A Foreign Language in the Ear—Reflections on listening, language, and soundscape research en route to Lesconil

Text: Anne Tarvainen; Photo source: Schafer 2009 [1977], 326.

Train to Quimper, Brittany. On the journey from Paris toward Quimper, I listen to archival recordings from the fishing village of Lesconil, made in 1975 and 2000 as part of the Five Village Soundscapes (FVS) and Acoustic Environments in Change (AEiC) research projects. These sounds come from the very fieldwork site we are now headed to with the SOMECO project. Two of the recordings document a fish auction. I know this because the information is provided in the descriptions of the recordings (Schafer 1977/2009, 401; Järviluoma et al. 2009, 414). I don’t understand a single word of the language spoken.

Language as a Wall—and a Window?

I begin to wonder: what is the point of studying human voices that speak a language foreign to me, especially as part of a larger cultural sound environment? Is it even possible? I cannot claim to grasp the linguistic meanings conveyed by these voices, and many of the cultural meanings remain somewhat opaque as well, though I might have still recognized the soundscape and the vocal interaction as an auction, even without the descriptions.

The issue of language barriers has come up in the FVS project before, particularly as a challenge for conducting interviews (Schafer 1977/2009, 292, 383). However, I realize this barrier is just as present when listening to voices in the environment, even if the researcher remains in the role of listener or observer. Researchers in the AEiC project have noted that the language barrier may have contributed to the FVS team’s development of alternative soundscape-focused methods beyond traditional interviews, such as the sound preference test, listening walks, and traffic counts (Järviluoma et al. 2009, 225).

Listening Beyond Words

As I listen to the 1975 and 2000 Lesconil recordings, I begin to see that engaging with voices in unfamiliar languages might actually open different, even unconventional listening spaces. Stripped of the pull of semantic meaning, my attention shifts: I hear more clearly the affective and embodied qualities of the voices. The rising and falling intensities of affects, the rhythms of syllables, and changes in vocal tone feel more pronounced—more exposed—than they do when I listen to a familiar language like Finnish.

The strangeness of the languages spoken in these recordings—French and Breton—creates a kind of distance in my listening. And paradoxically, this distance brings me closer.

As a point of comparison, I think of Tiina Syrjä’s doctoral dissertation Vieras kieli suussa (A Strange Tongue in the Mouth), in which Finnish theatre students discovered new tactile dimensions of their bodies and voices through acting in a foreign language—Spanish. Could a similar, intentionally de-familiarizing approach—one that distances the listener from semantic content while drawing them nearer to embodied experience—also guide a soundscape researcher toward new listening practices?

The Acrobatic Voice of the Auctioneer

During this train-bound listening session, one recording particularly stands out: a 1975 Lesconil fish auction soundscape (Schafer 1977/2009, 401). Early in the recording, a long, majestic foghorn blast signals the start of the auction. Human activity intensifies. Crates are moved briskly. Voices rise. Once inside the hall, the voices begin to echo in the ample, resonant space. The auctioneer speaks quickly and intensely—yet with an almost impassive tone—into what sounds like a megaphone. His speech quickens and quickens. Inhalations become short, nearly inaudible. Syllables tumble after one another with acrobatic finesse—until the speech abruptly stops.

Did I sense a rising affect toward the end of this otherwise impassive performance? The auctioneer maintains professional composure, yet the final syllables flow so rapidly and forcefully that I find myself thinking: surely he must be feeling some kind of flow state here—a mechanical ecstasy!?

Sonic Choreography

The tempo of the auctioneer’s voice interacts rhythmically with the movements of others around him. The annotation notes that the buyers communicate by nodding. The description is vivid:

“They bid with quick nods of the head, continuously bobbing up and down as the auctioneer registers the bids in rapid fire.” (Schafer 1977/2009, 401)

I wish I could have witnessed this choreography between the auctioneer and the silent bidders with my own eyes.

Between Speech, Music, and Soundscape

Speech, music, and soundscape form a continuum of acoustic communication, where speech represents the most organized and temporally dense sounds (Truax 2001, 49–53; Uimonen 2009, 45). Soundscape sounds are usually more loosely structured, and their changes unfold over longer durations. The auctioneer’s vocal performance was certainly highly organized, and the temporal density was extreme. Yet because I couldn’t decode its semantic content, the voice sat somewhere between speech and soundscape in my listening experience. Its musical qualities, like rhythm and phrasing, became more apparent.

This is where my mind wanders to one of my own field recordings in Skruv: flagpole ropes swaying in the wind, creating a sound that also approached a musical experience, but now from the opposite direction of the acoustic communication continuum. 

These sounds—auctioneer’s voice and flagpole ropes—moved along the continuum in a way that probably differs from a local person’s experience, someone who understands the language, or someone simply tired of hearing flagpoles. After all, I don’t usually hear the flagpoles in my own hometown as music either!

Nearing Lesconil

I glance at the clock—our train is approaching Quimper. From there, we will take a bus to Lesconil. I wonder if some auctioneer’s acrobatic voice still echoes through the auction hall. Will I be able to witness this performance with my own recorder? Or will I capture only the hum of an empty hall?

How has Lesconil’s voicescape changed since 1975 and 2000?

Or has it?

References

Järviluoma, Helmi, Meri Kytö, Barry Truax, Heikki Uimonen, and Noora Vikman, eds. 2009. Acoustic Environments in Change. 1st. ed. Studies in Literature and Culture 14. Tampere, Finland: TAMK University of Applied Sciences.

Schafer, R. Murray. 2009. Five Village Soundscapes. In Acoustic Environments in Change & Five Village Soundscapes, edited by Helmi Järviluoma-Mäkelä, Meri Kytö, and Heikki Uimonen, 1st ed., 283–404. Studies in Literature and Culture 14. Tampere, Finland: TAMK University of Applied Sciences.

Uimonen, Heikki. 2009. “Soundscape Studies and Auditory Communication.” In Acoustic Environments in Change, edited by Helmi Järviluoma, Meri Kytö, Barry Truax, Heikki Uimonen, and Noora Vikman, 1. ed. Studies in Literature and Culture 14. Tampere, Finland: TAMK University of Applied Sciences.

The text has been translated with the assistance of AI.