And so, We Listen

When Tom Day created the album Sounds of the Conservation Reserve, he handed the microphone over – to the residents of the old-growth Yellowbox tree, to the howling wind (that nearly claimed one of his tripods!), to the insects, and to the birds. Artists everywhere draw on nature as inspiration, but it’s another thing altogether to write music in collaboration with her. The sounds you hear are transmitted directly from Bank Australia’s Conservation Reserve, a customer-owned, 927-hectare swath of land in Western Victoria. Home to 225 native plant and 270 native animal species, Bank Australia customer and artist Tom Day was commissioned to sonically communicate the wild cacophony of the reserve in hopes of reminding us of our roots in nature. We had the pleasure of listening to Tom reflect on what it means to listen to this planet, and the value of sound in connecting us with the land.

Words by:
Anna Hutchcroft @annahutch_photo

Photography by:
Tom Day @tjtdaymusic

You’re no stranger to going out into the bush to listen. Can you describe how the way you listen to natural landscapes may be different to the way you listen to man-made ones? 
In natural landscapes, you must allow yourself time to adjust and immerse in the environment. It isn’t the case of just standing still for a few minutes, it’s sitting and listening for long periods of time and trying to focus on the sounds that otherwise might pass you by. Urban or city soundscapes, while interesting texturally, just lack the ability to ‘open up’ to the listener.

Music has the paradoxical ability to allow us to escape and connect or remember and forget. As individuals, we each bring a different set of experiences and memories to audial triggers. For you, who began writing atmospheric music more seriously during your time as a PhD student, what was it about this situation that sparked a leap into your art more fully?
I often think about those days of writing music during my stint as a PhD student. It was a combination of me using my music as a diary or journal for how I was feeling and as a form of escapism from both the PhD experience and living in the city environment (I missed having easy access to nature). Reflecting on my discography, you can see I was conflicted with which career pathway to choose. Track titles like Who We Want To Be, Crossroads, New Beginnings and My Last Year were all written in the peak period of my PhD experience. 

You’ve recorded and produced music to accompany footage of wild, austere, and beautiful landscapes. The creation of the album for Bank Australia followed almost the inverse process: you were giving voice to the inherent score of the landscape – allowing nature an opportunity to compose her own soundtrack. It seems that not having formal musical training has allowed you to listen and create without the kind of inhibition that may come with a desire to create music ‘correctly.’  What’s it been like forging your own path into the industry? 
Being paid a small stipend during my PhD was such a blessing now that I look back at my musical journey. It allowed me to have enough income to pay the bills/rent/food, etc. but more importantly, it allowed me to take a risk and change the direction of the music I was writing. I felt I was in a cycle of trying to write the next dancefloor hit and use that as a catalyst to break into the industry. Deep down, I knew that genre of music was not what I enjoyed writing so being able to clean the slate and start fresh with something I could call my own was a pivotal moment in my career. Not having any formal training has its drawbacks in that I cannot comfortably play on stage, cannot easily communicate what I’m actually playing and at times can feel quite isolating since I haven’t been part of a ‘scene’ as such. 

In saying that, there are also aspects I like; that is, I feel quite free in my approach to writing melody and progressions. I also use lots of other textures and tones to tell the story as opposed to traditional instruments. There is only so much you can learn in books; the rest is just translating those feelings and ideas down onto paper (or Ableton in this case!).

“I think a big part of why we are in this mess to begin with is because we have forgotten our roots to nature. I often get feedback from listeners all over the world saying the inclusion of field recordings helps them re-centre and escape the daily grind. I hope subconsciously that also means they are re-establishing some inherent connection with the land and environment around them.”

When you went out to the Bank Australia Conservation Reserve, you did so with less of a plan, and more of an intention to spontaneously capture what emerged from the landscape. What were some of the first sounds you noticed and how did the environment around you influence your creative process? 
The Wimmera region of Victoria is quite arid and sparse, so I wasn’t sure what I was in for when I visited the reserve. Traditionally I gravitate to areas that feature lots of rich sounds (moving water, rain, thunderstorms, dense forest) so I was worried I would not have much to record. Those worries quickly melted away when I came across an old-growth yellow box (Eucalyptus melliodora) which is located at the center of the reserve. That tree was sustaining so much life for ant species, native bees, birdlife and with it, a rich array of sounds (heard in Life in the Yellow Gums). 

That tree alone became a focus of the trip because I felt like it captured the essence of the area. Another sound I was keen to try to capture was the whistling sounds the native Buloke trees (Allocasuarina luehmannii) made during wind gusts. Unfortunately, this turned out harder than anticipated with blown over tripods, too much distortion and hence unusable recordings. We plan to return in the coming months so that recording is something that may feature in the next EP!

Sometimes the gratitude that is felt for our natural world is accompanied by a pang of sadness in knowing it’s likely we won’t see the same natural abundance that exists today. Do you think that music and field recordings have the capacity to communicate important issues surrounding climate change and conservation?
I hope so. I think a big part of why we are in this mess to begin with is because we have forgotten our roots to nature. I often get feedback from listeners all over the world saying the inclusion of field recordings helps them re-centre and escape the daily grind. I hope subconsciously that also means they are re-establishing some inherent connection with the land and environment around them.

For those who slow down enough to listen, time’s passing is marked by changes in the sonic landscape. Different sounds accompany sunrise, or rain, or the turning of the seasons. How would you describe the sounds you recorded at different times of day? Do you have any plans to return to the reserve to capture it in a different seasonal phase? 
Nothing beats that golden hour just before sunrise when the birdsong is at its peak. I often set my alarm for when it is still dark so I can position my microphones and have everything recording long before the sun surfaces on the horizon. Similarly, I also love setting the microphones up to capture the transition from day to night as you capture the first sounds of the nocturnal animals leaving their burrows or nests to begin their night out and the insects and frogs that become more active in the dark of night. 

I’m really excited to return to the reserve during the colder seasons as the first EP was recorded in the peak of summer. The land has seasonal wetlands and dams so I’m sure there are a lot of aquatic species to capture as well as some nice rainstorm/thunderstorm sequences.

What is it you hope people connect to when they listen to the album Sounds of the Conservation Reserve?
I hope they connect to something I feel is inherently found in all of us – a deep personal connection to the land that has sustained us and many species for hundreds of thousands of years. I hope it reestablishes this connection and reminds us that we need to do everything in our power to protect and regenerate areas that have been decimated by human activity.

To tune into the sounds of the Wimmera Region on Barengi Gadjin Land, check out Sounds of the Conservation Reserve on Spotify.