WFH: DAY 131. 7.45 am: There were several emails in my inbox, received after work last night, that required immediate attention. Last night, too, I was sent a very favourable review of my latest CD release, The Biblical Record, by Ed Pinsent, whose The Sound Projector is a major contributor to the promotion and understanding of new music and sound art:
9.00 am: An online Open Day. Staff drift into Teams domain like reluctant ghosts — first tapping and shuffling papers and furniture, then uttering a greeting before materialising, only to disappear again. Logging-in is sometimes fraught: failed passwords, difficulties navigating the site, and the endless bleeps as queries drip into to chat zone from participating staff. It’s a great deal to absorb quickly. Having folk from Marketing to hold our hands throughout is very reassuring.
I heard sounds in the Teams room that I couldn’t for the life of me interpret. Poltergeists? Business was slow. Since most of our potential applicants are now in school — catching up on the months of work that they’ve missed — they may not have been free to engage in a conversation during school hours. The evening session may have a greater uptake, therefore. And these are early days in the cycle of university application, too. In the background, I composed a pre-Induction cover letter for my MA schemes. There’re some questions about the delivery of teaching that I can’t answer until I deliver. We’re none of us experts in this new world on Covid-education. I’m just learning on the job, like everyone else. 12.00 pm: Responsibilities acquitted.
On this day:
12.00 pm: ‘More tea!’ I returned to my sample processing. 2.00 pm: Dentists. Entering was like leaving the country via airport security. Coat in box, temperature check, and mask— that never leaves the surgery — on. ‘Does your wife work at the university?’ I asked. The dentist’s name was non-standard for this part of the world. What sounded like a staff party was taking place off stage. The hyper-vigilance of the interior was in stark contrast to the rather laxed attitude to Covid customs on the street.
2.45 pm: I began another crop of modified samples, this time without the upper harmonics, which made my voice sound as though it was being filtered through a vocorder. Processing takes time; there are no short cuts. ‘Sound Expressive of Something’ (to quote Jones) has become the composition’s official title.
7.15 am: I was on a roll; another batch was made. 8.00 pm: And another begun.