Musical space has fractal properties that are resonating in sympathetic vibration with natural space. Fractals are things you can zoom into, finding ever more complex self-similar variations. The zoom-recorder is my measurement tool. Technical space provides magical devices that are able to detect, record and transmit sound. Technical space has omnipresent digital memory, but it has no concept for sound. It can understand sound only from a mathematical point of view, using the Fourier Transforms.


My composition is feeding into the omnipresent communication system of technical space. I am turning sound into dead matter, stored in technical devices, only to come alive as recorded and unchangeable (dead) sound. Only as a metaphor or an invitation to participation, my composition has substance, because ‘musical substance depends on syncretism’ (Zemtsovsky, 2018). 


The journey with the zoom takes me along the coastline of Kintyre. My resolution of measurement is field-recording. Forever returning home, where my daughter plays the piano, where sparrows and toddlers sound in the garden, I will continue measuring the coastline in sound. I measured:

·       The Gauldrums beach

·       A motor boat from a kayak in the sound of Giogha

·       Arthur of Clachan

·       The rocking stone

·       The hens of Kilcalmonell.

·       The skylark above the standing stone

·       The horses at Tayinloan beach

·       The crows in Campbeltown.

         A toddler and sparrows in my coastal village.  

The motivation for measuring is acousmatic homesickness for my grandfather’s farm near the Baltic Sea. I was looking for familiarity among the sounds of Kintyre, sounds like sparrows and hens, or the sea.

Something was missing from the farm-soundscape however: the sound of agricultural machinery. Something was always rattling or squeaking, because my grandfather was very inventive in his tool shed. Looking for similar squeaks, I found one right in front of me, the squeaking handle of a drawer. Sampled on midi, this handle meets the criteria when playing a piece that I wrote for a viol-player.  

I drove to Paisley, because my son lives there. Behind the Rest and be Thankful, my civilisation paranoia gradually takes shape in the landscape, until it hits full emergency in the city. Even during the lockdown, the corridors of technical space house large diesel engines, resonating from stone like roaring dragons. My hearing is normally numbed in city-soundscapes, but the zoom is recording, and I will listen back, reflecting on what I heard.

I would like to invite all to participate in my music. The pieces are open to editing and for contributions. Digital music collaboration makes this possible. Please contact me, if you are interested.

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