Abstract
In January 2003 I went for a walk in the area around my parent’s home in Calgary, Canada. It was a typical January day (minus 20 C), freshly fallen snow and wide open blue sky. I walked through deep snow, on pavements that had just been scraped clear and on snow already compressed by passing cars. I heard the crunching and creaking snow beneath my shoes, thinking all the while that each step held a little microcosm of intricate sound. I went past large fields of unbroken blankets of white and through crisp air broken only by my breath and ringing church bells. I went home and cleared the snow from my parent’s sidewalks until my ears hurt too much from the cold and I retreated back indoors to some warming beverages.
Frosty is made up of sounds recorded on that walk, transformed into something very different and removed from the original experience while retaining, I think, the qualities of the snow on that day.
Frosty is made up of sounds recorded on that walk, transformed into something very different and removed from the original experience while retaining, I think, the qualities of the snow on that day.
Original language | English |
---|---|
Publication status | Published - 2003 |