This Week in Sound: A ‘Phonon’ Is a Sonic Particle

These sound-studies highlights of the week originally appeared in the May 16, 2023, issue of the Disquiet.com weekly email newsletter, This Week in Sound.

QUANTUMANIA: “Near absolute zero, the weird rules of quantum mechanics start to apply to vibrations. If you think of a guitar string, you can pluck it to vibrate softly or loudly or at any volume in between. But in crystals cooled to this super-low temperature, the atoms can only vibrate at discrete, set intensities. It turns out that this is because when vibrations get this quiet, sound actually occurs in discrete units known as phonons. You can think of a phonon as a particle of sound, just as a photon is a particle of light. The minimum amount of vibration that any object can harbor is a single phonon.” — Wired’s Sophia Chen on what she (or at least the magazine’s headline writer) describes as “the quietest sound in the universe.” (Side note: Articles on quantum physics can be rated based on how often they employ the word “weird.” This article got a 3.) 

SKY HIGH: “[W]hen researchers launched solar-powered balloons up 70,000 feet, they detected a hidden acoustic world — including mysterious noises without a known origin.” No story in the past couple months has caused more people to forward it to me more than this one. Reports Carolyn Y. Johnson in the Washington Post, “The noises are ‘infrasound,’ inaudible to the human ear — just as light in the infrared spectrum is invisible to the human eye. When recorded with specialized instruments and sped up a few thousand times, they sound like muffled, staticky whispers.” (Thanks, Kristina Nguyen, who sent it to me first.)

TALK TALK: A 52-year-old with ALS “preserved his voice with a company called Voice Keeper, which is one of several companies using artificial intelligence to ‘bank’ people’s voices while they are still able to speak and re-creates those voices for text-to-speech software. … Voice banking used to be expensive and time-consuming, but AI has made it more accessible to people with conditions that could impact their ability to speak, such as ALS, throat cancer, cerebral palsy and Parkinson’s disease.” (Thanks, Mike Rhode!) 

CABLE GUY: Researchers have sorted out how to use pre-existing, fully functioning, ocean-spanning fiber-optic cables as cetacean detection devices: “The system the researchers used for this work is called Distributed Acoustic Sensing, or DAS. DAS uses an instrument called an interrogator to send laser pulses into a fiber-optic system and records the returning light pulses, essentially turning the cables into a series of hydrophones.” (Thanks, Glenn Sogge!)

HEAR HEAR: “A raft of new hearing aids have hit the market in recent years, offering greater appeal to a generation of young adults that some experts say is both developing hearing problems earlier in life and — perhaps paradoxically — becoming more comfortable with an expensive piece of technology pumping sound into their ears” — Neelam Bohra in the New York Times writes about changes in the hearing aid landscape.

EIGHTEEN WHEELS BAD: A report on the impact of “last-mile warehouse facilities” on residential areas: “A sound meter charts noises that are twice as loud as background levels every three minutes during daytime hours, and four times as loud every 30 minutes, on average.” That data is from the Red Hook area of Brooklyn, where residents have teamed up with Consumer Reports to monitor the issue: “[M]embers of the community installed traffic, air-quality and sound sensors purchased by Consumer Reports, and are now gathering data throughout the neighborhood. Consumer Reports teamed up with the Guardian to analyze the first several months of data.”

ON DASHER: April 27 was Morse Code Day, which I missed. It’s Morse Code Day because April 27 is the birthday of the namesake Morse, Samuel Morse (1791-1872). Esteban Touma of National World makes a case for More’s revival: “Like listening to vinyl records, communicating in Morse reignites a sense of romanticism.” The main data point is a South Korean band, named TXT, using Morse Code to signal news. (Side note: A dorm named after Morse was adjacent to the dorm I lived in for two years during college, but I don’t think I registered at the time that that Morse was that Morse. I’m due for a visit for my imminent college reunion, and I’ll do a bit of sonic reconnaissance while I’m in town.) (Thanks, Daniele Fantini!)

