‘Is it difficult to reproduce the sounds of nature?’

Environments 12 is a new, speculative addition to the once-popular Environments series: a sequence of 11 records released between 1969 and 1979 that anticipated a mass-market in mood-altering nature recordings. Now, in the era of planetary scale computation, it is the environment itself that’s being updated. The reproduction, synthesis and management of soundscapes has become ubiquitous and automated. Loudspeakers and microphones are laced through the biosphere, all in the name of a cybernetic ecology.

Established in 2020 by artist-researchers Sean Dockray, James Parker, and Joel Stern, Machine Listening is a platform for collaborative research and artistic experimentation. The collective works across diverse media and modes of production, including writing, installation, curation, software, radio, pedagogy, and performance. And this is the first LP they’ve released. It is a mind-inverting libretto for the anthropocene: a post-historical field recording; aggressively brash and thoughtfully devious, one for the curling of your inner ear.

Unfolding across a series of historical, contemporary, and speculative scenes, the work is narrated by an ensemble of vocal performers - Francis Plagne, Jenny Hickinbotham, David Chesworth, Catherine Ryan, Jasper Dockray, Roslyn Orlando - and their generative voice clones. Together, this more-than-human chorus tells and retells stories of ‘psychologically ultimate seashores’, reef lullabies, natural symphonies designed for zoo enclosures, and large language models for whales and crows. The record imagines a world in which the biosphere, human and technology are blurred almost entirely: a hypothetical space in which organic matter has to be exposed to synthetic renditions of itself in order to summon life, a reproduction of a replica.

Environments 12 involves, or demands, a suspension of reality. Is this a chorus of real voices or a facsimile? Are animals hostile to microphones? What does it mean when field recordings are treated by as cultural artefacts, interpolated amongst ‘data’ gathered by acoustic biologists? There is no yardstick here with which to discern what is true and what is an abstraction thereof. And the effect is bafflingly addictive: sing-song lullabies slowly spinning into states of total dilation, miming ensembles mimicking ocean sounds in resplendent strains, dream chords built of broken voice humming within the wires.

In the same way that Environments 12 feels narratively unmoored from any easily identifiable reality, it also refuses to pigeonhole itself sonically. The effect is something like Walter Maioli, Fred Gales and the Sound Reporters gang being set upon a digital gorilla enclosure, or perhaps Robert Ashley’s Don leaving Linda and instead going to the Osaka Aquarium to listen to dolphins. The palette here is definitely one for fans of the lovely music style (an approach more than an identifiable sound) of Paul DeMarinis’ ‘Songs Without Throats’ or Ron Kuivila and Nicolas Collins’ ‘Going Out With Slow Smoke’. But it’s also supremely off kilter in its dramatics. Not retrofuturist so much as off in its own continuum entirely, and all the more entrancing for it.

In sum, Environments 12 is deeply perplexing, beautifully garish, and an unbridled pleasure for all its grotesqueries. Rarely do records strike so deft a balance between high-conceptualism and irreverent absurdity, much less while maintaining a distinct emotional core.