robinl's blog

Staten Island's New Year's celebration was announced by the muffled sounds of fireworks set off from somewhere else, with a cottony "thrump-thrump-thrumpety-thrump" sound. Then a smattering of hoots and hollers could be heard up and down Hamilton Avenue. I imagined bottles of sparkling drinks being popped, though I heard none. Bob and I clinked plastic glasses of water and white wine. On TV, the black-and-white sounds of the French Resistance, caught in the rough staccato of French actors performing in a 1960's film.

I count three kinds of crickets outside tonight. One group is rubbing their legs in a very predictable, double quick-time. Another group has an arrhythmic pattern that repeats, rhythmically. A third group of crickets (cicadas? grasshoppers?) has a slow, lazy two-note that is spaced out by silences. It is a challenge to listen closely enough to separate out each group's sound. They mix so well with each other, creating a complex and layered sonic experience. I can also hear a distant rumble of traffic—it's an odd soundscape for a borough of NYC.