Gathering Sounds

By Tenali Hrenak

In Gathering Sounds, readers are introduced to the Rainbow gathering community through the audio archive project, Sounds from the Rainbow. As part of this experience, readers are invited to wander through 50 unique sound files or Sound-Trails, following a choose-your-own-listening-adventure model, which utilizes a Rainbow Trail theme to imaginatively walk within various gathering soundscapes. A lavishly illustrated, multimedia, full-color you-are-there experience is also a folkloric exploration of Rainbow gatherings, a free non-commercial outdoor event held in remote locations building a loose-knit community of kindred spirits all around the world for over fifty years.

 

This ethnographic listener guidebook from author and radio and podcast producer Tenali Hrenak features over a hundred interactive aural experiences—folk music, chants, poetry & spoken word, nature ambience, and what have you—drawn from a quarter century of field recording at Rainbow gatherings, as well as copious illustrations and essays from nine contributors.

 

* Internet connection required to listen to or download audio experiences

* Full-color images on applicable devices

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gathering Sounds
• Release date: Jan 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985898729

Book preview

Part One: Behind the Sounds from the Rainbow

Art by Aysha Haifa Ansar

Chapter 1 Introducing The Archive

Photo by Trillium ‘Hot Pan’ Commongood

In this book, Gathering Sounds: Field Recording with the Rainbow Family, we journey together through the audio archive project, Sounds from the Rainbow,[5] featuring over 1,500 freely available field recordings made over a 20-year period at Rainbow gatherings. As part of this experience, you are invited to wander through 50 unique Sound-Trails, following a choose-your-own-listening-adventure format, which utilizes a Rainbow Trail theme to imaginatively walk within various gathering soundscapes, encouraging us to ponder:

In what ways does sound constitute a community (and its associated cultures), as in this case, the Rainbow community, shaping, creating, and reflecting individual and group identities? When is a sound just a sound and when is a sound considered music, noise, or something else entirely? How does the recording environment shape the listening experience? How do Rainbow sounds transform the relationship between the listeners and sound-maker(s)? What do these sounds tell us about Rainbow culture(s)? What do we not hear about Rainbow culture(s) in these recordings? How do sounds take us back to places or help us travel to places we have never been?

When exploring these questions, the power and importance of sounds and music at Rainbow gatherings is evidenced in numerous ways, including: the disruption of capitalist models of music production, performance, and sharing; the non-commercial grassroots field recording and audio archiving practices focused on acoustic performances that challenge mainstream studio recording models; the ways in which the music itself critiques systems of power, privilege, and oppression across a whole host of social issues; the equitable platforms provided for musicians of all skills levels from the first-time performer who just picked up a guitar to the well-known, touring musician; the spontaneous musical collaborations that come about unexpectedly, creating new opportunities for creativity and community; and finally, the intentional blurring of the boundaries between audience and performer, involving a wide range of interactive and improvisational sound offerings.

My goal is to present the material and let everyone discover their favorites, to identify and cull their own best-of recordings, and create their own compilations and playlists. Undoubtedly, there is something there for everyone. Whether collectively aware or not, this audio archive, and now this book, pays homage to and also contributes to the aforementioned folk process as far as I can tell, and if I feel I have any sense of what the folk process means―which in a nutshell, and as I understand it (and slightly embellish)―a way to remind us that the good ol’ days are actually these days passing us by; each generation simply singing the old songs new, adapting with their collective imprint.

In this spirit, while visiting a friend at their artist collective, Dreamtime Village, located a few hours west of Madison, in the driftless region of Wisconsin (shortly after the 2000 Montana Annual Rainbow Gathering[6]), I stumbled upon an article in the now-defunct journal, In Context.

