SONGS FOR THE NARROWS, Danica Evering
1. Descant / Solo - Riverdale Park Viaduct
It is night. Wind murmurs past each branch and brush of grass. Below, before, the river begins a slow solo. After a sharp turn, it evens out straight, and then a wide curve. Can you hear it?
Two hundred years later, we’re on a bridge. An arc shooting across the sky. Beneath us cars whip past, an apocalypse of comets. Pushing frequency as they move through space: closer and higher as they approach and then their wake spreads out in low notes—fiery ripples from the prow.
The City spent years unbending. In the name of development, public health, industry, progress—they filled in dirt until it was straight, drawn on the land with a ruler. (To impose a line for your own benefit.) O, have mercy, river rocks reeds wriggling silver rustling wings.
Cars roar under our feet. Sound has a negative gravitational mass, waves fall through the ground to the water. Noise is a physical thing—a movement, a vibration, pushing molecules. All sound is a touch.
Who is pushing in this space?
distant motors, and the trickle of the river
river moves from the right ear to the left and then back to the right, echoing the curve
a huge truck zooms by under our feet then heavy stereo cars
the river, construction: saw, rattling machinery
water warps into an A note played on an organ
note gets quieter and narrows into a dial tone
sweeping drone of traffic, ambient under a bridge
heavy motorcycle, rushing traffic like waves
metallic pinging, ringing footsteps with delay so it echoes and gets louder with the traffic
2. Canon - Gerrard Street Bridge
Then the river divided: leading voice in one direction, heavy sweep.
The other follows (quiet for now; straighter).
Arching, an echo delayed by a few seconds.
Now a single channel where the straighter river runs.
The leading voice filled in.
Only the follower remains, hardened to stone.
This is a site of following and taking. A false identification and comparison, a grotesque yes, and. A few millennia behind, the parkway echoes the river.
“Big Daddy”(1) Gardiner dreamed of a road (2). In his dream no one was ever responsible for the forest or relations to these wet lands. In his dream even the squirrels can’t travel from treetop to treetop without ever touching the ground, holding up tiny arms to struggle before turning around dejected. In his dream it’s a blank page. He drives the first car through seemingly untouched vistas conquered with his wheels. Behind the first car, traffic roars.
quote enjoying end quote quote nature end quote
Here, the river divided around the first of many marshy islands, split and rejoined. A chorus of voices.
river splashing, birds cheeping crests loudly
followed by the same sound only quieter, more muffled
traffic - musical howling
fades
a hush, the forest in the early evening—hum of crickets; a bird or a squirrel chirping
in the distance a child and a parent speak with one another
aggressive traffic
one zoom of a car which sounds solo and then followed by many many other engines
there is a very cute bird cheeping before and after this line like quotation marks
right ear: a loud river
left ear: a quieter river
3. Interruption - Dundas Street Bridge
O backyard of a rapidly growing downtown!
O bold new chapter, revitalization!
O Master Plan!
This place has been “improved” many times. They’d never let it bend, barges can’t barge down a bent river. So, they straightened it out.
I’m trying to get across the river but a crane has fallen over the road. The wind moves and hesitates. Indecisive fitful fingers stirring feathers though the body is still, crumpled—spanning city planters with their neat rows of popsicle tone petunias and ornamental grasses. Its long, slender neck is wrenched at a nauseating angle reaching higher than streetlights are. Or, were: warped now under the weight of the giant bird. Red feathers shadow fading yellow eyes.
The black beak glistens in the hot sun, spiked into concrete, narrowly missing a Wine Rack, a dry cleaner. People mill around, uncomfortable and uncertain.
Someone in an orange mesh vest unfurls hands into a wide wingspan. Another holds an arm gesturing with the held arm in horror at the body on the ground.
