Jack is a photographer working from his mobile darkroom (a decommissioned NHS ambulance) using the Victorian process, wet collodion.
He is currently undertaking an extraordinary 8 year photographic mission — The Lifeboat Station Project.
Here’s my contribution to International Dawn Chorus Day 2021, recorded from our front garden in Newcastle upon Tyne between 4:30am and 6:30am this morning, Sunday 2nd May 2021.
Whenever I step outside so early in the morning, I feel like an alien in a foreign land. At this hour, it’s a fallacy to think that such familiar territory is my domain. It belongs to the wild creatures and that’s that — the moment I set foot in the garden, I’m on borrowed land and borrowed time.
Thank you to all the birds in attendance, not least the vocal blackbird who got the intricate cacophony underway as soon as I’d set up my equipment and vacated the area.
You’ll hear them revelling in the relative peace of the city, as if taking a sound bath.
But the balance shifts as the recording progresses. The birdsong gradually becomes suppressed by the sonic pollution of human life.
Thank goodness they’ll be back in the morning. At least I hope so, anyway…
As always, I recommend wearing good quality headphones to enjoy the finer details of this recording, along with the strong sense of surroundings that it should generate within your brainbox:
I’m one of those people who thinks they’re not very good at drawing. I’m also aware that may not be true but, thankfully, I derive the same kind of catharsis from making audio recordings, so that’s what I do instead.
Cutting clips from a master recording and building them into a new piece is, for me, like making pencil marks on paper — individual strokes to build a bigger picture, forming a distinct image in the mind.
I find it a very relaxing discipline, not least because of the enjoyment I hope people will derive from the final piece, especially if listening through high quality headphones or speakers.
The latter is important in order to hear the full range of sounds and to get an accurate sense of the environment created by the placement of the microphones.
By making such sketches, I hope to take listeners on a flowing sonic journey, full of detail and intrigue.
Over the last year or so, I’ve been pondering how to create a more robust high quality stereo setup to carry aboard lifeboats again when the time comes — the problem being, that nothing really exists on the market (as far as I can tell) to properly space and windshield the tiny pair of DPA 6060 microphones that I like to use for my field recordings.
All-weather lifeboats are brutally powerful utilitarian vessels, which eat wind and waves for breakfast. They are a sound recordists dream and nightmare rolled into one.
Roaring engines, crashing waves and howling wind is an incredible combination when you get it right but a painfully shapeless mush if you get it wrong.
Here’s the short film I made in 2017 aboard the Tobermory Severn class lifeboat using the recordings I was making in the photograph above:
Furthermore, it’s simply no good trying to carry delicate equipment which might get damaged or cause an injury within such a highly nautical environment.
So, I cobbled together a new rig last Saturday using equipment I had already but repurposing it with the intended scenario in mind. The Lego figure is not part of the rig, of course — he/she’s there to illustrate how small the amazing microphones are!
Once built, I was eager to get on and test it in the fortuitously windy conditions in the garden (a coastal test will have to wait until the ‘stay local’ restrictions are relaxed).
I only intended to record for 20 minutes but there was so much going on that I didn’t hit ‘stop’ until 3 hours later.
The final 51m 27s recording consists of 70 clips from that master recording cut together chronologically. By the time you reach the end, I’m sure you’ll agree it has indeed been quite a journey.
As I cut those clips together, though, one thing really struck me. The sonic environment on our own doorstep is incredibly stressful for the wildlife that share the space with us humans.
Listen carefully and you’ll hear that the birds are in constant competition with the myriad of synthetic sounds.
At times, it seems like it’s very difficult for them to be heard, yet still they battle on.
This observation put me in mind of a phenomenal recording chosen by Isabella Tree as one of her Desert Island Discs in 2019.
The sound of nightingales and bombers on the night of the Mannheim raid in 1942 is one of the most emotive and profound recordings I’ve ever heard.
You can hear an abridged version from the 31m15s mark on BBC Sounds or listen to the full recording here (thank you to Iain Shaw for bringing this to my attention):
“Somehow it gives me hope that, whatever human beings do, nature will try and respond and do its absolute utmost to see it though and to bounce back.”
— Isabella Tree speaking with Lauren Laverne on Desert Island Discs, 24 November 2019
Anyway, here’s my new sonic sketch with a loose running order below (feel free to share your thoughts at the bottom of this post too).
As I mentioned earlier, you will need good high quality headphones or speakers to get the best experience from the recording. People often ask me what I mean by that. I’m sure those with more formal training would have other recommendations but I still love my Audio-Technica MX40 headphones.
