Sonic Commentary: Meaning through Hearing

AS AN ARTIST working with sound and an individual whose family history was shaped by historical and political circumstances in Central Europe, I should find “The Politics of Sound Art” a highly relevant topic—and I do, although I wonder what this title actually means.

Wikipedia, not necessarily a source of reliable information, defines “music” as “an art form whose medium is sound and silence.” Is “sound art,” then, a form of music that does not include the possibility of silence? Initially, that seems like an absurd notion. But when listening closely, we must admit that there is no such thing as absolute silence, as even John Cage, whose emancipation of sounds hitherto not considered “musical,” was crucial in enabling the emergence of sound art as a distinct art form, readily admitted. And thus sound art is, perhaps, really that form of music that does not include silence. As we consider sound a phenomenon in and of itself, not created for the purpose of music per se and yet available as a compositional tool, the sheer act of listening embarks us on a search for meaning.

Yet what is the “Politics” of sound art? The artistic framing of political agendas by means of sound? Aural agit-prop? Discourse on the politics and intrigue among and between sound artists?

In my choice of artists and pieces for this compilation, I hope to address various possibilities. I contacted as diverse a set of living, active artists as I could, and looking at the featured pieces, interesting parallels emerge. A product of our modern, technology-driven age, sound art tends to appear more globalized than localized in its aesthetic conventions. Yet the U.S.-based contributors, Burtner and Ibarra, both focus on nature—might that be due to the historical disconnect between art and politics in a country with no ministry of culture and no official cultural agenda on the part of government? Or perhaps it is related to that country’s deficit in certain aspects of environmental consciousness, which artists are trying to raise? The South African contributors, Orecchia and Webb, on the other hand, tell stories about urban space: perhaps that’s no coincidence in a country where ethnic groups were geographically segregated during apartheid, and where the division of agricultural land and the desegregation of cities remain hotly discussed topics? Might Adachi’s Twitter mashup be indicative of Japan’s symbiotic relationship with technology, as Hujairi’s reflection on pedagogy in Bahrain may represent a region where religious fundamentalism and enlightenment are engaged in a struggle for power in education and everyday life? Is Huber’s nihilistic piece a response to central Europe’s obsession with intellectuality and social criticism in art, where populist complacency is felt to harken back to an epoch of genocide? And does Ogboh’s soundscape show how music is connected to African social and political life by demonstrating the musicality of everyday sounds of Lagos, putting in question the delineation between deliberate and accidental music?

These interpretations are certainly questionable, but not unreasonable. Yet it also seemed important to me to include pieces where sound evokes politics and history, without concrete references. The pieces by López and edGeCut are examples of this.

What, then, can we conclude about the “Politics of Sound Art”? Perhaps that’s a question best left unanswered so as to recognize the breadth and diversity of how sound and music can speak of politics today—for better or worse, good or evil.