Kenyon Acoustics

This year, I spent a lot of time in my dorm room, so I discovered that the acoustics in the Hanna dorms are kind of ideal for singing and playing music. There's the slightest hint of reverb because of the tall ceilings, but the carpeting on the floor muffles it, making it subtle. Despite the near constant buzz of my refrigerator (which is audible towards the end), I recorded a lot of covers in that room over the fall semester, and this song in particular was a lot of fun to play. Sometime between 2-4 every afternoon, as the sun was going down, the light would coming streaming in through my west-facing window, and the whole room would light up gold. On less busy days, I would sit right near that window and play songs to the sun as it set.

"Like The Dawn" evokes that image for me when I listen to it. The singers humming softly in the beginning makes it feel warm, as does the quick change from D major to Dsus4 at the end of each phrase. Though I tried my best to capture those warm feelings, I'd honestly recommend listening to the actual recording, as me and my little baritone ukulele don't quite do the guitarist in the Oh Hellos justice.

I think a dorm room would be an interesting environment for a performance of some kind considering its casual and personal nature. The space in which someone lives can say a lot about them, and to invite others into it while also playing music -- another personal experience -- would create an unexpectedly intimate atmosphere. Like I said, I've recorded a lot of covers of songs in this room, and that alone is personal enough to make me question whether or not it's worth putting up anywhere where an audience might see it. Even if it doesn't garner an audience though, it's a performance nonetheless. An audience of one is an audience nonetheless.

Considering how small this space is, and how it's right in the middle of a residential area, it wouldn't be an ideal spot for a traditional concert. In my opinion though, performance doesn't just have to be for a live audience. Especially this year, people have found other innovative ways to perform, like playing on a livestream, or recording a video and publishing it somewhere. Performance is more than just playing live music in front of a group of people.

For the stairwell, I chose a chorus of "Wait For Me" from the musical Hadestown, mostly because it's short, if I'm being honest. I knew people wouldn't necessarily be thrilled by my playing songs in the stairwells, especially in a dorm like Hanna which has old, thin walls. And I was right. You can hear someone in the recording saying something along the lines of "please stop singing," and I don't blame them. I recorded this at night, as inconsiderate as that was, because I was running out of time to get my recordings done. I also predicted that the stairwell would be echoey, and I thought the short, dynamic riffs would bounce nicely off the walls and the stairs. Once again, I was right. I think this space added an ethereal quality to both the singing and the arpeggiated chords. In the few moments before the interruption, the space felt private, like it was just me and the building. The unfortunate part is that clearly, it wasn't.

I'm in a group at Kenyon called "The Stairwells," and we perform acoustic covers of folk songs at concerts twice a year. Despite the name, we don't actually hold concerts in stairwells. Since I thought folk music would sound especially nice in a stairwell, I figured I'd try it out. However, obviously this wouldn't work for a group of 10+ students and an in-person audience. Like I said earlier though, a performance isn't necessarily a concert, and I think something could be done in terms of music in the stairwells. Maybe a Middle Path session at WKCO could be filmed here, or maybe it could just be an experimental space.

I know what you're thinking -- who in their right mind would play live music in a laundry room? As it turns out, I know someone who did. My cousin played a live concert with his band in a laundromat on campus during college, just because they wanted to preform somewhere they wouldn't normally get to. Remembering that story, I thought I'd test it out here, and I can say that I'd host a concert here too. My voice bounced off the concrete on all sides, creating an almost ethereal reverb. It seemed to amplify my baritone ukulele and bring out the softness I was trying to emulate with my cover of the song I chose ("Sweater Weather," by the Neighborhood).

I picked that song partially because of the mention of clothing (low hanging fruit, I know), but partially because I had listened to it going back and forth from my dorm to this room to do my laundry. There's a playlist on my phone that I listen to whenever I do laundry, and that song seems to play almost every time I'm in here. As you can hear, I mess up quite a bit, but I was having so much fun with it that I didn't want to stop the recording to do it over again.

