As I try to sit here contently in a coffee house nestled in the heart of Oakwood, Leeds, I can’t help but tune in to the natural sounds around me.
The voices of friends and families clash, as does cutlery against cups, not to mention the coffee machines — with the steamers cutting through the double‑bass riff resonating from the speakers above. As a synesthete, I can see the sounds forming a collage around me. The abstract paintings in the room make sense. As customers pass in and out for their daily fix, a beautifully handcrafted brass doorbell rings, occasionally distracting me from writing this article. But it’s OK, it’s a rhythmic element to the mix. So I hold my phone to record the ambience, as I never forget to bring my laptop, equipped with Ableton Live 11, to record my experimental music.
While ambient music can be stereotyped as meditative or calming, it is a blurring of space and time — bridging the gaps between noise and silence, helping us to find solace.
Much to my frustration, an electrical fault has now kicked in. Now, the doorbell is harmonising with another, this time digital, plastic, and projecting sound from the other side of the room. It repeats, again and again, while the lights flicker, forcing a sense of hostility in the room. The customers leave and the music turns off, so I move to another café at the top of the street. As I leave the building, I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of anxiety. The traffic beside me is dense, with the rumbling of engines and subtle buzzing from electric cars forcing me to think about everything that I came outside for. In my attempt to escape another day of technology and mindless scrolling on social media, I can’t help but feel frustrated.
But I finally get to the second café and, after ordering, I walk into the back room. A melody is playing from the speakers above. Although virtually inaudible, I notice the sound of a piano, beautifully played yet intentionally recorded with imperfections. The loop reminds me of Huerco S or the Dedekind Cut. But I don’t know the artist, nor the song, so I ask the manager, sitting on the table in front of me. Hunched over his laptop, he turns his head, likely in the midst of the daily admin for his business and says: “I’m not entirely sure who’s playing, but it’s from our Spotify playlist. I used to work in a café up by Sheffield way, but they were playing Coldplay, and I thought... what are you doing!”
Being an obsessive crate digger and pest for track IDs, I can see that he’s not entirely sure what the track is, but I can tell that, deep down, he knows why he is playing the music. While ambient music can be stereotyped as meditative or calming, it is a blurring of space and time — bridging the gaps between noise and silence, helping us to find solace. I can’t help but notice that the owner felt the same way — it helps us to live in the now.