Sounding the Angel – Page 4

18 October 202327 April 2024

Wind

Microphone attached to The Angel of the North — Photo credit: Anne Whitehead

My second visit to The Angel with David took place on a very windy day. As I arrived, David emerged from the memorial in the trees, having made a short recording of the wind in the leaves. I entered the trees and took a few minutes to listen to the dry rustle as their branches waved above me, a sound that I strongly associate with this place. String had been threaded between two alder trees and packages filled with inscribed hearts were pegged to it, which spun and twisted in the air as the wind caught them.

Once we reached The Angel, David took out his new contact microphone, which he was able to clamp onto the ribs of the sculpture, rather than holding it in place as he did on our previous visit. This meant that there was less disturbance to the sound, as interference is caused by slight movements of the hand and the resulting changes in pressure of the microphone on the surface.

We tested the microphone on the west side of The Angel, having climbed the mound after leaving the shelter of the trees. The sound through the headphones was the same low pitch as on the previous recordings, but higher and clearer in tone. As gusts of wind buffeted the wings of The Angel, they resonated down into the sculpture and were clearly audible. David also set up a standing microphone to record the atmospheric conditions on site, so that these sounds could be in conversation with the recordings of the Angel’s interior vibrations.

David wanted to record at the same points on the Angel in different conditions, so we devised a rudimentary map of the sculpture. Walking round The Angel, I counted twenty ribs and we divided these into four groups of five. We mapped these onto the points of the compass, so that we were recording the west, north, east, and south faces of the sculpture.

Counting five ribs round, David clamped the microphone to the back of The Angel, as high as he could reach. The recording here was different in tone, having an eerie quality like the soundtrack of a horror film. The wind’s gusts were still audible, but less dominant than on The Angel’s western side.

Man listening to headphones and looking up — Photo credit: Anne Whitehead

Five more ribs counted, and we listened to the sound on The Angel’s east face, again placing the microphone as high on the sculpture as we could reach. As on the western side, the wind once more became the prominent feature. David recorded for five minutes in each location, and he explained that, once these files were placed in sequence, the distinctions between them would become more evident.

The final five ribs took us round to the south of the Angel and David fixed the microphone to the front of its feet. Here, the sound was softer and quieter, and the wind was muted. It felt as though The Angel was sheltering the sound, and us, from the force of the wind.

David had recorded at the site once more between our first and second visits, rising on a misty dawn to capture the site without the constant rumble of traffic. Even at this time on a Sunday morning, the flow of cars had been unceasing, however, and David had noted that his recordings of the Angel picked up the vibrations of passing vehicles. On this visit, we were unable to hear the resonances of the traffic, and it seemed that the vibrations to the structure caused by the buffeting of the wind were more audible, with the traffic noise receding to a supporting note.

As on our last visit to The Angel, there were several visitors to the site when we were recording. It was notable that this time they did not approach us to ask what we were doing. I wondered whether this was because of the shift in the recording equipment that we were using. On our first visit, David had held the microphone to the body of the Angel and looked like a doctor with a stethoscope. The new method of clamping the microphone to the sculpture involved less direct contact with The Angel, and David looked more like a structural engineer visiting the site to make tests. Even though we were involved in the same activity, it seemed that a minor change in the recording technique – namely, how David attached the contact microphone to The Angel – had changed the appearance of what we were doing, to make it look more technical and more scientific.

10 October 202310 May 2024

Trees

Although the weather is still warm, there is a definite feel of autumn when I visit The Angel today. Leaves have started to fall in the copse of trees, and it is noticeably lighter and less shaded than in the summer months, though there is not yet the open, exposed feeling of the winter season. The horse chestnut tree that stands behind the fence marking the western perimeter of the site is dropping conkers and their prickly cases litter the ground.

The copse was planted at the same time as The Angel was erected and it has now grown to maturity. The main planting is of alder trees, and it is around their slender trunks that many of the ribbons and tokens are tied. Alders thrive in wet ground, which strengthens their wood, and they improve soil fertility on former industrial wasteland. This makes the tree an ideal choice for planting at The Angel site, which was formerly used for mining. Rainwater drains from the mound on which The Angel stands, meaning that the path through the copse is often muddy underfoot. Recent rain has made the ground waterlogged today, and I pick my way carefully where the feet of others have already churned the ground.

An alder wood was traditionally known as a carr and was thought to have a mysterious atmosphere, with the green dye from the tree’s flowers believed to colour the clothes of fairies. When the pale wood of the alder is cut, it turns a deep orange as if the tree is bleeding, which caused the alder to be associated with pain. I think of the resonances of the memorial with these traditional beliefs: children often refer to the copse as a fairy garden, and the bark of some of the trees has been incised with the marks of people’s grief.

