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Can You Hear Me Now?

http://twitter.com/#!/brianstelter/status/35806733393727489

The New York Times' Brian Stelter posted this tweet earlier this week. It serves as an example of the importance of sound to the media coverage of the protests in Egypt.

And Gil-Scott Heron thought the revolution would not be televised.

The past few weeks the world has been watching the protests in Egypt. We have not just watched, but we have also tuned in. This is history in the making, especially considering that many of the information we are getting of this protest movement come from the ground, from the protesters themselves, and their requests have gone viral on Youtube and Twitter.

Earlier this week, I was watching CNN and its coverage of the protesters at Tahrir Square after Mubarak’s statement that he would not step down. On several occasions the broadcasters on CNN asked viewers to listen to protesters. The grainy images of the mobile crowds had been playing in the background all afternoon, a reminder of what was going on while the broadcasters offered information and analysis. But at times the broadcasters stopped speaking so viewers could listen to the crowds. The grainy images emitted a dull roar, the combination of all of the cries and statements from the protesters. The cameras followed people down streets, but the roar was constant. It struck me how often the plea to listen came up during the broadcast. On Friday, when Mubarak resigned, I tuned in online (from work) to CNN, MSNBC, and BBC America. The broadcasters made the same requests: let’s tune in to the crowds at Tahrir Square. See early in this MSNBC video where Brian Williams encourages viewers to listen to the protesters:


The newsmedia seemed to offer the sounds to its viewers, but what is at stake when that happens? How are the sounds being coded? Mark Branter’s post on sound and sanity in the context of the Rally to Restore Sanity (which took place on October 30th 2010), reminds us that oftentimes noise and screaming is connected to “irrationality and fear.” He points out, “Public noise is senseless sound, while rational debate is meaningful sound.” In this context, the constant plea from newscasters for the American public to “listen in” to the crowds at Tahrir Square takes a different spin. Are we insiders looking at the Other scream and shout? When the newscasters ask us to tune in to the pleas and screams coming from the Egyptian crowds I wonder if the newscasts frame them as senseless crowds because of the way that they present these sounds. In any instance, this presentation of sound is not innocent. Some may argue that it is just a request from Western media to pay attention to what the crowds are saying, but I believe that we cannot truly listen to their cries on Tahrir Square when we still hold in place this analogy of “sound/noise::rationality/irrationality.” Many agreed that Mubarak should listen to the pleas of the crowds, but are we listening to them as well?

The coverage of the Egyptian protests shows us how complicated listening is. The protesters are not just seen but heard (only when the network wants the viewers to listen, mind you) by viewers. The sonic aspect of this movement is reinforced when we think of the “Speak-to-Tweet” service, set up to allow Egyptian protesters to tweet when the Egyptian government turned off all internet communication. We could read AND hear what the protesters were saying.

When media outlets choose to tune in to the protests in Egypt, this is an example of how important sound is to narratives. Visuals are not the only story, is what I get from the protest coverage. (And letting the world hear the protesters is a step in the right direction.) The coverage and its inclination toward the audio of the protesters tells me that it’s not just a matter of shock value but it’s also a statement of the role of audio in the news. It’s supposed to be a reflection of what is going on at the moment, like taking the temperature of the crowds. As others have said on this blog (for example, Priscilla Peña Ovalle) sound is usually linked to the visual, and the hierarchy of senses in our society always has the visual as the most important. Listening is important, but we must also think about how we listen, and what filters the sounds we listen to.

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Listening to Interiors, Silo #5

Early in Jonathan Sterne’s (2003) book The Audible Past he writes, “hearing is concerned with interiors, vision is concerned with surfaces” (p. 15). This binary is in many ways gospel in sound studies. Martin Jay (1993) has established in his work, Downcast Eyes, a similar division between observations, the ocular, and listening, the speculative (p. 85). Most other literature takes a similar perspective – the sonic interior is a main methodological praxis of sound studies. When deciphering the speculative, listening is still the first, best tool, for interpreting an interior. I wonder, what it means to extend this metaphor into space. What does it mean, interpretively, for a sound wave to ricochet through a reverb spring, to yell in a claustrophobic hallway, or to listen with headphones instead of speakers. What is the culture of the interior, and how is it heard?

One place to look is the fantastic but infrequently publicized (although it has gotten some notable press) Silophone. An abandoned grain silo in Montréal, Silophone has been wired to serve as a medium of anonymous communication, and reverberation since November 2000. It’s easy to reach too, just call 514-844-5555. After the second ring, you are patched in to Silo #5, where your words are broadcast to ricochet around the abandoned building. Contributing to a participatory soundscape where several voices contribute to an ever changing, echoing interior. Silophone is definitely art, it is intrinsically technological, certainly audible, and it is almost social.

One striking question about Silophone is what exactly it means, what are the cultural stakes of an anonymous and collective interior? Can it be read as a critique of the ambiguity of network society, the futility of translation in an increasingly global culture? As the sounds refract against the walls of the silo and compete against one another, it is hard to decipher a clear signal, let alone consider a dialect or source. Conversely, Silophone also represents the possibilities of a network commons. Even though one sound rarely emerges as dominant, this relates to the counter-hegemonic aspects of the interior. Inside, hearing privileges proximity, and quiet. The less participants, and the closer your receiver is to a speaker, the more likely you are to hear a sound. Though this is a similar to the listening politics of everyday life, it should be noted that the silo is an experiment of space; the dynamics of its audible space emulates a virtualization of voices unprecedented in non-abstract spaces.

Listening to an interior is an important way to consider the politics of specific objects and architectural configurations. It is a way to render and think through the spatial configurations of space-less phenomenon: sounds, ideology, opinions and ephemera all belong to the interior, and it is important to develop tools for discussing them in a way which is not degraded to mere speculation. Silo #5, once a hub of cacophonous conversation, is now silent, somewhat forgotten and out of vogue. Does this reflect a social shift away from telephone-mediated relations, a societal shift in the practice of hearing? Although the interior of the silo models an anonymous and semi-random collective, other interiors may model other things. What do the interiors of computers, subways or classrooms model? Further, with listening as a method, can we begin proximate our interior selves?

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