distance

Since “different anthropogenic ecosystems produce dramatically different soundscapes,” the way music is made in these spaces reflects and affects how individuals make decisions about their interactions with the living world (Pedelty 2012, 118). Within the boundaries of Tremor, “musicians transform geographic regions into living myths” (Pedelty 2012, 83). Some spaces where events took place were protected for conservation efforts, which can benefit individual lives and impact the potency of political messages: when the people are reprogrammed to work in communion with nature the former ideology will lose its power. Pedelty (2012) acknowledges that “the act of making music does not, by itself, make us more environmentally aware or active” because “music does not automatically set the world right, no matter how it is performed” (30). In the context of Tremor, this reality is especially true since the performances are not ecologically minded on their own. In bringing performers and audience members into these spaces with reverence, the regions become hollowed in powerful ways that can manifest in the adoption of more ecologically aware behaviors and attitudes. Those in attendance also begin to consider how their music-making and engagement fit into the natural soundscape while recognizing other sounds and entities present.

Sound is not doing the labor of transformation, nor is it entirely a focus for engagement in open-air festival spaces (to the same degree that it may be in an enclosed space). Music is the arbitrator between body and space, negotiating the performance of bodily identity in an open-air space. It provides an intangible object to respond to, an occasion to engage, and a motivator for seeking connections. But other bodies and the landscape itself becomes the focus, something I experienced while attending a concert in an open field in Vila Franca do Campo, a small municipality on São Miguel with an emblematic volcanic islet (see the image below). Although multiple performances took place during the three hours I existed in this space, I cannot recall a distinct performance as strongly as I recall the sight of the islet, distance of the sound travelling from the stage to the sky, swift carry of the breeze circling from the land to the sea, and the crowds bustling in front of the stage and toward the booths of vendors selling small dishes and beers. There is a series of sensations provoking specific responses to my memory of that moment, but sight dominates sound.