Socially, I'm not sure it would go over terribly well to preform a concert in the laundry room. It was awfully quiet when I went to sing there, most likely because it was a Saturday night. Still, aside from the sounds of the pipes overhead and the machines themselves, it seems to be a quiet space on campus, and I felt I was breaking some sort of unspoken rule by playing music there. I could hear people coming down the hall at times too, and afraid of what they'd think of me playing Sweater Weather at 10pm in a laundry room, I'd quiet down. However, I do think if it were planned, the space would make an excellent concert venue. The acoustics are unique, and since the space is so small, any performances there are bound to be rather personal. In theory, I'd come back and play here again, but in practice, and the context of people trying to sleep, I'm not so sure.

In weeks before I made this recording, I sat here with a friend, talking excitedly and noticing how our voices bounced off of the stone walls and ceiling above us. I'd seen the jazz band rehearsing, their sound ringing out of Rosse and flooding Middle Path. I sang there last year for the first-year sing, and this year as a member of the chamber choir. Naturally, I figured it had to be a part of this project as well.

I picked "My Heart is Buried in Venice" for the Rosse steps partially because it's associated with nighttime at Kenyon for me, but also because I was already familiar with the acoustics here, and knew some of my dynamic choices would only get amplified by the stone walls. At my first open mic night at Kenyon, I performed a rendition of this song at the horn. It was shaky, and definitely not my best work considering how nervous I was. I remember the audience looking a little bored, and thinking I just wasn't good enough to be performing there. I've played the song since then, but I figured I'd give it a second try in a different place, with a different audience. While I was playing, I was thinking it was awfully quiet, even for Kenyon at night this year, and especially in that context, I felt extremely vulnerable because the sound from the Rosse steps carries pretty far, and I knew I was audible to anyone in earshot. Then again, the church bells started chiming towards the end of the song, which masked my playing a little, but also interacted with it. When I listen back, the eerie quiet allows my playing to almost harmonize with the bells, which is a really neat effect that I could only get at this time of night. As it turns out, there was a curfew I'd forgotten about, and shortly after I finished playing, a campus safety officer politely told me to go home.

I've seen concerts played here, but they were mostly formal events performed by large, classically trained groups. I've never seen a student band play on the Rosse steps, or some solo artist playing here. For that reason, even though the steps of Rosse seem pretty accessible, there's still this unspoken rule that only classical music, and occasionally theatre, can be performed here. Personally, I think we should open it up to other kinds of musicians, because while I do love choirs and orchestras and bands, I believe everyone should have an opportunity to be heard in all kinds of spaces, no matter how formal or informal.

I've heard plenty of music played on Peirce lawn before, mostly informally. This year in particular, it was one of the only prominent social spaces for students because it was outdoors, and easily accessible for all students, even during quiet periods when we weren't allowed to eat inside Peirce itself. Especially at the beginning of the semester, students gathered on the lawn to eat and relax with their friends since eating indoors together wasn't an option. You could watch a wave of students roll in and out at mealtimes in August. Because of its vitality in preserving Kenyon's social scene, I thought it would be a great place to continue my experiment in acoustics.

I chose the song "Bitter Water," another song by the Oh Hellos (I tend to listen to a lot more folk songs while I'm at Kenyon) because I had listened to it a lot walking down Middle Path on the south side of campus last year, especially when I was in a particularly good mood. This year, Peirce lawn was that space of positivity, both for myself and others. The song is quite bouncy, and the lyrics themselves are playful. It begs to be played outside for a group. Maybe it's because of the big chorus section in the middle, which I could only imitate in the slightest with my single voice, or because the choruses are often layered, being sung by many voices at the same time. The wind features prominently in this recording, quieting my own sound, but bringing out a really interesting ringing tone from my ukulele that almost sounds like another voice. I've never heard it do that before, and I don't know what caused it here, but I thought it fitting that nature tried to duet my playing. It's social, and so is Peirce lawn. Both represent spaces of gathering.

Though acoustically, Peirce lawn is more or less the same as Middle Path, the timing and the social implications of those spaces make all the difference. I played here during the day, whereas I played on Middle Path at night. During the day, Peirce lawn is a gathering space, and what better place for a concert than one where people are likely to gather? It's an easily accessible spot that's already crucial to campus life, and there's plenty of space. I think an informal concert would be fitting here, especially this year. People often say that music brings us together, as cliché as it is, so especially in a time where gatherings are limited and difficult, why not have a venue that brings people together to match?