Cultural animation, from the French animation socio- culturel, is a term that has gained increasing use internationally to describe community arts work which literally animates, or gives life to, the underlying dynamic of a community. The animateur is a community artist who helps people create and celebrate their own culture, drawing freely on the particular aspirations, myths, ethnic or historical heritage that bind them as a community. The animateur is a catalyst and synthesizer, as well as an organizer of work and an imparter of skills. Living and working in the mainstream of community life, the animateur comes to know the community intimately and is accepted as the community’s own. Animation work, by definition, involves people in a process of channeling their own creative energy toward a common goal. The process, as much as the product, enriches community life and imparts a sense of common identity. ―Peter Reynolds[7]

After reading this piece, the idea of Cultural Animateur stuck with me. Is that what I identify with if I had to give myself a title insofar as my Rainbow archival, audio projects, and folklorist endeavors go? Is this my answer to people when they ask me what I do?

There is a humorous metaphor often said at Rainbow: We are all the lead actors in our own movie. And since Rainbow is a non-commercial event put on by the public for the public, the potential for magical performance is part of the fabric of the event itself. Ergo, everyone is, in some sense, a Cultural Animateur, or the potential to be anyway, especially if we consider identity and roles as a spectrum rather than rooted in a fixed position.

Photo by Meadow Dancer, 2005 West Virginia Annual Rainbow Gathering[8]

A few months before recording for the first time at a Rainbow gathering, I had a conversation with an older fellow folk enthusiast, collector, and musician, who had not ever attended a gathering. To my surprise, he was pretty discouraging regarding my pursuit. In his view, field recording had already happened; nothing new under the sun. Do not bother with it, he told me assuredly. I disagreed and avowed my position on the matter. Still, I was unsure when it came to Rainbow gatherings, having attended for several years at that point. I had seen and taken part in the creativity of said gatherings, so I felt there was an opportunity to explore these sounds and share them with the world. He did concede by saying, Well, I see your heart is set on it, so go and do it, prove me wrong. I would be dishonest if I claimed I did not use our discussion as further motivation, a youthful prove-him-otherwise moment, not that I needed it, but it propelled me forward if nothing else.

So, I saved money working as many hours and days in a row as possible. Then, I purchased the assorted recording gear (more on those specifics to this in Chapter 3 Gearing Up to (Field) Record). In May, I participated in the scouting mission to help locate a site for the annual gathering in Montana. I tested my new equipment in various locales, recording creeks, birds, and other sounds from the natural world. Unfortunately, there was not much information readily available to help educate oneself on optimal field recording techniques back then. Folklorists like Alan Lomax were extensive and erudite when writing about the songs, people, and cultures, but not so much on the specifics of execution. Now, this is changing with the advent and increasing popularity of field recording. Today, published material, books, workshops, field recording soundscape projects, videos, social media groups, and blogs are more accessible. Gear, too, has become more affordable for amateur recordists like myself.

When I started, though, and considering the limited time before acquiring the equipment and attending the gathering, I had no choice but to proceed with a make-it-up-as-I-go approach. Toss in a strong vision, motivation, and inspired amateurism, and I was well on my way to recording, creating something out of many nothings. I had found gatherings were relatively conservative regarding photographs, but I discovered an openness and enthusiasm when I approached people about recording. To this day, this remains my experience, aided further, no doubt, by the two-decade commitment I have given to the project. Hopefully, the archive has offered something worthwhile and meaningful to the community and the world at large. Contributing to the folk process has been a reward unto itself. This project could not have been done alone. I have always strived to request permission when possible and, of course, in the spirit they were made, ensure that the recordings are always and forever, freely available. 

I did not have this luxury before the era of digital archiving, so when I would produce CDs, I was bound by time constraints (74 or 80 minutes per disc), which put me in a difficult position deciding what did or did not make the cut. It is much easier now and more efficient to upload the content online. If the quality is good and the imperfections and imbalances are minimal, I will share them. Not transferring all the recordings in real-time has also sped up the process. However, my connection to the recordings comes from a different place as a result. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. The podcasting era has been an excellent medium for me to select and curate a playlist mixing it all up as one continuous play, just like the bygone era of the mix-tape. So, in some sense, I came of age in the mix-tape era, and it has come full circle, though the medium of how we listen has changed.