QUICK NOTES: Let’s Get Loud: Between 1946 and 2020, the relative volume of singers on recordings of pop music has declined (npr.org — thanks, Rich Pettus!). Perhaps we’ll get to instrumental parity by 2050? I can dream. ▰ Mic Drop:Despite heated recent anxiety on social media about over-attentive microphone usage in WhatsApp, the issue may actually be “a [logging] flaw in Google’s privacy dashboard software” (androidpolice.com). ▰ Music of the Spheres: I remain somewhat skeptical about “sonification” in its broader uses, wondering if much of the time it’s just PR stunt noise, but NASA, one of the prime proponents, has shown a greater depth of engagement by teaming up with composer Henry Dehlinger for a performance by the National Philharmonic (dcist.com — thanks, Mike Rhode!) ▰ Bat Signals: I first mentioned this back in July 2021, when it was in the works, but the Blanton Museum of Art at The University of Texas, in Austin, now has the new Butler Sound Gallery, “one of the few spaces in the world dedicated solely to sound art.” (Thanks, Bruce Levenstein!) ▰ Go Pro: The cover story of Wildlife Professional, for the May/June 2023 issue, explores “how human-generated noise is affecting a range of species, from prairie dogs to blue whales.” ▰ Green Scene: Kudos to Cambridge, Massachusetts,  sonification artist Skooby Laposky, who “is careful not to say that plants can ‘sing.’ ‘The artistry,’ Laposky explains, ‘is connecting a certain kind of sound palette that represents the data accurately.’”

TWiS Listening Post (0001)

A review, a haze, and a video

This issue is just for paid subscribers of This Week in Sound. It’s an experiment, intended to supplement the usual Tuesday and Friday issues.

This past week I asked what readers, in a highly unscientific poll, what might encourage them to pay to support This Week in Sound, and the results strongly weighed in favor of ambient music recommendations and an extra email. This format accomplishes both those ideas. We’ll see how it goes. I’m enjoying it.

Today, we’ve got: (1) a review, (2) a haze, and (3) a video.

I wrote a bit more about Oval’s recent album, Romantiq, which I reviewed for Pitchfork on Monday, plus a pice of jagged ambient music by the Japanese producer Corruption, and a live (defined broadly) video by Ukrainian synthesizer musician Igor Yalivec.

Also, the image says 0002, but this is episode 0001.

Oh, and one additional quick note about last week’s issue: Those voices in the Karen Vogt remix by Yolanda Moletta were in fact Moletta’s own singing, not simply samples of Vogt’s original track — so, “echoes,” yes, but not literal echoes.

Sound Ledger¹ (Hearing Aid Edition)

Audio culture by the numbers

30: Age at which 1/5th of Americans have suffered damage to their hearing

12.5: Estimated percentage of Americans experiencing hearing loss between age 6 and 19

14: Rise between 2017 and 2021 in percentage of new customers of Phonak hearing aids between ages of 22 and 54

. . .

Footnotes: nytimes.com.

Junto Profile: Kel Smith (aka Suss Müsik)

From Pennsylvania: handmade electroacoustic instrumentation; reducing complexity

This Junto Profile is part of an ongoing series of short Q&As that provide some background on various individuals who participate regularly in the online Disquiet Junto music community.

What’s your name? My name is Kel Smith, although I’m better known among Disquiet Junto participants as Suss Müsik. The project started in 2016 as a vehicle to create what I then called “post-classical ambient minimalism for crepuscular airports.” I also record in a music project called Egret Zero, collaborating with the very talented guitarist Wm. Wolfgang Allen. As midlife crises go, making strange music is deeply satisfying and relatively benign.

Where are you located? I currently live with Mrs. Suss Müsik in Pennsylvania (USA), located between Philadelphia and New York City. I once lived in Baltimore, went to art school in Italy, got married in Greece, and from 2007 through 2018 traveled extensively for work. (This is how I gained my expertise in crepuscular airports).

What is your musical activity? In a recent piece on CKRL, roughly translated from French, I was described as a sound artist “with a mind haunted by the numbers.” That’s about as good a description of Suss Müsik as I’ve ever heard or read.

I’ve always been fascinated by the relationship between machines and human capability. In a way, Suss Müsik is the distant product of research I conducted for a book I wrote in 2013 called Digital Outcasts. My work at that time detailed the historical significance of disability on today’s design innovation. During the period of writing this book, I interviewed subjects with disabilities who achieved a high level of acclimation using tools they personally designed or retrofitted.

