The Art Of Vina-1 Chittibabu. Carnatic Veena Chittibabu. Millennium Carnatic Classical - Vol 5 Chittibabu. Musings of a musician Chittibabu. Bantureeti Kolu Chittibabu. Chittibabu - Sarasa Samadhana Veena Chittibabu. Millennium-Carnatic Classical-Vol. Rendezvous with Legends Chittibabu. Wedding Bells Chitti babu. Theme No - 1 - Ranjanamala Chitti babu. Nadaloludai - Instrumental Chitti babu. Theme No - 2 - Bahudaari Chitti babu. Sarasasamadana - Instrumental Chitti babu.
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Play album Buy Loading. Similar Artists Play all. Trending Tracks 1. Features Exploring the local sounds and scenes at Noise Pop Fest. Albums of the latest and loved, and the ones to look out for discover By okspud1 15 Feb am. All Things Hyped: Last. Love this track. More Love this track Set track as current obsession Get track Loading. Friday 27 March Saturday 28 March Monday 30 March Tuesday 31 March Wednesday 1 April Thursday 2 April Friday 3 April Saturday 4 April Sunday 5 April Monday 6 April Tuesday 7 April Wednesday 8 April Thursday 9 April Friday 10 April Saturday 11 April Sunday 12 April Monday 13 April Tuesday 14 April Wednesday 15 April Friday 17 April Saturday 18 April Sunday 19 April Monday 20 April Tuesday 21 April Wednesday 22 April Thursday 23 April Friday 24 April Saturday 25 April Sunday 26 April Monday 27 April This also meant a considerable saving in material, manpower and production time and cost, since one record now contained the music for which one previously had to produce six.
The LP was a revolutionary step forward. Small companies were now able to finance the production of records and this meant that artists and composers pre- viously unknown to the general audience were suddenly exposed to a new public Composers like Bruckner and Mahler, Vivaldi and Telemann were now found in record collections in every home. People who had not heard of this music before were now more familiar with it than the musicologists of a previous generation.
The public was soon sated. At this point the industry introduced the stereo revolution and the character of the record buyer changed drastically. Those who were interested in the content of the records were replaced to a large extent by those who were interested in sound per se, or in the status symbol quality of the sound system that filled the environmental gap once closed by the living room piano.
Record buyers cared less about music and more about appearances. Until Color TV came along. Then record sales really plummetted.
In an effort to entice new buyers record companies turned to time- worn gimmicks— the kind of repertoire that attracted the very first record audiences at the turn of the century. Releases of short works, or, worse, snippets from longer works flooded the market under the catch-all Greatest Themes from. These series were evidently predicated on the theory that the adult attention span for serious music cannot tolerate more than 5 minutes exposure.
Earlier, the introduction of magnetic tape triggered another revolution. Now it was no longer necessary to record in 5 minute spurs or takes. Longer takes were possible and errors could be excised or concealed with the use of a razor blade and adhesive tape.
A new breed of performer was developed — one who was incapable of giving a satisfactory performance before a live audience but who could sustain performances with the collusion of the recording engineer and the tape editor. There was a certain sterility to these recorded performances, evident to the careful listener as a lack of inner tension, but the cleanliness of the recordings appealed to a public and a kind of artist who grew up in the shadow of that arch-clean exponent of literalness — Arturo Toscanini, who dominated North American musical taste for the last two decades of his career.
The arrival of the tape recorder triggered another revolution. Home recorders were now available to anyone and people could as easily record off-the-air as buy records. Amateur performers and composers proliferated, and talent was superceded by imagination. Composers turned to tape recorded and tape created sounds for their musical materials and anyone with a tape deck and a pair of scissors was soon a composer.
When these possibilities had been plumbed composers turned to randomly produced noises for their source material. The confused public began to lose interest in serious music and record sales and concert attendance plummetted.
Major recording companies seriously considered dropping their classical catalogues and some ceased all local record production, importing their releases from a central bank. Attempts to revitalize the industry with merchandising gimmicks like those listed above proved self-defeating. However, the scene is not as bleak as perhaps I paint it. The record industry has done musical history a great service in the twentieth century.
It has given us. The creativity of some composers has been carefully documented. Penderecki, Henze and Orff, to name only a few have been invited to supervise the recording of their own music. But this has been haphazardly accomplished- Bartok and Schoenberg were sparsely recorded in their own lifetimes Too often the excesses of the recording industry have resulted in music pollution.
Fifteen recordings of Carrwna Burana are 1 2 too many and 37 of Bine Kleine Nachtmuski are 30 too many. Where does the recording industry take us from here? In the past twenty years companies have begun to influence the course of music performance more directly.