For the initial years, I titled the project and subsequent CD compilations, Rainbow Family Circus & Tribal Zoo. That playful yet incredibly twee title came from an old friend, Frenchy, who jokingly described the gathering to a Forest Service ranger with the said descriptor, which I then used as a CD compilation title. While it seemed like a good idea at the time, since 2013, I retitled the project Sounds from the Rainbow as I feel it better describes the archive. Title aside, I would produce a best of compilation CD, featuring a variety of performers, genres, and styles. 

Most years and gatherings, and because of finances and time involved with producing a CD, amounted to, on average, a two-CD compilation. Each disk runtime spanned over an hour. Without devoting too much effort, I would include a single-page photo for album cover art from the gathering, or preferably perhaps a friend would contribute artwork. The backside would consist of the tracklist, a brief note, and contact information. The covers looked primitive and homespun. The CD compilations and later the website contained the familiar statement: Pass Freely—No Sale or Commercial Use.

Cover Art by Alexandria Rain Smith, 2003 Utah Annual Rainbow Gathering

Overall, the CDs were pretty basic and by-the-bootstraps DIY low-budget endeavors. I did not have the capital to produce anything grander. I would burn a few CDs here and there as time allowed. The CD burner(s) I used would take upwards of 10 minutes per disc. Sometimes friends would help burn as well. I received email requests for copies, or someone would mention them in person. Happily, I obliged. So in the spirit of the ‘roots’[9] distribution method, I would mail the CDs to others who volunteered to make extra copies, and the roots would branch out from there. Surprisingly, as I learned later, they would make their way around the country, even to other countries. I estimate that several thousand were eventually burned and given away. I would hand the CDs out to family, friends, and various kitchens and camps at subsequent gatherings to strangers through chance meetings, but sometimes I would leave them in public places, say a truck stop, like easter eggs. In their own way, it became its own phenomenon, very much in the spirit of old-school punk underground musical distribution and 1980s and 90s era mixtapes.

We have since transitioned from the album era to the playlist era. I do not miss the tediousness of burning CDs, but I do harbor some nostalgia for the old ways of distribution or the spirit behind it rather than the CDs themselves. The project is still DIY and word-of-mouth, but a slight distance is felt by simply uploading the files online. It is a similar sentiment felt by record collectors who would pilfer record shops and engage in actual human-to-human encounters, hardcore nerd sessions. Platitude says that the only constant is change, so if you cling too much to the past, you are bound to sink with it. Onwards, Ho!

In the autumn of 2002, Rob Savoye offered to upload and host the audio on his website welcomehome.org, which at the time was undoubtedly the most popular (unofficial) Rainbow-related website. His website included scans of old publications, artwork, photos, general information, Hipstories[10], gathering directions, etc. The website is mainly defunct now, mostly existing as an archival relic and rarely updated. He later introduced me to someone who worked at the Internet Archive[11] and they suggested I host the recordings on what was then their relatively new digital library. Others and I, including one with whom I was acquainted and two with whom I have never met in person, also started uploading the compilations there as well. The roots continued to expand.

I affixed an Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license. It soon became the go-to place to find the recordings. As of summer 2022, some of the compilations have over 50,000 views (formally known as downloads)―even more if you add the duplicate uploads, but I have not compiled all the data together. These views are minuscule compared to influencers on YouTube, Tik Tok, et al., which have thousands of subscribers and millions of views. Regardless, it is impressive to me, considering this project has never been marketed nor actively promoted, which predates the going viral era, nor is it ever mentioned by publications―only ripples in the undercurrent of alternative culture discourse.

Since the advent of social media, I have announced that a new compilation is available or a new Rainbow-themed podcast has been published. Of course, not everyone is interested in attending a gathering, but some still look forward to and cherish the audio I bring back. I have received hundreds of kind messages and letters over the years from within and outside the Rainbow community. Many heartfelt ones, too, often express how the recordings have helped them get through a difficult time. Those messages have made the project worth the effort.

