Sound reasons why it’s worth listening to everything - Ian McMillan

And, if I listen more closely, the left shoe’s sound is closer to a creak than a squeak. Creak, groan; creak, groan.

As I approach the post box a plane rumbles overhead. It’s as though the plane’s noise is providing a kind of bass note to my groaning and creaking.

I have two birthday cards to post and I’ve missed the delivery so the post-box is empty. I post the cards one at a time; there’s a muffled clang as the card hits the bottom of the post box, and then another slightly more muffed clang as the second card hits the first.

The passing plane has passed as I creak and groan my way back to the house and my ears like satellite dishes (visually as well as metaphorically) taking in every sound I hear and making a kind of music from them.

The reason for this noise-sensitivity is that last month I spent a day at the brilliant Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival and ever since that sonically exciting Monday I’ve been in a state of resonant receptivity, taking in everything I hear and getting pleasure from it, pretending I’m composing it, pretending I’m about to record it for an album.

The Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival has been around for many years and it’s packed with music that can be called challenging but which I prefer to think of as exciting and ear-opening.

On the first Monday of the festival there was a packed programme of 20-minute performances in venues around the town centre and I joined the throngs of people wandering from venue to venue to experience aural delights that none of us had ever experienced before.

I heard marvellous harp music and a violinist and a saxophone player improvising together with electronics; I heard a soprano doing astonishing things with her voice and I heard a fierce violinist who made the violin sing amazing songs.

Sometimes this kind of music is seen as niche and excluding but at each performance I went to you could hardly get a seat, which is encouraging in these threadbare times.

The first of the day’s performances was by an ensemble from the University of Huddersfield who were positioned in various places, and at various levels, in the atrium of one of the university buildings.

The music was very quiet and it gradually dawned on us that the performance had begun; we fell silent and listened intently and I found the experience transcendent and beautiful.

But then some even more beautiful things happened, unintentional sounds that added to the performance. The lift refused to be silent and kept saying GOING UP in posh voice.

A young man pushed a trolley across the floor and through the standing crowd. He seemed oblivious of our glances and carried on pushing the trolley. Of course the trolley rattled; of course the trolley had a wheel that wobbled rhythmically.

Afterwards people said to each other ‘Was that trolley part of the show?’ and I said that even if wasn’t meant to be part of the show it ended up being part of the show, as did the lift. And that’s the joy of the festival; it teaches you that everything is worth listening to.

See you there next year! Hear you there next year! Creak, groan, rattle, wobble, GOING UP.