Three victories in a row for the 3leaves label (following releases by Craig Vear and Steve Roden) and a hat trick for David Vélez as well, following releases on Unfathomless and Impulsive Habitat. El Pájaro que Escucha (the bird that listens) is different from Vélez’ other recent works in that it is less a soundscape than a series of untreated recordings. The beauty is that it is only three months old; this is exactly what the outskirts of Palomino, Colombia sounded like in January.
The single, hour-long piece unfolds as a battle between sound and sound intrusion. Those who have read The Great Animal Orchestra or similar works are already well-versed in this topic. Very few “pure” sound environments remain, and even birds have been known to change their cries in imitation of or response to mechanized or “civilized” impositions. Vélez places the conflict front and center by opening the piece with the sound of an airplane passing overhead; instead of avoiding the distant roar, he acknowledges the problem by shining a spotlight upon it. This makes a crucial difference in the reception of the recording. We are used to hearing field recordings the other way around: the sounds, and then the intrusions “ruining” the moment. But since the intrusions come first – more than one plane in sequence – their disappearance fills the listener with awe. “So this is what nature sounds like! I never would have known.”
In the natural spaces, additional species make their presence known. The bird that listens may be the one biding its time, waiting for an opening in the sonic field in order to sound its mating cry. Those familiar with the sounds of different species will have – pun intended – a field day. The fourteenth minute also introduces the sound of what seems to be a roaring waterfall – a nice break in the action for a different kind of action – but in the end, it’s all about the birds, the natural cries that few people outside of Columbia have ever heard. (And it’s a safe bet to say that many people inside Columbia have never listened.) From 21:48 to 35:17 we experience a period of near-uninterrupted beauty, during which Vélez must have been very, very still. The nocturnal tranquility of this segment is astonishing, a pocket of peace that stays in the listener’s mind even as things grow busy once again. The later segments add a welcome contrast, with even more birds, plus on at least one occasion the rustling of wings. (Kudos on that one!)
When human sounds begin to intrude again (most obviously at 57:10), we are reminded of how fortunate we are to have this sonic artefact. As more of the world’s pure environments disappear, we’ll need recordings like this to tell us how the earth once sounded. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 