In 2005, my brother Matt volunteered to design my first archival website, rainbowtribe.net. The website listed the compilations and artwork by year/gathering with linked tracks and album compilations (mirrored from archive.org) that you could stream and/or download. In 2009, I redesigned and retitled the website musicfromtherainbow.org. However, I was not completely satisfied with that URL project name either. In late 2012, I switched to the current URL soundsfromtherainbow.org[12]. It is the most all-encompassing domain (and project title) because it is not just an archive with music, but it also includes poetry, stories, and field ambience. It took a while, but I finally found a name where I am (finally) content. Thus, I will henceforth use the Sounds from the Rainbow moniker.

In addition to distributing the compilations online, from 2010-2013, I would also offer the entire collection via data discs and mostly phased out producing CDs around 2012. I handed out a few hundred copies to friends and strangers alike. Since 2015, mailing and gifting the entire collection on a thumb drive/flash drive is the only means of physical distribution I have done. Using an internet file transfer service eliminates physical objects altogether. Subsequently, I pasted a link to download the entire archive on the Sounds from the Rainbow website. The ZIP folder also includes compilation album art, genre spreadsheets, and Rainbow-themed podcast episodes.

Of note: the 2004 California, the 2005 Panama, 2005 Mexico, 2005 West Virginia, and 2006 Colorado compilations, in the height of my burning and distributing CD era, I spliced in various outtakes at the end of each track. A friend of mine, Mikhail Graham, later remarked how I do a similar thing on my radio show and podcast productions. He called these ephemeral bits the tweeners. Besides being a creative outlet, splicing in outtakes allowed me to include aural bits and pieces that I found interesting but did not know how to present, considering the time constraints imposed by a CD. On the 2004 California compilation, on two or three tracks, I looped a phrase or sound here and there during the tweeners, which I had not done before (or since).

My primary intent during this phase was to make the CD one continuous montage, connecting each track, and bringing the listener into a gathering. So, if you listen to the tracks online from these compilations, you will discover a plethora of unique soundscapes that hopefully amplify your listening experience. Since they were mixed as a continuous montage, they do not fade in/out as I would customarily do, except for the fade-in on the initial track and the fade-out on the final track. I am always looking to incorporate sounds that (potentially) inspire us to be keener listeners and reshape how we listen and even how we define what is or is not music. Hence, I had other ambitions besides simply splicing in outtakes. 

Cover Art by Contralta Von Splatter, 2005 West Virginia Annual Rainbow Gathering

I have sorted through the older MiniDisks, DAT tapes, or SD cards on three different occasions. I would archive recordings that were just as fascinating―not mere throwaway b-sides―as what made the original compilations. I titled these collections The Leftovers 2000 - 2008, S’more Leftovers 2008 - 2010, and Leftovers III: The MiniDisc Years 2000-2009, respectively. Leftovers III was the most time-consuming of the three. For Leftovers and S’more Leftovers, though, I already had transferred the tracks to an external hard drive, so I uploaded them with relative ease, drag and drop. However, for Leftovers III, there were 120 MiniDiscs and over 150 hours worth of untransferred material stored in a box tucked away in a closet waiting to be uncovered. But considering the number of discs, they remained dormant for many years. It was a bucket list task. Knowing I had to listen to each file and transfer all the usable material in real-time (it is so much quicker these days with SD cards) felt insurmountable. But, in 2017, I finally dedicated time and transferred all the discs. The minidisc recorder I have is over twenty years old, and I was not confident if it was up for the arduous task anymore, not to mention that I would have to buy a used one online if it malfunctioned. Thankfully, it was in good working order, and I managed to cull and archive 295 tracks.

