“Birds, Bugs and Water”: Where Sound Designers Go for Inspiration

It's hard to say that a sound or a place inspires me sonically.  

We might think of a lush forest soundscape rich with nature, or a city skyline with distant sirens and horns. But even pausing to listen to the subtle rattles and creaks of an old lift in a car park or a neighbour arguing through the walls next door can be equally inspiring. We keep these sounds, not only as sounds but as a reference of how they made us feel, and then we can use this to help steer immersion in a project.  

Creating a true connection to a narrative can involve many layers of sounds or can be as simple as one sound used and timed in the right way to really transport us physically or emotionally to where the director/creator wants us to be.

   

Taking a moment to pause and just see what the soundscape around us tells us about where we are, and what is happening has helped inspire and, in some cases, completely lead my creative approach for sound.

 

I thoroughly recommend a cordless Dyson vacuum cleaner, not just for its quality vacuuming but for the sound it makes as it powers down. It's a short sound, but it's super satisfying, and reminds me of a small bass drop – something that I would consider sampling should the right project come round.

For me inspiration comes in waves, and sometimes when you least expect it. I don't think I go out seeking inspiration as such but watching something that's captivating, or just receiving the WIP edit of a film, can be really exciting. It's moments like these that remind me why I'm passionate about what I do.

I was lucky enough to visit my family in Australia last year, and I couldn't believe the level of sounds coming from the jungle.

I don't think I'd experienced cicadas at such a high level, sounding incredibly dynamic as the sound rose and fell – almost as though a conductor was controlling their performance.

Different cultures, smells, languages, nature, can all be huge sources of inspiration. For me inspiration doesn't have to come from a sonic source. Often being in an environment where I feel something – and it doesn't necessarily have to be a pleasant experience - makes me examine that emotion and how that could translate into a sonic element. That can be truly inspiring. 

Work is a cacophony of sound. Day in and out. Some days, it’s listening to 100 different door closes. Other days, it’s trying to remove the sound of a fire engine that drove by during the crucial dialogue line. After my head is throbbing and ears ringing, I’ll retreat to the chaos of nature. I let the birds make all the noise and the stream babble, let the wind eat up the frequency spectrum. That or I put my noise cancelling headphones on and turn off the world. 

Because creativity takes time and space, it's not a process that can be rushed and making the right audio choices requires perspective. Stepping outside of the digital world and into nature, is it for me. Though, I always keep my pocket recorder handy, in case I hear something cool. 

On the right project, a good atmosphere bed can really sell a great idea, so I try as often as I can to take a moment to really listen to whatever space I find myself in. As well as being a great exercise in mindfulness, by tuning in to as many individual elements as possible, you begin to understand how the wash of sound around you is constructed, and what it tells you about that location.  

Walking around town, the intensity and cadence of voices might suggest something about the makeup of the area’s community, while the balance of cars, trains or lack thereof tells you about its place in the city. 

No matter where you are, be it a busy pub or a quiet office, there will always be subtle sonic characteristics that can inform what you understand about a place – and how it makes you feel about it. I like to take a moment to identify some of them so that when I'm back in the studio and I’m asked to make a shift in how a scene feels, I’ll have a pocketful of ideas of what to add or remove to achieve it. 

I’ve often found consistency within inconsistency when thinking about what sonically moves me. 

Specifically, I enjoy focusing on and drawing inspiration from the chaos of city life. Sometimes, I’ll gravitate towards the habitual sounds of daily life, like an oscillating toothbrush or the rhythmic clattering of train tracks. Most times, I’ll cling to a random sound… maybe the beeping of an obscure alarm or someone shouting down the street. 

Riding that aural rollercoaster is what I find most neurally exhilarating about my craft. It’s very important for me to notate the feelings that arise when I’m critically listening. It allows me to better connect with that moment as I implement sounds later on. 

New York City is a mesmerising place with no shortage of textures, tones, or dynamics, and with the ongoing evolution comes new sounds and patterns. I view the disarray around me like an endless ring of shapely, vibrant keys. When I’m working on dialling in a specific design, I’ll shuffle through that ring to help unlock the puzzle in front of me. Dipping into that pulse provides me with a fresh perspective each time. 

I love that feeling of excitement when discovering something new and having your mind opened up to new ideas. Finding inspiration is really about finding experiences that make you think differently. This can come from a deep conversation with a friend, or through hearing or reading a story about how people pushed boundaries or overcame obstacles. Before you know it, my mind is racing and I am re-energized. 

Going on walks is also an important source of recharge and inspiration – there is nothing like getting into the ever-changing sights and sounds of the world. On the way to getting my morning matcha, I take different paths and listen to music, a podcast, or take in the ambient sounds. My purpose is to change it up and break it up. To get out of my workspace and out into the wider environment. Even the art of making traditional matcha is inspiring and is a form of meditation: the precise measurements, the swirling-blending action, the sweet and vegetal scent rising from the cup. And when all else fails, sitting in silence for 20-25 minutes, although it can be uncomfortable at times, helps free my mind. All of that fuels me in ways that are not always immediately evident but ultimately informs the work in unexpected and welcome ways. 

