As I pressed the alluring, shiny chrome play button on my brand-new cassette Walkman, I struggled to contain my excitement. It was 1984, I was six years old, and the soon-to-be familiar ‘click clunk’ of the tape mechanism engaged, followed by what felt like pure magic as sound enveloped my ears, saturating them in velvet tones and rich voices, instantly transporting me to another realm. My imagination ran wild with limitless visions as I became immersed in the audio tape adventures of He-Man, Transformers, E.T., and Serafina the Blue Whale. As the tape flowed over the heads, driven by the mesmerising, curious little wheels spinning inside the cassette, I discovered that the core of my being could travel beyond the limitations of my physical body, my audio-induced visions transcending and compelling me beyond my earthly presence.
My first adventures in sound and love of the medium were ignited when I received my SONY WM-BF60 at six years old. Reflecting on this many years later, I realised that this humble device allowed me to access a portal between the physical realm I could experience with my senses and the more ephemeral realm of sound—one that could not be touched, tasted, smelled, or seen directly but could be deeply felt within my emotions and soul.
Decades later, not long after my dad passed away, I found some old audio cassettes he’d recorded of us at Christmas in the 1980s, shouting up the chimney to Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. There were also recordings of us unwrapping presents Santa had delivered the following morning. Hearing these again after so many years, I pondered the unique, tangible quality of the audio cassette and how, through its intrinsic physicality, it literally formed a bridge between the physical and the metaphysical, the seen and the unseen. The magnetic particles drawn over the playback head during replay were the very same particles polarised in a unique pattern at the precise moment of recording, all those decades ago.
In this way, the recreation of sound space upon playback feels like a kind of time capsule, especially when using analog technology and magnetic tape.
When I really contemplate this, even with the long-accepted scientific explanations for microphones, recording, speakers, and sound reproduction, I still find something truly magical about how the complexity of all the different frequencies within the human voice can be captured through a single microphone diaphragm, converted into electrical energy, and played back through a speaker cone with remarkable similarity.
As we grow older, many of us come to accept scientific principles as unquestionable norms. We can become dulled to the wonder of it all. But when I pause and go beyond the consensus or accepted understanding, I often find an awe-inspiring mystery that still sparks my inner child’s curiosity, despite any prevailing rationale. Sound remains, for me, an aspect of life that holds a sense of magic within the mystery of existence.
Note: I wrote this piece many years ago before the acoustic trauma and unfortunately feel that I’ve still not recovered my sense of curiosity and magic with sound. I hope that, despite any physical changes I’ve experienced in my hearing part of this reason at least is psychological and one day I will have the same fascination with sound i used to have.
Note: I wrote this piece many years ago, before experiencing acoustic trauma. Sadly, I feel I still haven’t fully regained my sense of curiosity and wonder for sound. I hope that, despite the physical changes in my hearing, part of this disconnect is psychological — and that one day, I’ll rediscover the same fascination with sound that I once had.