I’ve been using for around 6 years, so I doubt they’re available new but something along those lines will doubtless fit the bill:
Listen out for (in order of appearance)…
Distant motorway traffic throughout
Vehicles passing on the main road nearby
A woman singing in the distance
Somebody doing DIY
Leaves rustling in the wind
A dog barking
Birds close to the microphones
People chatting as they walk by
Distant raucous singing and shouting
Somebody calling out ‘Jack!’ [different Jack]
Birdsong like sci-fi laser shooters
An aeroplane high overhead
Birds ‘displaying’ to each other
A creature walking close to the microphones
The sound of tiny wings flitting about nearby
A van passing
Wind high in the trees
Bassy music booming from a car
An insect passing close to the microphones
A helicopter passing overhead
Car doors closing
A neighbour doing some gardening and moving pots around
The birds returning when my neighbour heads inside
The wind gusting more strongly
A heavier duty helicopter
Me returning to check on the equipment and take a photograph
A motorbike buzzing about accompanied by a helicopter
The tinkling of dogs’ collars
Our front door closing
The evening chorus, including a very close blackbird
Passers-by with a suitcase on wheels
Collecting the equipment
…and all of this happened in just three hours. An urban environment sure is hectic, even in times like these.
I first posted the following words yesterday as a Twitter thread. The topic seemed to resonate with many, so I’m posting it here too as a more permanent resource:
‘Why not apply for funding?’ regularly comes up in conversations about financing my project. But is it really such a crackpot idea to keep working towards my vision of sustainable funding for creators: for projects to be funded by the people who follow them and whose lives are enriched by them in some way?
I believe that notion is entirely within reach for many creators without having to resort to pots of institutionalised funding, which can limit thinking and become serial flashes in the pan rather than a much more valuable source of income — one that is sustained and more predictable.
There are other benefits too: no corporate logos attached to your project; no pound of flesh to the body funding it and perhaps claiming more credit than is due; not having to adapt your ideas to suit institutional agendas; not having to adapt your language in the application to be ‘awarded’ the money (a particular bugbear) and not having to pay somebody to fill out an application form (an even bigger bugbear).
In short, my vision enables a creator to make their work freely on their own terms. As I mentioned at the top, I truly believe this is entirely possible. We can all be inspired by the fact that other creators are doing it right now. Brandon Stanton and Amanda Palmer spring to mind — two longstanding influences of mine on the indie-funding front.
And I’m getting there myself. It might help to spur you on to know that there are now few days of the month when I don’t receive *some* income from my independent membership platform, The LSP Society.
Some days it might be £1 and other days it might be £100 (many signed up on/after launch day). It feels like manna from heaven to know, that no matter how difficult things are, there will always be something coming in at some point soon.
It’s great for a creator’s psyche and I’m concerned that the path of institutional funding can actually be damaging for a creator’s psyche.
There will be people conflicted by this conversation and I also know that pots of funding do suit certain projects but I keep plugging away at this ethos. After all, if people were interested in a topic ‘back in the day’, they wouldn’t have hesitated to buy a magazine from the newsagent. In fact they would have looked forward to it! So why not now?
Well, I believe that people can and will support projects now. They just need to be shown how and many will be delighted to do so at the drop of a hat.
One final thought: if choosing this path, creators must commit wholeheartedly with passion, belief and conviction. I’ve seen people gamble weeks (and small fortunes) filling out an application form without knowing what the outcome will be.
So why not consider redirecting more of those energies on a mechanism that can sustain you every day for years to come and on your terms? It’s much less risky and the results are often immediate.
Food for thought I hope, as well as food on the table.
Lockdown 3.0 is nowhere near as quiet as Lockdown 1.0, particularly in our back yard. Listen out for our chickens peacefully pecking away at their food and a myriad of other feathered friends flitting about the neighbourhood, all set against the background hum of city life.
As always, good quality headphones or speakers recommended to fully enjoy the sonic experience:
It’s been five years since I posted here. Five whole years. And what a journey I’ve been on in the meantime, quite literally.
Since last tapping some words on this blog (which I started over 8 years ago), I’ve visited 150 RNLI stations on The Lifeboat Station Project.
Once the restrictions are lifted — whenever that may be — I can’t wait to complete the remaining 88 lifeboat stations with renewed vigour.
A SPLENDID TORCH
After such an intense few years, and as we career into Lockdown 2.0, I’ve enjoyed the headspace to lift the dust sheets from these pages and breathe life back into them.
There are still a few tweaks to be made but things are mostly shipshape again.
Then came a timely tweet by Michael Warburton yesterday featuring a clip of Jeff Goldblum impressively reciting a quote by playwright and Nobel Prize winner, George Bernard Shaw:
Here’s the quote in full:
This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognised by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.
I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.
I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.
The words really tap into a simple sentiment that I consider to be vital more than ever in times like these — the sentiment of community spirit.
To my mind, community provides hope and, with hope, we can function.
A READYMADE SYMPHONY
Like Michael’s tweet, George Bernard Shaw’s quote seems particularly timely as we settle into our next lockdown.
It had me thinking back to the last one and the weekly clap for carers ritual. It gave me goosebumps every time, making me think I really must record this.
So, on the fifth Thursday at 8pm, I set up my microphones in the garden in readiness.
As it transpired, I couldn’t have chosen a better occasion. The moment was perfect from start to finish, a readymade symphony:
The recording begins with a chirruping bird, then the beat of a distant pan. A lone clapper soon becomes hundreds, dogs bark, car horns sound, tambourines clatter, tubas parp, all emblazoned with fireworks in the middle distance. Glorious!
And, as I listened to so many humans uniting in our extended neighbourhood, I thought…