It’s not often that popular science books focus on
bioacoustics. Recent notable examples include Don Kroodmsa’s The Singing Life of Birds and Birdsong of the Seasons, both of which
receive rave reviews from readers and, as is obvious from the titles, focus on
the amazing diversity of sounds produced by our feathered friends. But birds
are only one of many acoustically communicating species, and animals in general
are only one source of sound on our planet. Others include abiotic
environmental sources such as wind, waves, and geological activity, and, as has
been receiving much attention recently in the scientific literature, noises
that can ultimately be traced back to humans.
As most regular Anthrophysis readers already know, noise—or,
to be more precise, “unwanted sound”—is a serious problem in most contemporary
habitats, where it can disrupt sleep patterns, act as a distraction, cause
stress leading to other physical and emotional problems, and obscure the
acoustic signals of acoustically communicating species. The history of noise,
and all its pernicious effects, was recently cataloged by Hillel Schwartz in
the book Making Noise: From Babel to the
Big Bang and Beyond.
 |
| Cover of the American version of the book |
But what about more pleasant cacophonies, such as the
explosion of sound that emanates from a rainforest as dozens of species of birds, insects,
amphibians, and mammals all vocalize simultaneously? What about the sound of a
crashing thunderstorm as its rain pummels leaves in the tree canopy and its
winds cause the branches to creak? These natural symphonies are the subject of
a new book released this week to US audiences: Bernie Krause’s The Great Animal Orchestra: Finding the
Origins of Music in the World’s Wild Places (available to UK readers in
April).
Krause’s book fills the gap between Kroodsma’s and
Schwwartz’s, examining the sorts of complex, multi-taxa sounds that do more
than simply provide ambience, but are not so overbearing that most of us would
classify them as “noise.” Rather, these acoustic stimuli are, Krause argues, the
origins of human music. After all, emerging in an era with no televisions,
radios, or stereos, our first musically inclined ancestors had only one source
of inspiration other than their own voices: the world around them. Thanks to
the huge variety of sounds in their environment—each differing in pitch, amplitude,
tempo, and timing of production—these early humans were by no means at a loss
for acoustic stimulation.
| Cover of the British version of the book |
The Great Animal
Orchestra covers a quite a bit of ground for a book that is only ~250 pages
long. The author, a former professional musician and Hollywood sound
expert, frequently describes his own experiences with nature’s music and his
growing interest in “soundscapes,” or complete collections of sounds that
characterize a given habitat. Over the course of a lifetime, Krause has
collected an audio archive comprising tens of thousands of samples, which
cumulatively could play for about 1,500 hours straight (or two solid months).
His personal acoustic journey serves almost as a parallel to that of the
average reader making his/her way through the book—beginning as a relative
novice to the world of biotic sounds and gradually becoming acquainted with the
richness of natural soundscapes. The reader first learns about the sources of
noise in the environment, and how they fit together to make “the great animal
orchestra,” and then is shown how this acoustic display is a vital part of the
human experience. Almost inevitably, the final chapters of the book deal with
habitat loss, declining biodiversity, and noise pollution—the factors that,
along with our own apathy, threaten to render many soundscapes extinct.
Although Krause does not shy away from scientific
explanations of relevant topics—how sound propagates, what makes an octave, how
to read a sonogram—he makes them accessible to lay readers while avoiding a
level of simplicity that would bore a fellow bioacoustician. Throughout,
Krause’s enthusiasm and wonderment are infectious. Some of the best passages
are those in which Krause describes acoustic scenes he has experienced over the
years—as in the following passage about Arctic glaciers:
The ice mass shatters as it is compressed
under great pressure and undergoes periods of melting and snow accumulation,
and in addition to the startling popping and groaning of the ice and the
ever-present wind and frequent storms, calving glaciers release huge walls of
frozen water into the shorelines of rivers, fjords, and seacoasts with a
volatile, thunderous burst of sound, the fallen accumulation generating huge
waves in the water below. Then there is the sound of the glacier’s own
movement: a slight, ominous oscillation caused by its relentless progression
overland—a slow, creeping sensation more felt than heard.
 |
| Dr. Bernie Krause |
I have to admit that, while I found every bit of the book
fascinating, I did not always understand the logic behind its organization.
Some themes were revisited multiple times in a way that seemed scattered rather
than purposeful; several sections could have been better rooted in the central
theme—which, for that matter, could have been more clearly delineated and
reinforced throughout. Altogether, I feel that the book suffers from an
identity crisis that is never quite resolved; it is part autobiography (of an
unarguably interesting person), part history of music, part explanation of
bioacoustics, and part E.O. Wilson-style argument for the need for
conservation. There is no fundamental reason why all of these disparate topics
should not exist in one place; they are
complementary, as the book does make clear. My main complaint is that these
ideas never quite meshed into a single flowing narrative. However, I should
stress that these critiques reflect my own artistic preferences for a certain
style of organization, and do not have any bearing on the worthiness of the
ideas discussed here, since these are certainly worth the cost of the book and
the time required to read it.
Indeed, the bioacoustician, nature-lover, and
conservationist in me all concur that The
Great Animal Orchestra is a wonderful introduction to the wild world of
sound and the amazing things you can hear if you stop to listen. I agree with
Krause that the world is a richer place when you are aware of its acoustic
textures. Like the author, I find it unbearable to think that we are on the
cusp of forever losing certain sounds from our acoustic experience. Thanks to
habitat fragmentation and other anthropogenic influences, I may never again
hear bobwhites or whip-poor-wills calling behind my childhood home, and I am
acutely aware of how their loss alters the feel of the habitat. Similar losses,
often at much larger scales and involving many more species simultaneously, are
occurring around the world. Krause’s book is an elegant explanation of how
these losses threaten to mute the “great animal orchestra,” why each of us
should care, and what we can do to both enjoy the soundscapes that remain, and
attempt to preserve them for future generations.
---
To watch a Magic of Science episode with Dr. Bernie Krause, click here.The US hardcover edition of the book, published by Little, Brown and Company, is 288 pages long and is available at Amazon.com from 19 March 2012.
The UK hardcover edition of the book, published by Profile Books, is also 288 pages long and is available at Amazon.co.uk from 1 April 2012.
No comments:
Post a Comment