Listening to Reveries: Sounds of a Post-Anthropocene Ecology

Patricia Jäggi 

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This article reflects on the current sonic relationship between humans and their ecological environment. An ecological model of sound in the Anthropocene is outlined, followed by an imaginary journey into sonic futures after the Anthropocene. From one angle, it references two approaches by sound artists whose work expresses utopian or dystopian sound- and life-worlds where humans influence is absent. From a different angle, it includes reports and observations from the first lockdown phase of the COVID-19 pandemic, framed as a sudden glimpse of a sonic post-Anthropocene; a sudden human silencing that left more space for other sounds, such as singing birds. These examples are termed reveries in the sense of Gaston Bachelard because they enable one to think about post-anthropocentric sound worlds. In this way the paper describes and discusses the ethical and ecological qualities and possible impacts of such daydreamed worlds.


Sound Art, Soundscape, Noise, Silence, Ecological Crisis, Ecological Dystopia, Ecological Utopia, COVID-19 Crisis



This paper explores listening in the Anthropocene along utopian and dystopian narratives of noise and silence. As a basis for reflection, the article first presents an ecological model of sound and sketches two main sonic-ecological narratives, one utopian, the other dystopian. It then moves to imaginations of sonic futures after the Anthropocene – after human dominance on Earth. For that purpose, it delves into two audiovisual art projects. Both Fragments of Extinction by David Monacchi and STILL UND DUNKEL by Christoph Brünggel, Benny Jaberg, and Pascal Arnold, deal with places of human absence – the first with equatorial primeval rainforest, and the second with abandoned places and capitalist ruins. I understand both projects as sonic reveries, as attempts to evoke non-anthropocentric lifeworlds through sound and video projections. A humanly silent world is a recurring vision in the Anthropocene. A sudden silence was, for many, part of their experience during the COVID-19-lockdowns. The paper, as a third step, then moves to the observations, opinions, and reveries that the Corona-silence triggered in writers, composers, and birdwatchers. In this way, the article aims to follow the implicit conceptualisations of listening, noise, and silence in an Anthropocene sphere, as well as in a post-Anthropocene and post-anthropocentric, world of sound.

1) Ecological Model of Sound in the Anthropocene

Silence and its counterpart, noise, are core terms in current ecological discussions about sound and listening. Both can evoke reveries of other-worlds that can challenge the Anthropocene, understood as human dominance of biological, chemical, and geological processes on Earth (Crutzen and Stoermer). Noise and silence have each received their socio-ecological and, thus, ethical double-entendre and ambiguity. Already in 1973 R. Murray Schafer wrote that “the soundscape will not again become ecological and harmonious until silence is recovered as a positive and felicitous state in itself” (Schafer 38). Cultural understandings of silence and noise are intrinsic to current Anthropocene ecologies and sonic human-nature relations. The model sketched below is an attempt to better understand the current sonic relationship of humans to their ecological environment.

Fig. 1 Ecological Model of Sound

The Ecological Model of Sound understands noise as a subjectively perceived high presence or over-presence of (specific) sounds. In contrast to noise, silence is understood as a subjectively perceived low amount and density or an under-presence of (specific) sounds. It refers to a state in which a listener becomes aware of the lack or the absence of (specific) sounds. The (specific) in brackets is crucial in the model because the sources of sound – either anthropogenic or biogenic – are decisive for their perception as either positive or negative noise and as either positive or negative silence.

The left side of the model refers to sonospheres that are dominated by anthrophonies, which encompasses all humanly generated sounds, including the noises of technologies. They tend to be perceived as discordant and non-harmonious. The prototype is an urban or/and industrialised environment and the exploitive lifestyle of modern humans who constantly produce disturbances and imbalances that endanger biodiversity through silencing other species (lower left). The model thus represents current critical perspectives on anthrophonies that can even be damaging for the environment, whereas biophonies and geophonies – the sounds of fauna, flora, and of the forces of nature – are perceived positively; especially in terms of their impact on human well-being, life-satisfaction and health (see for example Krause; Ratcliffe et al.; Murray; Methorst et al.). This is represented on the right side of the model. A noisy – meaning a rich – natural soundscape (upper right) and the silencing of humans (lower right) are weighed as positive and worth pursuing and conserving.