Looking back, I now recognize the inevitability that these influences would have in formulating my creative practice — especially a sonic discipline that blends science and art. Much of Suss Müsik’s output is generated by handmade electroacoustic instrumentation. Some devices are built from archaic consumer technologies (like 1990’s hard drive enclosures), while others are custom-designed and manufactured via 3D-printing or other methods.

Conceptually, I enjoy the ironic duality that results when limits are extended and redefined: the reclamation of outdated machines being repurposed for a new use, for example, or the digital replication of sonic behaviors native to acoustic instruments (such as when we hear breath through a flute or the abrasive scrape of a violin bow). A large component of Suss Müsik’s aesthetic lies in the existent tension between these formative states.

As my mechanical skills have grown, the devices have gradually become more consistently reliable in performance. Similarly, I’d like to think that my compositional techniques have grown sharper. The current version of Suss Müsik is less ambient and more minimal in parts, yet still crepuscular.

What is one good musical habit? Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson once said: “I am driven by two main philosophies: know more today about the world than I knew yesterday, and lessen the suffering of others. You’d be surprised how far that gets you.”

I think it’s important to consciously expose ourselves to new ideas, new philosophies, new ways of working, and new forms of sonic expression. At the height of Suss Müsik’s ambient phase, I started taking djembe lessons. One wouldn’t necessarily imagine African drumming as being in the same family as ambient soundscapes, but both musical disciplines address the corporeal body as a conduit; a vehicle through which our understanding of time and space can be temporarily suspended. There’s always a richness to be uncovered whenever we explore new things, even if the benefit is revealed in the form of a happy surprise.

Participating in the Disquiet Junto has been a genuinely rewarding experience. I’m thankful to be a part of this network of talented individuals, many of whom have provided sincere encouragement that has elevated my practice. Somewhere along the path of my 160+ Junto projects, I feel I’ve learned a bit about making creative choices within a timestamp of four minutes.

More important, though, is the opportunity to return the favor with Junto participants via weekly projects or the Disquiet Slack channel. It takes zero effort to offer a bit of positive feedback, yet the impact can be transformative. It’s as if we have this safe, secret little snow-globe of creative energy that crosses geographic and demographic boundaries—a bit of stability, perhaps, in times of turbulence. As I’ve grown old(er), I’ve learned to appreciate that dynamic and avoid taking it for granted.

One technical item (and I’m sure everyone already knows this): it took me way too long to discover the importance of a good set of headphones. For too long, I could never figure out why my mixes sounded so tinny compared to everything else I heard. I recommend the Audio Technica brand.

What are your online locations? To date, the Suss Müsik discography features eight proper “albums” and a handful of EP-length releases. Some of it makes me wince today, especially the way they were recorded, but I accept that as part of my learning journey. More than a few Junto projects have been reworked for release; in fact, one album titled Ex Post Facto is nearly all former Junto offerings. All Suss Müsik releases are available in the usual places: Bandcamp, Spotify, etc. The latest (and arguably best) is New Hopes, released in 2022.

There is a Suss Müsik website that I don’t update nearly as often as I should. People do find me via the contact form, so I suppose it must be doing its job. A number of Junto participants have indicated that they enjoy the written texts that accompany Suss Müsik contributions, so it’s nice to have them all in one place as a sort of archive.

Egret Zero releases are also available on Bandcamp. My favorite is Exploring Shackleton, mostly because it has a photo of my grandfather on the cover and got a nice review.

Soundcloud is sort of the Suss Müsik sandbox: Junto projects, failed experiments, etc. I’ve been considering some form of exit, but for now it’s still in the portfolio.

For those who enjoy seeing digital instruments pushed beyond the precipice of functionality, Suss Müsik offers a YouTube channel and an Instagram presence.

I’ve long since given up on Facebook and Twitter as vehicles for omphaloskepsis.

What was a particularly meaningful Junto Project? I love all my sonic children, but not equally. I have a soft spot for Junto 0247, because it was my first. I still fondly remember how surprised and delighted I was upon receiving a positive response. I also really like my contribution for Junto 0334, mostly because the text I wrote for it actually happened (more or less), and I recall Junto 0320 being a particularly fun assignment. But if I had to pick just one, it would be a sentimental favorite: Junto 0454, a numerically encoded tribute to my then-five-year-old niece.

