Shaking Down the Shed

When I was six, my best friend and I used to play in his father’s shearing shed. One day, we found an old wind-up gramophone on top of a wool-bin. It turned out the neighbour on one side had a box of records from the 1930’s, and the neighbour on the other had a packet of steel gramophone needles in her sewing cupboard. We listened to the gramophone all day long until the main spring broke. Ever since, I have believed that wonderful things come out of shearing sheds.

The second of the homestead: projects currently under construction is a series of recordings made in sheds - shearing sheds for preference. I call this plein-shed recording. I have started the shakedowns for this series, and already the results are fascinating.

The shed I am using is an old structure from the 1920’s but with later excretions - yes, excretions: architecture is rough out here. It is a bush-timber, wood-slab two-stand shed with deep bins and no adequate space for the classing table. The roof is shallow pitched, but a complex geometry of poles is necessary to hold it steady and this creates a series of ‘compartments’ that counterpoint and complement the real compartments of the working space. The pens extend the entire length of the shed - to no practical purpose but merely because history left them that way - and create a further sequence of spaces that are partially open to the main space but mostly sealed and private. In addition, there is a modern lean-to of corrugated iron on machined posts and filled with workbenches and tools. Unlike the shed proper, which is floored with hand-dressed timber, this has a floor of concrete and, in parts, rammed earth. The roof throughout is corrugated iron. In addition to the races and chutes for the sheep, the walls are full of holes, loose boards and accidental gaps. None of the many doors close properly.

The convection throughout such a complex of spaces is extraordinary and chaotic. On a cold day, the shed is sonically dead - but with the slightest warmth, the various temperatures throughout the building create the most wonderful sonic textures. Even a short time will alter the temperature differentials and make dramatic changes to the sound. The shed has its own voice.

The possible microphone arrangements beggar calculation. I am currently using a super-cardioid pair in a (vaguely) near-convergent configuration for stereo out. They are too far apart in my current tests to give a stable sense of space, but they give such great and varying richness to my voice that I am in love with the weirdness all the same. The point with these microphones is that they will record not just what is in front of them, but also (to a degree) what is behind. They can be aimed backward (as it were) into the most interesting parts of the roof. It is this that accounts for the breadth of the spread and for the richness of voice.

I do not yet know how best to pace the performance for the shed. I have written a new work especially to experiment with this (the lines have an exact measure, and this lets me mark the pace more carefully than a more freely breathed line would permit).

I have started to line up historic sheds throughout the region. The locals know that I am from Western Australia. They expect me to be insane and they are not frightened of me. When they are not looking, I take the opportunity to snoop. This is also expected of a Western Australian, so it is morally right.

I am, of course, looking for another gramophone.

On that day, way back when I was six, one the of the local teenage girls tried to play her favourite pop song on our gramophone. The needle was so sharp that it tore her record to shreds.

Never underestimate the old stuff you find in sheds. Especially if the old stuff is you.