Show 0912: And you’ve asked me to think about medicine by Sarah Scaife (Soundart Radio)

And you’ve asked me to think about medicine 

a collective sonic collage by Sarah Scaife

In a sympathetic garden, we made a gentle journey to explore wellbeing and medicine with some honesty. The work is created from original sounds, collected and recorded live in the gardens of Dartington Hall, Devon, UK, by contributors who joined Sarah’s workshop at Sentient Performativities: thinking alongside the human, 2022.

a wonderful collage of voices — including some amazingly vulnerably and moving moments      (particpant)

In the spaces between us and the more-than-human, we found sensations, imaginings and understandings. These conversations are ultimately lyrical and optimistic, but other voices and feelings are heard.

Sarah warmly thanks the participants who generously shared their recordings and trusted her to create this collage. The participants are Eleanor Snare, Gemma Collard-Stokes, Jane Mason, Katrina Brown, Rita Leduc, Sabine Kussmaul, Sam Francis, Scott Thurston.

Sarah Scaife is an artist and doctoral research student in the University of Exeter Department of Communications, Drama and Film. She uses practice-based performance research methods to explore “medicines of uncertainty”. The research is supervised at the University of Exeter and the University of Bristol and supported by the South, West and Wales Doctoral Training Partnership, UK.


Image credit: Sarah Scaife using photograph by Katrina Brown 2022
Music: digitally devised by Sarah Scaife remixing ‘Elementary’ by Scott Buckley
Created in partnership with Soundart Radio 102.5FM.

Background and context

More about Sarah’s work on these platforms

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Show 911 : RADIO TOUT-LE-TEMPS by BNA-BBOT, for Radio Campus Bruxelles


On February 24, 2022, the Brussels organization BNA-BBOT launched a new sound platform including, in addition to a set of artistic projects carried out on the territory of the city, a Database, a Sound Map and a Radio: Radio tout-le-temps. Radio tout-le-temps is a webradio that broadcast continuously random fragments of BNA-BBOT’s database, but can also be programmed or curated in a more specific way. It is an open platform in which citizens, artists and organisations can participate. Our database contains 26,000 sound fragments. No one has ever listened to the entire collection it houses. To listen to it all, an individual would have to devote 1,458 hours to it, or approximately 61 days and nights, without interruption. radio tout-le-temps offers this sound collection a place for sharing and spontaneous narratives, created from the random linking of isolated stories, which then form a new narrative.

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Show 910: Summer flip-flop by Jbi (Radio Grenouille & Euphonia)

Summer flip-flop

A small summer flip-flop makes us hear a fateful moment, that of the twilight of a day of July, around 9pm.
While the cicadas make way for the crickets, as the human activity closes and the urban background calms, 28 minutes of sound rocking where the moment is appreciated, warm but serene of eternity.

Know how to appreciate this moment, whose final blurring can only be conceived in mirror of its flamboyant beginning.
Put a headphone on your ears or let July in Marseille enter your living room or your kitchen.



Petite bascule d’été

Petite bascule d’été nous fait entendre un moment fatidique, celui du crépuscule d’un jour de juillet, vers 21h.
Alors que les cigales font place aux grillons, que l’activité des humains se referme et le fond urbain s’apaise, 28mn de bascule sonore où le moment s’apprécie, alangui de chaleur, mais serein d’éternité.

Sachez apprécier ce moment, dont l’estompement final ne se conçoit qu’en miroir de son début flamboyant.
Posez un casque sur vos oreilles ou bien laisser juillet à Marseille entrer dans votre salon ou votre cuisine.


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Show 909: Flux of Fragments by Line Horneland (Radio Zero)

Flux of Fragments (voice/loops/electronics – Line Horneland)

what would it take
to be filled with light
in the middle
open and become
would it take for my scream to become one
with the silence

A central issue in her work is whether the voice through the artistic trajectory has a potential for the individual’s listening experience in the public space. The vocalscape is seen as an auditive framework, a potential sound space for centering in the listener’s own story, in a process of tuning in to…something, in the paradox of the desired state of flux, the perception of fragments, and the friction between them..the in-between possibly being the true sound space?

Line Horneland (Norway) has her background in the music field as a vocalist, drawing on different kinds of material from jazz to free improvisation and loops, evolving into an artistic practice on vocalscapes for installations and soundworks. The solo album Where nothing has a name was released at Sirr-ecords/Portugal in 2022. Recent installation work includes Beautiful as the flip side of ugly – voicing a sound space (2021) at Stazione di Topolò (Italy), Innimellom er lyden stille (2019) at the sound art festival Il Suono in Mostra (Italy) and at Lydgalleriet (Norway 2018). Since 2016 she has been involved in the interdisciplinary improvisation project Sono Flux. Line has a MA in Creative Disciplines and Learning Processes (Music) from Western Norway University of Applied Sciences, in addition to language studies and education as a physiotherapist.

