China Sound Walk

I will be adding my sound walk reflections as I go.  I hope to imbed a link to the Soundcloud version of each when I reach South Africa.  Please bear with me.  

China Sound Walk

Across the Threshold

Shelley Galloway

 

Sailing into the beautiful harbor of Shanghai, I was entranced by the growth of the city, the beauty of the skyscrapers, but struck by the scrim of pollution overhanging the city.  Our docking area is a lovely spot close to the Bund and graced by an urban green space and architectural sculpture garden.    From our location we were able to see both the Bund, a throwback to colonial times, when European governments were very involved in trade in China, to the new growth taking place in the Pudong across the water from us.  We were staged in the timeslot between past and present and I would see this in even greater measure in the Yunnan province. 

 

Immigration was slow and difficult as is typical of Shanghai, which I had forgotten.  We set off from the ship very late on our whirlwind tour of the city.

 

My first sound bite captures a bit of the threshold which we crossed when experiencing China and comparing it to life in Japan.  Car horns honked incessantly and cars cut each other off in an aggressive fight to own the road.  I don't recall hearing car horns used at all in Japan, so we had already entered another soundscape.  As Peter Cusack says, in his article on Sonic Journalism, "Sonic journalism is based on the idea that all sound, including non-speech, gives information about places and events and that listening provides valuable insights different from, but complimentary to, visual images and language."  No sooner had I recorded the sounds of the horns, than my cab driver, who was previously very competent and considerate of me, cut off another driver.  He had definitely made the dangerous move and came within inches of the driver's side of the other cab.  A loud argument ensued, with threatening advances made in turn alternately by each driver trying to box out the other car.  I was witnessing a more upfront emotionalism and less rule-bound behavior system in this culture already.

 

My second scene is made up of several snippets from theatrical events in Shanghai.  They might have been brief experiences but they did permit me a glimpse of traditional instruments being used in tourist-oriented productions.  Bells were played to welcome us to our lunch venue where Chinese minority performers from the area near Thailand, entertained us with song and dance.  Their haunting melodies and sinuous dance moves recalled the influences of SE Asia and reinforced the concept of the complexity of minority groups in the Chinese population as a whole.  Even body types were different in this dance troupe. 

 

An evening performance of a typical acrobatic show wowed us with the physical strength and agility of the participants.  What took us beyond the usual tourist fare was the lively contemporary staging with fabulous light show, creative use of scrims and puppet-like reflections and video background montages.  A live orchestra combined traditional instruments, such as the pipa and urhu, in very exciting ways. I admire the continued use of traditional music and love to see its repertoire expanding into more contemporary staging so that it is kept fresh and its usage enlivened.   Each time I have traveled on Semester at Sea, it is the chance encounters with the traditional instruments, kept alive by contemporary practitioners that give me a window into the past and a sense of connection to the historic sounds of the country.

 

The next act of my soundwalk takes me across another threshold into rural China.  We traveled by plane to Kunming in Yunnan Province.  Kunming is another large and industrialized city shrouded in the usual cloud of brown pollution.  Our van headed into the countryside from the provincial capital which had been the headquarters and base of the volunteer air corps, the Flying Tigers, in World War II.  It was hard to imagine a group of airmen being based so far afield and flying over the hump of the Himalayas to attack Japanese troops and resupply the Chinese.   A glimpse into this chapter in our war history added immeasurably to my appreciation of the area and to a greater understanding of the hardships our troops encountered.

 

My sound recordings taken in Xichou, a small but prosperous village about one hour outside the city of Dali, exemplify Cusack's theories of Sound Journalism.  He comments that, sonic journal entries, "transmit s powerful sense of spatiality, atmosphere and timing."  The scenes in this act reflect many different atmospheres, cultural differences and a sense of the vibrancy of rural life in China and the richness in the lives of the ethnic minorities.  A third of these minorities populate the province of Yunnan.  As Cusack further notes, "Attentive listening on location can reveal sonic threads running through the narratives and issues under examination and suggest unexpected questions and directions to be followed.  (Cusack, Sounds from Dangerous Places)

 

The recordings made in Xichou reflect the lightness and calm present in this rural community.  The lilting Tibetan melodies played on our car ride from Dali were a pleasant background accompaniment as we passed many Bai minority villages decorated with colorful wall murals.  Mushrooms covered the walls of one village that grew that vegetable and even the water towers on the hillside were made in the shape of the edible fungus.  Our elevation was much higher in Yunnan, than in Shanghai, the weather was sunny, almost balmy and we were surrounded by green hills and mountain ranges reaching toward the Himalayas in Tibet, Bhutan and India.  There was expansiveness in the air that seemed to be reflected in the recordings.