There’s no escape from inspiration, when you work in sound. It's literally with you all the time, in and out of the studio. Which sounds simplistic, but really is true. Hearing a car horn that harmonises with the tone of an air-con unit, or the clack of a train that has an undeniable groove or even the sound of a public transport alert in France, that is identical to the music in ‘Home Alone’. I love those unexpected moments of sonic clarity.  

I made a rule to myself a while ago that if I'm ever intrigued by a sound, I have to record it. Whether that's with my portable Zoom recorder or even just on my phone. Whatever I have to hand, capturing that sound in some way was important.

A good example of this happened a few years ago when we were asked to create the sound design and composition for a ‘Stone Island’ brand film. A few weeks before the brief landed, I’d walked past a guy blowing leaves in a park and loved the tone of the machine so much that I had to stop and record it. It had an amazing, tonal quality. A few weeks later, and completely unbeknownst to him, I was asked by a director to create something “synth-like” with the sound of a leaf blower. It couldn't have been more serendipitous and it cemented my “record anything I hear” principle in place. 

So to summarise, inspiration comes from everywhere, all the time.. Which is a very broad answer, but truthful, nonetheless. 

I commented to a friend once, “Great noise.” He replied, “That’s such a ‘soundie’ thing to say,” and I guess he was right. I’m not one to carry a Zoom recorder everywhere I go, although admittedly I do like to occasionally grab an impulse response on my phone, when the nerd instinct takes over. 

Being a country lad before moving to London, the clamour and noise of life in our capital makes me appreciate the peace and quiet of the countryside all the more. Especially if there’s water around. 

I used to sail as a kid. Being out on a dinghy listening to wind, water and wildlife is something I miss. I’d struggle to squeeze into the dinghy these days but I do still sometimes take walks out by the Norfolk Broads and enjoy the soothing sounds of nature. Birds in the reeds. The occasional splash of a fish surfacing. A dragonfly humming past. Watching Mark Mangini on YouTube create the sound for the Dune ornithopters (which imitate dragonfly wings) is very cool by the way. 

It’s hard to escape the sounds of humans these days. Most of the time even if you are out in the countryside, if you listen carefully you can hear distant road noise or a plane overhead. Wherever we go, we’re usually not that far from someone’s conversation. People just make a racket, plain and simple. 

Peace and quiet aside, there’s definitely something about the energy of an F1 race, a festival or the cheer of a crowd in a stadium. Those noises get my blood pumping, even with earplugs in. 

All the sounds I’ve mentioned I’ve recreated in the studio at some point using one means or another. Rentacrowd. Location recordings. Library sounds. Foley, using items you’d never imagine could trick you into believing they’re the real deal. 

As sound designers we notice sound details that perhaps many others don’t. It’s good to stop and listen, even if it’s noisy.

As a sound designer, I find inspiration in the most unexpected places, and each one fills me with excitement and creativity. Immersing myself in environments with unique natural resonances and reverberations is like a treasure hunt for my ears. Imagine standing in a densely wooded area, zeroing in on the sound of a single insect or animal. Then, moving to a different spot and hearing that same sound transformed by the natural reverb of the surroundings. It’s like uncovering hidden layers of a musical masterpiece right in the heart of nature! This practice not only hones my listening skills but also sparks innovative ideas for my projects.

Another profound source of inspiration comes from visual art. I get lost in the world of paintings and illustrations, contemplating the layers of thought, concept drawings, and meticulous planning that go into each piece. This process mirrors my approach to sound design. Just like a painter builds a masterpiece stroke by stroke, I layer sounds meticulously to create a rich auditory experience. This cross-disciplinary inspiration fuels my creativity and pushes me to think outside the box, ensuring that my sound designs are not only technically precise but also emotionally compelling and artistically robust.

I find inspiration for my design work in the activities I enjoy. Now that the warmer months are here, I spend a lot of my free time fly fishing and soaking up the good weather. I can spend plenty of time indoors with samplers and synthesisers when it’s cold, rainy, or dark, but when I get the chance, I love to spend the whole day outside recording birds, bugs, and water.

Everything sounds cool when it’s modulated and slowed down if recorded at a high enough sample rate. It’s a classic – pitch any songbird down three octaves and start messing with tempo. My go-to for this is Pitch N’ Time, but PaulXStretch is a free and super fun alternative. I always end up with something entertaining.

Lately, I’ve been into the work of Annea Lockwood. Her performances from the ‘60s and ‘70s are wild; the first I saw was ‘The Glass Concert’. Her later work, based in the Hudson Valley where I live, is completely naturalistic. ‘A Sound Map of the Hudson River’ was a revelation. 

Now I keep a Zoom F3 recorder strapped to my bag and hang hydrophones in the water while I fish. I’m not sure how Annea would feel, but these recordings have helped me create ambiances and beautiful design elements for both beer commercials and narrative features.