Ensembles under exclusive contract to one company have often favored the hiring of soloists and guest conductors under contract to the same company. Planned recording sessions have often determined concert programs and personnel, and artists have begun to choose their repertoire according to the fashions in the recording industry. Orchestral players seek employment with ensembles that have record- ing contracts.
Conductors are hired as musical directors according to their recording contracts or contacts, and recordings play an even larger role in the life of the musical community. Cities with recording orchestras attract the best players who in turn, through their teaching, enrich the musical life of succeeding musical generations of the community. This is fine for those communities with such ensembles— it is less happy for the vast number of locales without such support. And of course there is the pre-recorded tape revolution -will it supercede the disc, and wil it and the QUAD revolution render all pre performances obsolete and will these soon disappear?
How far do previous sounds differ from those of today? How much do we remember of what we hear? What meanings and emotions attach to sounds from the past? Why do familiar sounds often trigger nostalgic yearning? What sounds do we regard as antiquated, and why? On these topics little is known and less has been written. For each of us the answers depend, in part, on our age, our cultural heritage, and our musical and other auditory experiences.
This essay is a first exploration into past sounds and our feelings about them. The world we live in is a product of the past; the very familiarity of its features implies the memory of previous experience. Awareness of the past through mementoes and monuments is essential to individuals and to nations; the recognition of continuity gives meaning to the present and hope to the future.
We are aware of the passage of time and the endurance of things through other senses too. This assertion may seem hardest to demonstrate with respect to sound. No noise that human beings are capable of hearing is really old. Radio signals from the stars, to be sure, have taken many light years to reach the earth, but these play an inconspicuous role in our acoustical landscape.
No sound that we actually hear is more than a few moments old; the rapid decay of sound energy coupled with our limited capacity for hearing makes even the loudest noise undetectable soon after its inception. In one sense, however, sound seems the very essence of time.
Aural impulses have long been the main way of marking off years, seasons, weeks, days, hours, and minutes: bells, chimes, and other clock mechan- isms provide a manmade counterpoint to the natural periodicity of pulse and heartbeat, and enhance our awareness of connections between past and present.
Yet to recover the sounds of the past is an infinitely more difficult enterprise than to restore the visual images of previous landscapes. Count- less visible relics, however eroded, decayed, or selectively preserved they may be, nonetheless survive to tell us much about the bygone material world and its spatial organization. But of sounds from the past, save for a small and relatively recent repertory, recorded for the most part under laboratory or studio conditions, not a trace remains.
Malcolm Macdonald, and Barbara Parry for comments and suggestions. Of sounds before the phonograph, we know only what can be surmised from indirect evidence: the noises of presumably unchanging natural or human activities; the sounds produced by ancient mus. Earwitnesses are to be trusted even less than eyewitnesses. But however deficient these indirect modes of historical reconstruc- tion may be, they are often invaluable.
The timbre, tone and rhythm of a clap of thunder, the beating of surf against the shore, have probably varied, little over many millennia, the ancient flute sounds today much as it did when first made; the clash of spear against shield, the ring of the hammer at the forge, the sizzle of meat on a neolithic spit can be fairly accurately reproduced by reactivating their constituent parts.
Other features of past soundscapes, however, are now unrecover- able: the utterances of extinct species, the clangor of early metallurgy, the intonations of ancient languages, the distinctive susurrus of obsolete domes- tic crafts.
Not least, the words spoken on any particular occasion through- out history are gone beyond recall. For most of this we lack even indirect evidence Least accessible is the total ensemble of sounds that character- ized past epochs, the interplay of background and foreground noises that made up the daily soundscape heard in each community and locale.
It was an immensity of sound. It is difficult wholly to escape the everyday sounds of modern life, for the internal combustion engine and long-distance communications are almost omnipresent. But today's natural and rural environments bear at least some resemblance to those of earlier epochs, and by listening to what happens there we can partly recapture the soundscapes of the past.
A desire for both authenticity and specificity animates our continuing search for ways to recover the actual sounds of the past. The capacity or ability to recapture such sounds is a recurrent theme of imaginative literature. Baron Munchausen describes a winter so cold that a hunter's tune froze in his bugle, emerging as audible notes only the following spring. Rabelais's Pantagruel, sailing on the confines of the Frozen Sea, is amazed, while seeing nothing, to hear a great din — the boom- ing of cannon, the whistling of bullets, the shouts and groans of men.
Because a light beam would take only a day to "overtake sound that left the earth thousands of years before. The desire to regain audible history bespeaks the power of sound to transport us back to the past. To hear, or even just to remember, a familiar tune, can instantly call to mind long-vanished scenes and events.
The playing of childhood melodies was said to have triggered fatal outbreaks of nostalgia among Swiss soldiers serving in France and Belgium during the 1 7th and 1 8th centuries.
