What in the world is that sound?: An Offering of Timbre and Its analysis
Ever had that experience where you’ve heard a new song without the visuals to accompany it. It can be a magical moment when you don’t know what’s coming next. Anticipating the forms the melody will assume as your ear wanders along the path of harmonic shifts planned by producers and mixers and sound engineers. It could look something like this:
It’s that feeling you get when you listen to a song and want to hear it for the rest of eternity. Is it the synths, or the stacked vocals, the guitar, the clashing drums that move you? The thing that makes you question: What is that sound?
A quick IG search under the #whatisthatsound will reveal many fragments of sound and music. From @juanantonio046’s shredding on a guitar solo, or @thepuzzledmom’s post, vlogging a Black mother’s journey the beginning of her day with her autistic child; could it be @theguythegirlandthebear’s investigation of an unfamiliar sound, observed during their sunset walk around the neighborhood. They all ask: What is that sound?
Nina Sun Eidsheim, UCLA Musicologist would file the questions about voice like @thepuzzledmom’s under the acousmatic question: Who is this? Eidsheim believes “We don’t ask the acousmatic question — Who is this?— because voice can be known and we unequivocally arrive at the correct answer” (The Race of Sound, 3). Taking all three videos into context, asking Who is this? when listening becomes a broader examination into What or who made that sound? Steven Feld, Ethnomusicologist might frame these as acoustemological inquiries where “place-based space-time dynamics, concentrate on relational listening histories—on methods of listening to histories of listening—always with an ear to agency and positionalities.” (Keywords in Sound, 14). I agree with both of them. Thinking along the lines of acoustics, postionalities, social and technological realities are often the spaces I find myself caught in between. It’s the foundation of experiences I consider for understanding timbre and its place among our daily lives.
Timbre is a musical element often reduced by musicians and scholars. To me it’s everything. Some definitions of timbre include: tone color, the quality of sound, how you tell the difference between a saxophone and a violin, a acoustic guitar vs a electric guitar. In my classes, I often play excerpts of two recordings of the same song to get this point across for example Mary J. Blige’s “All that I Can Say” sounds remarkably different from Gretchen Parlato’s version. While the latter pays homage to one of the 90s Queens of R&B, it’s coded with sonic cultural and social meaning. Take a listen for yourself. How would you describe the quality of their voices? What is different? What remains the same?
Eidsheim writes, “It is assumed that if I listen carefully to a sound—in the absence of a visually presented or otherwise known source—I should be able to identify a source, and that any limitations are due to inexperience or ignorance.” (2) She goes on to explain how little we as humans know, cue @theguythegirlandthebear, and how the assumptions we make often become entangled in discriminatory timbral processes similar to how we perceive prejudice and discrimination towards skin color and hair texture. Take for example a video of a 911 dispatch call,where the concerned citizen is pestered into identifying the race of the suspect.
911 Dispatch Call example about hearing race and gender.
Many positionalities and realities are heard in the video. First the voice what some people might register to be both male and white, and the bureaucratic questioning of the dispatcher as what might appear to others as white and woman. The dispatcher really wants to get him help, but there is something interesting at play, when asked the question: What is the skin tone [of the suspect?], the caller answers: “A pretty tone,” “He probably uses some astringent.” There is some elusiveness in his voice at providing a description of the suspect. More pointedly the dispatcher asks “No tone, skin color, race?”to which the caller becomes offended, his voice swelling in an ironic rage at even having to utter the words “He’s Black, ok! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
An acoustemological account of this video reveals the layers of complicated realities. They peel easily like an onion, complete with a subtle stench could make the most resolute of tears swell. The reality we are first aware of is that a concerned citizen is reporting what they consider to be dangerous event. The second is the questions from the dispatcher to elicit descriptions of who made the acts, and sounds, of danger or disruption. Then there is reality of the caller who sounds as a disciple of colorblind ideology, one that wishes away the reality of racism by not acknowledging the differences of skin tone, color, and race.
Note the shiftlessness in the caller’s voice at providing a definitive answer about the suspect’s identity. While the caller is concerned enough to call, there is a moment of hesitation to name the race of the suspect. Maybe this person recognizes the effect the call might have on unsuspecting Black people in the days to come,people in the neighborhood vigilantly aware of those deemed not to belong. Or are we to believe that the caller sees the suspect’s physical beauty in the midst of committing an act that frightens the caller? Could the concerned caller envision the suspect’s humanity and the possible harmless circumstances behind the sounds and actions in which the suspect partakes? We don’t know. I wondered if perhaps, this 911 dispatch call is just a joke–a hapless attempt at deconstructing racism, a short-sighted example of how to disengage social barriers of racialized listening practices –where we as viewers are implicated in naming racial and gendered identities.
Yet, this call is one of many examples of how we fail to recognize our understanding of sound is socially and culturally constructed. So in order to not throw the baby out with the bath, we must begin to peer closer at our listening practices seeking clarity of ourselves beginning with: from where and why do we draw these conclusions about specific voices, sounds, and genres we hear? As consumers of pop culture products, we need to think beyond circular arguments about timbral discrimination, just as we should for other oppressive systems and actions. It’s a tall order that requires courage, honesty, and reflective action, but I’m down for the ride to unpack these issues with you. Let me know what you think? What is your earliest memory of sound? How did, or who helped, you make sense of the feeling associated with the sound? What did you do next?
