Ep. 39 – Bernie Krause on saving the music of the wild

In 1968, Dr. Bernie Krause was leading a booming music career. A prodigiously talented musician, he’d played guitar on Motown records as a teenager, replaced Pete Seeger in the folk band The Weavers in his twenties, and had become a pivotal figure in electronic music by age 30, mastering the synthesizer and introducing it to popular music and film. He worked with artists like The Doors and the Beach Boys, performed music and effects for iconic soundtracks for more than 130 films and shows like Apocalypse Now and Mission Impossible, and co-produced game-changing albums showing the world how the synthesizer could combine sounds into new timbres. 

My background is as a professional musician, so I have always thought of the sonic world as being a kind of chorus of sound,” Krause says. “It never occurred to me to take [animals] out and abstract them one by one. It’s a bit, to me, like abstracting the sound of a single violin player out of the orchestra and trying to express the magnificence of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. You can’t really do it. You can play the theme, but it doesn’t give you the impact of it.” (Photo by Chris Chung, Press Democrat, Santa Rosa)

Then Warner Brothers commissioned his duo, Beaver & Krause, to create the first-ever album incorporating the sounds of wild habitats. Bernie headed into Muir Woods north of San Francisco with a portable recorder, mics, and stereo headphones. What he heard changed his life. A flowing stream; gentle winds in the tall redwood canopy; a pair of calling ravens, feathers resonating with each wingbeat. It was an immense new world of music. Listening to it made him feel calm, focused, and simply good in a way he hadn’t felt before.

Bernie decided he wanted to record wild animals for the rest of his life. And that’s what he did. He quit Hollywood, got a PhD studying bioacoustics (back when the field comprised about five people) and began traveling the world to record wild habitats. Over the past fifty years, he’s built what The New Yorker aptly called “an auditory Library of Alexandria for everything non-human.” His astonishing archive includes the sounds of more than 15,000 species, from barnacles twisting in their shells, to chorusing tropical forest frogs, to feeding humpback whales.

Visualizations of sound frequencies, known as “spectrograms,” are useful for understanding acoustic patterns in habitats. In 1995, in Vanua Levu, Fiji, Bernie Krause recorded two sections of the same reef: one alive and one dying. The first 15 seconds of this spectrogram capture what the healthy reef sounded like. Bernie estimates there were about 15 different types of fish. The latter 15 seconds were recorded within the same hour at a dying portion of the same reef, about 400 meters away. The diverse voices of fish are absent. All you can hear is snapping shrimp and the waves. (Courtesy of Bernie Krause)

Previous wildlife records isolated the calls of individual creatures, but Bernie recorded habitats as a whole. Hearing the interwoven sounds of plants, animals, and landscapes and the complex interplay between the timbres, pitches, and amplitudes, he proposed a remarkable new theory of ecosystem functioning: that each species produces unique acoustic signatures, partitioning and occupying sonic niches such that the singing of all of the creatures in a healthy ecosystem can be heard, organized like the individual players in an orchestra.

It cannot be overstated how impressive and important Bernie’s library is. There were no mentors, no guides for what equipment to use in extreme weather, no instructions for how to capture the subtle sounds of snow falling, the depth of a glacier cracking, or the whispers of wolves. Nor was there the scientific language to describe what he was hearing and what it revealed. Bernie and his colleagues had to figure all this out themselves, inventing a new scientific field called “soundscape ecology.”

“When we lived closely connected to the natural world, we learned these sounds from the animals,” Krause says. “We learned melody from the animals. We learned orchestration from the animals because that’s how they were organizing and creating this bandwidth for themselves. We learned rhythm by watching gorillas and chimpanzees mark out on the buttresses of fig trees. We have nothing original that we can claim here. All the copyrights are owned by the critters.” (Photo by Nick Nichols)

Bernie’s soundscapes were full of epiphanies about the origin of our own culture and music, about the profound connectedness of creatures, and about the unseen tolls of human activity. Fifty percent of the habitats in Bernie’s archive no longer exist due to habitat destruction, climate change, and human din. 

In recent years, Bernie has turned his attention to conveying the profound beauty, change, and peril of these soundscapes to a wide audience through books and artistic collaborations, including a 70-piece symphony composed with Richard Blackford for the BBC National Orchestra of Wales and an exhibition celebrating nature’s vast and imperiled musical ensemble with Fondation Cartier in Paris.

His work reminds us how much we have to gain by being quiet, listening, and saving the world’s animal choruses — and the gravity of how much animals and humans alike have to lose if we do not. 

Continue reading Ep. 39 – Bernie Krause on saving the music of the wild

Ep. 11 – Diana Reiss on recognizing the dolphins in the mirror

“[T]here are places in the world where the spoken word doesn’t travel very far,” Dr. Diana Reiss says. “In these areas, there are people who convert their spoken words into whistle languages. They whistle the prosody, or the intonation, of the spoken language… You can look at a whistle sequence that looks like a dolphin whistle or a bird whistle, and it’s actually a human sentence that is communicating enough that another could decode it. When we look at whistles of birds or dolphins, they look simple and we don’t think about what kind of information might be in there.”

For thousands of years, humans have been enthralled with dolphins. In Ancient Greece, dolphins were considered closer to the gods than any other creature, viewed as half divine messengers between men and gods. To kill a dolphin was an offense punishable by death. The second century Greco-Roman poet Oppian wrote, “Diviner than the Dolphin is nothing yet created for indeed they were aforetime men and lived in cities along with mortals.” Reverence for these creatures was not limited to the Greeks. There are caves in the French Pyrenees with Ice Age era dolphin engravings. Stories about dolphins are part of the Australian Aborigines’ understanding of the world known as “Dreamtime.” To the Maori of New Zealand, dolphins have long been seen as water spirits who can carry messages from island to island in times of need.

“I always felt that just putting yourself aside for a moment and just seeing what you can see, hearing what you can hear, you’ll see patterns or hear patterns emerge,” Reiss says. “And that can inform what you do and the kind of questions you ask. In that way, I think we can partner with animals. My best ideas about animals come from the animals themselves.”

We are separated by 95 million years of evolution, and yet we intuitively feel a striking kinship and admiration for these intelligent creatures. Of course, mythologies like these, as our guest has pointed out, are not verified or scientific truths. But,” she writes, “mythologies reach a different, deeper kind of truth, one that relies on resonance, not on demonstrable evidence. Mythologies do not account for the origin of people or dolphins in the way that scientific theories do, but mythologies tell us something about who we believe ourselves to be, our values and our place in the world in relation to all the other creatures of nature.”

Continue reading Ep. 11 – Diana Reiss on recognizing the dolphins in the mirror