Music is a Choice!

The human and non-human divide has become a prominent feature in the current Western-centric paradigm, at least in the United States. The concept of the “Anthropocene” explores the ecological impacts of humans and the post-colonial, however, it can unfairly distribute responsibility among people and widen the human and non-human divide. Listening across this divide can destabilize the rigid distinctions made between forms of life, and brings into question the human-centric rhetoric of the Anthropocene. It can create a space for a diversity of ontologies and epistemologies.

Andrew Whitehouse (2015) explores Bernie Krause’s sonic epochs. Whitehouse argues that we are currently living within the anthrophony, a period of time dominated by human generated sounds. Furthermore, he argues that the anthrophony can be split into pre- and post-Anthropocene eras, the latter being distinguished by the disruption and domination of biophonic sounds. This post-industrial anthrophony creates a loss of previously common ecological and sonic harmonies within the environment, generating a sense of anxiety surrounding the act of listening to birds. However, it is not necessarily the sounds produced naturally by humans that create disruptions. It is the dissonant noise of electromechanical objects and the degradation of environments that creates most of the disruption. Thus, the anthrophonic divide of humans and non-humans is not brought about from the natural, skin-bearing bodies, but the mechanical creations of those bodies. 

Whitehouse’s description of ecological harmony is faintly similar to the Kaluli-s concept of dulugu ganalan described by Mickey Hart (1990) in Voices of the Rainforest. Rather than each sound of the rainforest, including the sounds created by humans, being separate, the rainforest itself is an ever changing soundscape. The sounds of birds, rain, or people can not exist unto themselves, but instead, they exist together as one layered sound or voice. The Kaluli view their music similarly– as existing as one soundscape made up of dense layers of voices that do not exist in solitude. This view contrasts that of many Western-centric views, in which human-made sound exists separately from non-human-made sounds. Furthermore, human-made sounds can be broken down into language, mechanics, and music. However, with the Kaluli understanding of sound and music, the human and non-human divide is small, if considerably non-existent. Similarly, Iñupiaq drumming, as described by Chie Sakakibara (2009), closes the distance of the human and non-human divide. For the Iñupiaq, drumming and song “emotionally facilitate dialogues between human and animal characters” (291). Through the use of drums and song, they are able to invoke the spirit of the whale to call them for the hunt, then to give thanks to the whale for its sacrifice.

The Kaluli and Iñupiaq not only close the divide between humans and non-human animals, but also between humans, spirits, and natural phenomena such as rain. These ontologies complicate the human-oriented view of the Anthropocene by complicating what it means to be human.