Hello and welcome to GOLDMINING, a creative diary.
I’m a big fan of found sounds. I’m a big found of fan sounds. I’m a big sound of found fans. Pardon the aside, but this is a blog about creativity; the way creative springboards generously lie before us. And when they do, we ought to leap. If there’s an opening, burst through. A door, kick it in. Or open it gently. Knock, at least. Up to you, but participation is key—if something is to be made.
From that little exercise in wordplay, I resonate most with “I’m a big sound”, and will happily add that to my notes app under LYRICS / IDEAS. The last thing I put in there was “happy childhood universe and the demon of progress”. I don’t remember where that came from, and had forgotten about it, but seeing it now, I like it.
Back to found sounds: wind, rain, trains, people, power tools, creaky doors etc. The music of the world. Not music, per se, but totally musical, wouldn’t you say? Like kindling being split:
I like the process of scavenging for soundbites as much as I like what they offer the music. It’s nice to get out of the house, and out of your head, and collaborate with the elements. Paired with a photowalk, I’m truly in my happy place. It stays with me too. I’ve spent a lot of time in studios, and I’m fortunate to say so, but I don’t remember much of it in detail. It’s a blur of microphones, isolation booths, consoles, amps and wires. Whereas, I’ll never forget stopping to record birdsong along a river in Zurich.
Earlier this month, while skulking around downtown Vancouver, I stopped to record a street preacher, which turned into a conversation. Listening back, I was taken by the rhythm of our exchange, so I transcribed it, paired it with a few photos from a church in Barcelona, and posted the result here on Substack. Why not. Whenever things like this happen, I’m struck by how much they enrich the day and, in turn, my life. If an actual creative work comes from it, that’s a bonus, as is any reception or career momentum. The priority is the process. All else follows.
Further proof that unexpected things happen when you stop to knock at the door of ideation came in Mumbai a few months ago. I was on a photowalk when I heard music overhead: singing and drums. I pulled out my phone, held it up, and paced around looking for the best sonic position. A street vendor noticed me and asked if I’d like to see the music. Yes, of course.
He led me into a building, up an elevator, and into a large open banquet hall a few floors up. When I walked in, hundreds of heads turned toward me. Most belonged to women in traditional Indian dress. In front of them was a stage, separated by a six-foot gap.
On the stage sat roughly twenty five men and women. One of the men crossed over to greet me, then led me to the gap and had me sit directly facing the women, my back to the stage. No words were exchanged, as if they had been expecting me. Under hundreds of curious eyes, I sat there, entirely outside myself, as the ceremony commenced. After the music, people were called to the stage, draped in shawls, and given flowers in some kind of blessing, while everyone clapped. And then it was my turn. My turn?
As I received my blessing, applause rang out, along with playful laughter for the unlikely foreigner clearly out of his element. I thought about moving to a less conspicuous spot, but as I drifted toward the side of the room, the same man who had fetched me called out, firmly indicating that I return to my special seat. I did as instructed, cheeks burning. Then it was time for speeches.
One by one, ten to fifteen people were called to the stage to deliver short impassioned speeches, amplified through a PA. It was all in Hindi, so not understanding what was being said, my mind began to wander. I thought about why I get so nervous or shy, or feel out of place, unable to relax and properly be in the moment, especially this moment, which was a special moment. I thought about my permanent furrow and how I’ve been furrowing since I was a child, slowly carving this indelible wedge into my head over the decades. I thought about the time I told an ex that if I didn’t know her but saw her on the street, I’d think she was pretty. She ran the same thought experiment and told me she’d think I was angry.
Then I wondered: do I look angry now? Do my hosts think I’m not having a good time, or that I’m ungrateful for this amazing experience? I tried to relax my face and look happy, placid. Then I worried I looked weird. The spell of rumination suddenly broke as all eyes returned to me, the mic extended in my direction. It was my turn to speak. Good god.
It was all very out-of-body, but I said something to the effect of, “Namaste, I’m Ryan, a musician from Canada, performing at Lollapalooza, here in India for the first time, thank you very much for welcoming me into your ceremony.” Again came the clapping and much sweet laughter at my expense, which I happily joined in on. The evening concluded with chai, samosas, and socializing.
I hadn’t listened back to the voice memo from the street until just recently, but I delighted in opening a portal back to that wonderful, uncomfortable evening. As mentioned, the found-sound method is great for summoning nostalgia. The audio was mostly unusable, but there was a brief moment that I chopped up, pitched, and reworked into a lo-fi glitch loop. In certain cases, it’s important to me that these sound bites become something entirely new and original—a warped echo—rather than a literal capture, closer to the art form of sampling.
The key and tempo were dictated by the contents of the loop—another thing I like about starting a song this way: certain parameters are imposed, not chosen, which adds to the feeling of collaboration. I did, in fact, learn what the ceremony was called—Haldi Kumkum—and what it signified (below) so I used that to steer myself lyrically.
The result is much less a song than an idea. It took a few tries and many hours down several wrong production paths before I landed on something that felt right, by which point I was burnt out on it. I may never return to finish it, but I enjoyed the exercise, and it felt meaningful to honour this unique experience with a creative effort.
Onto the next, and into the mine.
XORG
“Scary” :
LYRICS:
Who am I to marry
Who am I to carry
And by whom will I be carried
Who am I to show the ogre to
All the evil and the greedy in me, in me
Holy shit, Shiva, that’s scary
Who am I, who am I, who am I
Who am I, who am I, who am I
To marry
Whenever you post something here, I get a feeling of anxiety. Not in a bad way. I put everything into a translator and read it. More than once. When you were answering the “Questions” on Discord I translated the entire recording so I wouldn't miss ANYTHING. What you do inspires me very very much, Mr. Ryan. I had never thought that the world has music. Even though it seems obvious in a way, they're just sounds that surround us, but no one had ever interpreted them as music. I only realized this after you. It amazes me more than I can say. Because of you, I notice springboards beneath my feet. They're still small but they're there. And oh my god, I really loved “Scary” :)
WOAH this is insane…I always struggle with reading (comprehending and keeping focus to understand anything) but with this I just naturally sat and read the entire thing and understood it and was fully zoned in and first time ive ever got such intense feelings just from reading something…
The photos are incredible and the music gave me goosebumps, im in so much awe and shock right now…WOW!!