According to Maurice Merleau-Ponty (278), our perception of the world is never free; the information that flows into us or that we feed ourselves is not only filtered by the biological abilities of our physical senses, but also by culturally acquired patterns of perception. In very simplified terms, hearing the din of cars at rush-hour or of an airplane’s take-off can be perceived as a disturbance and even as a threat for humans as well as animals, and may trigger emotional resistances. I assume therefore that the awareness of and knowledge about the negative anthropogenic influence on earth are expressed – or rather, imprinted – directly in our listening experience of the world. This means that listening has the power to evoke sonic dystopias as well as sonic utopias.

Utopia is described as a visionary place or state of utmost or ideal perfection (Webster’s Dictionary). But utopia is also understood as a retrospective view on better times (Castanet). In the case of the environmental crisis to which this model refers, utopia is not only a longing that reaches backward, but also a projection to – an imagination and reverie of – an idealised future. Utopian narratives end happily. Dystopia, as its counterpart, is a world that is undesirable, frightening, and in its extreme form one could describe it as a world doomed to apocalyptic decay. Both climate change and the COVID-19 pandemic evoke such dystopian visions.

The Ecological Model of Sound, thus, tries to illustrate how the ecology of the Anthropocene simultaneously produces and is being produced by such utopian and dystopian narratives. I therefore think that sound and listening, noise and silence make, in their respective double-entendre, interesting auditory-sensory examples of current Anthropocene narratives.

Dystopian narrative of Anthropocene ecology (left side)

The dystopian narrative of listening in the Anthropocene is based on a perceived over-presence of human culture (an excess of anthrophonies) and an absence of the sounds of nature (a lack of biophonies). The prototypical dystopian sound environment is an urban soundscape replete with humanly induced noises, considered to be a disturbing and disorganised mesh of sound, and an expression of a discordant or imbalanced environment of modern life. The sonic agency of humans and their technologies is positioned in the realm of anthronoise: noise understood as human noise pollution. In his conceptualisation of listening and the soundscape, pioneer R.M. Schafer speaks not only of the need to reduce noise but also of the need for an “ear-cleaning” in order to be able to listen (attentively) again (Schafer 1), which resonates with the feeling of being contaminated by human noise and the need for purification and healing.

Dystopian environmental narratives that refer to silence and silencing of non-humans previously appeared in Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s 1960s environmental book in which she scrutinised the huge negative effects of pesticides. In that book, Carson showed how pesticides kill not only insects but also the birds that feed on them, and how these substances threaten the health of the earth and the humans living on it. The pesticide (DDT) crisis was one of the first of the coming postwar environmental crises. Silent Spring sketched a vision for the future of a spring without birdsong. The book shows how an ecological dystopia is close to becoming reality. In the 1960s it was DDT and other chemicals that people became afraid of. Now we are not only talking about chemicals but also about the anthropogenic rise of greenhouse gases that are able to warm up our climate. As with pesticides, the effects are already discernible. A continuous rise in carbon dioxide (CO2), methane (CH4), and nitrous oxide (N2O) and their effects on life on earth produce anxious semiotics – a sense of uncertainty and concern over potential human culpability in loss (Whitehouse 2015) – and again visions of a dystopian future, such as the quiet earth (Kanngieser and Beuret). The sonic dystopia of the Anthropocene encompasses not only the way that our civilised soundscape and acoustic environment is polluted through anthrophonies, but also how out of tune it is in its relation to biophonies:

The more we listen to birds the more we notice the loss of birds from pesticides, the destruction of habitat, the encroaching dominance of Anthrophonic sounds, the sounds that are out of place and the ecosystems that are dissonant. […] Silence and loss hang heavy in the Anthropocene, […] (Whitehouse 70).

Kanngieser and Beuret have described as a distinctive issue for this new epoch the “erasure and silencing of vast numbers of more-than-human beings” and the “extinction of other-than-human life” that make for a quiet earth (10). Therefore in an anthropocenic sound pedagogy, humans should learn not to make any sound and to listen attentively in silence (Tinkle 227; Kanngieser and Beuret).

