Unearthings

the cuckoo comes in april he sings his song in may in the middle of june he changes his tune and july he flies away sharon sanderson - voice, and field recordings made in woodland near minsmere, suffolk robert sanderson - guitar & gramophonics

The dark night is over and a new day begins... sharon sanderson - field recordings (Kelling Heath) robert sanderson - atmospherics

They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters; These men see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For at his word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again to the deep. Their soul melteth away, because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits’ end. So when they they cry unto the Lord in their trouble he delivereth them out of their distress. For He maketh the storm to cease, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they are at rest; and so he bringeth them unto the haven where they would be. * We navigated by stars, charted our course by constellations, carried cargo on the German Ocean from Lubek to Lynn and fished for herring and cod in the cold north waters. We lined up with the church towers as we pulled into port, and carved our crude ships on the pillars in the nave - votive scratchings as we listened to long sermons for the saints and the hammer-beam angels to intercede for us, and grant us safe passage. And after the harbour has silted up and after the river has changed its course and after the town has hollowed out and long after we have sailed from these shores our graffiti ships will still be there safe in the haven of our souls. * sharon sanderson - field recordings & voice robert sanderson - music, atmospherics & voice

An audio snapshot of Berlin

Darkness falls over Wuffinga-land, and an autumnal day comes to a close. Chieftains sleep forever in their buried ships, and Mrs. Edith Pretty consults the spirits, while Basil Brown, trowel in hand, scrapes away the soil of centuries. Sharon's on a patch of heathland recording the rutting red deer, before she realises that the beaten tracks have dissolved into the darkness, and she's now lost. Sharon Sanderson - field recordings Robert Sanderson - atmospherics voices - Professor H.C.Wyld, an academic and linguist, reading an extract from Beowulf Basil Brown, a local self-taught archaeologist explaining how he discovered the remains of a buried ship at Sutton Hoo

A nocturnal set of music and incidental soundscapes designed to be listened to under the stars 1. gloaming 2. the nighttime is the best time of the day (finnish tango) 3. through the woods 4. music for bat detector & gramophone 5. the souls of unbaptised children wander the skies tonight sharon sanderson - field recordings & bat detectors robert sanderson - atmospherics & instruments all tracks by sanderson & sanderson

music for two nightingales and an ersatz cello sharon sanderson - field recordings robert sanderson - ersatz cello f. scott fitzgerald reading the first verse of ode to a nightingale by john keats nightingales recorded at westleton heath in suffolk

recorded early one morning in springtime at buckenham marshes near norwich sharon sanderson - field recordings robert sanderson - atmospherics

This is from a series of scratchy, glitchy, low-fi podcasts we produced a few years ago. Although February is often the harshest month of winter, there's always the promise of better times ahead. It's the most schizophrenic time of the year - a time of snowstorms and snowdrops, sap rising and earth freezing, of Valentines and Lenten fasting, of optimism and resignation. Remember man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return...

A compline for jackdaws and rooks, recorded at Buckenham in Norfolk. sharon sanderon - field recordings robert sanderson - gramophonics & samples

Low tide, and the stunted remains of a Bronze Age timber circle poke through the sand. A herd of curlews take to the air just above the surface of the water, and land a few yards away. A parcel of oystercatchers go about their business among the peat outcrops. Just over there, inside another timber circle, a body lies under the sky in the roots of an inverted oak, waiting for gulls and crows to pluck out the eyes, gouge out the innards and strip the flesh from the bones, to set the spirit free. Soon the tide will turn, and the shifting sands will cover everything, and everything will be lost…

An audio snapshot of an area of Newcastle down near the Quayside, watched over by the kittiwakes that nest under the Tyne Bridge, and on the balconies of the Baltic contemporary art gallery. sharon sanderson - field recordings robert sanderson - singing, guitar & atmospherics

Over the centuries the nightingale has flown in and out of the English national psyche, and its song has been an inspiration for musicians and poets throughout the ages. One of the cultural myths concerning the bird involved it jamming along to a cellist during a series of live recordings broadcast by the BBC, though it now seems likely that the corporation used the skills of a siffleur to impersonate its song. This track is based on variations of a dance by John Playford, and incorporates samples from the 1943 propaganda film The Demi-Paradise. The nightingales were recorded on Westleton Heath in Suffolk. sharon sanderson - field recordings robert sanderson - acoustic guitar & atmospherics

recorded by sanderson & sanderson a soundscape based on a derelict nuclear weapon testing site on the Suffolk coast blue danube big bertha brown bunny blue peacock blue fox blue hare blue steel blue water green bamboo green granite purple granite short granite orange herald violet club pixie knobkerrie sea slug red beard red snow yellow sun blue danube (code names for atomic weapons research projects linked to the Orford Ness testing site)

The music is the landscape, and the landscape is the music, and we’re all tied to it by our shared history... Unearthings is a series of transmissions inspired by the changing seasons and changing landscape of East Anglia, drawing on poetry, prose, found texts and field recordings.