The unarchived outtakes from the ambient soundscapes, or what have you, still have a place, even though they may not be worth it as an independent track. As mentioned, on compilations from 2004-2006, I used to splice in these odds and ends but stopped doing so when I discontinued making CD-Rs, opting instead to focus on curating the online archive. But that all changed when I started doing radio (and soon after podcasting) again, after being away from that world during my peak globe-trotting escapades, which is an excellent medium for sound designers.

I occasionally produce a Rainbow field recording-themed episode surrealistically titled, Totally High Holy Rainbow-Coloured Spirit Hawk of Awakened Manifestation for my radio show and podcast, Muddy Boots. I weave said outtake sounds and snippets―tweeners―into the playlist between songs, poems, or stories. I could showcase these aural tchotchkes, many of which are only a few seconds in length. In said episodes, and like the show itself, I do not just play a song followed by another song, rinse and repeat, ad infinitum. Rather, my curated playlists are a sound collage or, more befittingly, what I call a sound painting. I have an array of Rainbow archives and outtakes to make episodes till the cows come (welcome) home. I attempt to immerse you into the gathering where you feel like you are there regardless of whether you have attended one or not. I want you to feel like you are indeed in the forest, deep in the wilderness of your mind.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, my partner Kristen Blinne and I produced an ever-growing Rainbow-themed guided meditation series titled Rainbow Family of Lifelong Learning: An Educational Sound Meditation Series. Additionally, prompted by friends, in late 2021 and 2022, I released Heartsongs[13] Vol. 1-10 and Omnium Gatherum Vol. 1-10 compilation albums. All the tracks were culled from the archive. They are, in essence, a homage to the album format. You can listen to and/or download all of those on the Sounds from the Rainbow website.

Photo by Trailbright Morningstar 2009/10 New Zealand World Rainbow Gathering

Many gather to experience things like healing, love, and connection. People work together, and food is shared, which helps make one feel welcome. We source from all over the human emotional spectrum, often syncretistically, when we tell stories, hang out, collaborate on projects, and play music. Rainbow encourages expression, and it means different things to different people. Thus, the spectrum of viewpoints is expansive.

Some of the recordings harbor the auspices of spontaneous song-making. In contrast, others follow the careful rigidities of music composition, though mostly light-hearted in their offering. I believe these recordings illuminate the phenomenon―and all the epiphenomena―of a gathering; aural messengers that celebrate creativity and connection. The function of music, stories, and poetry in the Rainbow context and how this has changed or not changed over time are displayed tout court. Some of the recordings rest on traditional sources―reimagined with Rainbow effervescence.

Part One: Behind the Sounds from the Rainbow gives backstory and additional context to a Rainbow gathering, my journey into field recording, various gathering recording environments, and the project itself. In Part Two: Choose Your Own Rainbow Trail of this book, the Sound-Trail adventures will wander like a listener’s guide and imaginatively examine a song, poem, sound, or story related to the gathering where they were recorded to highlight creative expression.

Moreover, maybe the recordings will impart a sentiment you resonate with and/or inspire questions: How does listening to random field recordings from some far-off place impel one to scribe words on a page? What creates moments of teary-eyed joy? What is the role of music in storytelling? What keeps the intrepid troubadour going? What thoughts and emotions arise when listening to a particular recording? Such deliberations could easily make you question the answers.

The fact that the performances were expressed gratuitously, recorded, and shared under the same guise, qualifies them, in my unobjective view, as authentic and timeless. This is the folk process in action through the Rainbow lens, which, for me, is why the collection continues to venture forth unencumbered as a magical treasure trove of relevant audio delights. It would be banal to do otherwise. Wrestled and wrangled from monetary concerns or pursuits, the performances flow freely like the sharing of food. This is the way.

Art by Talulaburns

The Sounds from the Rainbow archive is a strange and beautiful oddity, a phenomenon like the gatherings themselves. May they henceforth beam like a herald harkening back to how it used to be before the commodified world churned it into a business. May they also be as endearing as hanging out with an old friend, knowing we are in this together, rekindling a spirit of everlasting connection with everyday people and their everyday eternal slipstream of song that binds us like a comfy campfire. May they rise to meet you, through thick and thin, to greet you, living and loving as best we can, and enrich you when you need it the most, and may y(our) story be told, too.