 

The Linden Center was an amazing retreat in the countryside village of Xichou.  A former tea merchant's mansion, it has been lovingly restored by Jeanee and Brian Linden.  We were fed deliciously prepared local vegetables and wonderfully appealing meat dishes from local farms.  Birds twittering in the courtyard, captured a sense of our oneness with the garlic fields surrounding the house. The deep red covered walkways surrounding the second floor and the open courtyards allowed sounds of village life to float in and be processed slowly as we sat in the sun of the back garden. 

 

The guttural cries of the Bai minority farmers selling their wares made me smile.  I love the busy market scenes we have been encountering in each country, because the people there are most themselves as they go about their daily chores and errands.  The foods being prepared on the street, the smells, the sounds, colors and melodies are captured in the eager voices as they spread the daily gossip and sell their produce, spices, meats and fish.  One tries to outdo the other in convincing us to sample and buy and all are as fascinated with us as we are with them.  There is a relaxed give and take as we explore and examine.  I walked by myself each afternoon and was treated to glimpses of regional industry.  A low whirring sound caught my attention as I passed an open door and was thrilled to catch the rough fricative sound of the cornmeal grinder as it produced its floury mix.  The bells on the horse carts punctuated my afternoon walks and added color to the vistas, as I wandered through otherwise quiet neighborhood alleyways.   About 90 mansions fill the streets of Xichou.  Some are in good repair and others are being left to molder away.  Entranceways are grand and have arches of animal guardians symbolic of the homeowners and their place in society and their business as well.  One family's entrance had a commendation from the emperor to a family member who saved the lord from poison.  This commendation was hidden from local party members who might punish the family for keeping it.  Party slogans and community advice were regularly "graffittied" on village walls adding color and humor to their otherwise white plaster surfaces.  One home had kept a painted chart created during the Cultural Revolution.  It charted the work hours required of the home's inhabitants and then marked the actual hours worked.  A walk through Xichou was a walk through many parallel but not contiguous time periods. 

 

Other scenes in this act were suggestive of our explorations of Old Dali City Market.  We were returning to an earlier period in Dali's development before new Chinese growth had come in and attempted to make this a recreation and retirement area for Han Chinese.  In the market my recordings, captured brief strains of recorded Bai melodies and the rhythmic chant of the candy makers as they alternately kneaded and pounded their sweet dough.

 

            Sounds of the creaking brakes of our horse cart trailed our passage through Xichou, as we ventured from one old Buddhist temple into the courtyard of the oldest temple in town.    The incredibly old interior buildings created a sense of history and of a life well lived in service of the community.  A weathered plank façade marked the exterior of the current senior center where octogenarians gathered to smoke, chat and play go.  "Temple ladies" were busily replacing offerings in the sanctuary area where a female goddess curiously guarded a miniature figure of another goddess tucked into the bodice of her gown.  There was a feeling that indigenous beliefs had become intertwined with Buddhist ones.  Past regional patriarchs became deified in the figures of the guardian gods.  Some images looked like Confucius, others like Lao Tzu and still others like the mother goddesses of Vietnam and Padma Sim Baba of Bhutan and Tibetan Buddhism.  There was a sense of sliding into an amalgam of religions, which would have served to guide the rural people in overcoming fears and obstacles.  In the 8^th century, Prince Pileguo, unified the Bai people into the Nanzhao Kingdom.  His realm reached all the way across SW China and into Burma and Vietnam and survived into the 13^th century.  The southern Silk Road went through this area of Yunnan and Dali was the capital city of the empire.  This prosperity was what fostered the growth of a tea merchant class in the village of Xichou, which was also a military outpost during the Nanzhao period and also housed a communications center for the Flying Tigers during World War II.

 

            Final sound bites captured the indigenous instruments of the Bai people as they welcomed us to watch cormorant fishing on Lake Erhai (ear lake).  Lake Erhai was associated with seaborne fecundity and is surrounded by small fishing villages.  The Bai people have capitalized on its beauty by featuring cormorant fishing expeditions for the tourists.  The cormorants are guided to swoop in to catch their fish in a highly choreographed dancelike manner.  They swoop and fly back to poles where there catch is displayed to the audience in boats below.  Singing accompanies the boat rowing and a houseboat in the lake features brief scenes of Bai traditional music and dance. 

 

            The melodic bell that tolls in my last recording is a fitting closing to a relaxing walk through the various doorways of ancient Yunnan province, glimpsing the life of rural Bai families, remnants of the cultural revolution, evidences of great merchant class wealth and the glories of a former powerful empire.

 

Shelley H. Galloway

Please ask me about the Semester at Sea Program
www.semesteratsea.org
http://vimeo.com/52086255

Parents Council Member
Semester at Sea
Institute for Shipboard Education

Japan Soundscape

Sound Walk:  Japan

Across the Threshold: A Pilgrimage in Sound

Naruhodo Moments

Shelley Galloway

 

 

As I was reflecting on our voyage today, a recurring theme has appeared in my mind.  It is one of those "Naruhodo" or "ah ha" moments that can give meaning to the whole SAS experience.  In thinking about Japan and the most important psychological connection I made on this visit, I flashed to the concept of "crossing the threshold" as a link I could use to describe these moments.  I also envisioned this physical and spiritual motion as a grounding for my whole voyage experience and the common thread for descriptions of each port and for my sound walks in each culture.

