Connections to Course Themes
A Tradition of "Aural Imperialism"
As we have discussed throughout our course, sound is often associated with power; those who can control the production of certain sounds (often the loudest and most menacing ones) are often authority figures who have this privilege to reassert their dominion over the communities they control. For instance, Mark Smith's book, Listening to Nineteenth-Century America, delves into how Northern abolitionist in the Antebellum period were infamous for shouting at Southern ears, in the hopes of showing the Confederates the error of their ways in supporting the institution of slavery. The "aural imperialism" that the Northerners exerted speaks to how sound is often intimately linked to power; according to the antislaveryites, those whose voices rang the loudest and clearest in the soundscape would have a greater influence than those who remained silent. [1] Controlling the soundscape, whether it be by yelling one's views in the case of the Northerners or maintaining the illusion of "plantation quietude" for the Southerners, is intimately linked to power. Such is definitely the case with regard to German radio during the Weimar Republic and the rise of the Nazi regime. After all, under the Weimar Republic, the Reich controlled the majority of radio broadcasting in Germany. Such dominion was further established in 1932, when a new Reich radio law was passed and even the few regional radio stations were forced to fall under the direction of the Reich and its Reich Radio Company. [2] It is no wonder that when Hitler rose to power, he could easily affirm his authority by his aural presence in radio broadcasts that disseminated propaganda all over Germany.
Divorcing Vision from Sound
The radio itself enabled listeners to hear a "disembodied" voice; by removing the visual cues associated with the speaker, as was explored in Mark Katz's Capturing Sound, the experience of listening to the radio could create an almost otherworldly quality for the listener. [3] In the case of musical recordings, losing the visual dimension of a performance rendered listeners baffled and in awe of hearing the voices of their favorite artists emitting from a phonograph. Katz quotes an English music critic who said in 1923 that listeners "[could not] bear to hear a remarkably life-like human voice issuing from a box. They [desired] the physical presence." [4] In this regard, not being able to locate the source of the sound can prove to be a disconcerting experience for the listener. Divorcing vision from sound is reminiscent of the acoustics of medieval European churches explored by Richard Cullen Rath, wherein the chancel separated the priest from the congregation. [4] When he spoke, his voice would reverberate throughout the building, bouncing from the ceilings and descending upon the congregation as if a heavenly voice spoke to them. Yet, in the case of the radio, though it could create this otherworldly dimension to the listening experience, the sounds produced were audible for all to hear. The message transmitted by Hitler was clear, one that would ring out for all the Germans to hear throughout the nation. Despite being unable to see his facial expressions and dramatic gestures while speaking to the German public, his delivery itself would suffice in stirring the hearts of his German listeners.
Using the Radio as a Territorial Marker
Akin to Alain Corbin's work examining how church bells played a central role in demarcating territories in rural nineteenth-century France [5], so too does the radio under the Weimar Republic and Nazi Germany play a similar role in unifying the German nation. According to Corbin, the church bells served as "auditory markers of the village," enabling French rural communities to create a sense of identity and an acoustic community of sorts. In this case, the bell range defined territory; no longer being able to hear the toll of the bells would signify transgressing beyond the borders of one's village, meaning that the individual has now entered foreign land. Given how pervasive and powerful the bell's sound was, it is no wonder that only those in positions of power (i.e. clergymen and religious authorities) had the privilege of mandating when the bells would be rung. In a similar manner, the radio was used by the Weimar Republic in order to reach the vast expanses of the nation, the broadcasts even going so far as to reach members of the Volksgemeinschaft (ethnic German community) who lived in territories not directly under Weimar control. Although the radio did not physically demarcate the territories under German control, it did transmit its message to those who considered themselves part of the Volk despite living in non-German lands. The emphases on Volk and Heimat culture within radio broadcasts also helped German listeners retain a sense of identity, akin to how specific patterns of bell-ringing in French villages would only be identifiable and understood by members of that community. Ultimately, though, while the French bells of the 1800s would help distinguish specific communities on a regional level, under Nazi Germany, the radio would serve to diminish whatever distinctive features regions/provinces possessed, because the national interests superseded all other communal ties. Under Hitler, the radio became an all-encompassing bell, one that would help distinguish the German nation from those who stood outside the Volksgemeinschaft. Interestingly, however, while the bell was known to be a powerful auditory marker of French villages, simply because its sound could not be ignored, can we say the same for the radio? After all, it could be conveniently shut off at will.
