A Stroll with an Audio Storyteller | Jason Murphy
Jason Murphy walks out of his house in a small village Mirtleville, located on Ireland’s southern seashore of the Atlantic ocean. He usually does not take a phone during his walks, but today he stays online to show me around through a video call. Absorbing every bit of sound, he quickly notices that it is a windy morning by hearing waves crashing against cliffs in the distance.
“I can hear one or two people screaming down at the beach because they are swimming even in the wintertime. And I can also tell, even though I can’t see, that the waves are quite big today, so it’s a little windy.”
Wearing a bright yellow windbreaker and a bushy hairstyle, he looks nothing like a 40-years-old university professor. Even though that has already been his occupation for more than five years, Jason is a professional audiographer, passionate about location storytelling and sound walking throughout his whole life.
“We rely on our sight a little more than on our hearing. But that wasn’t always the case! When we were developing in the wombs, we couldn’t see, but we could hear the outside world. So, actually, our first most important sense is really hearing. Sound walking sort of redirects the balance, getting people tuned to the acoustic world again.”
Barking interrupts Jason. His snow-white dog Rudolf starts running in front of him, leading this morning stroll to one of the owner’s favorite paths. Carrying people further away from the beach, a green walking road winds through the grass fields and farms’ hedges.
“The place is all covered in old footpaths. It used to be a popular destination for holidays, back in the last century. It’s full of laneways, and they are really interesting, weird, and mysterious. There are no people. So, there is no interference of the 21st century.”
Jason stops near the abandoned building. He remembers that this old ruined house was a place where he produced his own first audio story 12 years ago.
“It was about a neighbor of mine. He used to be a farmer, who sold his land for lots of money. He spent his whole life working on a farm with his dad, and then he became a millionaire — but that didn’t change his life at all.”
The old farmer’s house keeps inspiring Jason to new recordings. A recent project was produced there during the summer of 2020. Jason recorded the poem “A disused shed in County Wexford” by Derek Mahon.
“I thought that this place was exactly like the one being described in the poem. So, I had a friend of mine sit in one of the rooms and I recorded her reading the poem. And it just really worked!”
For Jason, the physical location of the story can be illustrated through the sounds surrounding the place. The sound never stays the same but it is always fascinating. While explaining this, he climbed one of the ruined walls to capture a richer mix of noises.
“I love the sound of the wind. It’s weird because the wind is actually silent. What we hear is the interaction of the air with different things it passes through. Today though, it’s a sound of branches moving.”
Not only the location’s acoustic beauty attracts Jason. While walking around the abandoned house, he looks inside the rooms through broken windows and finally stops near the chimney. For a storyteller, it represents a family that lived here a long time ago, which means that there is a story behind it.
“I find old places to be intriguing. I think about the idea of decay, the idea of ‘once upon a time,’ the idea of families living there. This kind of talks about the temporary nature of life.”
As the audiographer steps on the paved path again, all his senses devour the surrounding nature. Everything around always stays green, as autumn never comes to Mirtleville. Jason thinks that both climate and lifestyle there are very balanced.
He does not feel the same about Blagoevgrad, a city in Bulgaria where he usually has to stay for at least four months every semester while working at the university.
“When I’m in Blagoevgrad, I like it and everything, but it’s very confined. When I look out of my window, all I see is the tower blocks. Life there feels closed. But when I get back here — it’s completely open! There’s all this space for your head. And I turn into a different person here as soon as I arrive.”
Jason mentioned that he still continues recordings anywhere he goes, even during the workdays, travels, and holidays.
“When I’m traveling, I often say ‘Wow! Isn’t that beautiful? This is like a picture. Doesn’t that sound amazing?’ I listen to the sound of different places even when I’m just walking out there.”
Jason whistles loudly as Rudolf disappeared for a while, probably looking for a friend in the woods. Reunited, they sat down in the middle of the field, enjoying their time, carefully listening to the sounds of the grass, leaves, insects, and the distinct sound of waves at the beach. Jason explains that he does not want to be taken out of such moments in life.
“I can hear all these things going around me. And it never stops. People from the city think, ‘Oh my God, how do you live here? It’s so boring.’ But for me, all of these small things are all incredibly exciting. So, when I’m walking through the city, looking at the people going for coffee or to the mall, I think, ‘Wow! This is so boring. How do you live here?’”
Jason stood up. An old post office building turned into a shop on the side of a never-ending evergreen path is a final stop for this morning walk. Before going inside to meet his friend, Jason shares an observation he had witnessed through ages.
“People here might seem a little bit lazy because they are so happy. Life doesn’t need to be so complicated. Maybe that’s a bad thing? My mother thinks that’s a bad thing, like people lack motivation, all this sort of stuff. I’m not saying that she’s wrong, but I’m just not so sure.”
He smiles and waves with his hand, heading to the entrance door.
“Happiness, I guess, is different for everybody... Isn’t it?”
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Viktor Kharyton studies Journalism and Politics at the American University in Bulgaria. He wants to experience more strolls like this one during the quarantine.