Your mention of a good pair of headphones suggests a question, which is what advice do you have for people looking to listen back to their own music more critically? Listening back to some old Suss Müsik recordings, I’m often dismayed at how busy a lot of them sound. There were good ideas in there, but they were buried in excessive instrumentation (you know your mixes are too thick when you have a track for “tambourine #3”) and effects (reverb-erb-erb-erb). Sometimes we have to examine our work critically in order to fairly assess it, and for that it means removing the clutter. I’ve subsequently imposed limits on myself when reworking old material, allowing more dry space to let things breathe a bit. I believe this intention to reduce complexity has been a benefit to my overall creative practice. Whenever something doesn’t seem to be working, I always ask myself: “What doesn’t need to be here? What can be removed?”

People don’t act on the invitation to provide feedback as often as they might. Do you have any advice for people who are hesitant to do so? It’s a tricky dynamic I’ve observed in my non-Suss Müsik world as well: there are always one or two contributors who have no hesitation in providing feedback, and others who choose to be more passive. I believe these tendencies are the result of the confidence heuristic, a psychology term to describe how people are more willing to provide feedback when they feel their contributions are assertive or persuasive. I think the most important thing to remember is that it’s okay to be selective in how or when we offer feedback; sometimes people simply don’t feel up to it, and that’s fine. For those who have a tentative yearning to be part of the discussion, I’d say: use your reticence as a strength. Be sincere, be constructive, be open to dialogue. And for those who receive feedback, always remember this: even if you don’t agree, there may be a finer point in there worth investigating. It’s all subjective anyway, so be nice. As Pere Ubu’s David Thomas once wrote: “Artists can produce anything they want. And people can like whatever they want. That’s why there’s always disappointment on both sides.”

Cower Corner

Different forms of literacy collide

When I tell people I am incredibly sports illiterate and depend on the kindness of strangers and the patience of friends to help me navigate the peculiar subset of the multiverse where I ended up living — one where “A team beat another team” somehow qualifies as breaking news — I often have to clarify the depth of my lack of informedness. My statements to this effect can be taken to mean that I only follow one sport, or just watch occasional games and don’t subscribe to “packages,” or stopped after baseball and football and don’t pay attention to those other sports, whatever they may be. Proving one’s lack of knowledge is a version of proving a negative — which is to say, difficult at best. When I do find sports-things of sonic interest, like the noise at stadiums (remember the vuvuzela’s 15 minutes of fame?) or a purported lip-reading scandal in the NFL, I pay close attention.

There may not be a true vacuum in the universe, but the part of my brain where actual sports-stuff is supposed to be stored comes awfully close. And the virtuous circle of this newsletter is that people who know things about things about which I know nothing send me sound-related things from those realms (and then I share them more widely). Readers who are into sports or practice law or perform surgery or carry guns as part of their livelihood — or simply make their homes places where I do not — send me emails (and social media messages) with tasty factoids about how sound operates in those (alien-to-me to varying degrees) spheres. For which I am thankful. (So keep ’em coming.) 

Hence this photo, sent by a friend in England, properly warning me in advance of my next visit. I feel vaguely relieved that (1) I wouldn’t be playing cricket in the first place (my hand-eye coordination is virtually non-existent) and (2) I am fully self-trained in acting accordingly when someone happens to scream “HEADS!” What fascinates me in particular about this sound-focused warning sign is the evident decision-making about emphasis. Someone put “STOP PLAYING IMMEDIATELY” in all-caps, whereas the actual safety measures (“cover your head and duck”) aren’t, and are left until the very end of the sentence. Fortunately, the signage is largely rhetorical. Its real purpose is likely the tiny print, the part that excuses the location from legal liability. Chances are most people will hear “HEADS!” and duck and cover (or as I think of it, cover and cower) before even identifying what the word means. Hearing is a key feature of humans’ built-in alarm system. It’s kept us safe for eons, even after we started throwing things at each other for sport. (Thanks, Susan Blue!)