SOUND IN THE MACHINE: Memory is the crux of the performative, the perpetual

Sound in the Machine

Memory is the crux of the performative, the perpetual

The capture, storage, and reproduction of sound is the bleeding edge of technology in relation to visual text: the horses on the walls of Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc cave are tens of thousands of years old; the earliest sound recordings, less than 150 years old, have disintegrated. We've barely scratched the surface.

The written word is considered immutable; sound is considered transcendent. Writing technology is easy; sound technology is fraught. Seeing is believing, though we’re often deceived; we can’t believe what we’ve just heard.

Transcription across modalities wastes and overcompensates. The aural to the visual. A calculated risk for a supposed benefit of perpetuity. Our memories are flawed, our lives short, and corruption occurs as wisdom passes to subsequent generations. We put our faith in visual texts to outlast ourselves and many generations on. Indeed, even they do not last forever.

Memory is the crux of the performative. Characterized by its ephemeral nature, sound hinges on the performing body. But we want it to stick AND be in the moment. We'd rather believe that the documentation never changes as we change than to surrender to the inconstancy of memory.