Radio Lento podcast

263 Wild open coastal reserve

Sat back, looking onto Rye Harbour nature reserve. There, to the ear, is the sea. From here it's out of sight, somewhere below the long shingle ridge. From this point across the reserve, it could to the ear be an aural sunrise. A wall of natural energy, lighting up the horizon with clean, white, spatialised noise.

On the intervening  land, stray gusts of wind swish swathes of sea grasses. Press whispily through thin wire fences. Lift circling seagulls even higher. Billow shapeless banks of cloud, from left to right of the gradually illuminating sky, water and air. 

In such an exposed panoramically vast space, come the timeless calls of sea birds. Animated brush strokes on a canvas that stretches from far left, to far right of scene. Each stroke, is an individual. Each, a living thing. A soul, for whom this wild open place is home.

* This early morning hour is from an overnight recording we made last month from the edge of the nature reserve at Rye Harbour, East Sussex. It captures the sound-feel of wide open emptiness that you get when out and about on the reserve. It's also a rich source of naturally spatialised blue-grey and dark grey noise, produced by the sea and shaped by uninterrupted expanses of gently contoured shingled land. 

** Lento is 5 today! Happy birthday to us!
Thank you for listening, sharing and supporting us over five years.
More here > https://ko-fi.com/radiolento

262 Night stream at West Quantoxhead (sheep sleep safe)

We found our way to record this remote location late at night, and in near total darkness. A sheltered dell, with a fresh running stream. Earlier in the day, when everything was bathed in bright grey light, we'd walked through this secluded place on our way down from West Quantoxhead, and decided it might be a perfect spot for the Lento box to make a long overnight recording.

There's a branch just above your right shoulder, my partner quietly calls up from below. Can you use that to lever yourself up? The height I'd just gained had markedly improved the spatial clarity of the wrilling stream, so just a little higher, I thought. We really need to be able to properly hear the full width and detail of the water, as it flows through the dell. How still this place is. How perfectly balanced it sounds, nestled within the wildness of this wide open West Somerset landscape.

To reach the branch I had to work my way through a mass of prickled twigs in the dark while holding the Lento box in one hand. After some not insignificant effort, the branch, and my elbow, connect. I haul up, wedge in, and tie the box onto the trunk. To be sure this spot meets the criteria we've evolved over the years, I try to match my head with the box, and hold completely still. Listening. Absorbing the scene. Slightly adjusting the angle of the mics, so they can capture as much as possible of what it is I'm actually hearing. Good, I quietly call down, this is it. 

We head back to where we are staying, leaving the Lento box to record alone, non-stop through the night. Without us or indeed anyone else about to witness, time passes. Looking down from the tree, the stream wrills, and the landscape murmurs its nocturnal murmurings. Sheep can be heard, sometimes moving vaguely, through the dark. And one seems to come to rest beneath the tree holding the mics. From time to time it makes the softest, most gentle noise, that a sheep can surely make.

261 Midnight in Rye

Twelve strikes the clock, of St Mary's Church in Rye, East Sussex. Midnight. A sound that for anyone left awake, opens a new page. It's a new day, captured by the Lento box perched high above the churchyard, one night in mid-February.

The new day reads like this. The gnarled limb of a winter tree beside the churchyard creaks against an undulating wind. The flagpole at the top of the belfry tower, rattles, like the mast of some windswept sailing ship. 

The sky is heavy with cloud and dark. Coastal air ruffles and catches in the rooftops of huddled 14th century cottages. They look gathered in around the church, like a solid congregation. Time passes. Banks of wind rise, then subside. Creaks and rattles punctuate the night air. And the Quarterboy faintly chime out the quarters. 

St Mary's has a good clean bell. It echoes off the huddled houses beautifully. Sonorous tones, that seem to ring out with the same golden grey hues of the stones from which this ancient coastal town is built. The skittering leaves blowing and the almost too faint silvery ding dongs of the Quarterboys. 

