Bogong Centre for Sound Culture Residency Journal
The Following are journal entries written for, and whilst on, residency at the Bogong Centre for Sound Culture in March 2021, detailing the time spent there and creation of the work ‘Kiewa River’
Entry #1
I recently read The Overstory by Richard Powers, a stunning book all about trees and the ways they connect in and out and through peoples’ lives. Those around me know how I feel about that book – I’ve been raving about it to anyone who mentions even half of a soft spot for trees, or books.
I’ve spent a bit of time recording natural environments, and even more time analysing those recordings. To summarise my analyses: yeah, birds are cool. They can sound beautiful, especially when you listen for the sonic relationship between different types of birds as they call. They’re birds, they’re the over-achievers. We get it. And sure, creeks and wind have emotive weight to their sounds (and a frustrating knack for sounding just like white noise in a recording and being so difficult to work with). But trees, well, trees have the most unique set of sounds and movements – the kind of blink-your-ears-and-you’ll-not-notice-it sounds (you know what I mean). Leaves rustling against one another in the breeze; slow creaks and groans that travel the length of a branch, or a trunk; loose bark that slaps gently against the side of its host in the wind, almost rhythmically. So, what a joy it’s been to arrive in Bogong which is surrounded by big old trees. Gums aplenty in particular. It’s been my first chance to really see some proper trees since finishing The Overstory and boy is it instantly calming, inspiring, reassuring. A far cry from the almost universally hated plane trees that line Melbourne.
My first few days in Bogong have been filled with catchup. Rushing frantically to get all the other lingering bits of work, meetings, deadlines, out of the way so that I can focus on sticking some mics next to some trees. Then, on Thursday, Madelynne took me to see the B–CSC’s Notes from the Field exhibition at MAMA Albury, full of works generated by other resident artists during their time here. I found most inspiring how many of the works and artists connected through water - either overtly or not – which is not only an environmental force here, but a social and economic one too.
That afternoon I parked my microphones next to the Kiewa River that runs past the village and captured an hour or so of beautiful white noise for my audio hard drive. I felt a challenge in those works in the exhibition to approach water once again, a subject matter I’ve found difficult in the past as I try to balance accurate representation with aesthetic value. As my work centres heavily on preserving the detailed sounds of the environments I record, and working around them, rushing water is my big foe. It’s significant, beautiful, can be heard as a distant, comforting constant through the whole area here. But it’s a lot. Where can I find space in that total sound to create composition? Perhaps this will be one of those compromising-the-science-for-the-aesthetics situations. I need to find where to balance on that line - there’s some ideas in my head. Perhaps I’ll go sit next to a tree and think on it. I’m sure I’ll have it solved by Monday, then.
Entry #2
I worked hard for my art this last week. I think Siri will agree I got enough steps in to cover the whole month, hiking up and down steep verticals and skipping (stumbling) across rocks. Seeking out the many stages of the Kiewa River as it flows down the mountain from the snow fields, passing by the foot of Bogong, through dam walls and on to Mt Beauty. As I’ve recorded the different stages of the river, I’ve been bringing them into my work, analysing them, composing to them – and in doing so my perception of the river has shifted (perhaps with my mood). On Saturday I recorded the Kiewa flowing powerfully across the Spion Kopje Track (an aside: I’m never doing this hike again! Human calves are not meant for such trials), an intimidating force against the classic ghostly hills of an alpine landscape. I stepped in it and it was cold. I photographed it and it looked colder. The sound is like a wall. Quick shifts as low frequency energy filling my chest trades and competes with high, crisp, transient droplets splashing at the tips of my ears while I listen. A river that powers Victoria, or at least contributes its fair share to doing so. The music I’ve written to this section of the river feels dark, heavy, brooding. I don’t think it’s necessarily comfortable to listen to this torrent, and I’m weighing how long to let this moment play out in my work.
A little ways down its path though, the Kiewa is changed. It feels vulnerable. I’m afraid to step near it as a footprint feels like it could divert the whole course of the thing. Here, it’s a trickle. Just a few hundred metres upstream of where I record lies Clover Dam, with its accompanying power station. A sort of brutalist beauty in itself, but stifling the Kiewa to be so. I’m sure I could make many points and reflections about that, and I’m sure there’d be many others to counter them.
I hadn’t planned on being so focused on the Kiewa River when I came to Bogong, but I guess it was inevitable. Even as I record away from the river, trying to capture bird calls and tree creaks in the bush, the Kiewa is still heard in the background always. Working with that sound has been challenging – I’ve been constantly flipflopping between thinking what I’ve done is fantastic and dismissing it as time wasted. There’s only a couple of days left of my time in Bogong so I’ll do what work I can in that time then leave it for a while, I think. The test of a thing is always if it still seems like a thing after you’ve walked away from it for some weeks. Perhaps in that time the files on my computer will manage to bring themselves together in just the right way without my interference, like there’s a little A.I. in there helping me out. I’ll still take all the credit, though. Naturally.