There have been plenty of sound studies done on Middle Path before. When I was applying here, I read an article about someone who had walked its whole length without headphones, and described the importance of doing so. I even did a sound walk part of the way back in October. But I believe this little experiment is different because it involves music. Middle Path isn't exactly a place known for performance or live music -- most of the music that takes place here lives in the headphones of students walking to their next class, or more recently, the jazz band practicing outside on the steps of Rosse Hall. Even though it's an outdoor space, it's central and easy to get to, which makes it an ideal unconventional performance venue in a time where theaters and concert halls aren't safe.

I chose Hozier's "Wasteland, Baby!" to play on Middle Path because I used to listen to it walking to nighttime acapella rehearsals in the snow. I don't remember how that started, but ever since, I've associated the song with chilly nights. When a particularly cold November day rolled around, I decided to go out at around 10pm, the time I would ordinarily be walking to rehearsal, find a bench, and play the song. My ukulele fell out of tune pretty quickly, and I'll admit that singing in the cold wasn't the most pleasant experience, but the way the music drifted into the night and faded out in the sounds of a Kenyon night around me was comforting. Associating this song once again with being outdoors at night took my mind back to last year, before COVID-19 and the lack of live performances on campus.

Honestly, I'd love to see more people performing on Middle Path. I got the idea for this location after walking home from a friend's room one night and hearing someone practicing saxophone nearby, even though it was 2am and freezing outside. I thought about that the next day, and how it takes a lot of bravery to play music somewhere where it's so audible. I suppose if your goal is to be heard, Middle Path is ideal, considering how many people walk it every day. However, I think it would also take a huge amount of courage from any artist to showcase their work there, no matter if they're in a group or on their own, just because of how vital to the life of the campus it is. In my opinion, I think this is the perfect place if you're looking for a wide audience, and aren't afraid of being listened to.

Image courtesy of Austin S. Lin

On the day I went to record this, it was raining. Moments ago, a friend of mine had convinced me to come play here for this project, since she thought the concrete bridge overhead might create a neat effect. I liked the idea since I had recorded in a lot of outdoor spaces due to the nature of COVID-19, and the fact that the campus was in a quiet period, meaning indoor spaces were a lot less accessible. Between these two buildings was a liminal space, somewhere between inside and out. Plus, I thought the rain on the gravel would be a nice dramatic effect.

"Cool Girl" by dodie is a song that just came out this year, and I can't say i've listened to it too much at Kenyon, but in the context of being just outside an actual performance space, not quite allowed in but not quite kept out, I think it works. The song is about putting on a show for someone, being quiet and easy to be with so that they "choose" you in a sense. The lyrics sound like an audition for the role of a friend -- or maybe more -- and a reminder of the character the artist is playing. Between two theaters, not actually inside of either of them, seemed like the perfect place for a song like this.

It's a little strange to imagine a concert just outside of a theater, a much more conventional space for a performance, but I think it's more accessible for bands and solo artists, especially smaller ones, than the theater. You can be a little more impromptu about it. You don't have to request the space months in advance and plan a date just to have a space to play. I noticed my voice sounding a lot more spread out here, while my ukulele sounded more concentrated and full. There's a small echo, some of which you can hear during the louder parts of my recording, but you have to either play loudly, or listen closely. Maybe performing here would encourage an audience or an artist to do the same.

If you thought Manning Laundry made me crazy, you're definitely questioning my choices now. About 7 recordings into this project, I was stumped as to where to sing next. I felt like I was running out of places on campus where someone could play music, so I decided to go on a walk one night, and that's when I walked by the "Open 24 hours" sign on the door of the post office. I ran home, grabbed my ukulele, and came straight back.

Needless to say, I didn't exactly have a plan, so once I had set up to record, I found myself asking, "why am I playing here? there's absolutely no musical significance to this place for me." I thought for a minute about why I felt silly playing music in the post office lobby, and figured it was, once again, the unspoken social rule that live music doesn't happen in a place meant to send and receive letters. After a little while, I ended up playing "Generation Why" by Conan Gray for just that reason. My generation didn't set the precedent that post offices weren't for playing music. I don't exactly know who did, but ever since, we've all been following it, so why not change it up? As I played, I found myself once again wondering why this wasn't a musical space. The acoustics were absolutely ideal, at least in my opinion. The idea of space was reflected by the linoleum floors, but most of the echo was absorbed by the wood on the walls. It made my voice sound warm and round and full, and I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to give a concert here. That's when somebody walked in, and I had to get up, apologize, and get out -- hence why the recording is so short. I cut that interaction out because quite frankly, I'm a little embarrassed about it.