* We captured this sound-view of St Mary's Church Rye last month on a freezing cold windswept night. We rested the Lento box on the outer ledge of a second floor window that looked over the churchyard and straight at the church itself (with a chain to stop it falling). Do let us know if you can hear the quarters being struck, they are subtle but just about audible.

** Explore more from Rye. Listen to the sound inside the belfry in episode 200. That was a windy night too. 

*** We're building up to our 5th birthday. Watch this space! 

260 Early spring in the Derbyshire hills

What a long-form sound landscape recording of the Derbyshire hills reveals, is space, weather, and birds. 
 
A buzzard. Mistle thrush. Song thrush. Great tit. Geese. Wren. Robin. Jackdaw. Pheasant. Black cap. All present in their different ways. Buffeted by strong spring breezes under grey skies. 
    
Ahead, down the fields, mid-left of scene, the rushing river fills the valley with soft white noise. Its sound is quite subtle, yet so present. So wide. And so constant. Over the thirty five years we've known this place, through all weathers, and all seasons, it's the river that's never changed.

* Over the years we've shared many sound landscapes from this rural location in the Derbyshire hills. This until now unpublished segment comes from a 14 hour recording we made in mid-February 2022. We haven't been able to get there this month, so we're sharing this audio as a reminder of how the valley sounds now the spring is nearly here, as morning gets going.

259 Night rain under a large tarpaulin (sleep safe)

Sometimes, when persistent rain is forecast overnight, we place the Lento box out in the back garden on a long battery to capture the sound. Falling rain is always enchanting, especially at night when the city is asleep. 

We leave a large tarpaulin stretched across the yard to catch the raindrops as they fall. We position the microphone box centrally, angled up, so as the rain falls at random across the 4 metre by 3 metre surface. It captures a widely spatial sound-image of the rain. 

Somewhere very high up in the clouds, there is a special place. It's directly above the tarpaulin. The droplets that form here will not fall unwitnessed, as rain normally does. The droplets will instead fall down into this episode. To soothe and calm many ears. This night rain. Under a large tarpaulin. 

258 Tidal breakers on Winchelsea beach (high definition spatial sound)

It is almost high tide on Winchelsea Beach. Old timbers, buried in the shingle berm, point up into the hazy winter sky. You scrunch over the stones. Rest your hands on their sturdy weatherworn tops. And begin to take in the scene.  

Clean sea air cuffs against your face. It smells faintly of salt, of sea wetted rock. The beach rakes sharply down into bright white froth. Then just blue-grey, out to the horizon. Nobody is about. Only distant shapes, of coasting sea birds.   

Each wave comes and breaks onto the shingle. Some roll in straight. Others from the side. Some cross. Some break twice. Some rise slowly up, overbalance and crash in one thunderous crump onto the hard shingle. Others race furtively towards the land, as if they can't wait to meet it. Together, over time, they paint a picture in sound, of this mid February beach, under a wide open, winter hazy sky. 

* We took this sound capture of the beach between Winchelsea and Rye Harbour a few days ago. The scene captures the weight and detail of the tidal breakers, and is best "seen" through headphones or Airpods. A little propeller plane flies over, and almost at the end a curlew can briefly be heard flying from right to left of scene, towards the Rye Harbour nature reserve.

257 Dawn birds of The Kielder Forest

This spatial sound-scene of dawn birdsong was captured from deep within the Kielder Forest, a huge wilderness of fir trees in the far north east of England almost at the border with Scotland. 

Along with most all of our 257 episodes, this audio was produced by leaving the Lento box to record alone on-location, over a long span of time. By listening back to the captured audio we pick out sections that best convey the aural richness and presence of what it was like to be present in that place. These sections then become the episodes.

What you hear sounds strikingly real. We designed the Lento box to capture sound binaurally, in an unprocessed and realistic way. It lets us experience that aural sense of being present in the landscape. Ear-witnesses to the authentic passing of time.

This unaccompanied recording method means we can "hear there", but not "be there". Being there affects animals, birds and insects. By not physically being there they can behave normally. They move about, communicate, sing, forage, free of being alarmed or inhibited. Thanks to the Lento box, we are able to witness what it sounds like to be in their world.  

