The Dominion of Din

Originally created for the Amplify 2020: Quarantine Festival – As the world was increasingly forced into isolation, Amplify (and Erstwhile Records boss) Jon Abbey began planning an online festival of newly recorded pieces from sound artists around the world. I participated at the invitation of Penultimate Press’s Mark Harwood making my contribution number 156 in the series.

The Dominion of Din is a radio play made out of recordings from a single fixed perspective over an eighteen-year period. It is created entirely from field recordings made out of the rear window of my flat. In essence, it’s a catalogue of exterior sounds that have annoyed, disturbed or angered me over the years living at this residence – and sounds that have largely disappeared during lockdown.

My go-to method of dealing with nuisance noise is to record it. A sort of recording banishing ritual. The hope being that one day I will be able to utilise these sounds in some way, converting these sources of irritation into something positive.

The piece includes now familiar soundmarks such as the daily delivery of beer barrels to the local pub, the shattering of glass bottles as they are emptied into recycle bins at night and the weekly maintenance of neighbours gardens that always seems to require extensive use of a leaf blower no matter what the season. More irregular sources of nuisance noise appear in the form of workmen erecting scaffolding, magpies nesting on the side of the house, drunken outdoor singalongs, overflowing guttering and a faulty burglar alarm that didn’t stop for three days solid over one memorably torturous bank holiday weekend. The irony is that on the only occasion that these sounds have ceased for any length of time I’ve spent several weeks doing nothing but listen to them over and over again.

The pub has made use of this time to create a beer garden at the back of our flat now so at least I have fresh impingements on my peace to look forward to as things begin to return to normal.

Source sounds recorded in Glasgow between 2002 and 2020.

Composed between May 20^th and June 20th, 2020.

Reviews:

“These field recordings are deftly processed, edited and overlain so that the quotidian and the uncanny sit side by side… household appliances become abstract compositions for amplified percussion a la Tony Oxley, or whistling feedback loops and ominous drones… as the drinkers disperse and the bar staff lock up, a nocturnal jazz requiem starts up, like an Art Ensemble tone poem via Bill Dixon at his heaviest… we can describe Vernon’s sound design as Lynchian, but where he most closely resembles the master is on a narrative level, as he plays with temporality and moves through dimensions to create work that is uncanny, absurd, and often moving.”
Stewart Smith, Ion Engine

Reviews in Full

“Mark Vernon is one of Glasgow’s undersung sonic heroes: in addition to co-curating the experimental broadcasting platform Radiophrenia and the Lights Out Listening Club, the sound artist has racked up an impressive range of recordings, both solo and in collaboration with Barry Burns, Hassle Hound and others. Following hot on the heels of the splendid Paper Gestures for Jason Lescaleet’s Glistening Examples label, The Dominion of Din is his contribution to Amplify 2020, the online experimental music festival.

Vernon describes the 50 minute piece as a radio play made from sounds recorded in Glasgow between 2002 and 2020, specifically nuisance sounds that impinged on his flat: bins being emptied, people spilling out of the pub, tradesmen, nesting magpies, an infernal burglar alarm… These field recordings are deftly processed, edited and overlain so that the quotidian and the uncanny sit side by side. Saxophone muzak wafts unctuously in and out of earshot, as Vernon’s microphone roams through what sounds like a busy kitchen. Pans clatter and clang, knives slice and chop, before we end up in the backyard to empty the bins.

Through clever blends and transitions, Vernon obscures his sound sources: at one moment we might think we’re hearing a kettle boil, only for it to take on the deeper resonance of a bath running. A lonesome piano playing ‘Fure Elise’ floats in from next door: an audio verite snapshot or a constructed scene? Either way, it advances the narrative and provides a witty comment on the accidental juxtaposition of sounds in a busy neighbourhood.

Reverb and tape delay fog and smear the sounds further, so household appliances become abstract compositions for amplified percussion a la Tony Oxley, or whistling feedback loops and ominous drones. Yet at other points, Vernon presents them clean, so the perspective suddenly shifts to Vernon getting in the car, only to be called on by a workman attending to a blocked pipe. Such irruptions of realism bring us back to earth and can also be very funny, not least when drunken revellers break into the Cranberries’ egregious Troubles dirge ‘Zombie’.

Yet Vernon never lets you get too comfortable. As the drinkers disperse and the bar staff lock up, a nocturnal jazz requiem starts up, like an Art Ensemble tone poem via Bill Dixon at his heaviest. I can only guess at the source of those lowing horn like tones: those magpies pitched down to a crawl? That burglar alarm, screwed and chopped? We hear a drunken singalong of Radiohead’s ‘Lucky’, before Vernon abruptly stops the tape, relishing the ability to finally exercise control over these unwelcome sounds. A few seconds of silence gives way to ghostly coda of spectral tones.

I’m hesitant to use the term Lynchian in a musical context, seeing as it’s come to denote any kind of spooky reverb-laden Americana. Sure, we can describe Vernon’s sound design as Lynchian, but where he most closely resembles the master is on a narrative level, as he plays with temporality and moves through dimensions to create work that is uncanny, absurd, and often moving.”

Stewart Smith, Ion Engine, July 2020

“Next comes a sonic report from Glasgow that Mark Vernon has totally lost it during lockdown. For years, he’s been recording The Dominion of Din, comprised of every annoying sound he’s heard from his rear window. Neighbors use leaf blowers at ungodly hours, objects are dragged, dogs bark, beer is delivered every day (but unfortunately not to Vernon), recyclable glass is broken every night. Vernon reports that these sounds virtually disappeared during the pandemic, during which he played them back and created a soundscape. Yep, he’s definitely lost it. Someone’s hammering, someone’s panting, people are yelling about inane things (a water pipe!), workers are singing “Zombie” off key and oh God, not Für Elise, make it stop! I wouldn’t want to live where Vernon lives, but I understand his situation ~ the lack of the usual annoying sounds has been nirvana. He’s made something good from something bad, at the cost of his sanity.”

Richard Allen, A Closer Listen, July 2020