I live in Washington Heights. I immediately knew that I wanted to do a Soundwalk here because it is such a culturally rich neighborhood, and sound is one key element that makes up its definition.
The first things I expected to hear when I left my apartment were cars. Actually, though, they were an airplane and wind. I guess I had forgotten that planes often fly pretty loudly over my street, or maybe I’d just stopped noticing.
Then came the cars. A bus rumbling. A car idling outside of an apartment. Music from cars: hip hop, Spanish, bass. The next thing I heard as I reached the end of my block was the next to surprise me. I heard birds chirping. I’m not sure why that surprised me. I think I had gotten more accustomed to ignoring the more abrasive traffic sounds and let everything fall into the background noise.
The traffic noises continued. Large trucks and buses rumbling, cars accelerating, cars that passed more quietly than others. Horns beeping. Occasional sirens. Music continued pretty regularly from cars and storefronts. It was mostly hip hop and Spanish music, with some pop-rock coming from the Boston Market.
I began to pay more attention to the people talking. I heard so many one-sided conversations from people on phones. I heard yelling on the phone, people talking in groups playfully, laughter, shouting friends greeting each other. At one point I noticed a voice louder than all the others. It almost sounded as if someone was playing a radio until I realized that a man was reading from a bible into a microphone on the nearest corner. I also noticed the footsteps. There were shuffling steps and pounding steps. I heard the difference between an adult running for exercise and a child running excitedly.
Then came different noises. Cardboard boxes unloading onto the sidewalk, the patter of dogs’ feet and the jingling of their leashes, the tapping of canes on the pavement, ringtones, keys jangling, shopping carts that rattled or screeched, a closing door. I think I found many of these noises most surprising, not because they are any less everyday than a car or laughter, but because they are much more specific. Instead of a constant stream of cars, it was one woman’s cane on a particular block. They felt like the final layer or sound signals on top of key notes that began as cars and grew to include footsteps and voices before these signals began to mix in on top. The hip hop and Spanish music and laughter between friends and neighbors became soundmarks. The sound felt like it had a choppy texture that was still full.
At first I felt a bit overwhelmed trying to remember every sound that I heard. Then I realized that that wasn’t the point. I realized how many sounds were repeated different times, how small the sounds were in a way. I never heard the same car engine for more than a few seconds or more than a couple of words from one conversation. It is all of the little bits of sound that make up a sort of symphony, a specific symphony for each neighborhood