They drew a map over the winding river:
ROAD
SPECIAL RAILWAY
GENERAL RAILWAY
DOCK
CHANNEL
DOCK
GENERAL RAILWAY
SPECIAL RAILWAY
ROAD
A duck paddles over algae, blooming careful neon breaths into shallow water.
domestic street in a courtyard on river street, a bit of hush, distant traffic, people speaking birds, a dog
construction enters thickly
saw rattling, a hammer (or a heel?) striking metal
a terrible crash, something very heavy falling
then
shouts
warped metallic shrieks
fluttery robotic screeching
sucking insects begin
shrieks continue, but slowing
hasty footsteps, someone with a low rough voice says “I think so, man”
silence in a courtyard
cars rush by
metallic tracks
feet crunch on railway stone
water trickles
river rushes
water trickles
feet crunch on railway stone
metallic tracks
cars rush by
low drone of traffic under a bridge, and under that the river
4. Bow - Time and a Clock Bridge
Here, it became a bow. Two streams, running parallel.
Now the river is the channel and the highway sort of a river.
Sound is made of tension.
Rasping of leathery wings, a bow roughed up with rosin drawn against a string.
Sound ecologist Andra McCartney spoke about sound in marginal areas as “ecotones.” In ecology, an ecotone is a marginal zone where species from different ecosystems interact. Some live in the ecotone and nowhere else. “Tonos” is from Greek, to tighten, tension—even then, they connected it to music.
The straightened river rubs up against the highway, the railroad, the footpath. Construction overlaps with birds, the thrumming of bees.
Early in the spring, the trees help me get down to the river. The heat of my fingers is melting the ice. I want to crack it. In the end, I just listen.
metal rubbing up against metal like birds chirping
water and traffic—two different audio channels but getting louder in unison, motor shouts
crickets chirping
redwing blackbirds
a toad (or a saw?)
birds, traffic, wind
bike bell
bees humming
hammer begins
more bees
in the background, crickets and birds above the cars
quick muddy footsteps
more distant traffic
dull tapping, hand shushing across a smooth surface, high glisten of melting ice
5. White Noise - Lakeshore
We’re at the lake. All we can hear is everything and nothing.
Collective sound energy of motorized vehicles = SUM (engines + air and gravel displaced by many moving objects + hiss of brakes).
Traffic is the noise of tires rolling across pavement. Oil sings both the melody and descant: a mineral aggregate base held together by bitumen. Above it, rubber soars, impacts, departs.
Water moving over the riverbed, pushing insistently on pebbles, reeds, branches, fish. It only sings when it’s in motion. The roar of pressure and disruption.
Soft rhythmic pumping of plasma, red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets. Carrying oxygen and nutrients to the body, carrying metabolic waste to the lungs.
White noise has equal intensity at different frequencies, masking other noises. Deepening sleep, drowning alerts. Grant us rest.
Over hundreds of years, the Don curved into a meander. Twisting through the valley, moving glacial till, moved by stones and gravity and weather. It still floods over its concrete banks. Blurring the line between river and houses. It will not be contained.
They are digging a new mouth for the river. In a low-lying section of the valley, springing from the river’s lips (peat mouth): green rushes. From tiny seeds, covered by landfill for a hundred years. Bright ringing.
white noise
geese honking
heavy motorcycle accelerating, shifting gears
traffic hisses past
left to right
cars
white noise
water enters—rushing
trickling over pebbles
white noise
pulsing of a heart through a stethoscope
lub dub lub dub
lub dub lub dub
white noise (alone this time)
river rushes again
pouring rain
river joins the rain
rain gets even louder
white noise
kildeer cries over quiet traffic
geese honking
it could be waves
Endnotes
[1] His actual nickname.
[2] Dennis Duffy, “Historicist: How We Hyped the DVP,” Torontoist (September 3, 2016), https://torontoist.com/2016/09/historicist-how-we-talked-about-the-dvp/.
—
All sounds are field recordings except for two generated noises (a single note in the first song and white noise in the final song) and three pieces of narrative audio:
Cyborgcollective — Crash Thud — https://freesound.org/people/cyborgcollective/sounds/344677/
HerbertBoland — Heartbeat.wav — https://freesound.org/people/HerbertBoland/sounds/28343/
redpanda69 — Rainy Toronto — https://freesound.org/people/redpanda69/sounds/520953/