Jonathan Willis
One sunny afternoon last July, the University of Birmingham’s Edgsbaston campus played host to some rehearsals by the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain. Cellos, violas, tubas and trombones were scattered liberally throughout the Arts Building, and the history department itself played host to the trumpet section. Hearing (fainter) strains of music in the department is not an uncommon occurrence, as there are student rehearsal rooms in other parts of the building. This is usually quite enjoyable, even if it occasionally adds a melodramatic quality to meetings or supervisions. Whether at work or home, we have all probably at some stage encountered some form of music which has permeated our environment uninvited. Sometimes, as with the NYO or Birmingham’s budding undergraduate virtuosi, this can be an unexpected source of pleasure. But in other situations, it can be distracting, disruptive, or downright offensive. Uncleanness, the anthropologist Mary Douglas famously observed in her 1966 work on Purity and Danger, is ‘matter out of place’.[1] In the same way, musical sound in the wrong spatial or chronological context can easily cross the rubicon of taste and order and become a provocative and clamorous noise. If this is still true in the sound-proofed, double-glazed, cavity-wall insulated, noise-cancelling-headphone-wearing twenty-first century, then it was even truer in the sixteenth, where both welcome and rogue sounds must have travelled with much greater volume, clarity and conspicuousness. Continue reading