environment, where attention is paid to all sounds with equal attention.208 According to Sabine Breitsameter, Schafer’s model of soundscape shifts our understanding of the sonic environment away from time to space. She explains: “Schafer turns away from a selective attitude of eavesdropping (listening to a certain content or signal, and ignoring others), but wants to foster an evenly suspended attention to any sound. This ‘mosaic approach’ to the auditory world favours an overall auditory awareness: all at once – nothing should be ignored.”209 The distribution of musicians in Princess promotes this kind of suspended, omnidirectional listening.  In addition to cultivating spatial and auditory awareness, Schafer features music in Princess that is “driven by its own dynamic processes.” The score has degrees of freedom in it, created by the inclusion of chance elements. Such is the case in “Dance of the Dawn Birds,” where singers and percussionists choose from among several frames to play. As the physical contours and atmospheric conditions of the lake assure that nature itself makes each performance                                                 208 For a close reading of Schafer’s model of soundscape, see Sabine Breitsameter, “Ways of Listening, Figures of Thought: On the History and Perspective in R. Murray Schafer’s The Tuning of the World,” trans. Norbert Ruebsaat, in Ways of Listening, Figures of Thought: A Festschrift for R. Murray Schafer on the Occasion of His 80th Birthday, ed. Sabine Breitsameter and Eric Leonardson, Dieburg Series on Acoustic Ecology, vol. 3, 17–36 (Darmstadt: Service Printmedien, 2013). 209 Sabine Breitsameter, “Schafer’s and McLuhan’s Listening Paths: Convergences, Crossings, and Diversions.” Soundscape: The Journal of Acoustic Ecology 11, no. 1 (2011): 20.  136 of Princess distinct, the use of chance elements in “Dance of the Dawn Birds” guarantees that performers help create a different performance each time.  Schafer is not concerned with the destructive powers of nature, but rather with the potential for human action. In accordance with the concept of rewilding, human responsibility comes with humility. Soulè and Noss assert:  Wilderness is hardly “wild” where top carnivores, such as cougars, jaguars, wolves, wolverines, grizzlies, or black bears have been extirpated. Without these components, nature seems somehow incomplete, truncated, overly tame. Human opportunities to attain humility are reduced.210  Likewise, a balanced soundscape required that humans revisit their sonic presence in the work so as to avoid perpetuating models of domination, and thus deterioration. Writing about Princess, Schafer asserts: “…as we participate with these forces [of nature], allowing them to influence us in every way, is it not possible to believe that we as performers and audience are influencing them as well?”211 Although the production may temporarily disrupt—if not scare away—nearby animals, Schafer affirms that mounting an outdoor work that features musician-environment interaction is a productive way to recondition both audience members and performers to nature. In order to embrace the natural world more fully, both the audience and those involved in the production must first surrender to it. The audience sacrifices the comforts of the concert hall, and performers permit the environment to shape their sounds. They commit to the performance regardless of the weather and allow the environment to shape their music. In exchange, musicians are given the opportunity to participate in the soundscape in new ways (as both listeners and sound makers). It is at locations such as Two Jack Lake that nature is arguably free to self-govern (at least more than in heavily populated areas), and where nature is perceived in its                                                 210 Soulè and Noss, “Rewilding and Biodiversity,” 24. 211 Schafer, Patria: The Complete Cycle, 106.   137 most pristine form for many audience members. For example, witnessing the canoes and mythical characters at an iconic nature setting such as Two Jack Lake at pre-dawn would arguably stir a greater sense of “wildness” than experiencing the work at a lake in an urban setting, where sound and light pollution may detract from this sensation. In this way, Princess is more than a retreat from city conditions. It creates an all-sensorial wilderness experience that can be understood as a method in which to instigate rewilding.  138  Chapter 4 From Representation to Transformation: Environmental Sounds as Symbols in Two Electroacoustic Works   With electroacoustic music, it is possible to insert any sound into a composition. Environmental sounds are among those most commonly used in the Western art music tradition. In the current discussion of nature in contemporary sonic art, the procedure of capturing real-world sounds and using them as compositional material raises a number of questions regarding the relationship between sound and source in electroacoustic music. Should listeners associate a recognizable sound with its original context? Or, should they experience it as a decontextualized sound? These are not only questions of how listeners experience recorded sounds, but also how composers intend for them to be heard. For example, in the tradition of musique concrète, recorded sounds are supposed to lose their associative properties before they function as musical material. According to Pierre Schaeffer: “As long as meaning predominates, and is the main focus, we have literature and not music.”212 Schaeffer reinforces this perspective when he remarks that it is easier to turn certain sounds into musical objects than others. He uses a bell and train as examples:  The manipulation of the bells removed from them their identity as bells. They became unidentifiable. I had obtained a musical element that was pure, composable, and had an original timbre [. . . .] With the trains I was a long way from the field of music and, in effect, trapped in the field of drama.213   In order to transform the sounds of trains into music, Schaeffer spliced and looped the original recording.214 By excerpting a desired portion of a train sound and repeating it, the train lost its associations with storytelling and reached its musical potential as a subject for a study in rhythm                                                 212 Journal entry of 10 May 1948, Pierre Schaeffer, In Search of a Concrete Music, trans. Christine North and John Dack (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2012), 13. 