Vague Terrain

'Mothers, sisters, wives and sweethearts who have lost their beloved in the war, find their souls hungering for them … You, it becomes known, are investigating the problem, the question whether personality persists after so-called 'body-death' … People everywhere are anxiously awaiting word from you.' -A.D. Rothman to Thomas Edison in The New York Times, 1921

Jean Cocteau's 1949 film Orpheus (Orphée) recently reminded me of a certain modern fascination with the artifacts and phenomenon of recorded sound, especially in relation to voices of the dead. Early in the film a poet named Cégeste dies, but he is immediately resurrected as a voice, broadcasting from beyond. His acousmatic transmissions transfix and torment Orpheus, who listens desperately from a car radio with otherworldly reception.

Thomas Edison, perhaps tormented by the "permanent" impression of voice, is quoted as saying of his phonograph:

'This tongueless, toothless instrument, without larynx or pharynx, dumb, voiceless matter, nevertheless utters your words, and centuries after you have crumbled to dust will repeat again and again to a generation that will never know you, every idle thought, every fond fancy, every vain word that you choose to whisper against this thin iron diaphragm.'

In March of 2008 researchers presented a new “oldest recording” at Stanford University - a 10 second clip of a woman singing, recorded in 1860. The song was captured by a “phonautograph,” a device that etched graphic representations of sound waves onto paper covered in soot from a burning lamp. Using a “virtual stylus” and compensating for the hand-cranked speed variations of the original, scientists were able to resurrect this 150 year old voice. Audio historian David Giovannoni, who found the recording, said "The fact is it's recorded in smoke. The voice is coming out from behind this screen of aural smoke."