Claim OwnershipField Recording podcast by CSB
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Description
Field recording is the practice of capturing audio outside of a traditional studio setting. It involves recording sounds from the environment, nature, urban landscapes, ...
45 Episodes
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Rain taps a gentle rhythm on the dim-lit street; Puddles mirror city lights in silver sighs; Thunder rolls afar, while lightning splits the heat; A lone car splashes past - then hush, and rain replies.
Sky-bound silver bird, engine’s rising song; Runway dwindles small as lift becomes a glide; Airbus greets the blue where cotton clouds belong; Carrying earthbound dreams on winds of worldwide pride.
Rain beads tap-dance on the city’s skin; Skyward rumbles spark with split-second light; Wipers carve paths where reflections swim; While passing cars hum lullabies to night.
On leafy perches birds look up, their songs in startled hush; A helicopter cleaves the sky, its rotors carving plush; Below, bright coupes and rust-striped vans stitch roads through emerald lace ; Layers of motion, earth and air, entwined in fleeting grace.
High above the whispering city lane, Close-song birds weave bright notes in refrain; Distant echoes shimmer, drifting on high, While cars below hum choruses that sigh.
Two crows on black-barked heights convene, Their raspy caws drift down like teasing jokes; Pedestrians flinch at each sharp refrain, As traffic hums below in rolling spokes.
In dawn’s hush, sparrows rinse the street with song, Their hymn of roof-ridge light the whole day long. High in the maple’s shade, a squirrel wears his crown, Watching the feathered choir, amused, looking down.
Engines hum beneath an open noon sky, Chrome flashes stitch the sun-drenched air, Yet through the traffic bright notes still fly, Birdsong drifts past wheels without a care.
Five quacking ducks in a clamor parade; Snap up loose crumbs the visitors laid; Engines roar past with a tire-hummed beat; Nature and traffic collide in the street.
Bird-songs lace the dawn’s soft hush; Green leaves tremble with each bright trill; Beyond the trees, tires sigh and rush; Distant wheels, while morning holds us still.
Jackhammer chatters on the half-shut lane; Cars edge by, weaving through asphalt rain; RAT-a-tat-tat—bits of tar leap and spin; One-sided street ballet—break, breathe, rumble, din.
Jets of water dance in light, Drowning out the traffic’s flight. Cars roll past with softened sound, Barely heard when jets rebound.
Rain starts softly, whispers thin, Thunder stirs, the storm begins. Lightning cracks, clouds burst and strain, Cars speed past through roaring rain.
Jets glide low across calm river light, Picnics bloom under lace‑leafed boughs in sight. A playful dog weaves joy through emerald ground, Engines and laughter braid one gentle sound.
Drills echo through the cloudy hush, Sweepers stir the dampened grit, Rollers hum along gray streets, Late‑morning city readies to flit.
Engines hum like contented cats, Gently rising, then fading away; Their purring echoes in city lanes, A lullaby for ears at close of day.
Grey dawn meets the asphalt’s groan and grind, Yet birdsong gently threads between the trees; Soft chirps and trills defy the racing mind, And urban hearts find calm in feathered pleas.
Birds chirp sweet in morning's grace,Soft songs drifting through time and space.Behind, the hum of engines grow,As city wakes in gentle flow.
Behind the glass of her brand-new door,She barks at neighbors crossing the floor.A rescued soul still learning to trust,Each echo holds hope she'll rise above fear's dust.
On city streets in afternoon's gray,Cars vroom and weave, a bustling sway.Engines hum with a rhythmic beat,Life pulses fast beneath the feet.
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