Nazi Radio and the Phonograph Effect
Katz's text is devoted to the study of different "phonograph effects," or the way in which musical behavior--"whether listening, performing, or composing"--has adapted out of a rise of new sound creating technology.[6] Though our focus with the radio in Nazi Germany does not so much correlate with the musical study Katz undertakes, it does, in its own way, represent a sort of phonograph effect in the way both the way the radio was used and heard drastically changed throughout the middle of the 1900s. Once the Nazis took power, the radio was transformed: it became, not just a mode of entertainment, but more importantly, a means to aid the maintenance of power. Indeed, in a similar way to how producers of “mashups” use new computer technology to alter the perception of sound, or to how DJs use ‘scratching’ to produce new types of music with distinct messages, the Nazis took the radio and manipulated it to fulfill the very unique purpose of building the “Nazified Society” that they had envisioned. Like mashups and scratches, however, this manipulation had a profound impact on the way listeners interacted with the radio. For one thing, it became more widespread than ever under the Nazis thanks to their ambitious production of the Volksempfänger. That this was the first time that millions of German peasants and lower middle class folk were given access to a new and groundbreaking piece of sound technology cannot be understated. But perhaps even more important is that, in much of the same way we perceive scratching, for example, as a means of conveying messages supportive of a “counterculture,” Germans began to associate the radio as a messenger of the state, as the “voice of the nation.” Indeed, it conveyed important updates about the war, gave them a live connection to Hitler and the Nazi leadership, and filled their brains with particular and carefully constructed messages. The voice of Hitler and Nazi leaders became portable in that they could be heard almost anywhere in Germany during the war; invisible in the sense that their voices, constantly permeating into society, were disembodied and took on an almost godlike command; and repeatable in the way that recordings of speeches and certain phrases like "Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer!"All of this shows how the radio in Nazi Germany, congruent with the theme of phonograph effects, had an integral cultural role, taking on a clear purpose from the viewpoint of its “composers,” and profoundly impacting the way it was heard and perceived among the broader population.
As we have discussed throughout our course, sound is often associated with power; those who can control the production of certain sounds (often the loudest and most menacing ones) are often authority figures who have this privilege to reassert their dominion over the communities they control. For instance, Mark Smith's book, Listening to Nineteenth-Century America, delves into how Northern abolitionist in the Antebellum period were infamous for shouting at Southern ears, in the hopes of showing the Confederates the error of their ways in supporting the institution of slavery. The "aural imperialism" that the Northerners exerted speaks to how sound is often intimately linked to power; according to the antislaveryites, those whose voices rang the loudest and clearest in the soundscape would have a greater influence than those who remained silent. [1] Controlling the soundscape, whether it be by yelling one's views in the case of the Northerners or maintaining the illusion of "plantation quietude" for the Southerners, is intimately linked to power. Such is definitely the case with regard to German radio during the Weimar Republic and the rise of the Nazi regime. After all, under the Weimar Republic, the Reich controlled the majority of radio broadcasting in Germany. Such dominion was further established in 1932, when a new Reich radio law was passed and even the few regional radio stations were forced to fall under the direction of the Reich and its Reich Radio Company. [2] It is no wonder that when Hitler rose to power, he could easily affirm his authority by his aural presence in radio broadcasts that disseminated propaganda all over Germany.
Divorcing Vision from Sound
The radio itself enabled listeners to hear a "disembodied" voice; by removing the visual cues associated with the speaker, as was explored in Mark Katz's Capturing Sound, the experience of listening to the radio could create an almost otherworldly quality for the listener. [3] In the case of musical recordings, losing the visual dimension of a performance rendered listeners baffled and in awe of hearing the voices of their favorite artists emitting from a phonograph. Katz quotes an English music critic who said in 1923 that listeners "[could not] bear to hear a remarkably life-like human voice issuing from a box. They [desired] the physical presence." [4] In this regard, not being able to locate the source of the sound can prove to be a disconcerting experience for the listener. Divorcing vision from sound is reminiscent of the acoustics of medieval European churches explored by Richard Cullen Rath, wherein the chancel separated the priest from the congregation. [4] When he spoke, his voice would reverberate throughout the building, bouncing from the ceilings and descending upon the congregation as if a heavenly voice spoke to them. Yet, in the case of the radio, though it could create this otherworldly dimension to the listening experience, the sounds produced were audible for all to hear. The message transmitted by Hitler was clear, one that would ring out for all the Germans to hear throughout the nation. Despite being unable to see his facial expressions and dramatic gestures while speaking to the German public, his delivery itself would suffice in stirring the hearts of his German listeners.
