I’ve only witnessed Shoreham Power Station do this once before. Huge fluffy white clouds billow out from vents, and a midrange drone echoes around the space. I’m positioned on the pavement and large lorries pass fast behind me making me wobble. Listening back I’m struck by how the roaring vents, trucks and wind churned sea all blur and blend in to a pleasing soundscape. Occasionally small birds chatter and tweet along with the sounds of industry.
I’m thinking about the chapter in Mark Peter Wright’s brilliant Listening After Nature, about the ‘Noisy-Nonself’. How my instinct is to erase all signs of my being here in this recording moment. As if the mic just became, and made this recording under its own volition. As I write this my hood, pulled up to keep out the ferocious wind, flaps and ripples, and instantly I fear for my recordings’ purity, as if it will lose its worth and value if my presence is discovered. More thinking needed on this matter but I love where it takes my mind.
