Headphones a must: these are binaural recordings.

Exploring Binaural

On this early Monday afternoon in late Spring (the buzzing insects are bees), the feel of an impending hot Summer is already explicitly tangible, and even implicitly audible.

(Headphones necessary: binaural recording.)

(Recorded very near to the location of https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20201005-spring-a-local-dawn.)

Recorded on the land of the Kaurna people.

2020.11.02 Early Afternoon. Spring Is Becoming Summer.

(Headphones necessary: binaural recording.)

Recorded on land of the Kaurna people that is now a Conservation Park.

2020.11.04 Night Listenings. Late Spring.

For this 'Dawns of Deep Creek' recording, I returned to the location of my very first dawn recording at Deep Creek, made in December 2018. (You can hear it here: https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20181212-first-light-and-sunrise-at-deep-creek-early-summer. You can also hear another recording, made at the same time of year, but in a different location, the following year, in November 2019, here: https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20191124-from-before-first-light-to-after-sunrise-at-deep-creek-late-spring-early-summer.)

The first time, the dawn chorus was already happening by the time I began recording. This time, I was in place, set up, and recording, hours before nautical twilight. I've condensed the first 1  hour and 14 minutes of the original recording into the first 7 minutes and 12 seconds of this version. Those first 7 minutes and 12 seconds comprise, in the main, the voices of Owlet Nightjars and microbats. (And the variable wind, touching the forest trees along the crests of the valley.) Beyond 7 minutes and 12 seconds, the recording runs in uninterrupted 'real time'.

With nautical twilight, the first dawn birds, in order of appearance, are: Grey Fantails, Australian Magpies (distant), Fantailed Cuckoos. After a while, European Blackbirds make a significant contribution; and at around the same time, the plentiful native Grey Shrike-thrushes become vocal, with their fascinating, intricate, always-shifting, call-and-answer repertoire, underpinned by the meditative, mantra-like calls of Common Bronzewings. As the light increases, the wandering Wrens become acutely vocal. And so the dawn progresses, through variegated phases...

During the period of this recording, the inland weather station at Parawa recorded the following data: wind speeds ranging between 2 and 22 km/h, with wind gusts ranging between 9 and 41 km/h, and wind directions ranging between ENE and ESE. Temperatures varied between 14.5° C and 19.4° C. Relative humidity varied between 54% and 97%. Note, though, that the Parawa weather station is about 10 kms inland from the coast, whereas the sound recording location was only about 1 km inland from the coast.

(Headphones necessary: binaural recording.)

Recorded on land of the Kaurna and Ngarrindjeri people that is now a Conservation Park.

2020.11.28 From Before First Light to After Sunrise at Deep Creek: Late Spring/Early Summer

2020.12.05 Currawongs Surfing the Gully Winds. Early Summer. Afternoon.

A lone Grey Shrike-thrush calling: sporadically, melodiously. Cicadas and other strident insects. Gusts of wind in the eucalypts and sheoaks.

(Headphones necessary: binaural recording.)

This recording represents my first encounter with the native birdlife, insects, plants, and winds, of the Tungkillo region, which soon led to two more recording excursions there. It has been included as the introductory track to a selection of binaural recordings made during the first of those two excursions, now compiled as an album, 'Tungkillo Atmospheres (Part 1)': https://hearingbeings.bandcamp.com/album/tungkillo-atmospheres-part-1.

Recorded on land of the Peramangk people that is now primarily pastoral land, but still contains scattered precious microcosmic oases of native land and lifeworld.

Related recordings:
https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20201218-tungkillo-atmospheres-16 https://hearingbeings.bandcamp.com/album/tungkillo-atmospheres-part-1
https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20220130-tungkillo-region-harrogate-landcare-group-site-summer-sunday-afternoon

Track photo credit: Inset photo of Grey Shrike-thrush by Michael Jury (https://www.mykelphotography.com.au/). Background photo of actual recording location by Hearing Beings.

2020.12.04 Grey Shrike-thrush. Early Summer. Afternoon.

These recordings were initially intended as an experiment/test of the capacity for the representation and resolution of spatial and kinetic relations of a binaural rig. But I also appreciated the recordings as interesting field recording pieces in themselves.

Here, I've selected four excerpts from three longer recordings. (Personally, I prefer the longer recordings, because they allow more extended attention  to the variability of the details of the soundscapes. But I opted for relative economy, here.)

Excerpts [1] and [4] are both from the first recording, which was made from a position approximately equidistant between two freeway bridges passing over a small creek and dirt road (-35.113204, 138.988621), with the central axis parallel to the bridges. One of the bridges carries traffic outbound from the city, and the other, traffic inbound towards the city. I was especially curious to know how the rig would capture and represent the spatial and kinetic relations of the sounds of these movements, from this particular position. I felt that it did quite well.

Excerpt [2] is from the second recording, made from underneath the northward bridge. Excerpt [3] is from the third recording, made from underneath the southward bridge . In each of these, the spatial and kinetic relations being captured and represented are, respectively, a little different. I was also curious to hear how sensitive the rig was to other environmental sounds, such as the wind through the reeds in the creek, and various species of birds in the trees and reeds near the bridges.

(Headphones necessary: binaural recording.)

2020.11.27 Between and Under Bridges (11). Late Spring. Afternoon.

This experimental piece comprises eight segments linked by brief cross-fades, and selected, respectively, from eight longer recordings. The first and eighth of these were recorded at different points along the waterline. Each of the other six, respectively, was recorded inside one of six boat caves that were carved by hand into a sandstone cliff overlooking the ocean over a century ago. Each cave differs in depth, breadth, height, and internal spatial form and texture. Each one filters and shapes the sound of the sea differently, although the differences can in some cases be subtle. This piece is intended to be meditative, and listening for these differences - and the transitions between the spaces - is intended to be an essential element of the meditative auditory experience.

