Happy Noises
I was six or seven the first time I sang a solo. It was long enough ago that I don't quite remember the reason for the occasion but I was chosen to sing the part of the cow in the song about the friendly beasts. A few of my friends and I went to several special practices at the home of our Primary chorister. The song was fun to do and I practiced for hours at home to make sure I did my best. After the performance everyone told all of the children that we had done well and we sounded good. I took the compliment with the understanding that I must have sounded like a really good cow.
It was perhaps that moment that I began my fascination with animal sounds. Parents regularly teach their children the sounds that animals make and it's hard to make it through a children's book without a moo or a neigh. But I began to notice that the sounds that people say that animals make rarely sound like the animal, but are at best a weak simplification. So I began to practice actual dog sounds rather than saying aarf or woof, and I use no vowels when I purr like a cat. That sound requires a very gentle throat vibration with a modulated breath that begins at the rear base of the brain.
Now my children think that it's rude to so closely mimic the sounds of an animal. My daughter asks me if I would walk up to someone who was Asian and start making Japanese, Korean, or Chinese sounding noises. She tells me that since I don't know how to speak cat or dog, I shouldn't try to approximate the calls that these animals make to each other. She is convinced that I am seriously confusing these creatures and that within their ability to reason they are trying their best to understand what on earth this human is trying to say.
As a child, that same daughter squealed with delight at the sounds I'd make. I try to specialize in everything from insects, to mammals, and even birds. I struggle the most with birds so I don't demonstrate those skills nearly as often. Of all the sounds I make, I am certain that the most often requested sound is that of an elephant. In order to make this sound, I assume the character by crossing my right arm under my left and placing my palm on my left shoulder. I then wave my left arm about as though it were the trunk of the elephant. While pressing my lips together, I trumpet like any giant pachyderm from the African grasslands or your local zoo.
It's easy to think I am pretty good because most children giggle and dance and ask for more. One time I tried to humor a child I had never met before. His contorted face and tears convinced me he thought he had met a real live elephant.
It was perhaps that moment that I began my fascination with animal sounds. Parents regularly teach their children the sounds that animals make and it's hard to make it through a children's book without a moo or a neigh. But I began to notice that the sounds that people say that animals make rarely sound like the animal, but are at best a weak simplification. So I began to practice actual dog sounds rather than saying aarf or woof, and I use no vowels when I purr like a cat. That sound requires a very gentle throat vibration with a modulated breath that begins at the rear base of the brain.
Now my children think that it's rude to so closely mimic the sounds of an animal. My daughter asks me if I would walk up to someone who was Asian and start making Japanese, Korean, or Chinese sounding noises. She tells me that since I don't know how to speak cat or dog, I shouldn't try to approximate the calls that these animals make to each other. She is convinced that I am seriously confusing these creatures and that within their ability to reason they are trying their best to understand what on earth this human is trying to say.
As a child, that same daughter squealed with delight at the sounds I'd make. I try to specialize in everything from insects, to mammals, and even birds. I struggle the most with birds so I don't demonstrate those skills nearly as often. Of all the sounds I make, I am certain that the most often requested sound is that of an elephant. In order to make this sound, I assume the character by crossing my right arm under my left and placing my palm on my left shoulder. I then wave my left arm about as though it were the trunk of the elephant. While pressing my lips together, I trumpet like any giant pachyderm from the African grasslands or your local zoo.
It's easy to think I am pretty good because most children giggle and dance and ask for more. One time I tried to humor a child I had never met before. His contorted face and tears convinced me he thought he had met a real live elephant.
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