213 Journal entry of 15 May 1948, Ibid. 214 “I needed to take an ‘extract’ from the train and demonstrate its existence by repetition.” Journal entry of 15 May 1948, Ibid.  139 and timbre. Since Schaeffer’s fundamental work with recorded sounds, composers have taken different approaches to using environmental sounds in electroacoustic music. Some build on the commitment to the sonic characteristics of source material in musique concrète, while others embrace the signifying properties of recorded sounds in order to engage real-world concepts and scenarios. This chapter investigates how two contemporary composers, Hildegard Westerkamp and Paul Rudy, utilize both the sonic characteristics and the referential aspects of recorded sounds in works that aspire to recondition listeners to the natural environment. Before examining works by Westerkamp and Rudy, it is important to consider two prominent approaches to composing with recorded material: acousmatic music and soundscape composition.  Schaeffer used the term “acousmatic” (French: “acousmatique”) to describe the separation of a sound source from its audible effect in musique concrète.215 The word “acousmatic” is derived from the Greek word “akousmatikoi,” meaning “listeners.” Schaeffer revived the term “acousmatic” from the story of the Pythagorean veil. The disciples of Pythagoras were said to listen to their teacher from behind a curtain (or in the dark, according to a different version of the story) so as to focus on the content of his speech and avoid visual distraction. Schaeffer saw parallels between the curtain that separated Pythagoras from his disciples and the space between listeners and recorded sounds as experienced on radio and recordings. The acousmatic situation of audio reproduction validated the use of real-world sounds as decontextualized sonic material in musique concrète. As well, the separation of sound and source made possible the disciplined practice of reduced listening; that is, where the                                                 215 A complex history of the reclamation of this term in France can be traced from Guillaume Apollinaire to Jérôme Peignot. For a detailed discussion of this history, see Brian Kane, Sound Unseen: Acousmatic Sound in Theory and Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 46–51, 73–79.   140 tendency to identify the source of a sound is suppressed in order to engage its musical qualities. Applications of the term “acousmatic” gradually changed as Schaeffer’s colleagues started to explore new methods of composing with and listening to recorded sounds. The adjective/verb once used to describe musique concrète became the name of a genre. Acousmatic music developed from the musique concrète of the 1950s. Until 1958, musique concrète was associated with the Groupe de Recherches Musique Concrète (GRMC) led by Schaeffer and Pierre Henry. At this time, Schaeffer formed a larger research collective called the Groupe de Recherches Musicales (GRM), which included the GRMC, the Groupe de Recherches Image, the Groupe de Recherches Technologiques, and the Groupe d’Etudes Critiques.216 With the interdisciplinary atmosphere of the GRM, composers started to critique the commitment to reduced listening in musique concrète. They claimed that reduced listening, by its definition, placed unnecessary demands on listeners. Schaeffer gradually distanced himself from the GRM as a new generation of composers started to conduct more interdisciplinary work.217 In 1966, he stepped down as its director, passing the position on to François Bayle. In 1974, Bayle coined the term “musique acousmatique” in order to distinguish his own unique approach to musique concrète, which calls for a complex array of loud speakers and a darkened space, from works that use live electroacoustic instruments such as the ondes Martenot and synthesizers. Although the term has maintained its association with music played through loud speakers and more recently headphones, acousmatic compositions no longer focus exclusively on                                                 216 Several key members of the GRMC resigned during the transition to the GRM, including Philippe Arthuys and Pierre Henry. Luc Ferrari, François-Bernard Mâche, Bernard Parmegiani, and Iannis Xenakis were among those to join the GRM at the invitation of Schaeffer. Évelyne Gayou, “The GRM: Landmarks on a Historic Route,” Organised Sound 12, no. 3 (2007): 207.  217 Of particular interest to several new members was the relationship between sound and image in acousmatic music. See François Bayle, Musique acousmatique: Propositions…   …positions (Paris: Buchet/Chastel, 1993); and Michel Chion, Audio-Vision: Sound on Screen, trans. Claudia Gorbman (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990).  141 the isolation of sonic content but also engage the signifying properties of source material.218  Luc Ferrari was the first composer associated with the GRM to acknowledge sound sources in his work. With Presque rien n°1 ou Le lever du jour au bord de la mer (“Almost nothing no. 1, or daybreak at the seashore”) (1967–70), he recognizes both the sonic characteristics and the associative properties of his source materials. Presque rien n°1 consists of field recordings from the coastal town of Vela Luka, Yugoslavia (now Croatia). Given the lack of studio processing, it may seem that Presque rien n°1 is more a documentary than a musical composition. The work, however, is anything but unedited in terms of the ways in which material are assembled. Ferrari layers excerpts from multiple recordings with the sounds mixed equally to the foreground. At 8’55”, for example, insects, a motor, human voices, and two notes on a wind instrument are introduced. Each sound source is perceived as equidistant from the listener, regardless of their proximity to the microphone in reality. The work comes across as “flat” as a result of this lack of spatial depth. Ultimately, listeners are given several options for engaging Presque rien n°1. They can experience it through associative listening (experiencing seaside sounds in context), reduced listening (focusing on the musical aspects of found sounds), or an alternation between both.219  Since Ferrari’s exploration of the tenuous divide between decontextualization and                                                 218 Simon Emmerson and Joanna Demers use the term “post-Schaefferian electroacoustic music” to refer to developments from musique concrète, perhaps to avoid any confusion between Schaefferian notions of “acousmatic” and post-Schaefferian applications of the concept. See Emmerson, Living Electronic Music (Farnham, UK: Ashgate, 2007), 7; and Demers, Listening through the Noise: The Aesthetics of Experimental Electronic Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 14. However, both acousmatic music and soundscape composition can be thought of as post-Schaefferian electroacoustic music on the basis that these genres recognize the associative properties of recorded sounds. Thus, the term “acousmatic music” is used in this chapter to refer to electroacoustic music that explores abstract topics and scenarios. This is in contrast to soundscape composition, which maintains a strong connection between source material and a specific real-world context.   