The Kuhe-Reihen or ranz-des-vaches, rustic tunes to which herds were driven to Alpine pastures, revived Swiss recollections of their homeland, with disastrous effects on their health; consequently those who played, sang, or even whistled such tunes were severely punished. The tune, "a fragment of the past," in Starobinski's words, revives in the imagination all our former life The conscience comes to be haunted by an image of the past which is at once definite and unattainable The image of childhood reappears through a melody, only to slip away, leaving us a prey to this passion de souvenir'.
Senancour felt that "the sounds emanating from sublime places make a deeper, more lasting impression than do their visual features The significance of sound dominates the inhabitants of Updike's imaginary planet. But certain sounds in particular seem to incarnate it. What are the aspects of music and other sounds that induce us to sense them as old, stemming from antiquity or surviving from a remote past? Musical themes, tones, or styles seem old when we identify them as types of early or archaic forms.
Real or fancied similarity to some known work persuades us to link new music to some past epoch. Even the use of a particular key may evoke the musical past.
Thus long accumulated associations with major and minor modes make it difficult for some cognoscenti to "hear B minor without our subconscious being stirred by memories of the Kyrie of Bach's Mass, the first movement of the Unfinished Symphony, and Tchaikovsky's Pathetique. Certain instruments, whatever their actual age. The recognition stems from our expectation, based on a mixture of experience and belief, that early musical instruments were characteristically thin, reedy, quavering, or nasal; from the absence of a well-tempered pitch; or from certain acoustic properties — the castrato voice, for example — that are no longer to be found.
Moreover, temporal comparisons are valid only within a given musical tradition; the timbre of some Eastern music, for example, resembles that of pre-Renaissance Europe. However, it is the presumption of antiquity that concerns us, not its veracity. Music written in a deliberately archaic style enhances our awareness of temporal depth even when we know the sembl- ance of age is contrived.
A presumption of antiquity also attaches to sounds that seem worn, flawed, or partly obliterated. Such tones strike the ear as being either products of ancient forces or end results of processes of decay A scratchy record, a muffled church bell, a wheezy car engine give the illusion of having come from long ago because their tones suggest much prior use.
A cracked or quavering voice conveys a sense of time past because we may assume it belongs to an old man or woman. Words sung or spoken may be another high road to antiquity. Songs, chants, and other vocalizations connote age when they employ antiquated language or refer to historical personages or epochs. References to bygone persons and places, obsolete vocabulary, and archaic musical style and instrumentation converge to create compelling illusions of antiquity, as in Gregorian chants.
Words or eroded sounds often combine with aural memories to conjure up past images. Larkin describes how recorded music can evoke a vanished scene: The record was old-fashioned, and had a tinny quality only partly due to the needle.
The tune it played had been popular for perhaps a week or two, or perhaps even for as long as a musical comedy had run in London, but was now quite forgotten. The orchestra that played it did so in what had been the fashion of the moment, with little empty tricks of syncopation that recalled the outmoded dresses of the girls that had danced to it. It was strange to think it had once sounded modern. Now it was like an awning propped in the sun, nearly white, that years ago had been striped bright red and yellow.
Auditory like visual experience often makes natural things seem previous to manmade ones. Rocks, trees, lichen may look older than houses or highways because we assume that nature generally antedates artifice. The sounds of nature may similarly suggest a primeval scene. For Larkin's antagonist, "as far as age was concerned, sheer age that was almost time- essness, the sound of the trees was more impressive" than an ancient Oxford church.
The surrounding treetops settling and unsettling with an endless sifting of leaves Sett,n9 ' Alan band, the Mbuty Pygmies, who "have lived for 40 balance with nature," as "the sound of a Golden Age that has somehow survived into the present. A crumbling stone wall, an ivy-covered building, a mossy roof are felt to be old- because they are apparently weathering back to age-old nature. Similarly, tunes, speech, and other manmade noises patterned after the sounds of nature or decaying so as to resemble them impress hearers as akin to primeval.
We tend to assume that sounds distant in space are also remote in time; far away and long ago seem intimately interwoven. The experience of echoes bears this out in paradoxical fashion. As reverberations in amplified space, they echo sounds further away but after the original sound. Vet by making us conscious of the original sound as previous, echoes bring temporal awareness to the ear. Pretended echoes in music, as in the tenor duets of Monteverdi's Vespers, heighten the auditor's sense of duration.
The growth of interest in sounds stemming both from nature and from the human past mirrors increasing disenchantment with the noises felt to be most characteristic of the present day Sonic violence and the caco- phony of urban and industrial sound force many to take refuge from the modern acoustic environment behind soundproofed walls or earplugs.
