Listen deep, listen loud.
One of the largest horn loudspeakers ever built, installed at Idora Park, a California amusement park in 1922.
*As an aside, Lawrence English published 12 notes towards a future ambient, a sort of Ambient manifesto on the 40th anniversary of Eno’s Music for Airports. Check it out, at the very end of the article, here.
It’s curious how volume can impact some ambient music.
When listening to the work of some of my composer heroes—Lawrence English*, Rafael Anton Irisarri, or even John Luther Adams—I’ve noticed that certain songs are completely different pieces at high vs. low volume. It’s not that either situation is better, but I prefer one over the other depending on my mood and circumstances. Sometimes I want to be completely overwhelmed by the sound. Other times I need solace.
Belong’s brilliant 2006 record October Language is a perfect example of this. At low volume it nestles me into a soft, dark cocoon, in all of its gauzy fuzz. Other times, it’s a blast furnace, a dense wall of noise turned up to ten, completely overpowering me. Both experiences are exquisite.
Sometimes, when we listen to instruments that are understood to be delicate—the piano, the cello, field recordings of the wind—we miss out on the power that these sound generators can wield.
Take, for example, the first single from my record. At low volume, ground glass can be a mournful reflection on one’s own mortality, and given the context in which it was written, that’s an appropriate read. But at high volume, the song becomes a swirling, ominous dirge, gasping and sharp as a razor.
Give it a listen and see if you agree.
