The buzz on the street

'Cars hiss by my window' sang Jim Morrison. It occurred to me yesterday that it must have been raining when he wrote that. It has been a very dry August in my neck of the woods so when it rained I noticed the difference in the traffic noise drifting across the gardens from the main road. The dry whoosh to which I had become used had taken on a wetter note: this hiss alluded to in the song. I may have been slow getting there - it's forty years since The Doors released LA Woman - but I was pleased with my realisation.

A friend and I were discussing the sound of wind in beech trees recently. They have thin, flexible leaves with an emphasis on quantity rather than size. Morrison compared his cars to 'the waves down on the beach'. Beech leaves have a similar quality to waves over sand but drier, if that makes any sense. It occurred to me that before the massive deforestation that has accompanied agriculture and industry mankind would have been very attuned to what we now consider subtleties. A forest is, to use a phrase coined by David Toop, an ocean of sound constantly providing information for all who can read it.

I used to consider the sound of traffic as merely noise; the audible equivalent of the electromagnetic fog that some believe has contributed to the decline of bees. Whilst I would still prefer it gone it is part of the environmental soundscape and I have to make the best of it. Knowing it's been raining , even before I open my eyes in the morning, is a start. What use I can make of knowing there's a boy racer working off his testosterone or that the police are going somewhere in a hurry I'm really not sure.

Tomorrow's World

I am a habitual cyclist. I tend to avoid the adjective 'keen' because, although I do enjoy the practice, my main reasons for cycling relate to convenience, economy and carbon emissions. Cars, which I also use, impact negatively on my enjoyment and it could be argued that any urban cyclist must be keen by definition. But recently, in Britain at least, the increased pedestrianisation of town and city centres has added new hazards.

Because we tend to rely heavily on our ears to warn us of danger when crossing roads we don't hear cyclists approaching and this leads to misunderstandings, especially in those streets closed to 'traffic' but open to bicycles. No one likes a pedestrian who just steps out in front of them. And of course no one likes being snuck up on regardless of whether the sneaker is on tiptoe or riding a bike. Introduce silent vehicles the size and weight of cars and these little altercations become far more serious.

I read recently (on the BBC) that the Japanese are considering the introduction of noise generators to hybrid cars to make them safer for visually impaired pedestrians. This seems like a very good idea. And not just for the visually impaired. For those of us with a penchant for science fiction films there is a frisson of excitement about this prospect. It's so futuristic. The city soundscape will be awash with tasteful sound effects straight from Blade Runner. No more adolescent joy-riders tearing my ear-drums to shreds. A calm, orderly and sonically restrained future is just around the corner. For where the Japanese are tomorrow, surely we will be the day after.

Oh, if only that were the case. Spend any amount of time in a public place and what do you hear? Amongst other things you will hear a succession of ringing telephones. Except that they don't ring, even the ones that pretend to. Instead they emit a variety of cheesy 'ring tones' ranging from Roquefort to Dairylea.

Now compare the amount of time phones spend ringing to the time cars spend driving. Traffic in a city is a virtual constant and the sounds of the engines are sufficiently similar, and of a range in pitch, that we can screen them out for much of the time. But imagine if all these sounds had been selected by their owners. The vehicular equivalent of the ringtone. Not everyone likes Star Trek. And not everyone wants to drive a black Model T Ford, devoid of furry dice or racing stripes. Standardised sounds? For how long, if at all? If you think you hate traffic noise now, you ain't heard nothing yet.

Now excuse me while I go and attach playing cards to the spokes of my front wheel.

Sensitivity

I have been involved in a couple of projects recently where the ability of children to listen has been an issue of growing concern within the school, not just with respect to music but right across the board. Both the schools are located in suburban areas where traffic noise is a constant. And there is anecdotal evidence that, for many pupils, little conversation takes place within the home but that they are filled with the noise of competing music, television and computer games. The verbal interaction is sparse and perfunctory.

I don't find this difficult to believe. My own children will happily spend hours at a stretch at the computer if allowed.

Recently I have been looking for a new house. When traffic noise is clearly audible the vendor always assures me that 'I really don't hear it anymore'. Are they telling me the truth? Well, sadly, yes they probably are. I've grumbled about my neighbour's fountain before. What I don't like about it is that I can no longer tell, just by listening, whether it's raining or not, whether it's windy outside or whether the birds have woken up. It blocks out these sounds and if I block out his fountain I block out all the other sounds with it. If you live in an environment where you have to block out traffic or the sounds of TVs, computers and stereos you're blocking out so much else as well. You must lose, through lack of use, the ability to distinguish sounds from noise. Is it then a surprise if you have problems listening?