We navigated by stars, charted our course by constellations, carried cargo on the German Ocean from Lubek to Lynn and fished for herring and cod in the cold north waters. We lined up with the church towers as we pulled into port, and carved our crude ships on the pillars in the nave - votive scratchings as we listened to long sermons for the saints and the hammer-beam angels to intercede for us, and grant us safe passage. And after the harbour has silted up and after the river has changed its course and after the town has hollowed out and long after we have sailed from these shores our graffiti ships will still be there safe in the haven of our souls. sharon sanderson - field recordings robert sanderson - music, atmospherics & voice Graffiti Ships inspired by the medieval ship graffiti in St. Nicholas’ church at Blakeney, North Norfolk.

A fanfare and field recording made during the red deer rutting season on Westleton Heath in Suffolk

A summer nocturne, with the strange primeval churring of a nightjar, and a couple of muntjacs barking into the darkness.

A dawn chorus recorded at Kelling Heath in North Norfolk sharon sanderson - field recordings robert sanderson - atmospherics & toy piano

A winter afternoon on the marshes, with the temperature falling and the light fading, and rooks and jackdaws returning to roost. Sharon Sanderson - field recordings Robert Sanderson - samples, atmospherics and voice

A field recording made by Sharon on Westleton Heath in Suffolk one evening in May.

A collection of observations and lies, broadcast to mark so- called Freedom Day. How did we let this happen? It was the strangest of times that long furloughed season when the days and weeks melted into one-another, towns and cities went into lockdown, and entire countries came to a standstill. We stayed at home, we stayed alert, we clapped in the streets on Thursday evenings, we stood six feet apart in supermarket queues, and evoked the spirit of the blitz as the body count rose, and all the while we did what we were told. And when it was all over, and things started to return to some kind of normal, we threw away the face-masks and gloves, headed back to the restaurants and bars, we flocked into the shops and took advantage of all the closing-down sales. We enjoyed the great outdoors once more, and descended on the beaches and the wide open spaces, we herded together to keep ourselves safe and were no longer concerned with the tracking and tracing. And the historians of that period all agree that despite the economic crash, and despite the second wave, we were a happy breed and we all pulled together and good old-fashioned British common-sense prevailed. * On the 75th anniversary of VE Day the Queen gave an address to the nation. Not to be outdone, Mrs. Sanderson also gave an address... Mrs. Sanderson’s address to the nation: “As we commemorate the 75th anniversary of VE Day today and remember the fears, losses, courage and sacrifices that our parents and grandparents experienced during those wartime years let us also remember that these same people were determined to live in a better world when it was all over. To create a country in which everyone had opportunity through the provision of social housing, access to education, support for the arts and creativity, the provision of welfare for those in need and of course the creation of a National Health Service, universally available to all. All of this while they continued to live with rationing and austerity. They made a better world for us their children, for me personally that led to opportunities of which they could have only dreamed. As we now live through our own crisis I hope that we can think and plan for a better world for our children, finally understanding that when we work together we can achieve not only our own dreams but create opportunity and better lives for all”. A Litany in Time of Plague Thomas Nashe Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss; This world uncertain is; Fond are life's lustful joys; Death proves them all but toys; None from his darts can fly; I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health; Physic himself must fade. All things to end are made, The plague full swift goes by; I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Strength stoops unto the grave, Worms feed on Hector brave; Swords may not fight with fate, Earth still holds open her gate. "Come, come!" the bells do cry. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Wit with his wantonness Tasteth death's bitterness; Hell's executioner Hath no ears for to hear What vain art can reply. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Haste, therefore, each degree, To welcome destiny; Heaven is our heritage, Earth but a player's stage; Mount we unto the sky. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!

A summer's day in deepest darkest East Anglia, and a record of the changing physical and sonic landscapes of the countryside. It's an area of ghost airfields, buried history, and vast wide open fields under a vast wide open sky. Transcription of larksong by Professor Walter Garstang. Voices - Mr. William Aldred, an 80 year-old farmhand, recorded in 1936 Professor H. C. Wyld (reading an extract from Beowulf) Basil Brown, the archaeologist responsible for the discovery of the ship burial at Sutton Hoo Olivia Masi, reading her poem and talking about the disappearance of corncrakes from the countryside

It was a Sunday in mid-May. We were in Suffolk, listening to a cuckoo in a wood near a nuclear power station, and the time seemed to stand still. On our way home, we stopped by a patch of heathland, and were serenaded for more than an hour by a pair of nightingales, who were drowning out the sound of the military aircraft that were rumbling overhead. It was a clear evening. There was a sundog before the dusk decended, and a tawny owl called into the night. Readings:- The Cuckoo - anon The Cuckoo - a poem by Frederick Locker-Lampson (1857) An account of the barley bird, by the Rev. Robert Forby (The Vocabulary of East Anglia, 1830) Sweet Suffolk Owl - anon, possibly by Thomas Vautor, fl.1600-1620)

A celebration of allotments, the patron saint, birds of the air and the bard, along with the arrival of spring. The words in the cuckoo section are taken from Our Bird Friends by R. Kearton (1900).

The music is the landscape, and the landscape is the music, and we’re all tied to it by our shared history... Unearthings is a series of transmissions inspired by the changing seasons and changing landscape of East Anglia, drawing on poetry, prose, found texts and field recordings.