Jim Brenholtz (Rest in Peace) authored a book: Tracks Across The Universe: A Chronology Of Ambient & Electronic Music. Sorting through my early correspondence I found this today.
> hi lee ellen!
> in reviewing your music, i overlooked one simple fact - "ravens in moonlight" is the perfect cd! it is not my favorite nor the best cd that i have, it is merely flawless! it has something for everyone and it has soul and depth. perfect is the only word for it!
> happy holidays to...
Found a sound clip of The Tunnel Singer from Jason Reinier's Day of Sound. The clip is at about 3 minutes on the 10 minute sample track: Here is the URL: http://www.earthear.com/dayofsound.html
And here is the description: Featured on NPR and in the New York Times Millennial Time Capsule
On a single February day, recordists around the world turned microphones to their everyday surroundings. Jason Reinier, a San Francisco-based sound designer, gathered the results and wove thi...s sonic portrait of "everyday." It stands as a wonderful contrast to the tendency for natural sound CDs to highlight the exotic; it also features some of the most straightforward urban soundscapes put to disc. The ways that Reinier moves easily from "nature" to "society" helps to dispell the false dichotomy between the two. And, thanks to the contraints inherent in turning 24 hours of changing sounds into a 74 minute audio disc, we are given enough of each vignette to begin to appreciate it, yet are moved along at a pace that assures we are not stuck in a soundscape we wish would end. Playful sections featuring a baby in the bath and a coffee-maker bring a chuckle, while cicadas, swans, and hawks bring the wild into the mix. Several tracks share nature as we most often hear it: the rumble of a road in the distance while enjoying wetland birds, a toad calling in consort with the ticking of a cooling-down car engine. Adding an especially engaging touch, there are a few segments which feature people being aurally creative with their surroundings, a tunnel singer and several visits to a wave organ being the most striking.
Shortly after the initial Day of Sound recordings were made, a shorter version of this piece was featured on NPR's All Things Considered, to celebrate Noise Awareness Day. Now, with this full-length version, the Day of Sound crew offer us an opportunity to reflect on and appreciate the diversity and beauty of our daily soundscapes, whether we live in urban, suburban, or rural areas. The generally equal mix of town and "nearby nature" is a delightful reminder to open our ears to the many different sonic treasures we all encounter each and every day.
A few years ago, The Tunnel Singer and Greg High (didgeridoo) were hired to perform inside the underground Niki Missile site, a museum in Golden Gate National Recreation Area. The acoustics, fantastic; the environment, disconcerting.
Just discovered a video showing the "Sound Column" at the Palace of Fine Arts where "Inner Runes" My debut album was recorded. https://youtu.be/i_wrpKjW2_4
How I became "The Tunnel Singer"
My mother told me that when I was a toddler, I sang whenever she would sweep the carpets with our vacuum cleaner. Today, singing with a didgeridoo still reminds me of the pleasant drone of that old "Hoover".
As long as I can remember, using my voice to improvise songs to an interesting sound I hear has been (usual and natural to me) a natural and predictable practice. The two-pitched beep of a bus turn signal, the repetitive sound of a copy ma...chine, and the whine of a table-saw will set me to singing as predictably as a dog howls to a siren. Even so, I never dreamed that at age fifty-five I would become a recording artist known as "The Tunnel Singer".
I always sang in spaces with interesting acoustics: parking garages, stairwells, tunnels. It relaxed me, lifted my mood and just seemed natural and fun. It took my mind to a place that seemed to stop time. I once lived adjacent to a high school and ran on their track. I often experienced that "other mind" place they call runner's high. Singing in places with harmonic reverberation gave me that feeling, too.
I found favorite places to sing—a three-story stairwell in the hospital where I worked, a nearby parking garage and the tunnel under JFK Drive across from the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park.
I performed with many other musicians who liked the acoustics of the tunnel. One saxophone player convinced me to go with him to Café International in the Haight Ashbury for an open mic performance. I felt apprehensive but went. Audiences seemed to like our performance. A few weeks later I decided to go alone to the same open mic. As I played my singing bowl for accompaniment I saw everyone in the audience had their eyes closed. I felt as if I were leading a group meditation.
People who heard me singing often followed my voice to find me. They paused to listen for a while and sometimes asked me if I had anything recorded. They often said they found my music relaxing and would like to listen to it at home or in their car during their commute. I always felt honored when people listened and inquired, but let them know I had no recordings of my music.
The inquiries became more frequent. I almost felt that the Universe persistently invited me to record my music. But how would I do that? I had no recording experience. I didn't know where to begin doing anything like that! And then in July 1994, the Shoemaker-Levy comet impacted Jupiter.
[to be continued]
First published in The Tunnel Singer newsletter, 2003
On the evening of the first full moon in June, Martin, the digeridoo player picked me up at work. On our way to Yakety Yak Cafe, traffic stopped on Bush Street for several blocks. We could see hundreds of people moving in the street across the stopped traffic far ahead. We wondered what held up traffic.
We arrived at Yakety Yak, met Matt and Michael the percussionist and drummer and signed up for a space during the op...en mike. We performed for our allotted eight minutes. Everyone in the room shared our intense energy. The guys and I agreed we had to make more music or burst. We went to the rotunda of the Palace of Fine Arts.
Together we wove enchanting music from the center of this ancient Greek-styled wonder. The sky changed from midnight blue to black as June's first full moon climbed over the dome of our music, ascending past columns and arches.
A skater arrived flashing red lights. Three more glowing skaters. Five. Purple and chartreuse glow-in-the-dark tubes. Safety triangles and stripes blurring into movement. Fifteen skaters. Thirty. Within ten minutes, we became the fulcrum for a glow-in-the-dark moonbow. Five hundred twenty-two whirling skaters. Vortex. This full moon evening the movement and the music lifted and carried us together. Our performance started with a traffic delay as the skaters began their course through San Francisco. Collaboration is all around. When we notice.