219 For more on Presque rien n°1, see Eric Drott, “The Politics of Presque rien,” in Sound Commitments: Avant-Garde Music and the Sixties, ed. Robert Adlington, 145–66 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009); and Kane, Sound Unseen, 123–26.  142 referentiality, composers have used real-world sounds to explore more abstract concepts. Topics range from child psychology (Francis Dhomont, Forêt Profonde [1994–96]) to geomorphology (Bernard Parmegiani, La Création du Monde [1982–84]), and from the human condition (Trevor Wishart, Red Bird: A Political Prisoner’s Dream [1973–77]) to maritime culture and mythology (Natasha Barrett, Trade Winds [2004–06]). In order to lead listeners through more abstract scenarios, acousmatic composers treat sounds as signifiers. For example, in Wishart’s Red Bird the sound of birds taking flight can be heard as a metaphor for freedom or escape. When heard at key moments in a composition, such sonic signifiers can play a powerful role in a work’s narrative. Take for instance the transition in the second movement of Barrett’s Trade Winds, “Submerged,” to the third movement, “Open Ocean.” At 1’51”, organ music is heard along with bells, human voices (distant chatter and a ship captain), and various water sounds (splashes, crashes, bubbles, etc.). Barrett explains in the liner notes that the organ music represents Captain Nemo (from Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea).220 As a visual reference, one interpretation of this composite of recorded sounds is the Nautilus submarine rising to the ocean surface. At the same time, the source material can be appreciated in absolute terms, where the organ, bells, voices, and water sounds are heard as a collage of sonic elements.  Engagement with both referential and musical properties is not unique to acousmatic music; it is also an important feature of soundscape composition. Soundscape composition is generally positioned in the tradition of acousmatic music, although its origins lie in soundscape studies.221 One plausible explanation for the inclusion of soundscape composition in the                                                 220 Natasha Barrett, liner notes to Trade Winds, Aurora, ACD 5056, 2007.  221 For different perspectives concerning the association of soundscape composition with musique concrète, see Mitchell Akiyama, “Transparent Listening: Soundscape Composition’s Objects of Study,” Canadian Art Review 35, no. 1 (2010): 54–62; and Frank Dufour, “‘Musique Concrète’ as One of the  143 acousmatic tradition is that early soundscape works consist of recorded sounds. A more practical parallel between the two genres is the technology used to record and play back source materials. Both Luc Ferrari and members of the World Soundscape Project (WSP) captured sonic footage using the Nagra tape recorder and stereo playback. To focus on recorded sound is to consider one subgenre of soundscape composition. Another approach is digital signal processing, as seen in works by Barry Truax and by Damián Keller. Starting in the 1990s, Truax began combining manipulated found sounds and granulation (see Pacific [1990] and Basilica [1992]).222  The earliest soundscape compositions are found on the 1973 LP The Vancouver Soundscape, an album assembled by members of the WSP. Several works on the LP center on a single sound type, similar to Schaeffer’s use of the multiple sounds associated with a single source in Étude aux chemins de fer (from Cinq études de bruits, 1948). However, compositions on The Vancouver Soundscape differ from those by Schaeffer in terms of how sounds are handled. These early works by members of the WSP do not feature the studio processing techniques that pervade Schaeffer’s etudes. Instead, they consist of unmodified field recordings ranging from a few seconds to several minutes in duration. The lack of studio processing in early soundscape compositions is explained by the WSP’s strong interest in the original environment in which sounds were recorded, including any environmental or social associations. The works on The Vancouver Soundscape LP were meant to not only recondition listeners to the sounds of a specific place but also to inspire them to improve the overall quality of its soundscape; that is, to seek out sounds that are socially deemed                                                                                                                                                        Preliminary Steps to Acoustic Ecology,” Soundscape: The Journal of Acoustic Ecology 8, no. 1 (Fall/Winter 2007): 17–20. 222 A concise history of soundscape composition can be found in Barry Truax, “Genres and Techniques of Soundscape Composition as Developed at Simon Fraser University,” Organised Sound 7, no. 1 (2002): 5–15.  144 pleasant and desirable and reduce those that are regarded as unwanted noise. As WSP member Barry Truax puts it: “[T]he successful soundscape composition has the effect of changing the listener’s awareness and attitudes toward the soundscape, and thereby changing the listener’s relationship to it. The aim of the composition is therefore social and political, as well as artistic.”223 In order to sensitize listeners to the sonic environment, several tracks on the LP present different forms of a single sound type. This taxonomic approach encourages listeners to notice variety where, in daily life, sounds are often attributed to their sources without reflection on their minute sonic details and real-world significance.  Take, for example, the gradual intensification of water-land interaction on “Ocean Sounds.” At 6’04” in duration, the composition begins with gently lapping waves on a sand beach, transitions to rougher waves against a rock shoreline, and concludes with full surf on a sand beach. Through a comparison of these excerpts in terms of the different types of wave sounds, the duration between each wave crash, and their loudness, listener awareness is raised to the environmental conditions that create these varied forms of ocean sounds. The sounds on “The Music of Horns and Whistles” are marked by their societal function as well as developments in technology, rather than by changes in environmental conditions. Over the course of approximately three minutes, sixteen different horns and whistles (two steam- and fourteen air-powered) are heard in sequence. With a context-based approach to listening, observations of differences in timbre, frequency, intensity, or sound source (train, ferry, freighter, the “O Canada” horn) raise questions concerning the meaning of certain sounds. For example, what types of horns are signals of safety? What types symbolize modernity? Do certain types represent                                                 223 Truax, Acoustic Communication, 237.  