This recording was made last May, amongst tall fir trees growing beside a rough track that runs into the forest, East of the reservoir. Willow warblers are most prominent, along with wrens, song thrush and other woodland birds. A cuckoo is just audible at 15 minutes.  At 38 minutes two heavy creatures lumber by and scramble into the cover of the trees. Hearing how they traverse the space reveals just how careful they are being to avoid detection. 

One of the main reasons we travelled up to the Kielder Forest last year was to capture the evocative sound of wind moving through vast areas of fir trees. While the wind was not particularly strong at the time of this recording, the tall fir trees can still be heard in the wind, and producing that richly restorative and evocative hushing sound.

If you're new to us, before you listen, here's a few tips about getting the most out of listening to Radio Lento.

If you have listened to a few episodes, please could you buy us a coffee? We are an independent and ad-free podcast, powered by our listeners.

256 Gulls and emptiness along the Creel Path

(Hello! We're a different type of podcast. If you're new to us, before you listen, here's a few tips about getting the most out of listening to Radio Lento.)

The Creel Path, used by generations of fisherman to get from Coldingham to the coastal fishing village of St Abbs in the far south east of Scotland, is a thousand years old. It crosses an exposed coastal landscape, with rough pastures lying either side. Over the last century the addition of a telegraph wire, strung out along timber poles, may be one of the only significant changes to have been made to this narrow stony path. 
 
The Lento box is tied to a squat broad leaved tree along the path. It's facing east into a wide open field, and beyond that is the sea. Mid left of scene about a third of a mile away, a sense of the waves can be heard rushing into the harbour of St Abbs. To right of scene fields stretch inland with distant sheep and late season lambs. As time passes the engine of a fishing boat softly thrums the air. Gulls almost constantly wheel and circle across the emptiness of the sky. A quiet sky, free of human-made noise. A sky sounding like it must have always sounded, over centuries. 

* This sound capture is from an overnight recording we made in the summer of 2022 when we last visited St Abbs. This section follows on from the nocturnal scene captured in episode 208. Now morning has broken, and the gusting wind that swept over the path in the night hours has settled. Gentler gusts occasionally blow through the tree, revealing its presence to the listener. Rain clouds are coming, but for now the air sounds bright and clear. 

255 Quantock trees in late October air (night and sleep safe)

A wide open landscape, under a dark October sky. Remote. Naturally quiet. Witnessed from behind a lone cottage hidden between tall graceful trees. 

It's just rained. Drips are falling from the old slate roof into an overfilled drain. Time passes. Somewhere far off, mid-right of scene, an owl hoots. It's call, carried on the wind from rolling fields below. 

These late season leaves, so present in their rustlings, have seen the whole year through. They're soon to drop. Join the soft damp ground, and turn, slowly, to soil. For now though, while they wait for the weather to brittle them dry, their last job is to give voice to the ever-changing wind.

The Lento box listens, takes in the scene, beneath the trees, on a garden table made of iron. The table is surrounded with ornate iron chairs. We have left it to record all night while we are asleep. To capture the aural essences of this Quantocks landscape, as time passes, with nobody around.

* The first segment of this overnight capture is available in episode 245.

Thanks for listening and if you are a new subscriber, welcome! Find out more about the podcast and how we make the recordings at radiolento.org and if you would like to become a supporter Radio Lento is on Kofi.

 

254 Waves of West Somerset (sleep safe)

Follow the path with the sea on your left side, until you reach the trees. It's only a small outcrop, just beyond the banks of tangled shrubbery and before you get to the location of a 19th century harbour of Lilstock in West Somerset, now long-gone. Step off the path. Lean against one of the smooth bark trees, the one closest to where the pebbles start. And listen. 

We captured this aural scene one afternoon last October. It was an almost breezeless day. Bright, and clear. The conditions produced a pristine sound landscape. So crisp you can hear in full detail the movement of the longshore drift. Gentle waves, gambling over rocks and pebbles, from left to right of scene.

