By Amie Mills Courtesy of Exposure Lifestyle

It seems utterly natural these days, whilst strolling down busy streets and waterfront walkways, to encounter an abundance of snake-white cords coiling upwards into earphones, which nest in each set of ears that pass you by.

You have only to hop on a bus or train and count the headphones, to realise the effect that technology has had on our personal bubbles of sound in a relatively short space of time. Many people can identify with the sudden feeling of near-nakedness when they realise, whilst waiting at the bus stop, that they left their portable music device on the kitchen table, and have consequently subjected themselves to an entire public transport trip, without their aural security blanket. By Amie Mills Courtesy of Exposure Lifestyle

It seems utterly natural these days, whilst strolling down busy streets and waterfront walkways, to encounter an abundance of snake-white cords coiling upwards into earphones, which nest in each set of ears that pass you by.

You have only to hop on a bus or train and count the headphones, to realise the effect that technology has had on our personal bubbles of sound in a relatively short space of time. Many people can identify with the sudden feeling of near-nakedness when they realise, whilst waiting at the bus stop, that they left their portable music device on the kitchen table, and have consequently subjected themselves to an entire public transport trip, without their aural security blanket.When the last episode of the Sopranos aired in America last year, the final scene ended abruptly with a black screen and silence. Many viewers assumed there was a fault with their television sets. This philosophy of noise, in many ways an 'aversion to silence', seems to have imprinted itself onto the social consciousness of the younger generation particularly, so that without the ability to shut out the everyday noise around them, they feel somehow less prepared to face the day.

In all the noisy hype and discourse surrounding the 'technology boom', and its direct impact on the now fast-paced nature of our lives, we seem to have lost sight and sound of our relationship with silence. Silence is not the only thing we shut out. It is the voice of the everyday.

In Tiki Taane's interview (pg 34 of Exposure Lifestyle), he talks about the inability to escape music, "It's everywhere. Even in the quietest, most remote place, you will hear music. Whether it's the wind, the birds, or your heartbeat, there is always music."

This sentiment is echoed in an astounding documentary, 'Touching the Sound', about deaf musician Evelyn Glennie. The opening scenes show Glennie's hands running along the rocky surfaces of a ruined castle on the coast of Scotland, creating sound patterns and rhythms from everything her fingers touch. Her tactility is a thing of beauty, and reveals the ubiquity of organic sound, which surrounds and inspires us, if only we take a moment to breath it all in. However, whereas Glennie's ability to hear conventionally has been physically taken from her, our retreat into a self-enclosure of MP3 players is voluntary and unsound in every sense of the word.

A recent Cornell University study looking at noise distraction in 'moderately noisy' office spaces goes someway to explain our relationship with sound. The study found that with the rise of open-plan office spaces or 'cube farms', workers struggled to be productive in the working environment and felt their stress levels rising under the constant disturbances of telephones ringing, technology humming, and people talking to one another. One solution to this is an invention designed to mask the workplace noise. It does this by using discreet, natural sound (also referred to as 'pink noise'), to emit a gentle whooshing sound similar to air-conditioning, which apparently reduces the clarity of the noise, whilst fading surreptitiously into the background.

Noise begets noise.

It is inescapable in many respects, and on a global scale, noise pollution is just another heartbreaking addition to the growing list of 'things to crusade against'. A report from the Noise Association says that sound levels on the Piccadilly Line of London's Underground can exceed that of a jet taking off at Heathrow Airport. Another recent report from the BBC states that the world's oceans are now so saturated with noise that it can result in the hearing loss of whales and dolphins, causing them to strand themselves, and occasionally killing them. They are extreme examples of the pervasiveness of noise, but it pays to sit up and listen to the issues, when, as Loren Horsley points out in her interview (pg 6 Exposure Lifestyle), the whales stop singing.

We use manufactured noise to shut out other unwanted noise; thereby creating layers of sound surrounding us so thickly it's no wonder our quality of hearing is slowly but surely deteriorating. Listening to music on the bus is often the most effective means of blocking out undesirable chatter, but it can come at the expense of sporadic and sometimes-magical encounters in the air around us.

The random interactions you occasionally have with the stranger sitting next to you on the bus or the park bench are what opens you up to some of the mysteries of this universe and the next. It is not about casting aside our ipods and MP3 players indefinitely. It is about reclaiming some of the silence and sounds we have become particularly good at drowning out. We should recapture some of that good old-fashioned daydreaming, along with the occasional moments of chance that keep everything else turning. Silence is still golden.

Cover illustration: By Taika Waititi

27/02/08