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Show 908: The House Of Kinshasa Part 1 by Po B. K. Lomami (CKUT)

Po B. K. Lomami – The House of Kinsaha

This is the outcome of a WhatsApp call between my parents in Belgium and me in Canada about the final chapter of their house in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They recalled how two Zairean Ph.D. students, who just met in Brussels, decided to buy a house in Kinshasa without seeing it. They bought a home to prepare for their return to Zaire/DR Congo together after their academic program. The return never happened. Now retired, they just sold the house 36 years later. The house my brothers and I never grew up in is gone.

Like any call with my parents, I learned about way more than what I asked for. It is a snippet of the experiences and trajectories of the Congolese diaspora of their generation in Belgium. It is also a glimpse of how I experienced it as their child who left that same Belgium as soon as they could. The House of Kinshasa is a five-part sound project about the diasporic realities of transmission, return, and housing for a family spread over DR Congo, Belgium, and Canada. In this first part, I intertwine my parents’ story with my perspective, field recordings, and bits of CKUT’s archive. With the participation of my mother and my father.

Audio sources from CKUT’s archive include (in order):

  • Café. CKUT, 24 Jun 2022
  • “Child presentation.” Homelessness Marathon 2005. CKUT, 11 Jan 2005
  • “Origins of the XX Files.” XX Files. CKUT, 25 May 2016
  • “Economic Empowerment.” Black Talk. CKUT, 31 Jan 1992
  • “Roundtable Discussion on Black Identity as Immigrants to Canada.” CKUT, n.d.
  • “Diana Sharpe Interviews Prof. Joel Harder and Analyzes the Lumber Situation in Congo.” Amandla. CKUT, 2007
  • “Roberta Bondar, Canadian astronaut, Discovery Space Shuttle.”, CKUT, n.d.
  • Black Talk. CKUT, 1991, cassette side B

Po B. K. Lomami (Pauline Batamu Kasiwa Lomami) is a self-taught undisciplinary artist, art administrator, and artistic and public programmer. They are a Congodescendant from Belgium currently based in Tiohtià:ke-Mooniyang-Montreal. Exploring Afrofuturist principles and methodologies, Lomami’s art practice revolves around the displacement of work, the becoming of their subjectivity, and the possible collective futures with black, crip, queer and Afrofeminist perspectives.

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Show 907: Doubtful No. 14: Land by Charlie Hamish Jeffery (*Duuu, guest slot)

Doubtful #14: Land

Doubtful is a radio program that does not know what it is going, or how often it would like to appear. Doubtful in size and shape and content and behaviour.
Welcome to Doubtful.

A program proposed by Charlie Hamish Jeffery for *Duuu.

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Show 906: Fish for Thought by Co-Tension from

Co-Tension – Fish for Thought
From for

By Varja Hrvatin, Polina Burovskaya, M. Marque Pham & Gideon Morison

Co-Tension – Fish for Thought was realized as part of the Kammer Kampus Radio organized by Katja Kobolt and Diana McCarty and produced by Noemie Cayron as part of the „Friendly Confrontations“ program curated by Julia Grosse und Julian Warner at the Münchner Kammerspiele in 2020.


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Frequencies permeate our life-world on all levels.

They can be abstract, unfathomable, they can lurk at the threshold of our hearing, they can be extremely figurative or even plainly obtrusive. They can be soothing, piercing, alarming, beautiful, awe inspiring, familiar. Once in a blue moon they come along single, as one clear tone, more often they huddle in clusters or patterns. Frequencies sail like clouds along the horizons of our perception. They rain on us. And they sneak into the deepest layers of our brain, where they conjure up memories or feelings or both.

As a series of life-world-frequency vignettes, “Errant Waves in Arcardia” assembles varied notions of mimicry, dirt, duration and osmosis.