The archive presents a union of songs that, as mentioned, exist outside the commodified world; hence—oft-overlooked and ignored. Whether that presents incredible musicianship or performance to a simple, everyday folk song or spoken word, I attempt to be a torchbearer, a Cultural Animateur, serving as a conduit to highlight creative expression and share our struggles and joys, annoyances, pain, laughter, prayers, and dreams, in a way we can all relate. May we remember that as we navigate through the world, we do not lose our humanity along the way, our awe, and wonder, our sense of belonging, a community on the move—recognizing that life is a gift. May we live it well.

Chapter 2 Field Tripping: A Sound Vision

Art by Didit Nofandi

Walk so silently that the bottoms of your feet become ears —Pauline Oliveros

The desert is a remarkably quiet place―save for the occasional howl of the wind or a pack of coyotes―it is as close to silence as I have ever experienced. I have not been in an anechoic chamber, so the desert is the closest I have been to complete silence. My body remained quiescent as if a psychonaut had hit the pause button. The hushed landscape engulfed me, honing a deeper listen, unifying the voice within and around me.

Suddenly, the confounding effects of the mescaline propelled me into a vibrant visionary state, and I transformed into an ear, morphing into one of the most fascinating of our senses. I immediately thought of the ritualistic game that a Huichol had shared earlier, but that slowly dissolved, too. I was no longer the standard synergistic interplay of mind and body but an ear aligned with universal consciousness. In this ear-fully calm repose, a voice whispered in the wind like some ancient, ritualistic breathy whistle, calling for me to take notice and pay attention. The voice had a message forthcoming. Insofar as I perceived the situation, perhaps it was all mere projection. It is hard to say, especially considering one of the great mysteries in life as to whether the brain produces consciousness or whether it is merely transmitted by said organ. Nevertheless, it is safe to assume I was firmly rooted in a deep listening state, which for me, results when one becomes immersed in a three-dimensional sound experience. 

Suddenly, from the unknowable unknown land of wherever, a prismatic rainbow hue of sound spiraled around me. Visionary aural thoughts arose about the curious sounds from Rainbow Gatherings―the stories, poems, conversational snippets, trailside soundbites, outdoor ambiance, and songs. Thoughts turned to our ancestors and music's integral role in their oral tradition. I considered how I might preserve the soundings of a curious subcultural phenomenon. The severance of time mucks the thread of song when traditions wane, and I lament this fact. I follow with: maybe the recordings will even benefit people. Not a profound insight, but no less meaningful.

Field recording is an impressionable recording environment, a blank canvas where aural dreams paint their story. But the folk traditions are dead now, they say: get over it. Field recording is limited to the early and mid-20th-century era; it’s kaput. No, I must resist this inclination towards mundanity, I thought.

Curiously, I continued to hear the sounds of rainbows. I took the inner musing and whispering voice as the harbinger of a meaningful message. The day's warm air soon slipped away, chasing the setting sun. A kinship to evening's namesake, Dark Night, emerged with trickster howls, infusing a lasting memory of sonic wonderment, thus unfolding into a yearning for deeper listening, being perpetually in awe at the delicious sounds we can make: the awful, the unsavory, the boisterous, irreverent, incidental the important, the teachable power of music, the undeniable connection of being human, being alive at all, bound together in the earth song. 

Photo by Howda Fukawi and Saturation by Everlasting Greywater, 2000 Montana Annual Rainbow Gathering

The essence of America lies not in the headlined heroes…but in the everyday folks who live and die unknown, yet leave their dreams as legacies.