145 power? For listeners that share a connection with a historic Vancouver soundscape, specific horns may stir nostalgia.224 Shortly after publishing The Vancouver Soundscape, members of the WSP conducted a nation-wide soundscape study, from which several new compositions were developed using sounds sourced during their tour. These were later broadcast as Soundscapes of Canada, a series of ten one-hour radio programs first aired on CBC-FM “Ideas,” October 21 to November 1, 1974. Some of these compositions maintain focus on the sounds associated with a particular source, similar to Schaeffer’s Étude aux chemins de fer. These include Bruce Davis’ The Bells of Percé, which centers on the church bells in Percé, Québec, and Peter Huse’s Directions, which examines dialects and accents across Canada. Other works present a strong sense of physical movement and/or time-lapse, like Presque rien n°1. Such is the case with Barry Truax’s A Maritime Diary, a recordist-led excursion through three coastal communities in Eastern Canada in search of soundmarks, and Summer Solstice, a condensed version of a 24-hour stationary field recording made near Westminster Abbey, in Mission, British Columbia.  Attention to the social and environmental conditions of the soundscape is maintained across The Vancouver Soundscape, Soundscapes of Canada, and more recent works. Barry Truax offers four criteria for a work to qualify as a soundscape composition, each of which reiterates context:                                                      224 In 2011, sound artist Danny McCarthy created the sound installation Found Sound (Lost at Sea) in response to Ireland’s decommission of its few remaining lighthouse foghorns. Soon after, Orlando Gough composed the large-scale outdoor work Foghorn Requiem (2013) to mark the UK’s decommission of its last land-based foghorns.  146 (a) listener recognisability of the source material is maintained, even if it subsequently undergoes transformation; (b) the listener’s knowledge of the environmental and psychological context of the soundscape material is invoked and encouraged to complete the network of meanings ascribed to the music; (c) the composer’s knowledge of the environmental and psychological context of the soundscape material is allowed to influence the shape of the composition at every level, and ultimately the composition is inseparable from some or all of those aspects of reality; and ideally, (d) the work enhances our understanding of the world, and its influence carries over into everyday  perceptual habits.225   In order to help restore listeners’ relationships to the environment, soundscape composers turn to locations that they deem worthy of attention. The locations represented range from threatened or damaged environments to places of historical or mythological significance. Some works start and end in an actual location (e.g., Westerkamp, Kits Beach Soundwalk, 1989), while others remain in an imagined environment—one that is still associated with a tangible place (e.g., Truax, Chalice Well, 2009). Certain sounds undergo significant processing as a soundscape composition moves through different physical spaces. For example, in Westerkamp’s Beneath the Forest Floor (1992) a deep low-pitched pulse is heard several times during the work—the liner notes inform listeners that this is a processed raven call. Nonetheless, soundscape compositions maintain an environmental context by presenting manipulated material alongside or in close proximity to recognizable real-world sounds. In the case of Beneath the Forest Floor, the raven call is heard in alternation with unmodified sounds such as flowing water, birds chirping, and an insect landing on a microphone.  The centrality of context in soundscape composition may seem to distinguish it from acousmatic music.226 However, the boundary separating these two genres is not always clear in                                                 225 Truax, Acoustic Communication, 240.   226 The association of source material with a real-world environment has been the primary means by which proponents of soundscape composition differentiate it from acousmatic music. See, for example, Barry Truax, “Soundscape Composition as Global Music,” 103–109; and Darren Copeland,  147 practice. One reason for the blurry line is that acousmatic composers have explored the associative properties of real-world sounds and soundscape composers have abstracted source materials. Scholars have taken different positions regarding what conditions separate the two genres. According to Sherry Lee, it may no longer be relevant to distinguish acousmatic music and soundscape composition on the basis of referentiality, since referential elements figure prominently in works from both genres.227 To support her argument, Lee positions Dhomont’s acousmatic work Forêt Profonde next to Westerkamp’s soundscape composition Beneath the Forest Floor. Both pieces center on a forest, as their titles suggest. Dhomont’s forest is imaginary; it is a place of fairy tales. Westerkamp’s forest is also filled with enchantment and danger, but it is an actual location—the Carmanah Valley on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.  Forêt Profonde positions listeners in a series of chambers that inquire into psychological thought, specifically childhood and memory. Dhomont draws on an array of source material to construct a sonic environment for each room, including excerpts of fairy tales and Bruno Bettelheim’s The Uses of Enchantment (a Freudian study of fairy tales), animal sounds (birds and frogs), children playing, and the occasional excerpt from Schumann’s Kinderszenen, Op. 15. In Beneath the Forest Floor, listeners are better able to visualize an actual forest as a number of sounds help to create context. These include animals (birds, insects, squirrels), wind through a canopy, creaking trees, a stream, and a chainsaw. As Lee notes, Westerkamp is also interested in                                                                                                                                                        “For Awareness of Associations,” eContact! 1, no. 4 (October 1998), 227 Sherry Lee, “Forêt profondes: Contested Spaces in Electroacoustic Music,” paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Musicological Society, Indianapolis, 4–7 November 2010. In line with Lee’s argument, James O’Callaghan has observed the use of both acousmatic and soundscape techniques in the music of Denis Smalley. See James O’Callaghan, “Soundscape Elements in the Music of Denis Smalley: Negotiating the Abstract and the Mimetic,” Organised Sound 16, no. 1 (2011): 54–62.    