Utopian narrative of Anthropocene ecology (right side)

The utopian image of the Anthropocene is the human silently listening to a rich and unspoiled environment of sound. The noise (perceived presence) of biophonies and geophonies is seen as an expression of a natural order, of a pristine harmonic state of evolution, and of an environment unaffected by human culture (Krause, Pijanowski et al., Farina). This sonic utopia also resonates in soundscape scholars’ environmentalist and nostalgic preference for pre-industrial or pre-modern soundscapes and, thus, hi-fi sound environments (Schafer , Wagstaff, Morat). A lack, or at least a very low amount of anthrophony – and, thus, human influence on the earth’s sound – is envisioned. Narratives of the decline in such pristine and utopian places add to the fact that ‘pure’ natural environments have gained in value and are explicitly sought out for music-cultural attention. Environmentalist artists and composers search for and/or reify a pristine nature undisrupted by the agency of humans (Bianchi and  Manzo. They tend to imagine a state in which humans are (nearly) absent, thereby leaving space for the noisy acoustic presence of non-human agents, also known as more-than-human agents.[1]

The Ecological Model of Sound not only builds a conceptual framework for understanding current ecologies of sonic and aural agency – of both sound production and listening, but also reveals the utopian and dystopian associations behind noise and silence. These build a basis for imagining different futures, a post-Anthropocene and a post-anthropocentric world, and lead to the question of how artists imagine the sound of a post-Anthropocene world. According to Gaston Bachelard, reverie, or daydreaming, is a state of awake dreaming, a state of expanded awareness that can put the dreamer in more intimate contact with their surroundings. According to Moorey, “reverie is thus a ‘memory’ or fantasy of that which never happened but which is nevertheless able to produce in us a powerful suggestion of the contingent basis of what is real and actual” (197).

In the following, I first explore two works of audio-visual art that deal sonically and visually with specific environments and which conceptualise noise and silence on the basis of creative transformation of those environments. Each in its own way undertakes a poetic daydreaming (Bachelard) that is connected with the utopian or dystopian narratives of the Anthropocene, as shown in the model above. Secondly, I will look at silence, a side-effect of the COVID-19 lockdown, as a utopian counter-narrative to the COVID-19 real-world dystopia.

2) Audio-visions of an ecological post-Anthropocene?

I have chosen two rather disparate artistic approaches to a ‘post-Anthropocene’ lifeworld, both of which use sound and as well as images as a mode of expression. Italian composer and sound artist David Monacchi’s Fragments of Extinction (FOE)[2] is a work that comments directly on environmental issues. For this project, he recorded primeval rainforests in the Amazon, in Borneo, and in Central Africa. Monacchi’s recordings from primeval forests are presented as a multichannel spatialisation accompanied by projected spectrogram analyses, which scroll across a screen in real-time. Monacchi sees the purpose of his spectrogram visualisations as “augmenting the auditory focus, and increasing the perception of sound” (Monacchi 2011, 243).

The second project, STILL UND DUNKEL (silent and dark; SUD), by a Swiss artists’ collective,[3] connects indirectly to the natural world through the engagement with lost places, non-places, and the ruins of capitalism that have been reclaimed by animals and plants. SUD presents these real-world locations through performances which include live-editing of black-and-white documentary videos and ambient sound, based on electronically generated sound combined with on-the-spot recorded and archival sounds.

Both projects use sound in combination with moving images on big screens, but the core of their sonic work deals with the silence or noisiness of the environments with which they are confronted. What they share, and what makes these places a post-anthropocenic reverie (a reverie of a lack of anthropos), is that both the primeval forests and the deserted structures are places where humans’ influence is mainly absent. Monacchi’s recorded material is from a place where humans were never heavily present (or from which they are imagined to be absent), while the human absence in SUD is an absence after having been very heavily present and active in building and using the environment.

What does a future human-nature coexistence sound like?

The loss of biodiversity and species extinction are core concerns in Monacchi’s work, which he has labelled as “eco-acoustic”, and described as “a place where technology and science meet music and art to address environmental issues” (Monacchi 2007, CD liner notes). The subjects of his compositions have included birds (Nightingale, 1999), whales (Fading Away Whales, 2006), and rivers (Stati d’Acqua, 2006), however, FOE, which is the product of a major research project, supported by Greenpeace International, forms the majority of his eco-acoustic work. The project carries a rather dystopian title, referring to the sonic preservation of biospheres that will likely to be lost. This goes along with Monacchi’s vision as a soundscape composer of revealing the density, beauty, and phenomena of natural sound to raise ecological awareness (Monacchi 2008, CD liner notes). Important mechanisms in the ecosystems of primeval forests are the niche segregation dynamics to which he refers, and which he tries to convey to large audiences through sound-art and music (Monacchi 2011, 244). Bernie Krause, a bioacoustician, field recordist, and composer himself, described this phenomenon as follows:

When a bird sang or a mammal or amphibian vocalized, the voices appeared to fit in relation to all of the natural sounds of the immediate environment […]. […] the ambient sound of primary growth habitats functions much as a modern day orchestra with each creature voice occupying its own place on the environmental music staff relative to frequency, amplitude, timbre, and duration of sound […]. […] in every unaltered habitat we have recorded, many birds, mammals and amphibians find and learn to vocalize in acoustical niches […] (Krause np).