Japan is a special place for me, for many reasons.  I resonate with the culture, the people, the landscape, the arts, the aesthetics, and the basis of the Shinto faith and its relationship with nature.  Arriving in Japan, holds an almost mystical connection for me and so my sound walk is fraught with all that I bring to what for me, is a crossing of a physical, psychological and spiritual threshold.  "Listening to Japan," means more to me than my fellow SAS travellers, so I pick up more cultural nuances, as I hold my recorder out to the environment around me.  My experience of recording with these friends, as we travelled, was that they too became more attuned to these resonances and were able to appreciate some of my feelings for this country.

 

In the marketplace in Hilo, I had conducted a soundwalk, in the sense of Hildegard Westerkamp's article.  I was fascinated with the many languages spoken, the cuts of market chatter, the laughs and barks of hawkers and the background melodies of street performers.   My sound recording in Japan was an attempt to capture the moments of my journey in a sound journal.  Both these methods have worked to enliven my sense of listening and my ability to construct a personal sense of the soundscapes I experienced there.  In Westerkamp's words, it has given me a chance to "reactivate and rediscover my sense of hearing"

(Hildegard Westergard's "Soundwalking") and to choose which sounds work for me as descriptors of places of import.  It was not until today that I resonated with the idea of thresholds and will use this as a descriptor for subsequent sound recordings.

 

I think that many of the concepts in David Dunn's article work for me in terms of my Japan sound journal.  His description of what we hear being a "result of a dance between the world and how we are made," (p. 95, David Dunn, "Nature, Sound Art, and the Sacred") is a telling illustration of my response to the Japanese soundscape.   From an early age, I was drawn to Japanese aesthetics.  I admired the attention to detail, the glorious materials, the haunting images and the elegant beauty of Japanese fabric, woodblock prints and music.  Playacting scenes from Madame Butterfly, although composed by Puccini, reinforced my love of Japanese culture.  The practice of Ikebana has further exposed me to Japanese aesthetic principles and drawn me into a greater study of the culture and religions of Japan.  The asymmetry of the arrangements, the reflection of the natural world and the use of void space are Japanese artistic components that I utilize.  Elements of Shintoism and the idea of the kami spirits, which reside in nature around us have also appealed to me in a profound way and have colored my spiritual view of the world.

 

The image that best characterizes my "ah ha" moment in Japan is a black and white photo taken the last day in Kyoto when I awoke at the Yuzuya ryokan.  Sadness about our impending departure reinforced my sense of wabi sabi or a melancholy longing for the beauty in transience.  I walked down the stairs to photograph the homelike lobby only to be submerged in a moment of fleeting loveliness and care on the part of the inn owners.  The well-worn, dark plank floors had been sprinkled with water which shown in the early morning light from the garden courtyard.  The pattern of the water droplets created a flowing stream along the wood floor.  To cross this stream or to ford its path, would involve disturbing its visual flow – it was another threshold to cross, another world to explore, another reality to envision – all in the quiet moments before engaging with the hustle of the world outside.  Someone had taken the time to create this moment for me to savor and had captured the essence of Japan for me.  I similarly connect with David Dunn's description of music:  "music might be our way of mapping reality through metaphors of sound . . . It is a different way of thinking about the world, a way to remind ourselves of a prior wholeness when the mind of the forest was not something out there, separate in the world but something of which we are an intrinsic part."  (p. 97 "Nature, Sound Art and the Sacred")

 

My Japanese sound journal has several scenes reflecting moments of insight, meditation, attention and pure fun.  In Scene 1, Mark Thomas' laugh captures the pure enjoyment of the shipboard community as we ran to experience the Taiko drummers as we docked in Yokohama.  Several cultural factoids became evident as we participated in this welcome concert.  The drummers were primarily women and primarily middle-aged or older.  This reflected the acceptability of women's involvement in outside activities, especially clubs teaching traditional arts.  The age of the participants was indicative of the aging population in Japan and the focus of this age bracket on traditional arts whereas, younger Japanese are more focused on western art forms.  Their mastery of the Taiko genre also spoke highly of Japanese dedication and willingness to practice long hours to master a craft.  Our enjoyment was infectious and Japanese passersby, photographed the entire concert and our reactions.   The drum sounds created a

 

Scene 2 involves several overlapping recordings of travel on the train from Yokohama to Tokyo.  There is a shakei of sounds present in the first clip.  I use this term loosely as it is actually a term in landscape design defining the use of "borrowed" landscape in a Japanese garden.  Often a Japanese garden will "borrow" a hillside outside the garden's border to add depth and distance and a sense of extension into the spiritual beyond of the garden's space.  In the train station, the soundscape includes a shakei of sounds from each platform.  There are sound snippets of station announcements, a recording of birds singing, trains entering and departing and the melodic tunes that prepare the passengers for the arrival and departure of trains or identify the station to which they are arriving.