A few robins sing from the shrubs nearby. A low hum mid-left of scene undulates from time to time, a marine vessel, moored off the coast. Ahead is the open water of the Bristol channel. To right of scene the landmass of Wales stretching away to the West, and the setting sun. It felt like a landscape at rest, under an almost quiet sky. 

* This recording is the second segment of an 80 minute take, with the Lento box tied to a tree facing out towards the shoreline about 30 yards in front. The first segment can be heard in episode 244 'Rocky West Somerset beach'.

253 Quiet night sky - Looe in Cornwall (sleep safe)

Quiet sky. This is how one sounds. Above Looe, on the Cornish coast. Thousands of cubic miles of empty air. No planes. No cars. No lorries to throw up their noise as they haul loads along dark country roads. Just gusts, and sea breezes. And a fleeting low whistle from a high chimney pot. Many steep tiled rooves, catching, and reflecting, and handing on their view of this sky's whisping sussurations. Roof, to roof, to roof, to microphone. To ear. To mind. To sleep.

At first you may sense there is nothing to hear in this long-form night recording, and it is, as an audio recording, sparse. Or maybe not sparse, because the more you listen, the more you tune into the way the rooves catch and reflect the sound of the sky, the more your definition of what sound is shifts. People talking, and planes flying, and cars whining, and music playing, and things banging are of course what we are used to hearing everyday, and in the night too. But layered behind, usually far too soft to notice, is a whole world of different sounds. Sounds that are more like textures, and fabrics, and reflections, and perhaps shadows. We believe listening to these sounds, in the right setting, can help bring about a state of mind we think of as vigilant restfulness, where you feel aware of the environment, yet part asleep at the same time.

This hour of captured night quiet is how Looe sounded, a few hours before dawn, back in April last year. The sea is near, and is subtly contributing to the background of this place. The sound-scene is rich with many other textural and fabric-like sounds.  We left the Lento box to witness time passing through the night, on some wooden decking, surrounded by shrubs, a loose tarpaulin, and the peaceful atmosphere of a Cornish coastal town as it sleeps under a quiet, wide open sky.

* Looe is one of the locations we have found with a very quiet sky. Having said this, towards the end of this recording, there is a plane vaguely audible, somewhere far away. We decided despite this we would go ahead anyway and share the segment because compared to much of the rest of the UK where we have recorded, this hour from Looe does convey a palpable sound-feel of being under a genuinely quiet sky. To us quiet skies are of equal importance as dark skies. The latter is much more talked about than the former, but we hope to do what we can to change this. 

252 Late July breezes through the old churchyard

This barmy afternoon in Holme-Next-The-Sea has gained a stiff undulating wind. It hurries past the sheep in the paddock next to St Mary's church. Whisps through banks of unmown grasses, sifting up their scent. Shakes dry-leaved hedgerows so they sound as summer dry as the baked mud looks by the lane. Yes, today certainly feels like it's the first day of late summer. 

Sit then on the bench underneath the fir tree. Rest back from the deep blue sky. Feel the sun's heat radiating off the parapet wall of the church. Hear the changing wind. How it hushes in the fir's needles. Rustles in the broad leaves of the deciduous trees. Rises, then calms. Causes the landscape to shift between near, and far. Surely this is how to best enjoy such a day as this. With sheep, grazing in the field nearby. And wood pigeons, roosting along the church roof and above, in the trees. 

Spending time on this bench, taking in the day and the various kinds of warmth that it seems to be made of, might lull you into a daydream, and a thought. How are the animals around considering this first day of late summer? Are they enjoying the scents of the grass too? The hushing of the wind in the fir tree? The yellow orange heat rising from the sun warmed ground? Maybe they too have let go their plans, and are just basking in the sensations of what it is to be conscious of everything that's presently, and pleasantly around.

* We made this recording in late July 2024. It was the way the wind sounded in the fir tree that caught our interest. Finding somewhere to locate the Lento box wasn't easy but we eventually managed to find a fence post that let the box capture the fir tree as it is in the wider landscape, beside the church. Sometimes the presence of the church can be felt as it reflects bird calls and other nearby sounds. At around 26 minutes the low rumble of a distant military jet plane can be heard for a short time. This part of England hosts various very active military airbases. We were in fact lucky to capture as long as we did before more and much louder jets flew over, producing intense low frequency rumbling.