Monacchi’s work is influenced by Krause’s observations, which later became known as the Acoustic Niche Hypothesis (Krause 1993; Pijanowski et al. 2011; Krause 2012; ANH). The ANH combines ecological study and aesthetic thinking – something that current science usually sees as mutually exclusive. Under the term “eco-acoustic”, Monacchi tries to build a musical system that learns from ecosystems – in the case of FOE, from the soundscape of untouched primary forests – and interplays with the laws (such as the ANH) that have shaped them (Monacchi 2016, 162). His aim is, thus, to use compositional tools to reveal and enhance configurations of species, without compromising their intrinsic equilibrium and beauty (Monacchi 2016, 162). Monacchi is confident about the paradigm shift from the current utilitarian view of nature to a radical eco-centric perspective (167). This shift is represented in FOE in the careful way that Monacchi treats the original field recordings. In an installation and performance in 2014, he first showed the originals in the dark, then moved from this immersive experience to an explanatory part with spectrogram projections, followed by a third and final part, where he presented a combination of recorded ecosystems and synthetic sounds which he had produced. This last part can be understood as a direct expression of his striving for coexistence and integration – for a repositioning of the human species within nature, rather than an eradication of human intervention (Norman 264; Monacchi 2011, 248; Monacchi 2015, 88). Through his work, Monacchi aims to highlight the fact that humans merely represent one part of a complex ecosystem, which relies on their acting and agency, and upon which they also ultimately depend for their own continued existence (Gilmurray).

How does a world of silent decay sound?

The artist trio STILL UND DUNKEL explores abandoned, remote, and secluded places at night, including ruined industrial buildings, clinics, hotels, banks, thermal baths, a waste incinerator, or private homes. Their interest lies in places that have fallen through the cracks of the liberal economic system. They visit the badlands, the voids of a world of production and consumption of goods. Critic and writer Brian Dillon (2019) associates these types of places with phantasmagoric ruins, expressionist theatre sets, and the sound stages of classic horror movies. In the audiovisual live performances, Pascal Arnold and Benny Jaberg live-edit their pre-produced videos (VJ-ing), while interacting with the musician Christoph Brünggel. The visuals document the unaltered non-places in black and white. The soundtrack Brünggel creates for these places, however, reaches beyond on-site recordings of these often-silent places. Dillon writes:

Most of this decay is of course silent, until the worst of the damage occurs and ceilings fall, walls crumble, floors buckle and the whole structure begins to creak like an ageing body. But imagine that the minute, particulate level of decay could be heard, or translated into music – what would that sound like? (59).

The soundtrack broaches the issue of places of decay and human silence, but does so non-silently. Sonic textures of abandoned places and noises in the distance are combined with electronic interventions that daydream the listening experience of a non-silent, even noisy-seeming decay into silence. Dripping, crackling, crunching, or banging noises and sounds that only remind of traffic, an aircraft passing, humans hammering, and muffled human voices add to the impression that we might have ended up in a world in which humans exist merely as a distant memory. The decay into human silence, into human absence, thus, happens as an expressively loud experience.

Dealing with places of silence and standstill by creating ambient-noise music that incorporates silent field recordings of those places is a paradox similar to the one uttered by the Japanese environmentalist and sound artist Merzbow. He claims to make silence by noise, meaning that he produces brachial noise walls to silence a world that has already become much too loud, thereby making the brutal force of sound noticeable (Hensley). Merzbow uses noise against the noise. SUD uses noise to express the (inevitable) decay into silence – a topos at the heart of the Anthropocene dystopia sketched above. The places presented in the SUD live performances are dystopian in the sense that they are places of death, depicted not only by the absence of humans seen in run-down furniture, but also by the dead animal bodies found trapped in buildings, orphaned spiderwebs, and layers of dust that cover everything. By daydreaming a world left by humans, the performances also deal with a feeling of latent loss and extinction. Yet at the same time, the places have a transformative quality that hints at something utopian:

Deep inside the drowned world of an abandoned canal tunnel or hotel complex, in the corners of dark factory halls and beneath the floorboards of defunct houses – certain tender plants, sometimes hardly distinguishable from algae, start to grow. Life, of a sort, returns. […] What might the sonic equivalent be, of this resurgence of life inside the ruin? A distant rumbling? A scratching at the edges of conscious listening? A hint, only half heard, that something is alive in here? Are those footsteps in the background? The cooing of a pigeon somewhere round many corners? Human voices, nearer this time? (Dillon 59).