Using the Radio as a Territorial Marker
Akin to Alain Corbin's work examining how church bells played a central role in demarcating territories in rural nineteenth-century France [5], so too does the radio under the Weimar Republic and Nazi Germany play a similar role in unifying the German nation. According to Corbin, the church bells served as "auditory markers of the village," enabling French rural communities to create a sense of identity and an acoustic community of sorts. In this case, the bell range defined territory; no longer being able to hear the toll of the bells would signify transgressing beyond the borders of one's village, meaning that the individual has now entered foreign land. Given how pervasive and powerful the bell's sound was, it is no wonder that only those in positions of power (i.e. clergymen and religious authorities) had the privilege of mandating when the bells would be rung. In a similar manner, the radio was used by the Weimar Republic in order to reach the vast expanses of the nation, the broadcasts even going so far as to reach members of the Volksgemeinschaft (ethnic German community) who lived in territories not directly under Weimar control. Although the radio did not physically demarcate the territories under German control, it did transmit its message to those who considered themselves part of the Volk despite living in non-German lands. The emphases on Volk and Heimat culture within radio broadcasts also helped German listeners retain a sense of identity, akin to how specific patterns of bell-ringing in French villages would only be identifiable and understood by members of that community. Ultimately, though, while the French bells of the 1800s would help distinguish specific communities on a regional level, under Nazi Germany, the radio would serve to diminish whatever distinctive features regions/provinces possessed, because the national interests superseded all other communal ties. Under Hitler, the radio became an all-encompassing bell, one that would help distinguish the German nation from those who stood outside the Volksgemeinschaft. Interestingly, however, while the bell was known to be a powerful auditory marker of French villages, simply because its sound could not be ignored, can we say the same for the radio? After all, it could be conveniently shut off at will.
Nazi Radio and the Phonograph Effect
Katz's text is devoted to the study of different "phonograph effects," or the way in which musical behavior--"whether listening, performing, or composing"--has adapted out of a rise of new sound creating technology.[6] Though our focus with the radio in Nazi Germany does not so much correlate with the musical study Katz undertakes, it does, in its own way, represent a sort of phonograph effect in the way both the way the radio was used and heard drastically changed throughout the middle of the 1900s. Once the Nazis took power, the radio was transformed: it became, not just a mode of entertainment, but more importantly, a means to aid the maintenance of power. Indeed, in a similar way to how producers of “mashups” use new computer technology to alter the perception of sound, or to how DJs use ‘scratching’ to produce new types of music with distinct messages, the Nazis took the radio and manipulated it to fulfill the very unique purpose of building the “Nazified Society” that they had envisioned. Like mashups and scratches, however, this manipulation had a profound impact on the way listeners interacted with the radio. For one thing, it became more widespread than ever under the Nazis thanks to their ambitious production of the Volksempfänger. That this was the first time that millions of German peasants and lower middle class folk were given access to a new and groundbreaking piece of sound technology cannot be understated. But perhaps even more important is that, in much of the same way we perceive scratching, for example, as a means of conveying messages supportive of a “counterculture,” Germans began to associate the radio as a messenger of the state, as the “voice of the nation.” Indeed, it conveyed important updates about the war, gave them a live connection to Hitler and the Nazi leadership, and filled their brains with particular and carefully constructed messages. The voice of Hitler and Nazi leaders became portable in that they could be heard almost anywhere in Germany during the war; invisible in the sense that their voices, constantly permeating into society, were disembodied and took on an almost godlike command; and repeatable in the way that recordings of speeches and certain phrases like "Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer!"All of this shows how the radio in Nazi Germany, congruent with the theme of phonograph effects, had an integral cultural role, taking on a clear purpose from the viewpoint of its “composers,” and profoundly impacting the way it was heard and perceived among the broader population.
Sources
[1] Smith, Mark. Listening to Nineteenth-Century America.
[2[ von Saldern.
[3] Katz, Mark. Capturing Sound: How Technology Has Changed Music.
[4] Rath, Richard Cullen. "Acoustics and Social Order in Early America." Hearing History: A Reader. University of Georgia Press, 2004, 207-220.
[5] Corbin, Alain. "The Auditory Markers of the Village." The Auditory Culture Reader, ed. Michael Bull and Les Black. New York: Berg, 2003, 117-125.
[6] Katz, 2.
Photo Credits
(1) Bell Tower at La Cadière d'Azur, in Provence, France. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. See: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bell_Tower_La_Cadiere_d%27Azur_Provence_France.jpg
(2) Logo of the anti-slavery movement. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. See: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Image_from_abolitionist_pamphlet.jpg
[1] Smith, Mark. Listening to Nineteenth-Century America.
[2[ von Saldern.
[3] Katz, Mark. Capturing Sound: How Technology Has Changed Music.
[4] Rath, Richard Cullen. "Acoustics and Social Order in Early America." Hearing History: A Reader. University of Georgia Press, 2004, 207-220.
[5] Corbin, Alain. "The Auditory Markers of the Village." The Auditory Culture Reader, ed. Michael Bull and Les Black. New York: Berg, 2003, 117-125.
[6] Katz, 2.
Photo Credits
(1) Bell Tower at La Cadière d'Azur, in Provence, France. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. See: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bell_Tower_La_Cadiere_d%27Azur_Provence_France.jpg
(2) Logo of the anti-slavery movement. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. See: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Image_from_abolitionist_pamphlet.jpg