148 the psychological experience of the forest. Westerkamp explains in the liner notes to Beneath the Forest Floor:  It moves us through the visible forest, into its’ shadow world, its’ spirit; into that which effects our body, heart and mind when we experience forest [. . . .] [I]t hopes to encourage listeners to visit a place like the Carmanah, half of which has already been destroyed by clear-cut logging. Aside from experiencing its huge stillness a visit will also transmit a very real knowledge of what is lost if these forests disappear: not only the trees but also an inner space that they transmit to us—a sense of balance and focus, of new energy and life. The inner forest, the forest in us.228   Westerkamp directs attention to the “inner space” of the Carmanah by manipulating the call of a raven. The bird is heard several times over the course of the work as a deep, resonant pulse. This mysterious sound alternates several times with brief unmodified recordings of the forest. Through this oscillation between glimpses of an actual location and an otherworldly impression of it, Beneath the Forest Floor immerses listeners in a place they may or may not already know.229  Lee claims that there is an overt ethical agenda to soundscape composition.230 She argues that soundscape works encourage listeners to experience a specific place in a particular way, therefore restricting how recorded sounds are heard. As per Westerkamp’s liner notes, the investment of Beneath the Forest Floor is twofold: 1) to raise awareness to human disturbance in places such as the Carmanah Valley and 2) to strengthen listeners’ emotional bonds to                                                 228 Hildegard Westerkamp, liner notes to Transformations, Empreintes Digitales, IMED 9631, 1996.  229 Lee asserts that Beneath the Forest Floor becomes acousmatic in the 2003 Gus Van Sant film Elephant, a film based in part on the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. An excerpt from Westerkamp’s composition is featured in a scene in which the camera tracks figures in a school corridor. In the context of the film, the soundscape work loses its original association with the Carmanah Valley. 230 Joanna Demers and Brandon Labelle have also discussed the aestheticization of the environment in soundscape composition, what Demers calls “truth content” and Labelle as “primary sound”—the latter in reference to Schafer’s term “ursound.” See Demers, Listening Through the Noise, 121–123; Labelle, Background Noise, 204; and Schafer, “Ursound,” 19–22. This topic is discussed in greater detail later in this chapter.  149 environments deemed worthy of protection. Acousmatic music, on the other hand, is not seen to prescribe interpretation to real-world sounds. Instead, acousmatic works are thought to encourage listeners to experience sounds in their own way by inviting them into more abstract spaces. According to Lee: “Acousmatic music’s places . . . are manifestly imaginary and, as such, create a sonic environment that is neither idealized nor othered but composed of memory and the lived experience of inhabited spaces.”231 Although both Forêt Profonde and Beneath the Forest Floor use real-world sounds to explore the human psyche, the way in which listeners experience space in Beneath the Forest Floor is arguably under greater control by the composer than it is in Forêt Profonde.  Different from Lee’s position, John Levack Drever asserts that soundscape composition is reduced to a form of “sonic tourism” or “sonic fetishism” when it is listened to acousmatically.232 Drever positions soundscape composition next to ethnography in an attempt to rescue it from its assumed place in the acousmatic music tradition. He points out several common features between soundscape composition and ethnography, notably the use of fieldwork to highlight the social, political, and environmental conditions of a given location. As an artist-ethnographer, the soundscape composer no longer shapes recorded sounds at will, but is rather in conversation with them. Drever concludes that by breaking down traditional power-relations between the observer and the observed, the soundscape composer challenges the tendency to use environmental sounds solely for musical purposes.233 Joanna Demers exposes some of the limitations of ethnographic practices in soundscape composition in her discussion of Westerkamp’s Kits Beach Soundwalk. As narrator, Westerkamp                                                 231 Lee, “Forêt profondes: Contested Spaces in Electroacoustic Music.” 232 John Levack Drever, “Soundscape Composition: The Convergence of Ethnography and Acousmatic Music,” Organised Sound 7, no. 1 (2002): 21. 233 Ibid., 25.  150 explains that her intention is to give voice—and therefore power—to “the quiet, intimate voices of nature.”234 Demers problematizes Kits Beach Soundwalk as ethnographic on the basis that subjective decisions were central to the creative process. She asserts:  Once sounds are inscribed onto a recording, they, too, assume objectified status, becoming rigid and unchangeable. No matter how inclusive or diverse soundscapes claim to be, they reflect the same sorts of authorial choices made in any other determined work, in which some materials are retained whereas others are discarded.235  Given that a soundscape work cannot escape its inscription as a recording and the creative decisions that go into capturing and manipulating sounds, it may seem that soundscape composition remains in close proximity to acousmatic music on the basis of format and authorship.  Demers critiques the authorial control of soundscape composition by positioning it not in the context of mediated acousmatic works but rather in relation to unmediated field recordings, in particular those by Francisco López and Toshiya Tsunoda. López and Tsunoda, like Westerkamp, use site-specific environmental sounds and often announce in track titles and/or liner notes where the recordings were made. Their works, however, depart from soundscape composition in terms of the desired mode of listening. Both artists use a variation of reduced listening where the source and cause of a sound is acknowledged and often described before attention is given to its intrinsic acoustic properties.236 López encourages listeners to focus on the sonic makeup of environmental sounds by presenting recordings of extended duration (up to                                                 234 Westerkamp, liner notes to Transformations. 235 Demers, Listening through the Noise, 123. 