Part 2

How important is sound for our overall well-being and in how far do you feel the "acoustic health" of a society or environment is reflective of its overall health?

Sound plays a fundamental role in our well-being, often in ways that are invisible or overlooked. It’s not just about hearing. It’s about how we inhabit space, how we connect to others, how we focus, rest, and feel. I truly believe that the “acoustic health” of a society is a direct reflection of its overall health, social, cultural, and even political.

For instance, a city saturated with noise pollution, traffic, construction, endless commercial music, is often a symptom of poor urban planning, disconnection from nature, or a lack of care for collective mental health.

On the other hand, societies that protect quiet zones, that respect soundscapes, the singing of birds, footsteps, community music, usually demonstrate a deeper awareness of shared well-being.

Let me give a simple example. Today, many countries are moving toward electric vehicles. But a car is still a dangerous mobile object, and in electric form, it becomes almost silent. This opens up an opportunity for sound artists to intervene and help imagine: what should the sound of a car be in a society that actually thinks about acoustic health? That’s just one example, but it shows how artists can shape the sonic future of our cities.

In my own work, especially through field recordings and soundwalk projects, I’ve seen how deeply people crave reconnection with their sonic environment. In Marrakech. For instance, the soundscape is rich, vibrant, but also sometimes overwhelming. That’s why I’ve been exploring new ways to encourage more conscious listening, through immersive concerts, sound installations, and collective listening sessions in public space.

I also think acoustic health is a matter of inclusion. Which voices are heard? Which memories are amplified? Are we only listening to dominant narratives, or are we making room for marginalized sounds, both literally and symbolically?

So yes, sound is essential. Not just as an artistic tool, but as a way to read, understand, and even heal the world around us. Taking care of our sonic environment is just as important as taking care of our bodies or minds.

Sound, song, and rhythm are all around us, from animal noises to the waves of the ocean. What, if any, are some of the most moving experiences you've had with these non-human-made sounds?

I’ve always believed that humans are limited in how they perceive and listen.

What fascinates me is not just the sounds themselves, but how differently we can experience them depending on the context or the recording technology. For example, the sound of a single guitar played in a room might seem simple at first, but recorded with different microphones or spatial techniques, it reveals layers of resonance and depth that completely transform the experience.

One of the most moving examples for me is the sound of ocean waves. It’s something we all know. But when recorded with a hydrophone, a microphone placed underwater, the entire texture changes. You suddenly hear the inner voice of the sea: the cracking of air bubbles, low-frequency rumbles, and the rhythmic breath of the tide from within.

It feels like entering another dimension of listening, one that’s usually hidden from our ears.

I truly think we need to give more space to sound technology to evolve, especially in terms of how it helps us perceive the non-human world. In recent years, image-based technologies have progressed incredibly fast, in cinema, photography, AI visuals, but the tools we have for sound are still behind. There’s so much unexplored potential in how we can use technology to expand our sensory perception of natural sound.

For me, this is where the future of listening lies: in creating ways to hear differently, to connect more deeply with the world around us, not just through what is made by humans, but through the voices of the non-human, nature, space, vibration, and matter itself.

Many animals communicate through sound. Based either on experience or intuition, do you feel as though interspecies communication is possible and important? Is there a creative element to it, would you say?

Honestly, I don't have deep expertise or scientific background in bioacoustics or animal communication, but the topic has always fascinated me. I believe that sound is one of the most universal and ancient languages of connection, not only between humans, but also between species. Even if we don’t share the same codes or intentions, there is a form of dialogue that can happen through listening, rhythm, and vibration.

Between humans and animals, we often communicate sonically without realizing it. A dog responds to tone, a bird adjusts its song to city noise, whales sing across oceans. These are not random, they are expressions of presence, territory, emotion, or even culture.

Some studies have shown that certain bird species adapt their vocal frequencies in urban areas to be heard over human noise pollution. Elephants communicate through infrasound, which travels long distances through the ground. Dolphins and whales use complex vocalizations that may include regional “dialects.”

There’s definitely a creative dimension to this. In some traditions, human music imitates or responds to animal calls. In pygmy polyphony, for instance, bird calls are echoed in vocal improvisation. And today, some sound artists and composers like Bernie Krause or David Monacchi work directly with the idea of interspecies acoustic interaction, using field recordings not just as samples, but as dialogues with living ecosystems.

I think the real challenge is not whether animals understand us, but whether we are truly listening. Interspecies communication might not mean translation, but resonance. Sound can create empathy across boundaries, and maybe that’s the most creative form of communication we have.

Tinnitus and developing hyperacusis are very real risks for anyone working with sound. Do you take precautions in this regard and if you're suffering from these or similar issues – how do you cope with them?

Yes, I do take it seriously. I try to protect my ears as much as possible, even in everyday life.

In my city or at home, I often close the windows if the outside noise becomes too intense. In the studio, I avoid high volume levels during production. When using headphones, I limit both the volume and the amount of time I wear them. Listening fatigue is real, so I give myself regular breaks and stay conscious of my sonic environment.

It’s not just about comfort, it’s about long-term care.

We can surround us with sound every second of the day. The great pianist Glenn Gould even considered this the ultimate delight. How do you see that yourself and what importance does silence hold?

Sometimes, silence is the doorway to deeper listening.

When I’m at home and everything is quiet, I begin to hear my living environment in a new way, the neighbors, the creaks of the space, the subtle life around me. It’s not an absence of sound, but a shift in attention.

There are moments when I want to play music to shape a mood or build a world. But other times, I just want to listen to what’s already there. Walking through the city and hearing people’s footsteps, or simply tuning into the textures of everyday life, can be just as meaningful.

In a way, silence lets me enter into intimacy with sound, not by filling space, but by revealing what’s already present.

Seth S. Horowitz called hearing the “universal sense” and emphasised that it was more precise and faster than any of our other senses, including vision. How would our world be different if we paid less attention to looks and listened more instead?

That is a powerful question, one that requires deep reflection.

Human culture has been shaped for centuries around vision and touch, what we see, what we build, how we present ourselves. Listening has often been secondary, treated as passive, even though it’s the first sense we develop in the womb and one of the most crucial for survival.

If we reconstructed humanity with listening at the core, not just as a sensory function, but as a foundation for knowledge, empathy, and awareness, the world would be profoundly different. Our social structures, our relationships, even our technologies would evolve to prioritize resonance, rhythm, presence, and attention.

Imagine a world where we measure presence not by what is seen, but by how deeply we’re heard. Where silence isn’t emptiness, but a space for understanding. Where education is built around sonic attention. I believe the human of today would be more attuned, more patient, more relational. Listening is not just a tool, it’s a way of being.

What if, instead of reacting to appearances, we responded to vibrations, to breath, to pauses, to the unsaid? We might rediscover forms of intelligence and connection that have been buried by the dominance of sight. And perhaps, in doing so, we’d come closer to a more balanced and inclusive way of living.