The underlying white noise is coming from a bakery's ventilation unit. Raindrops punch a staccato beat onto plastic awnings. Soundmarks invade the sky - laughter from a bar, distant honking on the Gowanus Expressway, the barking dog, the bus. The B63 purrs and creaks and beeps and sighs. Slowly driving cars crunch wet gravel and clonk manhole lids. A bicycle tire squishes along the pavement. Sound signals abound, from the legato slide of a car horn to a door slamming to a boot click to a cough. Water gurgles into the gutter. A bodega door creaks open, tripping tintinnabulation and a two-note alarm. Someone's television set gives off an ambient drone.
The noises were observed in the residential community of Bay Ridge, flanked by the BQE and full of stores. The sounds are languid, reflecting the peace of the nighttime and the rain. Water is the keynote speaker here, setting the rhythm for the neighborhood band. Cars are the lead instrument, punctuating the slower moments. The bus rolls by occassionally to play his solo. The dog barking and stamping her paws on the ground clue us in to a nearby park. The running ventilator, awning, and bodega bells show that this area has many small businesses. The droning TV gives the sense of an area where people live. A special sound here is jingling - there is an underlying understanding that this noise means entering or leaving a store. An unexpected sound was the television, as I didn't realize that people turned theirs on to such a high volume.
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