236 Ibid., 127. Traditionally, reduced listening disassociates a sound from its source and cause prior to its placement in a musical context. For more on López’s and Tsunoda’s work, see López, “Profound Listening and Environmental Sound Matter,” in Audio Culture: Readings in Modern Music, ed. Christoph Cox and Daniel Warner, 82–87 (New York: Continuum, 2006); Toshiya Tsunoda, “Field Recording and Experimental Music Scene,” trans. Yuko Zama, Erstwords Blog, 7 July 2009,; and Demers, “Field Recording, Sound Art and Objecthood,” Organised Sound 14, no. 1 (2009): 39–45.  151 seventy minutes) and diffusing them live in a concert-hall setting fit with a circular seating arrangement, blindfolds for audience members, and a massive speaker array. Tsunoda’s recordings are a fraction of the duration of those by López and exist as documents to be played at the leisure of the listener. Still, Tsunoda disassociates sounds from a real location in order to explore their acoustic properties. A number of his recordings capture a specific sound source in close proximity, such as plastic flapping in the wind, air fluctuations through a pipe, and wind passing between metal rails. Acousmatic field recordings such as those by López and Tsunoda do not assert the real-world significance of environmental sounds but instead transmit the living energy that exists within their vibrations. In contrast, soundscape composition positions source material in a musical space only to return to its original source and context with renewed awareness.  Brian Kane offers a perspective on real-world sounds in electroacoustic music that is informed by a theory and practice of listening, and less by issues of format and compositional intent. He is not concerned with soundscape composition specifically; however, his critique and expansion of the Schaefferian notion of acousmatic sound has ramifications for the genre. According to Kane, an acousmatic sound exists when source, cause, and effect are spaced apart, but not completely detached or isolated. He claims:  When source, cause, and effect are simultaneously present, acousmatic sound is not. Or similarly, when the effect becomes an ‘essence,’ detached from the cause and effect, acousmatic sound is not. Thus, the very acousmaticity of sound—its quality of being acousmatic—depends on the spacing of source, cause, and effect. Acousmatic sound exists structurally between these two possibilities. This neither-heteronomous-nor-autonomous sound can neither be reduced to its source nor reified as an object in its own right. It only is when source, cause, and effect are spaced.237   It is through this active spacing of source, cause and effect that acousmatic sound obtains its                                                 237 Kane, Sound Unseen, 149, italics in original.  152 appeal. When the search to identify or explain the cause of a sound proves unsuccessful, listeners might attribute more imaginative associations to it. This tripartite model can be effectively applied to soundscape composition, but arguably with different results. Soundscape composition negates the ontological distinction between source and cause. Unlike acousmatic sound, according to Kane’s criteria, sounds heard in soundscape composition uphold their original source and context.  Kane sheds light on this difference between soundscape and acousmatic techniques when he positions acousmaticity next to R. Murray Schafer’s concept of schizophonia.238 Although schizophonia and acousmaticity are both broadly defined as the separation of a sound from its source, they can be distinguished from each other according to degrees of space in Kane’s formation. Schizophonia directs attention to the split between a recorded sound and the actual environment, whereas acousmaticity illuminates the space between source, cause, and effect. As such, in schizophonia a sound is a replication of an original sound heard out of context. In contrast, an acousmatic sound is, as Kane asserts, “neither-heteronomous-nor-autonomous,” but somewhere in between. Although schizophonia and acousmaticity differ in terms of the space between source, cause, and effect, both types of sound present these three components in relation.  As defined by Kane, the use of acousmatic sound in soundscape composition may seem to contradict the aesthetic aims of the genre. It is not uncommon, though, for soundscape composers to emphasize the unique sonic characteristics of environmental sounds through studio processing. For some sounds this includes not only their physical properties but also musical                                                 238 Ibid., 7, 225. Schafer’s initial use of the term “schizophonia” is not in reference to soundscape composition, but with the storage and transmission of sounds more broadly. He notes that schizophonia is a “nervous” term; for it illustrates that in contemporary society fewer sounds are emitted directly from their source. Schafer, The New Soundscape, 43–47.  153 qualities such as rhythm and melody. Although listeners may still be able to recognize the identity of a sound and/or the processing techniques being used, the manipulation of sonic material directs attention away from source and cause to effect. Acousmatic moments can potentially change how listeners perceive real-world sounds within a social and spatial context through abstraction. However, when the space between source, cause, and effect is emphasized, awareness of the original source should still remain in mind. If sound sources are separated altogether from sonic material, then a musical work risks losing its identification with a particular natural source, a key feature of soundscape composition.   The two compositions considered in this chapter, Hildegard Westerkamp’s soundscape composition Talking Rain (1998) and Paul Rudy’s acousmatic work In Lake’ch (2007), incorporate soundscape and acousmatic techniques even though they are associated with one or the other genre. A logical explanation for Westerkamp’s and Rudy’s identification with one of the two traditions is their professional affiliation. Westerkamp was involved in the World Soundscape Project in the 1970s and is a founding member of the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology. Rudy teaches and writes on both electroacoustic music and sound in film and has collaborated with such acousmatic composers as Jonty Harrison and Trevor Wishart. Another way that each composer identifies with a specific genre is through the quotation of pre-existing recordings—borrowings that pay homage to others working in one or the other genre. In Talking Rain, among other compositions, Westerkamp excerpts recordings from the sound archive of the World Soundscape Project. Similarly, Rudy quotes two earlier acousmatic works in his In Lake’ch (2007): Michel Chion’s Requiem (1993) and Dhomont’s Un autre Printemps (2000).239                                                 239 According to Rudy, the fifth movement of In Lake’ch, “Pandemic,” presents a time-shrunk version of an entire movement from Bernard Parmegiani’s De Natura Sonorum (1975). Paul Rudy, Skype interview by author, 27 February 2012. The Parmegiani reference is not discussed in this chapter as a  154 Of interest here is how composers such as Westerkamp and Rudy use both soundscape and acousmatic elements and in what way their use of these elements supports a particular conception of nature. Both works guide listeners through different physical spaces, a key feature of soundscape composition. Talking Rain explores rainy locales in coastal British Columbia, Canada; In Lake’ch traverses thirteen musical environments that allude to major stages in human and geological history. Although Rudy does not focus on specific places in In Lake’ch, his work does share the ethical concerns of soundscape composition. Like Westerkamp, he uses environmental sounds to expose the adversarial relationship between humans and the natural world and, in turn, offers an alternative model of participation where humans are in harmony with nature. On the surface, Westerkamp and Rudy seem to romanticize the natural world. However, a closer look at Talking Rain and In Lake’ch reveals that there is more that informs each composer’s conception than an idealized image of nature and the human relationship to it. Westerkamp turns to acoustic ecology, a discipline committed to raising awareness of balances and imbalances in the soundscape. In contrast, Rudy looks to Mayan cosmology, specifically their model of the galaxy spanning between Earth’s inner core and the galactic core. Before examining how Westerkamp and Rudy use soundscape and acousmatic techniques, it is important to consider the idea of transformation, a central theme to both works.  From Representation to Transformation  This chapter considers three types of transformation in Talking Rain and In Lake’ch:                                                                                                                                                        quotation, since it is transformed beyond recognition—Rudy reduces the movement to a few seconds. The author wishes to thank the composer for bringing the Chion, Dhomont, and Parmegiani examples to his attention.   155 sound, environment, and self.240 In the context of electroacoustic music, transformation is generally understood as the manipulation of source material using studio technology. The physical transformation of recorded sounds has been central to the theory and practice of electroacoustic music since the genesis of musique concrète. Early efforts to categorize types of sound transformation in music can be traced from Pierre Schaeffer’s initial research on the perceived properties of recorded sounds to his examination of the combination of sounds in his Traité des objets musicaux (1966). Since Schaeffer’s foundational work, elaborate theories of sound transformation have been developed, notably those by Denis Smalley and Trevor Wishart.  Smalley’s theory of spectromorphology considers the ways in which sound spectra can be modified over time. He applies different analytical tools to categorize the manipulation of individual sounds as well as the interaction of multiple sounds in space and time.241 Wishart addresses some of the same topics as Smalley, including the morphology of sounds and types of spatial motion. In addition, Wishart explores how sounds can be used to create metaphor through their association with a specific action, emotion, or idea, what he calls “sound-images.” While Smalley’s spectromorphology is a useful tool for articulating the timbral, temporal, and spatial behavior of sounds, for our purposes Wishart’s discussion of metaphorical discourse proves helpful in explaining how recorded sounds can be used to create extramusical meaning.242                                                  240 Perhaps not out of coincidence, the album featuring Westerkamp’s most well known works is titled Transformations. 241 Smalley’s four “orders of surrogacy” explain degrees of sound abstraction created through studio processing, and his five “motion types” explain how sounds relate to other sounds in space and time. For more on spectromorphology, see Denis Smalley, “Spectro-morphology and Structuring Processes,” in The Language of Electroacoustic Music, ed. Simon Emmerson (London: Macmillan, 1986), 62–93; “Defining Transformations,” Interface 22 (1993): 279–300; and “Spectromorphology: Explaining Sound Shapes,” Organised Sound 2, no. 2 (1997): 107–26. 242 See Trevor Wishart, On Sonic Art (York: Imagineering Press, 1985), 163–76.  156 Both the acoustic and semantic properties of individual sounds are transformed in Talking Rain and In Lake’ch through studio processing. Techniques include hi- and lo-pass filters (attenuating frequencies above or below a designated cutoff frequency), pitch shifting (transposition), and time shift and reversal (playing a sound slower, faster, or backwards). Another way in which individual sounds are transformed is in terms of their associative properties. Both the type of sound heard and the context in which it is presented influences the associations brought out. For example, in the first movement of In Lake’ch, “Prologue: The Pangaea,” squelching and bubbling are presented alongside the sounds of wood being torn apart and rocks rolling underwater. Water can be heard as destructive when placed next to these force-driven sounds. In contrast, in the final movement “. . . a terminus of blue” flowing water is combined with resonant overtones; here, water is soothing and cleansing. In Talking Rain, quiet, gentle water and animal sounds are prominent in the A and A’ sections, while loud, abrasive water and city sounds dominate the B section. Although Westerkamp and Rudy transform individual sounds in some of the same ways, their reasons are different. As to be discussed, Westerkamp aims to bring renewed attention to the original contexts and inherent meanings of source material, whereas Rudy ascribes meaning to sounds through metaphor.  The environment is also transformed in the two compositions under consideration. This process unfolds throughout the ABA’ structure of each work. Talking Rain and In Lake’ch both open in a natural environment, transition to an urban setting, and conclude in a pristine space.243 Talking Rain begins in a rural setting dominated by rain and animals (frogs and birds), with the                                                 243 A number of soundscape compositions follow an ABA’ structure. For example, in Beneath the Forest Floor the A and A’ sections present nature sounds recorded in an old-growth forest, while the B section is marked by chainsaws. Other works begin in a recognizable environment, move to an abstracted one, and return to the initial setting, such as Westerkamp’s Kits Beach Soundwalk and Barry Truax’s Pendlerdrøm (1997)—an urban beach and train station, respectively.  