To add ambient-noise music instead of simply adding documentary field-recordings to the visual exploration of the silent places is, thus, a way to not only evoke the dystopian narratives of such places, but at the same time to daydream life in the resurrection of non-places and ruins, “as if this intimate retreat into the dark, among the ruins, might not be the end. As if there is a future.” (Dillon 58).

The immersive audiovisual live performances of SUD comment indirectly on the Anthropocene or the current crises. They are poetic reveries in Bachelard’s sense, in the way they address the possibility of a world in which humans are nothing more than a remote memory; they strip humans of their dominant position in the world. Through opening that imaginative space, they somehow temporarily eliminate anthropocentrism.

Current ecocritical and posthumanist discourses call the anthropocentric view of the world into question and discuss ways of relating humans to nature beyond the western dichotomies of culture and nature or human and animal. Culture and nature, human and non-human, are described as a continuum (Ferrari 295). The social world is regarded under the auspices of a more-than-human-world-making (Tsing 35), which means that the world is made up of entangling relations with others, including animals, plants, and all other forms of beings (Tsing 27). This entanglement between humans and non-humans is shown quite plainly and in the brutal real-world dystopia of the COVID-19 pandemic. The coronavirus restrictions temporarily turned bustling cities into abandoned and silent places – a topos that echoes in the abandoned sites presented in SUD performances.

3) Anthropause: Silence in COVID-19 lockdown

SARS-CoV-2 seems to be a dystopia that has become real. When the sudden silencing of the world makes it into the anxiety-inducing coronavirus newsfeeds, with their rising numbers of infected or dead, birdsong is mentioned with strikingly frequency. The Indian author Arundhati Roy writes: “And even while the virus proliferates, who could not be thrilled by the swell of birdsong in cities, peacocks dancing at traffic crossings and the silence in the skies?” (Roy np). US-American composer Hildegard Westerkamp writes in a contribution to an acoustic ecology mailing list that in her Vancouver neighbourhood, birdsong seems denser and livelier than usual. She is puzzled as to whether the birds are actually singing more or whether they are simply more audible (Westerkamp). The silence enabled people to hear bird song in places such as inner cities, where it is usually drowned out by noise. Spanish author Alejandro Palomas writes: “Today, in the cities, there are many people who for the first time really hear the birds singing in front of their windows and they are surprised” (np). COVID-19 silence can be seen as a sudden glimpse of a sonic post-Anthropocene, a sudden human silencing that enabled animals to return to or be more present in city centres. The rare Piwakawaka (fantails) were observed playing in Wellington, New Zealand. A puma and the rare kodkod (a wild cat) were seen in Santiago, Chile. Shakals visit parks in Tel Aviv, Israel, during the daytime (Woolf 2020). Dubbing it “Anthropause”, biologists speak of the longest and most prominent anthropogenic noise reduction on record (Rutz et al.). Seismologists found a dramatic reduction in the “buzz” of human activity not only in cities but also in some of the planet’s most remote places, including sub-Saharan Africa (University of Auckland et al. 2020). According to ornithologists from San Francisco, noise levels in urban areas dropped to the same level as in the mid-1950s. Birds such as the white-crowned sparrow responded by producing higher performance songs at lower amplitudes, effectively maximizing communication distance and salience (Derryberry et al.). A Barcelona birdwatcher spotted Craig Martins at the Sagrada Familia, which were almost certainly breeding there – something that would not have been the case with tourists around (Ramoneda). The Northern bald ibis, a very sensitive and threatened species fostered for years with little success by different conservation programmes in Central Europe, suddenly bred successfully in 2020, thanks to less human disturbance (Jandl).

In the Northern hemisphere, the yearly return and omnipresence of birds singing and mating during the first Coronovirus lockdown phase in 2020 was, for many, a glimpse of normality in a world turned upside down.[4] One writer suggests birdwatching in the backyard to help children get through the anxiety-inducing pandemic times (Lin). The New York Times journalist and birder Nicholas Cannariato described the way that he, being confined at home, is able find comfort in the presence and vitality of birds:

I remain sheltering in place, scared and saddened. […] Through birds, I’ve learned to pay attention, and now, in isolation, to seek solace in the act of looking. […] Throughout my remote workday, I hear birds singing and calling, and I’ll walk over to the windows to take a closer look. Recently, at dusk, a bird landed on a branch right outside one of the windows, peering in. It […] happened to just be a robin. Yet it stood there so still, so severe-seeming, with its chest puffed out. It looked like a guardian of something vital in the gathering dark (np).

