Recording Adjustment Journal
I need to adjust my recording process. I’ve captured the violence of sounds, but I’m missing their weight and their silence. I need to record not just the event, but its body and its aftermath.
1. Record the “Before” and “After.” I’ve only recorded the bleep, not the heavy silence of staring at the microwave, waiting for it. I need to set up the mic and let it roll for a full minute before I press start. Capture the hum of anticipation, my own breathing, the faint click of the button, the build-up of the hum, the shock of the alarm, and then the long, unresolved silence after it finishes—the sound of the task being ignored. This creates dread, not just shock.
2. Record the Physical Body of the Machine. The contact mic on the washing machine was good. Now I need to do that for everything. Tape it to the side of the vacuum cleaner to capture the strain of the motor under carpet. Stick it to the handle of the frying pan to get the sizzle transmitted through metal into my wrist. Clip it to the edge of the ironing board to hear the thump and steam-hiss as structure-borne vibration. These sounds are more visceral; they’re felt in the bones, not just heard.
3. Record the Failed Attempt. My narrative is about interruption. I should record myself trying to record. Set up to capture a “perfect” take of a kettle boiling. Then, just as it’s about to whistle, have my phone ring with an alarm labeled “LAUNDRY” in the other room. Capture the frustration, the muttered curse, the sound of my chair scraping as I get up, the whistle beginning as I leave the room. The failure is the data. The interrupted recording is the truest sound.
4. Record at the Worst Time. I’ve recorded in quiet daytime. I need to record the 3 AM sounds. The fridge hum in a dead-silent house. The creak of the floor going to check on a child. The sound of the kettle at night, which feels a hundred times louder. The psychoacoustics of nighttime domestic sound are pure anxiety. They’re not chores; they’re vigil.
The adjustment is simple: Record the context, not just the explosion. Record the waiting, the vibration, the failure, and the exhaustion. The horror isn’t in the bang; it’s in the expectation and the echo. My microphone needs to become a historian of fatigue, not just a witness to bursts of noise.