It's always strange when we leave the Lento box behind to record overnight. The feeling is strong, but also hard to pin down. The Lento box feels like a trusted friend, even a family member now. It has taken us years to build and refine, and lives on the shelf in our kitchen when its not out on a job which makes it more than just an object. It's travelled far and wide with us too, and made almost every episode published on Radio Lento. Will the box be there when we come back, is of course the one thought we've had to learn not to worry about, because otherwise Radio Lento and all the places that have been captured in panoramic binaural sound would not exist.
As we walk away from the box, tied to a remote tree or sturdy post, we always stop, turn around and check for one last time whether things are right. Will it be safe where it is? Have we located and angled it to capture the best panoramic "sound photograph" as possible even though we can't know what is going to happen. Is the spot really the best we can find? These thoughts are often whispered, because being out in remote locations at night never does feel comfortable.
The night we set up the Lento box in Weymouth to capture this episode ran very much the same as every other night record. The tree we found in a quiet secluded shoreline spot felt mysterious in the inky dark under a full moon. Like it somehow knew we were there. The sea, only yards away, also lapped knowingly against the jumbled rocks, and the air seemed unusually still. So still in fact we could hear even the tiniest details of the shifting waves. Climbing the tree so the panoramic width and sharp detail of the sound-view could best be captured wasn't as risky as it might seem in total darkness, but positioning the box on a tree that felt like it was aware of us did somewhat heighten our own sense of self. Of course we needn't have worried about any of this.
After we left, the tree and the sea, weren't worried. They accepted the Lento box for what it was. A non-human aural witness. And so were content to carry on as they always have. For all of time. A tree just being a tree. The ocean waves just being ocean waves. Lapping with patience and grace, against the rocky shore. Such slow waves, alone, in the night quiet.
126 The seawall and the night patrolling curlews (quiet, long, sleep safe)
125 May rain in the Forest of Dean
124 Midnight waves by the sea fort at Weymouth (sleep safe)
123 A sound-view from Orcombe Point on the Jurassic coast
122 Forest bathing in the cathedral of trees
121 On Portland Bill
120 Secrets in the spring air - inland coastal country
119 Dawn chorus in the rain high in the Derbyshire hills
118 Lullaby sea by Nothe Fort (sleep safe)
117 Dartmoor birds through white noise mist
116 Sissing plantations in open country
115 Coastal city sleeping (sleep safe)
114 Crashing waves at Durdle Door
113 Spring’s here in mild valley
112 Suffolk Wood (part 12) - 7am to 8am
111 Soundscenes of estuary rain
110 Rain falls in Banfield Wood
109 Here at the river’s edge
108 Song thrush sings in twilight gales
107 Shellness bleak where land meets sea (best heard with time and headphones)
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