Name: An-Ting

Nationality: London-based, Taiwan-born
Occupation: Producer, composer, sound artist
Current release: An-Ting's new album Lost Communications 失絡之聲 is out now. It mixes “field recordings of birdsong and mixes them with dark experimental electronic music with droning soundscapes and hard beats, creating an album that sonically encapsulates the very essence of nature itself,” She will also perform at the Norwich and Norfolk Festival,  7 pm on 15 & 16 May, 2025. For more information and tickets, go here.

If you enjoyed this An-Ting interview and would like to stay up to date with her work, visit her official homepage. She is also on Instagram, Facebook, and bandcamp.   



What sparked your interest in interspecies communication? Are there any memories or experiences with animal-, plant- or nature sounds that you can share?

I’ve always loved animals and plants! But what truly sparked my interest in birdsong was during the lockdown, when everything became quiet and I could finally hear the beauty of the birds after a long time living in London.

I spent a month in Portugal then, living on a boat next to an island. The dawn chorus there was incredibly moving—it felt like the most beautiful music I’d ever heard.

That experience inspired me to keep listening, to explore different birdsongs, and to better understand how birds communicate.

What makes sounds from other species – particularly birds – interesting, inspiring, or just plain beautiful to you? Is there anything that continues to impress you about them?

The complexity of their sound is endlessly fascinating.

While we often say birds sing mainly for mating or marking territory, I believe their communication holds much deeper meaning—and many books support this idea. Even birds like the chiffchaff, who seem to only have two sounds, create endless variations through the patterns they form—almost like a binary code. It’s an incredibly sophisticated way to communicate.

Also, birds—and many other non-human creatures—sing in harmony with each other. The dawn chorus truly feels like an orchestra, each bird adding a different layer to a larger, unified sound.

I think we humans have lost that harmony, that ability to be part of the collective rhythm and dialogue of the natural world.

Prior to beginning to work on Lost Communications, did you do any research with regard to birdsong from a more scientific angle? If so, what were some interesting findings?

Not in-depth scientific research, but I was very surprised to learn that the wren is the most common bird in the UK. Among all the birds I recorded, the wren’s song is also the loudest—which is ironic considering how tiny they are!

Maybe that’s part of why they’re so widespread—they’re small but impossible to ignore.

In terms of picking the right equipment for this project, what motivated your decisions and what did you eventually end up using?

I used the Adphox BME-200 binaural microphones.

They simulate how our ears naturally hear, so the recordings really capture the sensation of being in the wild. It allows listeners to feel as if they’re right there with me, hearing what I heard.

Tell me a bit about recording the birds in the field and in the countryside, please.

When I hear birds, I walk very slowly and quietly to find them. Once I get close enough, I stop and start recording. If I’m lucky, I can stay there for an hour.

It's a very calm and mindful process, almost like meditation.

Were there any obvious differences between birds captured in the wild vs. the countryside or in different parts of the world?

Absolutely.

The first thing I noticed was how different birds sound in Asia compared to Europe. Even birds from the same species—like the starling—seem to mimic the speech patterns of local people. The starlings in the UK sound more like the rhythm of English speakers, while in Hong Kong they mimic the tone and inflection of Cantonese.

City birds also tend to sing louder, probably to rise above the noise. Birds in the countryside or wilderness have more delicate, intricate songs. The environment really shapes their voices.

What is it in a bird recording that you are looking for, that draws your attention or simply captivates you?

Each recording tells a story. Where it was recorded, what I experienced during that moment—those elements inspire how I later compose music with the birdsong.

Most of the recordings in Lost Communications were captured in very special places: dawn in Savernake Forest in Marlborough, a remote reindeer mountain in Mongolia, the mountains of Sichuan in China …

It's the magic of a specific place and time that captivates me.

As listeners, we receive “signals” from the world around us. Undeniably, there are many “musical” moments in them, but how do you feel about using the term “music” for them? What sets “signals” apart from “music”?

To me, all signals can be musical. I had a psychedelic experience once where I suddenly heard music in everything—the sound of the shower, a car notification—everything had rhythm and melody.

Music is simply organised sound with tune and rhythm, and I believe the world around us is full of it.

How much beauty and simply interesting moments were there already in the unprocessed versions of the bird songs? How much did you work with them to get the effect you wanted?

Many tracks include birdsongs in their original form. I usually only apply light EQ to remove noise and add a bit of reverb to blend the sound with the instruments. I’m not trying to change the birdsongs to fit something else—I’m working with their natural qualities.

Sometimes I experiment by slowing them down or shifting frequencies. For instance, lowering the frequencies (therefore the birdsongs slow down) the Eurasian wren revealed layers I couldn’t hear before. It opened up a whole new understanding of their song.

What kind of juxtaposition are you looking for when it comes to combining the bird recordings with your own contributions?

I see the birds as the lead singers. My role is to create the accompaniment—supporting their tune with musical elements that highlight their voices and energy.

It’s about listening deeply and responding with care.

What do you still remember about the recording process for Lost Communications? How did the music gradually take shape?

The recordings were the heart of the journey. I traveled from the mountains of Sichuan and Yunnan to the dense city of Hong Kong, and the contrast was intense.

At first, I struggled—I was overwhelmed by the city's noise and chaos. My early version of the composition was filled with dissonance and confusion. Then one day, sitting on a beach near where I lived, I realised it was all about perspective. Even in the city, birds were adapting and communicating, just like us. Nature and humanity were still connected.

That shift inspired the piece “Black-collared Starling (Hong Kong)”—a reflection of how resilience and beauty can shine through even in the busiest places.

Do you think that true creative collaboration between animals and humans, as has been attempted for example by artists like David Rothenberg, is possible? Are there any such collaborations you've engaged in or would like to try?

Definitely. I haven’t done it formally, but when I play Lost Communications in natural environments, birds often come closer and sing along—at least for a while before they realize it’s a recording and fly off!

I’d love to explore more real-time interaction and collaborative performances with birds and other creatures.

Based on your thoughts, experiences, examples, or intuitions, do you think it is possible that examining animal signals will at some point lead to understanding and, eventually, communication? What is your personal threshold for considering interspecies communication as successful?

My experience so far is very small—sometimes when I play birdsongs, a bird will come and sing along for a few seconds. They might just be curious or feel confused.

It’s my biggest dream to one day achieve some form of understanding. I don’t know if it’s truly possible, but I deeply hope it is.

Interspecies communication is increasingly extended to plants as well. What are your thoughts on this?

I believe in all forms of interspecies communication. Plants change and respond all the time based on their environment, and we’re only just starting to understand how they signal and interact.

I’m currently working on a new project called Underwater, recording marine creatures. There's a rich world of communication down there—clicks, pulses, and sounds we can barely hear. It’s another beautiful mystery waiting to be explored.

Being exposed to the richness of the world of animal sounds can be an intense experience. How has listening to animals changed your views on various topics? (ecology comes to mind, but there may be more)

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that nature isn’t just soft and peaceful—it’s also dark and wild. We often romanticise nature, but it has both beauty and brutality.

I think we’ve tried to protect ourselves from that wildness by cutting ourselves off. But in doing so, we've also lost the connection—and the ability to communicate—with the non-human world.

Recording and listening to birdsongs has reminded me of that duality - which I think is at the core of everything.