A composition using diverse audio materials,
including Indonesian chant, Russian choral singing,
the sounds of a children's football game in rural Canada.
There’s a football field whose 55 yard line is the equator and whose goal posts are the North and South Poles. The field is scared. The field is brave. The field is the dark green of the night sky and the stars scrimmage in their constellations, hoping for a final goal outside of spacetime. The field weeps, the field makes macramé out of the air, the field opens itself to the weakest seasons, that spring that was frozen, that summer without fruit, the fall where the trees were whitecaps and the birds were nostalgic for limbs. The field blankets the shivering tectonic plates of feeling, and is tucked in by night. Morning is a breakfast of solar systems, dawn a sticky floor of footsteps. The field is a baby, skin stretched wide by chance, by the Zodiac, by matter, by breath. The football, spinning far above the field, is an egg from which the field was born.
The above short text was written as a wordtrack for the above posted composition.
*Also, I direct you to NF Huth's interesting blog, Click, Buzz, Chirp of various recorded sounds. I was thinking about her recordings when I used my recording of my daughter's football game played out in the countryside outside of Hamilton near the town of Rockton.