The recordings were made consecutively during the hours after midnight and before dawn. The same recording level was used throughout. The low tide turned just after midnight; while the recordings were being recorded, the tide was rising.

(Good quality headphones recommended: this is a binaural recording.)

Own this soundscape

2020.12.04 Six Boat Caves and the Sea

While sitting still, concealed in the cool shade of bushes, sheoaks and gums, listening intently, a small dispersed group of Grey Shrike-thrushes approaches, briefly lingers, and moves on, calling (with single notes) and singing to one another all the while.

This is one of a selection of binaural recordings made in the Tungkillo region, compiled as an album, 'Tungkillo Atmospheres (Part 1)': https://hearingbeings.bandcamp.com/album/tungkillo-atmospheres-part-1.

(Headphones necessary: binaural recording.)

Recorded on land of the Peramangk people that is now primarily pastoral land, but still contains scattered precious microcosmic oases of native land and lifeworld.

Related recordings:
https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20201204-grey-shrike-thrush-early-summer-afternoon
https://soundcloud.com/hearingbeings/20220130-tungkillo-region-harrogate-landcare-group-site-summer-sunday-afternoon

2020.12.18 Tungkillo Atmospheres (1.6)

Clip 06 (Time and pitch shifted): 06:00 to 06:01. Sunrise. A contingent of stragglers, late returners, are still flapping about amongst the trees, trying to locate family groups, or to find a space to roost amongst the by now very densely-populated branches. (If you listen carefully, you might hear, towards the end of this track, in the distance, a town hall clock tower bell ringing the hour of six o'clock.) Traces of a dawn chorus gradually become more audible.

2020.12.25 Clip 6 (T&P). Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 05 (Time and pitch shifted): 05:46 to 05:48. Quarter of an hour before sunrise. There are still more bats returning to camp, but by now the majority of the population has settled down in the trees. With the decrease in overall mass volume of calls, individual bats’ voices are easier to discern.

2020.12.25 Clip 5 (T&P). Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 04 (Time and pitch shifted): 05:30 to 05:32. It is now the time of civil twilight. Magpies can be heard warbling with the earliest traces of dawn. Most of the fruit bats have now returned to camp, but by now, many of them have already settled down, hanging from high branches in dense clusters, wrapping their wings around their bodies, and snuggling down for the day’s sleep and rest. That’s why the density and loudness of their calls is now already waning.

2020.12.25 Clip 4 (T&P). Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 03 (Time and pitch shifted): 05:14 to 05:16. Quarter of an hour before civil twilight. More and more bats are arriving back at camp, calling out to and listening for one another as they locate their family groups to roost together in the same trees and branches. This clip is from the most densely concentrated and loudest period of the event of the fruit bats’ return to camp. At this point, there are probably more bats flying about between the trees than there are hanging and roosting on the branches of the trees.

2020.12.25 Clip 3 (T&P). Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 02 (Time and pitch shifted): 05:02 to 05:03. It’s still almost half an hour before civil twilight. The number of bats returning to camp is rapidly increasing.

2020.12.25 Clip 2 (T&P). Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 01 (Time and pitch shifted): 04:46 to 04:47. This clip is from just before nautical twilight (which was at 04:54). These are the early returners, as well as those bats that remained at camp overnight.

2020.12.25 Clip 1 (T&P). Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 06: 06:00 to 06:01. Sunrise. A contingent of stragglers, late returners, are still flapping about amongst the trees, trying to locate family groups, or to find a space to roost amongst the by now very densely-populated branches. (If you listen carefully, you might hear, towards the end of this track, in the distance, a town hall clock tower bell ringing the hour of six o'clock.) Traces of a dawn chorus gradually become more audible.

2020.12.25 Clip 6. Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 05: 05:46 to 05:48. Quarter of an hour before sunrise. There are still more bats returning to camp, but by now the majority of the population has settled down in the trees. With the decrease in overall mass volume of calls, individual bats’ voices are easier to discern.

2020.12.25 Clip 5. Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 04: 05:30 to 05:32. It is now the time of civil twilight. Magpies can be heard warbling with the earliest traces of dawn. Most of the fruit bats have now returned to camp, but by now, many of them have already settled down, hanging from high branches in dense clusters, wrapping their wings around their bodies, and snuggling down for the day’s sleep and rest. That’s why the density and loudness of their calls is now already waning.

2020.12.25 Clip 4. Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 03: 05:14 to 05:16. Quarter of an hour before civil twilight. More and more bats are arriving back at camp, calling out to and listening for one another as they locate their family groups to roost together in the same trees and branches. This clip is from the most densely concentrated and loudest period of the event of the fruit bats’ return to camp. At this point, there are probably more bats flying about between the trees than there are hanging and roosting on the branches of the trees.

2020.12.25 Clip 3. Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 02: 05:02 to 05:03. It’s still almost half an hour before civil twilight. The number of bats returning to camp is rapidly increasing.

2020.12.25 Clip 2. Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

Clip 01: 04:46 to 04:47. This clip is from just before nautical twilight (which was at 04:54). These are the early returners, as well as those bats that remained at camp overnight.

2020.12.25 Clip 1. Grey-headed Flying Foxes Returning to Camp at Dawn. Summer.

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Exploring hearing, the hearable, and the hearer, as an event, a mode, and a dimension of Βeing (τὸ εἶναι).