―Alan Lomax

From my early teenager explorations in the library in the early 1990s, I discovered Sounds of the South, recorded by Alan Lomax; Harry Partch’s microtonal compilations and his seminal compilation, The Anthology of American Folk Music; Blues masters like Charlie Patton, Blind Willie Johnson, and Mississippi John Hurt; Yazoo Record comps featuring 1920s & 30s hillbilly, jazz, and folk artists; Balinese Gamelan Orchestras, Indian Ragas, Zimbabwe: The Soul of Mbira; mid-20th-century jazz explorations by the likes of Alice Coltrane, Don Cherry, et al.; and Steven Feld’s Voices of the Rainforest: A Day in the Life of the Kaluli People.

These recordings aroused in me a warm welcome and invitation into auditory awakening and discovery.  I continued to expand my auditory curiosity in recurring visits, but those initial finds lit the fire permanently in me. In short, my mind was blown. Being 15 years old and living a pre-internet existence, I had no prior exposure to this variety of music. To learn more about field recordings, I read as much as possible about Alan Lomax and other prominent field recordists, such as Steven Feld, David Lewiston, Bernie Krause, Charles Duvelle, and Tony Schwartz. I was immediately drawn to reading the extensive liner notes by labels like Ocaro, Lyrichord, Nonsuch, Folkways. To this day, I am as captivated by a compilation for the liner notes as the recordings themselves. However, I am equally drawn to and mystified by opaque compilations from a modern label like Sublime Frequencies, where very little information is given.

Uncovering these various records and compilations not only expanded my musical appreciation but my worldview as well. These discoveries unsurprisingly turned me into an avid music collector, focusing on historically packaged releases and distinct artists, eras, and genres. My collection includes LPs, 78 RPMs, Tapes, CDs, and digital content (WAVs and MP3s). I am like a little child opening a present on their birthday when I find a stellar release. I do not shy away from popular commercial releases, whether old or contemporaneous, but I gravitate to the overlooked and the forgotten about, though no less exceptional and spellbinding.  These excursions have sent me down a musical rabbit hole, and the journey continues. 

As a voracious reader and researcher covering a variety of subjects, I think of myself as an amateur ethnomusicologist and historian, leading me to independently study psychoacoustics, radio production, sound studies, and audio production. The fact that my musical horizons expanded through discovering "world[14]" and old field recordings has undoubtedly encouraged my voracious reading habits. Listening to field recordings pried my mind open just as much as some sacred or scholarly text. 

I have a strong interest in instruments, their history, musical genres and theory, and their impact on our lives. My love for the Scottish folk group, The Incredible String Band, using an array of instruments from around the world, inspired me to pick up playing various instruments―most notably in recent years―the folk harp. My exposure to the Soul of Mbira musical compilation (and later the book, The Soul of Mbira: Music and Traditions of the Shona People of Zimbabwe) led me subsequently to study and play the mbira itself. The mbira, a traditional musical instrument of the Shona people in Zimbabwe, consists of a piece of wood with metal tines attached to it and is played by plucking the tines with your thumbs and right hands forefinger. Musicologists classify the mbira as a lamellaphone, which is part of the idiophone family of musical instruments. I studied the traditional songs, history, and culture with Erica Azim, one of the premier Western authorities and practitioners of this instrument, along with several mbira players from Zimbabwe, including Patience Chaitezvi Munjeri, Caution Shonhai, and Forward Kwenda. 

The natural world of my youth in Wisconsin’s hills, valleys, and forests became the song of sounds I wished to sing. My days were spent roaming the landscape hiking, dreaming away in a meadow while staring at a butterfly fluttering around, writing and reading poetry, or listening to the red-wing blackbirds and croaking frog choruses. I would sit perched against a Burr Oak, reading Gary Snyder, Alan Watts, Taoist and Sufi mystics, science-fiction and fantasy, the transcendentalists, underground novels, or naively noodling around with a flute, jaw harp, or drum. I consider my wanderings in the great outdoors to have vastly enriched my listening skills within the environment, inviting me to be a more sensitive listener. In truth, these experiences honed how I listen to sound in general. 

The great outdoors has also helped me