For my “soundwalk" I decided to make may way to one of the coziest parts of Manhattan, the upper westside. I’ve been enamored with the area for a few years now. There’s just something so inviting, something like home, that fills the air in the neighborhood. It’s a very orchestral sounding area. Every sound fits in with the ones around it, even some of the sharper sounds of nearby construction, it all seems to be essential to the soundscape.
I think deconstructing what makes a musical piece is a great way to explain the separate sound players in my walk. Normally we might think of the human voices and the intertwining of voices on the street as sort of keynote or background sounds, and while to some extent it’s true I think a better way to describe it, in this case, is the foundation or the melody of the neighborhood. One very specific line in the melody is the sound of children. The neighborhood is littered with families, old and new, but without a doubt, and somewhat in time with the rest of the sounds, you will hear children laughing, crying, or the curious “But why?” question. This is our melody, and everyone knows it, but you also find your ears moving on from it to the harmonies. I unfortunately found myself a disruptor of my soundwalk. The shoes I wore were a little heavy and my footsteps became the bass line to my walk. However, other harmony that came into play was the traffic, A mix of tenors and sopranos. A well timed bus honk, the churning of bicycle wheels as the passed by, and my favorite, the crisp autumn leaves. The wind rustled them so perfectly together. It’s like listening to a beautiful alto harmony, sometimes with the chorus or orchestra that middle line gets hard to follow, but once your ears catch it, you can’t help but sigh at the beauty of it.
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