Recordings and composition: Gabi Schaffner, 2022
Accordion: Olsen Wolf, 2020
Musical Saw: Mimosa Pale, 2012/2020
Cat: Augustin, 2021
Drums: Toni Brokoli, Patrick Guderitz, 2020
String instrument: Anonymous Lady in Folk Music Shop, Taiwan 2019
Xylophone: Stella Braun, 2011
Husky dogs: recorded by Nathalie Grenzhaeuser, 2021

Gabi Schaffner works as an interdisciplinary sound artist and curator.
Her artistic practice is determined by the methods of poetic ethnography in connection with fluxus-like mise-en-scène, radio-making and sound art performances. Much of her work originates from journeys. Next to her radiophonic productions, Schaffner creates speculative musical genres and inserts them into music history in order to raise awareness for cultural, gender-related and/or geographical conditions.
Schaffner has been realising award-winning productions with Deutschlandfunk Kultur,, Hessian Cultural Radio and ABC Australia. Since 2012 she maintains DATSCHA RADIO, a nomadic transmission project that links the medium of radio to current ecological issues.

Find out more about DATSCHA RADIO at
and about GABI SCHAFFNERs projects in a broader perspective at

great many thanks to GABI SCHAFFNER for ERRANT WAVES IN ARCADIA … and we also say thank you to her artistic collaborators, contributors and donators – especially to Augustin the cat and to the Huskies, as well as to all the birds in the background!
last but not a special thank you to Karl Schönswetter =;)

radia production: miss.gunst [GUNST + radiator x]
production date: july 2022
station: radio x, frankfurt am main (germany)
length: 28 min.
licence: (cc-by-nc-nd) GABI SCHAFFNER – – –

additional info:
includes radia jingles (in/out), station and program info/intro (english)

radio x & radiator x: –
GUNSTradio & radiator x:
Gabi Schaffner:

(c) Gabi Schaffner 2022

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Show 904: tracing the source of the signal only opens the noise of the field (talking to the lyrebird about copyright), by radio cegeste

“I cannot gather formal consent from a bird or rock, believe me, I have tried. It remains all too easy for the act of field recording to be deemed inconsequential, for nature and the environment to be treated as a limitless resource. Yet if we are to continue to record and represent lifeworlds beyond ourselves and the environments in which so much change is occurring, we must also consider how such complex entanglements can be unpicked. What concepts and practices are required to examine the animal voice in terms of rights? What happens when we apply a culture of finitude to the soundscape itself?”
– Mark Peter Wright, Listening After Nature: Field Recording, Ecology, Critical Practice.

“A trace is the apparition of a distance, however close that which it evokes may be. Whereas the aura is the apparition of a nearness, however far away that which left it behind may be.”
– Walter Benjamin, fragment from The Arcades Project

tracing the source of the signal only opens the noise of the field (talking to the lyrebird about copyright) is a site-specific critical field recording research project conducted as fieldwork by radio cegeste in the location of Sherbrooke Forest, the Dandenong Ranges National Park, in Wurundjeri Country, about an hour out of the city of Naarm/Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. 

The project traces critical histories of field recording and their relationship to broadcast via a particular vein of pioneering Australian broadcast and field recording experiments beginning in June 1931, and conducted throughout the 1930s. In this period, the nascent development of Modernist audio transmission and storage technologies became momentarily fascinated with the recording abilities of a particular ancient, local bird species, the Superb Lyrebird Menura novaehollandiae.

In their paper, “First Sound Recordings of the Lyrebird,” Peter J. Fullagar and Ederic S. Slater compile a useful evaluative overview of this history. They describe the first recording (on the optical soundtrack of film) and the first (non-live) transmission: “The first sound recording in Australia of a wild bird was made 28 June 1931. On that day the song of the Superb Lyrebird Menura novaehollandiae was preserved on sound-film in Sherbrooke Forest in the Dandenong Ranges, east of Melbourne. Australian Sound Films Ltd. made this historic recording with the assistance of Ray Littlejohns who was at the time completing a film on lyrebirds. The recording was broadcast during the evening of 2 July 1931, from a radio station in Sydney. Until this time all attempts at recording the song of the Superb Lyrebird in the wild had been frustrated by lack of suitable equipment with all previous efforts being of unacceptable quality.”

These field experiments went on, and a subsequent session produced the first Australian commercially available sound objects documenting the vocal abilities of a wild bird: “The recording used in the production of a gramophone record was made on 29 May 1932; repeating the field recording methods used in 1931. This record was issued in late 1932 or possibly not until 1933. Further recordings on sound-film were made in Sherbrooke Forest; one of special interest being a 45 minute recording made in 1934 which was subsequently used in preparing the soundtrack for the film on lyrebirds produced on behalf of the Commonwealth Government by Ray Littlejohns.”

But the 1931 experiments also included live transmissions from the field: “The first direct broadcast of the song of the Superb Lyrebird went to air on Sunday morning 5 July 1931, following some earlier test transmissions in Melbourne. This broadcast, by the Australian Broadcasting Company, was made from Sherbrooke Forest with various telephone and land-line connexions making it possible to relay the signal for simultaneous transmissions out of Melbourne, Sydney and Adelaide radio stations.”