Palomas thinks that being locked in might help humans to finally perceive the silence they have left out. He sees a benefit in withdrawing from activity in the sense that silence offers an opportunity to become aware of the extent to which humans have moved away from the animal and natural world. He, thus, perceives this silence as the sound of a new and mutual companionship. Palomas’ perception not only resonates in the silent-listener-utopia of the model sketched above, but also in the perspective of humans and animals as companion species (Haraway). Estonian composer Arvo Pärt also speaks of a new awareness of the interdependencies of humans and other living beings:

This tiny coronavirus has showed us in a painful way that humanity is a single organism and human existence is possible only in relation to other living beings. The notion of “relationship” should be understood as a maxim, as the ability to love. Although this is truly a high standard, maybe even too high for a human being (np).


Listening in the Anthropocene refers, on the one hand, to a dystopia: human noise silences other living beings. The corresponding utopian vision of a more environmentally just world, as exemplified by Monacchi’s FOE and negotiated during the silence of coronavirus lockdowns, means a preference for silently listening, attentive silence, and an absence of disturbing human sound-making. Kanngieser and Beuret write that the use of silence to foreground how more-than-human processes can play an active role in commoning with the more-than-human world in the Anthropocene (11). Commoning refers to commons, to things that belong to all. Commoning is a different way of being that breaks out of the dependence on market economy or government agencies. It evokes a sense of togetherness and interdependence. For it is not only silence – understood as humans silently listening – that should be valued as a way of commoning (Kanngieser and Beuret 11) and coexistence, but also the whole range of sonic and aural reveries that are noisy. Informed by the examples and reflections presented above, I would like to add a reverie of post-Anthropocene noise-making to the Anthropocene mindset’s reverie of human silence and active listening, one which seeks a path in-between utopian and dystopian reveries. It is to daydream beyond the double visions of the destructiveness of human culture that has extinguished itself (and some or all others) and an idyllic lifeworld of a regained pristine state of nature that lies beyond any (negative) human influence. This also requires a reframing of the nature-culture divide inherent in the mental map of the Ecological Model of Sound of the Anthropocene sketched above. Hence, the reverie of listening in a post-Anthropocene means not simply the utopia of being silent, even still, and listening attentively, but rather, includes human agency in a shared sonosphere, and searches for novel ways that humans might produce noise(s) and impact others. In the end, for a post-Anthropocene ecology, this means transforming the Ecological Model of Sound into a more holistic model of ecological listening and sound-making that foregrounds the coexistence, interconnectedness, and interplay of sounds and living beings rather than further devaluing the cultural or anthropogenic sounds in preference for the natural sounds of biophonies and geophonies. Thus, a post-Anthropocene world will hopefully sound like a combination of a vivid rainforest and a vital city, but each of them respectfully leaving space for the other to be heard.

[1] The term more-than-human agency refers to the ecological as well as social interdependency of all living beings (see Tsing 2013; Kheel 2008).



[4] People repeatedly expressed their delight about the vividness of the birds. For some, birdsong even had a comforting effect on their feelings of insecurity or even anxiety triggered by the COVID-19-pandemic. This sentiment was also echoed in the media, see for example Caputo and Lenzi 2020, Fears 2020, Lund 2020, Treffpunkt 2020.



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About the Author

Patricia Jäggi is a senior research associate at the Lucerne School of Music, Switzerland, and works in the fields of Sound Studies, Radio, and Sound Art. Her main research focus is on practices, politics, and the ecology of listening. She is currently leading the SNSF-funded project “Seeking Birdscapes”, which explores practices of aural perception, meaning-making, and audio recording of birds in ornithology and sound art. She also works at the interface of research, mediation, and art, and is especially interested in further developing soundwalking as an explorative and artistic practice.

Contact details:
Patricia Jäggi, PhD
Lucerne University of Applied Sciences and Arts,
School of Music,
Arsenalstrasse 28a, CH-6010 Luzern-Kriens
T direct +41 41 249 26 25
M +41 78 803 21 55


To cite this article

Jäggi, Patricia. “Listening to Reveries: Sounds of a Post-Anthropocene Ecology.” Fusion Journal, no. 19, 2021, pp. 90-101. to Reveries: Sounds of a Post-Anthropocene Ecology/

First published online: March 2021

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