The tree at the entrance to the copse is an oak, and its acorns are turning from green to brown. The branches of this tree are always filled with tokens and many objects are placed around its base. Today, a gathering of stones of different sizes is placed nearby, although there is nothing to indicate the significance of this memorial. The tree acts as a portal to the copse and is visible from The Angel, which helps explain why it is the focus for so many of the tributes and messages that are left. Like the alder, the oak also has traditional associations with the sacred, and pagan rituals were commonly practised in oak groves.

A plum cherry tree stands nearest The Angel, marking the head of the steep and often-slippery incline that leads out of the copse. In early spring, the tree is a dazzle of white blossom against blue skies. In winter, baubles and wire butterflies hang suspended from its bare branches. I often think of this tree as a sign of hope, associating its flowers with the end of winter and its decorations with the festivities of the Christmas season.

Angel of the North and tree with decorations — Photo credit: © Anne Whitehead, 2022.

References

‘A-Z of British Trees’, Woodland Trust, https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/trees-woods-and-wildlife/british-trees/a-to-z-of-british-trees/

28 September 202327 April 2024

Stethoscope

David de la Haye recording at the Angel of the North — Photo credit: Anne Whitehead

My first visit to The Angel of the North with David took place on a sunny day when the site was busy with families and coach trips. David had brought his audio equipment to test out possibilities for the sound piece and he carried a small recorder, a microphone, and headphones.

Once we reached The Angel, David knocked on each of the welded panels that make up the feet. As we moved round the sculpture, knocking and listening, each panel sounded with a different pitch. We spent some time comparing one panel to another, learning how the sounds varied depending on whether we were at the side of The Angel or were knocking on the heels or toes of the sculpture.

David then put his headphones on and placed the microphone on one of the panels. As he listened to the sounds the microphone picked up, he looked like a doctor with a stethoscope, attending to the internal sounds of the body. He explained that his audio equipment worked in the same way as a stethoscope: the microphone acted as the disc-shaped resonator that is held against the skin and the headphones formed its earpieces.

David invited me to put the headphones on as he held the microphone in place. Putting the headphones over my ears, I heard a low droning hum and was astonished to be able to listen to the ‘voice’ of The Angel as I stood beneath its immense wings. Working slowly round The Angel with the microphone, we heard the same variation in the pitch of the hum that we had picked up with the knocking.

A stethoscope can be used to pick up the sounds made by the heart or the lungs. What noise was David’s microphone enabling us to hear? We could identify vibrations caused by children nearby, who were using The Angel’s toes as a slide. But we weren’t sure if the low drone was the effect of the wind causing The Angel to vibrate or the steady rumble of the motorway traffic as it resonated through the structure. Whatever its source, the sound of The Angel was filled with energy, and it felt like I was listening to the sculpture breathing beside me.

As David made his test recordings, people approached to speak to us, curious about what we were doing. A woman with her children asked what we could hear. David gave the headphones to her daughter, who said that the sound was relaxing, like something you could meditate to. Her son then told us that he would use the sound to compose a piece of music, which he would call ‘The Angel of the North’.

I have always been aware of sound on my visits to The Angel, and in a previous post I described my association of the memorial in the trees with the mingled noise of wind chimes and traffic. Looking back at The Angel from the memorial site, I could hear its lingering hum in my ears, and I knew that, whenever I was there, I would always now listen for that faint echo of The Angel’s breath.

23 September 202326 October 2023

Introducing the ‘Sounding the Angel’ Project

Microphone next to The Angel of the North — Photo Credit: David de la Haye

I am a resident of Gateshead, and I have long thought of The Angel of the North as a sign of home. I was a frequent visitor to The Angel during lockdown, when it became one of my regular walks. It was then that I became more aware of the memorial in the trees near The Angel. Over time, I saw that new messages and objects were hung on the branches of the trees or laid beneath them or would occasionally be placed on The Angel itself. These were left in memory of lost loved ones.

I found the memorial site very moving, and I hoped to create a record that might capture what it means to the people who leave objects there. The sound of the memorial was an important part of the experience of being there – the rustle of the leaves overhead in the summer, the constant rumble of traffic on the nearby A1, and the gentle tinkling of wind chimes in the breeze. I therefore approached sound artist David de la Haye, and we felt that creating a sound work would capture the voices and stories of those who contribute to the memorial, as well as the sounds of the site across the seasons.

Sounding the Angel seeks to document a unique conversation between the people who leave memorials at The Angel, the sounds of the memorial site, and the resonances of The Angel of the North itself. David and I believe that by bringing together these very different voices and sounds, we will create a beautiful record of a place that holds deep meaning for those who visit and leave tokens of their loved ones behind.