The July 5th transmission also reached further, across Bass Strait to Tasmania: “Reception was hailed as excellent; indeed, reception of this transmitted signal in Tasmania allowed for re-transmission from a radio station in Hobart.” It was also heard live across the dateline: “A short wave overseas transmission of the broadcast on 5 July 1931 was provided by Amalgamated Wireless (A’asia) Ltd. and reception was confirmed, at least, from North America. Broadcasts of Superb Lyrebird song from Sherbrooke Forest were transmitted in 1933 and 1934, including further short-wave overseas transmissions.”


In June 2016, during the depths of winter (which is Lyrebird breeding season), I traveled to the Sherbrooke forest on an initial field trip to conduct the first of a series of sonic re-mediations understood as “failed nature documentaries” that critically intervened into the above histories, undergirded by an exercise in investigative biomedia archaeology, researching and recording the site of the 1931 and 1932 recordings and broadcasts of the first wild bird to be captured by sound recording in Australian media history.

I took with me on this trip an ‘original copy’ (contradiction intended) of the 1932 gramophone record (from my own collection), which was one tangible object that emerged from these initial early twentieth-century collisions of site, species, mediated listening, and technological invention, as well as a gramophone player on which to play back this record to the (presumed – Lyrebirds are extremely territorial, and don’t roam far, a fact reflected in the culturally-transmitted content of their sonic repertoire over generations) descendants of the single Lyrebird captured on it. In this exercise I was assisted by members of the Sherbrooke Lyrebird Survey Group in (approximately) identifying sites, and while in the area I also joined their dawn survey session the next day, and recorded the sounds of these dedicated citizen scientists in their work, as well as the dawn chorus of Lyrebirds in the forest.

The 1932 record, recorded on the 29 May and released later that year or early the year after, is credited to “Herschells Pty Ltd. Sound Picture Producers Melbourne, recorded in the Sherbrooke Forest, Victoria, Australia under the supervision of Mr. Ray Littlejohns, member of Royal Australasian Ornithologists Union. Dialogue by Mr. Alfred L. Samuel.”

From the first pressing of the record’s original wrapper (beautifully illustrated with a drawing of a lyrebird), we can read a description of the bird it presents to home listeners, far from the Dandenong forests: “His mimicry is almost uncanny and in addition to his wonderful repertoire you will hear above the roar of the wind in the forest, perfect imitations of – the Butcher Bird, the Kookaburra, the Australian Thrush, the Whip Bird, the chuckle of a flock of Crimson Parrots, the Pilot bird, the Black Cockatoo, the Honeyeater… You will also distinguish what appears to sound like a man hammering a fence, a water pump in action, a Dog barking the warning cry of a White Cockatoo, the chuckle of a domestic Fowl and a man whistling for his Dog.”

Side A of this recording is a voiceover narrative, which functions to construct a setting of romantic wilderness, a framework into which a recording of a single lyrebird is placed, a “wild Australia” in contrast to the home listener’s position in their domestic sitting room: “Don’t forget that what you are about to hear”, the male voiceover says, is “a bird singing its own wild song,” with “the nearest human being almost a quarter of a mile away.”

Side B of this recording comprises a demonstrative cataloguing of examples of the lyrebird’s mimicry. The record’s narrator, in introducing each of these in systematic fashion, describes the lyrebird as “Australia’s greatest mocking bird”

The record is copyrighted as follows: “Melbourne: Herschells Pty Ltd, 1932. Recorded in the Sherbrooke Forest, Victoria, Australia, under the supervision of Mr. Ray Littlejohns. Must not be sold below price fixed by Copyright Owners. Must not be used for Radio Broadcasting or Publicly performed.”

No-one apparently asked the Lyrebirds whether they had given copyright clearance for their sounds. I thought it would be interesting, in the service of a critical field recording practice attuned to the ethical implications of sonic collection and in deference to the Lyrebirds themselves as superior sound recordists, to take it back to the forest to see what they had to say about this.

In the re-recording I made on this initial field trip, the 78rpm record was taken back to the place where it was recorded (as closely identified as I could manage, with the help of several books and the local knowledge of citizen-scientist and Dandenong Ranges resident, Jan Incoll) and played to this site over 70 years later, to produce a new series of residues of its playing to living Lyrebirds (a demonstrative playback conducted without human listeners apart from myself), who are presumed to be direct descendants of the historically recorded bird.

