A Closer Listen
Today is UNESCO’s World Heritage Day, and to mark the occasion, Serge Bulat is set to unveil a generous collection of recordings captured in twelve countries over the course of eight years. 49 recordings in all, the album still manages to be only the length of an average CD, which lends itself well to a non-stop listening experience.
Some of these sites are protected, but not all. Bulat writes, “I’ve spent seven years chasing sounds that might not be here tomorrow – traditions, landscapes, and voices barely holding on against the tide of over-tourism and environmental collapse. Every sound in Phonomundi is a fight against time, against erasure, and indifference.”
To listen is to travel around the globe while experiencing sounds of incredible value. The opening and closing tracks are the longest, each an immersive soundscape. A bell tolls, then another, as the album begins, a sub-theme that will continue to surface throughout the set. The recording is made in It-Tlett Ibliet, a set of three fortified cities in Malta, a busy juncture of conversation and traffic, the modern battling with the ancient for sonic dominance. Buried beneath both influences, and yet present, is the sound of nature, the forgotten third. As a woman complains about a “$600,000 mortgage,” one can hear the indifference to place.
Of immediate relevance are sounds recorded at border crossings and the buffer zone of Cyprus’ Lefkoşa / Lefkosia / Nicosia. The three names are themselves a lesson. Border disputes have ruled the news cycle, the politics of exclusion gaining dominance, drowning out the hopes and fears and urgent needs of those waiting to cross. Should a border crossing not be joyful, as it once was at Ellis Island? Fortunately people are saying “Welcome back,” although there are no audible words of initial welcome. Finally nature surfaces in the ocean around the Paphos Harbor Castle, itself a fortress initially intended to repel invaders, now eroding, subject to the whims of time. Side trips to the Tombs of the Kings and the protected Larnaca Salt Lake help to widen the picture; many species of the latter (which is actually four lakes) are found only in this region.
The timbre shifts in three pieces from musicologist Artur Blasco i Giné. Now one begins to think about endangered cultures, languages and songs. The music recalls Soundgarden’s “Spoonman,” an anachronism since this artist is older. Robert Lizarte introduces carillons with a bell ringing tutorial of his own. Then it’s off to a fire festival in the Pyrenees at the summer solstice, one of many tracks that one wishes were longer, filled with fireworks and exuberant children.
“Barcelona, Gaudi and Parrots” makes fun connections while reminding us of R. Weis’ Parrot & Paperback, mostly because parrots are so infrequently encountered on these pages. Again the church bells chime, a unifying force. Tourists continue to be present, milling around, enjoying dinner, boarding a bus to Dealul Romilor (Moldavia). “Bosporus, Fatih, İstanbul” demonstrates how loud a cherished site, in this case, a strait that unites the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara, can be. A fish market, loud enough on its own, is plagued by a jackhammer, a Turkish palace by hammering. Wherever humans go, they bring our own noise and match it to the noise that is already there.
Happier than these are the sounds of drummers, bakers, a wedding. One is hearing the breadth of humanity, sometimes off-putting, other times engaging. Bulat is careful to present a balance, even if reality is koyaanisqatsi. In the Egyptian section, one begins to hear more natural sounds: pots and pans, yes, but also local birds, an oasis, the Sahara. And what would a trip to Egypt be without a visit to the “Valley of the Golden Mummies”? Sadly, in “Nile Crossing,” one never gets to hear the actual Nile. This may be a metaphor for the incongruity at the heart of heritage sites, that the very thing that calls attention to their preservation can also hasten their demise. All too often, as heard in this collection, the sound of a site is the sound of the people at the site, rather than the site itself.
Once more the church bells ring, now in Kraków. The bells, an indicator of time, are also a call to holiness. The brashest piece, “Toulouse Gastronomy,” is followed by the most intimate, “Red Deer Mating Calls, Pyrénées.” Not a single human can be heard, while the sound of flowing water offers comfort and a sense of the eternal. It’s no accident that the album concludes with the “Voices of the Pueblos: Laguna, Acoma, Hopi, and Zuni,” honoring those who themselves have always cherished the land and the creatures of the land, yet who ironically now find themselves endangered as well. What will happen if the very voices that urge preservation, whether through song or ritual chant, fall silent? Who will speak for those who have no voice? (Richard Allen)
Fri Apr 18 00:01:02 GMT 2025