Part two of the train scene is indicative of the value placed on order, rules and silence in Japan.  In fact signs and verbal announcements on trains explain in no uncertain terms that passengers are expected to silence cell phones, keep conversations to a minimum and to find a secluded corner if a phone call is to be made or answered.  There might not always be adequate physical space during rush hour on a train, but auditory space in encouraged, and in a sense required as part of travel etiquette.   The void space or Ma space in art and floral design is something I admire most about Japan.  "Ma means empty, spatial void, and interval of space or time. . . the emptiness is often arranged to be a focal point.  Space is emptiness, yet it also has shapes.  Ma allows for an energy or sense of movement within a design."  Maybe an auditory space in a train, allows travellers to create their own sense of physical and emotional space even in the presence of crowding.  Possibly it is also just a rule to be followed.

 

Scene 3 is my attempt to capture a few moments of what I would characterize as the "kawai" culture of advertising and merchandising in Japan.  "Kawai" is a term meaning "super cute" and it has almost a cult following in Japan.  Tiny dogs, tiny phone attachments, and possibly Manga and Anime characters, as well as Hello Kitty are all examples of this love of the super cute.   Overlapping sound bites from TV ads and children's shows capture a sense of kawai in their high-pitched language and cute tunes.

 

Scene 4 is a walk through the marketplace surrounding Tokyo's Tsukiji fish market.  This soundwalk scene is similar to the Hilo marketplace in the rougher tones of the voices, the hawker's calls, the familiar cadence of gossip and laughter from everyday folks selling their wares.  There is a sense of the rural and the quotidian that I enjoy recording in markets in each country.  People are just themselves engaged in everyday rituals of shopping, preparing meals and selling their produce.

 

A sound anomaly is the subject of Scene 5, the Pachinko Parlor.  Its continuous and deafening din is broken by occasional melodies and bonanza themes – suggesting the addictiveness of this activity for the participants.  Does the potential monetary reward draw people to this sound barrage or is it a need to escape the strictures of rigid societal roles and expectations?  In the Pachinko Parlor you can be anonymous and detached, focusing only on your screen, your numbers and the chance to soar financially out of your societal position.  Men and women can play this game and there is no apparent time limit or stricture posted to control how you play.   This activity is suggestive to me of the cultural underbelly of Japan which is reflected in entertainments involving salarymen and hookers, liaison between older men and young attractive "hostesses", vending machines dispensing porn and "soiled" panties – all possible ways to avoid a society's strictures and daily role expectations.

 

Scene 5 holds several episodes of sound from the grounds of the Kiyomizu temple in Kyoto.  There is a legendary strength test for men, the sound of bells ringing and clapping at a Shinto shrine and the resonance of a large brass prayer gong.  This is followed by the sounds of the bell at our meditation center and the large temple bell being struck at 6 pm outside a temple in Kyoto.  The echoing of these sounds of worship gives audible credence to the sense of the other in the Buddhist temples of Japan.  Zen, in its teaching, stresses simplicity and nature and the communication of the spiritual from the mind of master to the student.  It is as if this spiritual communion is resonating from the musical object out to the mental sphere of the worshipper, engulfing both in the sense of the infinite.  The openness of the temple structures to the outdoors and their placement and harmony with their natural setting are in keeping with Zen Buddhism connection with the environment. 

 

My final scenes are simply fun anecdotes.  A lovely melody that reminds me of a haunting Japanese refrain is followed by a more contemporary version of shamisen music. Store clerks at Takashimaya Department Store welcome us to their amazing chocolate festival in honor of Valentine's Day. 

 

The final steps in our journey through Japan are brought full circle with the Taiko performance in Kobe harbor, this time featuring a younger, but no less enthusiastic group of female performers.  The last punctuation mark to our Japan journey is a loud blast on the ship's horn, telling us we are pulling away from one of our favorite port.  

 

 

Dark wood gleams sadly

A sparkling river flows by

Cherry blossoms bloom.

 

A step across time

Doors to yesterday's thoughts

Return to Kyoto

 

The gong resonates

A monk explains the text

My mind seeks the truth.

It is my hope to provide a link to my soundwalk on soundcloud, while in port in India or South Africa.

Shelley H. Galloway

Please ask me about the Semester at Sea Program
www.semesteratsea.org
http://vimeo.com/52086255

Parents Council Member
Semester at Sea
Institute for Shipboard Education