Listening back to the recording I made that day, the calls of various distant and close Lyrebirds in the present time of the 2016 recording echo that of the 1932 bird, their long-dead ancestor on the shellac record “singing its own wild song,” but they also overspill the record’s narrative framing and the limited capture and playback technology of the early twentieth-century. They emerge with startling clarity, to answer, to speak back, to include their own mimic-voices in the re-recording, and to perhaps reinvent the one-way exploitative tendencies of field recording practice itself, looping back time, listening and ancestry. Maybe, given their own incredible skills as “nature’s tape recorders,” they might even choose to one day include the recorded voice of their ancestor, filtered through human listening and the artifactual and temporal constraints of recording media, in their own future transmission (broadcast/reception) space.

Re-listening to this mise-en-scene within this half-hour composition, the Lyrebirds can be heard (as in a series of folk “rounds”), to “mock” the plummy British-inflected radio voice of the 78rpm record’s narrator as he praises them for their mocking-bird abilities, and to exceed his efforts to systematically set out each incidence of mimicry as an audio catalogue, frozen in time, in turn spilling over the three-minute time limit of a 78rpm record, to sing for the duration of the half-hour radia piece. The collision of the two timeframes – 1932 and 2016 – destabilises both the constructed soundscape and the integrity of the record, and the integrity of the location/field recording on-site. All the sounds for this experimental documentary were recorded on-site. Other sounds include wind in the trees, human voices (of passing tourists), rain and other species of birds, and myself, whispering a repetition of the voice-over narrative of the record within the forest site in earshot of living Lyrebirds, half lo-fi David Attenborough, half Australian Gothic, wrangling field recording and gramophone equipment by myself in the torrential rain, covered in leeches, almost a century later. This is layered with some audio of the volunteers from the Sherbrooke Lyrebird Survey Group finishing their annual dawn count. The Lyrebirds, however – their ancient culture positioned at the very beginning of the emergence of passerines – have the last (untranslatable) word.


Many thanks to Jan Incoll (a.k.a “The Lyrebird Lady”) and all involved with the Sherbrooke Lyrebird Survey Group for the dawn cups of billy tea, the companionship, and the tolerance of microphones.
This project was partially developed while an artistic fellow at the State Library Victoria 2018-19.
It was conducted on the lands of the Wurundjeri people (Woi-wurrung language group), who are the Traditional Custodians of Melbourne and surrounding lands. In creating this work I pay my respects to all indigenous elders, past present and emerging, and acknowledge that sovereignty has never been ceded.

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Show 903 : I hAve No voIcE by Juliedesk (TT Node)

I have no voice is a spoken word piece construite sur une indétermination de sons en chaos, phonétiquement structurés de façon à ce qu’ils forment leur propre langue parlée. La voix en outil langue, charcute cut le langage et sa parole par tranche, slices de syllabes, et hypercut.
De ritournelles en ritournelles la voix avance en deux langues et devient une langue à langage informatique, au parler algorythmique. Le rythme et la déconstruction des mots, voix hâchée et mots collés pour expérimenter la parole en la réinventant.
La voix dit qu’elle n’a pas de voix, elle est une IA, un bot, sa voix se prénomme Daniela, le féminin de Daniel dans 2001 Odyssée de l’espace de Arthur C. Clarke et Kubrick, et l’un des avatars dont Annlee parle dans Anywhere Out of the World (2000 Parreno).
Une langue frgl (franglais) ou glfr(glaisfran) ou françaisanglais ou
Frengl (frenchenglish) ou englfr (englishfrench) ou frenchenglish.
La confusion du sens dans tous les sens à mon sens un sens essentiel.

I have no voice is a spoken word piece based around an indeterminacy of sounds in chaos, phonetically structured so that they form their own spoken language. Here the voice is used a tool, it cuts into language and slices speech into syllables and hypercuts.
As the refrain develops the voice advances in two tongues and becomes a computer language, with an algorythmic diction. The rhythm and deconstruction of the cut-up fragmented voice and seeming hastily pasted together words are an experiment with speech through reinvention of the idiom.
The voice tells us she has no voice, she is AI, a bot. Her voice however has a name, Daniela, the feminine of Daniel in 2001 Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke and Kubrick, and one of the avatars Annlee speaks about in Anywhere Out of the World (2000 Parreno).
A language frgl (franglais) or glfr(glaisfran) or françaisanglais or
Frengl (frenchenglish) or englfr (englishfrench) or frenchenglish.
The confusion of meaning in all directions has, in my opinion, an essential meaning.

Instrumentaux: Joseph Marzolla

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