Others evince their displeasure with the sounds around them by devoting themselves to performing and listening to early music; the numbers attending concerts and buying recordings of music more than three centuries old shows that professional musicians are not the only devotees of music from the past.
But the preference for the aural past goes beyond music; it questions the quality of the whole modern soundscape. The broad-gauge blur of the machine-dominated environment creates sounds that are inherently boring.
This is the quality that makes so many sounds of the past a precious legacy, now in danger of being lost through obsolescence, and that gives purpose to the World Soundscape Project's effort to record certain sounds before they vanish.
Such sounds include the ringing of old cash registers, clothes being rubbed on a washboard, butter being churned, a razor being stropped, a kerosene lamp, the squeak of leather saddle bags, hand coffee grinders, milk cans rattling on horse-drawn vehicles, heavy doors being clanked shut and bolted, school hand bells, wooden rocking chairs on wooden floors, the quiet explosion of old cameras and hand-operated water pumps A special auditory quality often associated with the past is silence.
We are so accustomed today to pervasive background noise that when it is absent we instantly feel that we have come on the scene too'ae-oMoo soon. Critical reactions to the present soundscape also help to make us aware that the audible environment has a temporal character.
Just as concert audiences have grown used to hearing chronologically sequent. We tend more and more to date the distinctive elements of the soundscape medley: the crash of waves and the wind in the trees seem eternal; bird-song is both seasonal and cyclical; voices seem either old or new depending on their age and familiarity; traffic sounds are placed in time because we have experienced, or heard recordings of, trains and cars and planes of various vintages; music and Muzak have temporal connotations that differ depending on where and how we hear them.
Even when we do not consciously attend to these sounds their temporality affects us As we keep incorporating past sounds into our present lives, the auditory medley takes on an increasingly diachronic charac- ter We hear in the present but simultaneously recognize elements, tonalities, and themes from many pasts.
Those of us who are thus aware of the aural past cannot regain the innocent ear of the purely synchronous present. We identify some sounds as characteristic of today, others— even when deliberately contrived to give a sense of the past— as peculiar to previous epochs. When such sounds are actually encountered, in primitive societies or natural surroundings, our historical awareness makes their occurrence seem anachronistic.
Historical consciousness makes us listen to many sounds and soundscapes as though they were passe, whether or not they really are. Changes in the technology and purpose of sound reproduction also make us aware of temporal differences. Initially recordings aimed to preserve actual acoustic events for future listeners. In recent years, recording purposes have diverged. As today's recordings fade into the past they will inevitably take on historical significance, no matter whether the aim of those who create and listen to them now is to preserve the present, to recapture the past, to anticipate the future, or to provide an ultimate and timeless listening experience.
What can be concluded from all this? Given our present level of tech- nology, past sounds, strictly speaking, appear to be irrecoverable Sounds persist only in memory, often evoked by associations, and in their influence on imagination.
What we can reconstruct from indirect evidence, however, suggests that in many important respects past soundscapes differed sub- stantially from those of today. It is partly because of these differences that we remain so strongly attached to sounds we consider to be antiquated, whether or not they are truly old. References 1. Gerald Abraham. Creswell in Architectural Review. Middlesex: Penguin Books, , p 5. Francois Rabelais. Hermann Hesse. Ariadne, New Scientist. Droz, , I, Jean Starobinski.
Stanley Milgram. June 3, , pp. Abraham, op. Sergei N. John Cornwell, "Secrets of the Recording 1 July Sound Heritage. R Murray Schafer. World Music Week Conference. To achieve verisimilitude, orchestral instruments had to be altered to fit recording apparatus. Charles Stroh at the turn of the century in England invented the "Stroh violin. A horn at the end of the fingerboard directed this sound into the recording ear.
See Cynthia A. Hoover, Music Machines— American Style. A Catalog of the Exhibition Washington. I Acknowledgement We are grateful to Gilles Potvin. Distinguished speakers paid tribute to the two inventors of the process of fixing and reproducing sound, namely Thomas Edison in the United States and Charles Cros in France. Jain, Deputy Director General. Young musicians from Hungary and Iran performed between the speeches. Others, together with record covers, presented the UNESCO collections of records of traditional and folk music, contemporary music and young interpreters.
These were set among old instruments — cylinders, and the earliest record players — and brought home vividly the way we have come since the World Collection of Folk Music was brought out by UNESCO on 78 r. Petrassi and Stockhausen. The IFPI celebrations, which were attended by leaders of the industry from all over the world, included a solemn ceremony of commemoration at Paris University — Sorbonne — and a divertissement-banquet held in the majestic setting of the Palace of Versailles.
The Indian Posts and Telegraphs Department issued a commemoration stamp on July 20, 1 to mark the centenary of the invention of the phonograph.