As I walked home, I thought about why concerts didn't happen there. Not only was this a space of utility, but an awkwardly shaped one at that. All the P.O boxes split the space into small, rectangular coves, illogical for playing to an audience, but perfect for playing solo. After all the questioning I had already done as to what makes something a performance, I thought about if I had just performed, and why I had stopped when someone else came in. I most likely could have kept going, and perhaps he would have stopped me, but perhaps he wouldn't have. Either way, I can't help but have a secret hope that I'll come back and record something else here, just to experience the wonderful space that the acoustics in the post office provided.

Don't get me wrong, I've definitely sat out here playing songs before, but never at night. Last year, I'd walk by the outside of Gund Commons, looking at the lights and longing to sit down and sing. I used to turn the fairy lights in my dorm room on last year, while the rest of my friends were out at parties, and sing, so I guess that instinct makes sense. And the song I picked makes sense too.

Last year, I came back from a Valentine's day craft party, and found my room empty. I had been obsessed with the song "Honeybee" by the Steam Powered Giraffes around that time, and I don't know what compelled me, but I plugged the fairy lights on, laid down on the floor of my Norton dorm room, and played the song in my headphones, looking at the dimly lit ceiling and crying a little more than was necessary. I suppose the warm lights surrounding the outdoor area and the mildly chilly weekend night reminded me of that night last year, and it felt only fitting to play the song here.

This is another venue that I'd love to see concerts performed at. It's small, and wouldn't allow for too large of an audience, but that's part of the thrill of it. The fairy lights create a warm, inviting environment, without being too overwhelming or harsh. The heater (or whatever it is making that soft whirring noise) doesn't interrupt too much, and the music is still very well audible. It's perfect for an impromptu acoustic event, whether that be a group of friends playing a song together, or an effort by a student-led acapella group or band. However, I feel like that might affect the position it has as a sanctuary for solo artists. I've walked by here many a time to see someone playing guitar and singing to themselves. Though I think this space has the perfect atmosphere for a concert, maybe some spaces are best left to those who use them not to be heard, but just to have somewhere to play.

The practice rooms were probably the most typical place to play music that I recorded in for this project, and yet I think it's up for debate whether what happens in the practice rooms is performing or not. Musicians come to practice here, but recording myself singing and playing a fully finished song blurs those lines. In fact, I think people who practice here question the boundary between practice and performance quite often. Even though the walls are sound-proofed, I could still hear students rehearsing in the other rooms as I was setting up. Perhaps that was unintentional, but I'd consider it a performance no less.

I played "Build Me Up Buttercup" here mostly because it was the first thing that came to mind when I sat down to record, but it seems fitting looking back because I used to play it as an informal "warm up" sometimes when I came here to rehearse more "serious" music, like a part for the Chamber Singers. Moreover, it's fitting because I've wanted to do a cover of it for a while now, and I found out by playing it here that the practice rooms are a fantastic place for recording if I'm planning on layering things and creating a fully fledged piece of music, mostly because the acoustics don't do much to distort my voice at all. The carpeting on the floor and the rugs hanging on the walls ensure my sound gets absorbed the walls, and doesn't bounce, creating a studio-like environment. I guess I'd consider this the "control" group, if this project is an experiment, considering the whole point of the acoustics here is that they're as undetectable as possible.

As for a performance here, it's pretty clear from the small space that a traditional concert-style performance wouldn't work, but like I've mentioned in other points on this map, concerts aren't the only option for performance. After all, isn't a recording a performance? At one point, it was live. If you wanted to preserve the live aspect of a concert, you could easily livestream from here. Plus, the people in nearby rooms might hear you, even though that's against the point of the practice rooms, as they're meant to be private spaces of just that -- practicing. But if all else fails, are you not performing for yourself?

Image courtesy of the Kenyon Thrill