I’m currently reading Lawrence Kramer’s evocative The Hum of the World, in which his posits sound as the primary underlying sensation of our lives. Verdict is still out, but it’s a fun book covering a lot of ground I already give attention to (music, sound studies, design, literature). I’m likely a member of the choir to which he preaches.
It got me thinking about one of the most striking sound environment contrasts I’ve encountered:
Last summer I co-led a study abroad trip to the Baltic states and our travel itinerary took us through the Helsinki airport, one of the cleanest, calmest, and most thoughtfully designed public spaces I’ve ever encountered. No bustle, no stress, just a wonderful place to be. Somewhere I might choose to spend time even if I didn’t have a flight.
One of the most striking aspects of the space was the soundscape. Though people were moving around with their luggage and lots of things were going on, it had a calm hush. There was clearly significant thought put into the ambient sound (including a lot of sound absorption), with gentle nature sounds at a quiet level that seemed to cue everyone to how much noise was appropriate (the nature sounds were somewhat louder and busier in the restrooms; also very effective). When an announcement was made the background sounds would lower and everyone would be quiet to listen, rather than it blaring over whatever noise was already existing. Rather than covering noise with more noise, the gentleness of the ambient soundtrack nudged everyone to reduce their own sound output to match it. We found ourselves speaking in the subdued voice of a nice restaurant or public library.
We flew from Helsinki-Vantaa directly to Dallas-Fort Worth. The only things these airports have in common are airplanes and a dash in their name. What a rude awakening. If the details of Helsinki were calibrated for calm, DFW was designed by a sound sadist. The floors are 6 inch tile with large grout lines. Practical and durable perhaps (though who wants to install thousands of feet of 6” tile is beyond me), but the grooves mean that a rolling suitcase clicks on the grout lines several times per second. When a thousand people are rolling suitcases the din is hellish. Of course you still have to talk, so you speak louder. And of course they have to make announcements, so they blare them even louder. And to top it off in some areas there is muzak.
Perhaps a coincidence (perhaps not), folks at DFW seemed rather more stressed and angry than the Finns. While I’m sure it’s possible to get tetchy in Helsinki, I think it’s nearly impossible not to when assailed with the endless racket of Dallas.