251 Looking out on Portland Harbour

Portland.
Southeast 4 or 5 increasing 7 or 8 veering South 4 or 5 later.
Occasional showers.
Good, becoming moderate. 

The Shipping Forecast marks its centenary on the BBC today. Happy birthday from Radio Lento!

-----

Take as a seat one of the large flat stones under a tree. It's a lone tree, full of sparrows. Watch the ocean boats. The high tide is on the turn. Shallow waves rolling about between the rocks. They're playing that game of colouring in. Darkening the boulders to show where they've been. Surge, break, wash, dissolve.  

Rest both hands on the sun-warm stone. Follow the ships and boats as they sail the shipping channel. Marine engines are felt as much in the chest as in the ears. Slowly each slides from view. Keep still though, so as not to frighten the sparrows. 

Sparrows, and softly breaking waves, and humming boats, and time in a coastal edgeland space, and no interruptions, might be good for a bit of thinking. That kind of thinking best done without notes. Without words or screens, prompts or lists. And without talking. Flow time thinking where thoughts and ideas and worries and inspirations surge, and break, and wash, and dissolve, just like the waves. 

* Happy New Year! Episode 251 is our first for 2025.

250 Moorland trees in mid-winter gales (sleep safe after owl)

For Christmas Eve we're sharing this nocturnal hour of sound landscape time captured by the Lento box in the high peaks of Derbyshire. Bare leafless trees, sighing together, in strong undulating mid-winter wind. We feel this is one of our most atmospheric overnight recordings of landscape trees. 

To far left of scene across a field there's a strip of woodland made mainly of tall established conifers. To centre of scene, stretching along a shallow ridge to the far right, trees of varying heights, beech, sycamore, elderberry, conifers. The exposed contours of this section of moorland tend to channel banks of moving air along and over the ridge, creating wonderfully spatial surges of energy that the trees convert into deep brown sound.

For listeners using headphones or Airpods, the wind in the trees is sometimes so deep it is almost a sensation more felt than heard, as it gracefully moves across the aural landscape.

* We made this recording high in the Derbyshire hills over Christmas 2023 during a period of unusually strong winter gales. There is only one overflight of the area as well that you may not even notice due to the wind. Such a quiet sky is also very unusual so near to Manchester's ringway airport.

**This is our 250th episode! Happy Christmas and thanks for listening to Radio Lento.

249 Night stream at West Quantoxhead (sleep safe after 17 mins)

With the stream to our right, we headed down from the exposed uplands of West Quantoxhead and into a shallow valley. Sky whitish grey. Air still. It smelled of rich late Autumn undergrowth, and faintly of mushrooms. 

As we descended, the landscape changed. Became tucked in. Shapes of sheep shifted against dark thickets below. The grass got thicker too, and taller. And the stream got fuller, and more sonorous, with every hundred yards. Eventually we found ourselves in a completely different landscape. A watery, secluded dell.

The sheep magically disappeared. Dissolved into the thickets and behind the trees. Running down over shallow stones, the stream flowed through the dell without urgency. Its sonorous wrillings reflecting perfectly off the leafy surroundings. Bright, but not too bright. With a fresh spatialness, audibly illuminating the contours of the natural space. 

Here, set below high steep banks of dense undergrowth, far away in the Quantocks of West Somerset, sound and time melded. Unified, into one well tempered flow. 

* The Lento box captured this scene tied to a tree during an unaccompanied overnight record in late October. We spent a long time in near total darkness testing out how different angles onto the stream sounded from various trees. We chose one set back from the stream, preferring this well balanced aural composition rather than a closer angle where the noise of the stream would drown out the subtle acoustic reflections of the space itself. The ambient sound levels were incredibly low. Listening back, we can sometimes hear the sheep, quietly moving about. After 17 minutes into the segment they wonder off, leaving only the stream to be heard, and the passing of time, in this natural secluded place.