157 occasional passing car and distant foghorn. In Lake’ch opens in a primordial space defined by grinding, splintering, and bubbling sounds. It is midway through each work that the process of transformation becomes apparent, as listeners are positioned in a polluted environment. Talking Rain places listeners in the city, where tires on wet pavement, car horns, and screeching brakes stand out. In Lake’ch throws them in a dense tapestry of machines. Talking Rain concludes in the same temperate rainforest in which it began, but now with processed church bells and, for the first time, human footsteps. In Lake’ch ends at a utopian space defined by triads, resonant overtones, and gently flowing water. The closing musical space in each work symbolizes what Westerkamp and Rudy perceive to be an ideal human-environment balance.  Finally, the self (or the individual listener) can be transformed over the course of Talking Rain and In Lake’ch. Each composition takes listeners on an acoustic journey through different sonic environments that vary in terms of human presence and impact. The movement from a nature setting to a polluted urban environment and back encourages self-discovery. Joseph Campbell claims that in stories from different cultures and time periods a message of transformation is often presented in the darkest moment:  One thing that comes out in myths, for example, is that at the bottom of the abyss comes the voice of salvation. The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light.244   While it is speculative to refer to sounds in Westerkamp’s and Rudy’s works as “voice[s] of salvation,” there are sounds that play an important role in the progression from the B section to the A’ section. In Talking Rain, sustained bells signal the departure from a busy urban area and the arrival at an unpopulated coastal setting. In the tenth movement of In Lake’ch, “Hidden Catalyst,” flowing water, a flute motive, and prayer bowls emerge from the scraping and                                                 244 Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers, The Power of Myth, ed. Betty Sue Flowers (New York: Doubleday, 1988), 39.  158 splintering sounds that define the previous movement, “Veiled Dead Zones.” Each work concludes in a mythic space, inviting listeners to reflect back on the soundscapes that they encountered. Some listeners may give thought to which sonic environments they wish to maintain, which ones they desire to abandon, and those that they want to create. Others may not only consider their relationship to the outside environment but also their relationship to themselves.   Environmental Sound as Ecological Message: Hildegard Westerkamp, Talking Rain From trickles to rushes, to drips, to spats, Talking Rain brings to life an iconic sound of the Pacific Northwest.245 Over the course of seventeen and a half minutes, the composition traverses different soundscapes where rain is a constant, yet diverse, presence. Westerkamp explains the role of rain in the work: Rainsounds from the westcoast of British Columbia, Canada are the basic compositional materials for Talking Rain. Through them I speak to you about this place. The raincoast. A lush and green place. Made that way by rain. Nourished by rain, life-giving rain. The ear travels into the sonic formations of rain, into the insides of that place of nourishment as well as outside to the watery, liquid language of animals, forests and human habitations.246   As a symbol of sustenance, water not only supports life but also energizes the environment through its physical contact with different surfaces and its interaction with other sound sources. Several passages in Talking Rain highlight the timbral, rhythmic, and/or melodic properties of rain. In other sections, rain converses with animals in the soundscape. Whether heard on its own or positioned next to other sounds, rain delivers an ecological message; that is, it speaks to the interrelationships among sounds within a real-world environment.                                                  245 CBC Radio commissioned Talking Rain for the program Westcoast Performance. The work premiered on 20 April 1997. 246 Hildegard Westerkamp, liner notes to Harangue I, Earsay Productions, es9800, 1998.   159 The sounds used in Talking Rain may be divided into the three following categories based on their source:247 “Natural”  Birds: bald eagle, common raven, glaucous-winged gull, red-winged blackbird  Pacific tree frog Various water textures    Electro-mechanical Foghorn Holy Rosary Cathedral bells Royal Trust chimes  Vehicles: car horn, car on wet pavement, logging truck, motorboat, traffic   Human physiological   Footsteps on organic material Man yells “what”  Westerkamp uses a combination of her own recordings from Deep Cove, Lighthouse Park, Tofino, and her home in Vancouver, those made by Norbert Ruebsaat on Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte Islands), and those recorded by members of the World Soundscape Project on Vancouver Island and in downtown Vancouver.248  Although Talking Rain alludes to different locations in coastal British Columbia, the majority of sounds in the composition are not unique to the province. For example, flowing water, rain, and ocean sounds are, of course, present in places around the globe. As well, the habitat range of animals heard in the work extends beyond BC.249 It is the sounds of the city that portray an actual place. Three sounds in the composition are considered “soundmarks,” sounds                                                 247 “Natural” is used in quotation marks for the reason that Talking Rain features water in contact with both organic and manufactured material.  248 Hildegard Westerkamp, personal interview by author, Vancouver, British Columbia, 8 March 2012. 249 The Pacific tree frog has the most limited range of the species represented in Talking Rain. It can be found from the West Coast of Oregon to Southern Alaska.  160 that are meaningful and often unique to a community.250 These are the foghorn, Holy Rosary Cathedral bells, and Royal Trust chimes. Of these soundmarks, the Holy Rosary Cathedral bells are most strongly associated with Vancouver.251 However, it is likely that only those familiar with the Vancouver soundscape will associate the Holy Rosary bells with the city—tuned bells that are rung in the style of change ringing are found worldwide. If Talking Rain does not clearly evoke a particular location, what then does this composition communicate about coastal BC? Moreover, what is the role of acousmatic sound in this acoustic journey through the “rain” coast? Talking Rain is divided into three sections based on a sense of movement through different environments (see Diagram 4.1).252 The sounds heard in the first and third sect