One of the most efficient ways to move about the city, our Montréal Métro has changed not only circulation, but also social interaction and human behaviour. While people are moved from place to place, could it be that they are losing their sense of hearing? Hegemonic discourses between the visual and the auditory that are often the object of sound studies are rarely a subject of art history. This is partly because art history used to be strictly a study of visual objects and sound if it could be considered art fell under the studies of music. One of the main differences between traditional forms of art and music was that art was an object and music was a performance. But as both sound and performance have become prevalent in modern and contemporary visual arts and as sound has become historicized and commodified by institutions of visual art, the border between sound as art and sound as music has at least shifted if not disintegrated. Architecture and environmental works, which are heavily impacted by sound and acoustics, have been part of art history's cannon since the Greeks. The international showing of works like Forty-Part Motet (2001) by Janet Cardiff is evidence that sound is firmly situated as part of contemporary art history's cannon as well. Art that utilizes sound, which according to Michel Chion adds value the visual(1), is an effective means of communication in an art world where our vision has become so saturated that we may well have become blinded and desensitized to the visual. The last canvas that was found in Paul-Émile Borduas' (1905-1960) studio after his death in 1960, which was almost entirely black, alludes to this visual saturation. Sound can achieve a stimulus that penetrates us beyond retinalization and literally resonates inside of us. Sound that surrounds us is important as an object of auditory culture; as an object of art. Social art historian T.J. Clark writes, "...one is concerned with what prevents representation as much as what allows it; one studies blindness as much as vision."(2) Should we not then consider what prevents us from hearing art? Although some are concerned that the sounds generated by the Montréal Métro may well present a physiological threat to human hearing over time, I am more concerned that if we do not hear art in Montréal's Métro we may very well lose sensibility (sense ability); not just our sense of hearing to vision but our ability to identify art where it exists outside of the institution. This essay is an attempt to foreground that which is generally relegated to background status in high art(3), the Montréal Métro. When we talk of art in the Métro we naturally think of the visual works that are exposed to thousands of Montréalers everyday, for example circles by Jean-Paul Mousseau (1927-1991). and abstract stained glass by Marcelle Ferron (1924-2001). But when we think of the Métro we would do just as well to remember the sound of Italian Futurism and Luigi Russolo's art of noises. Perhaps the aural message of the Métro screams so loudly that we cannot understand what it may indeed be trying to tell us. The Montréal Transit Society (STM) has invested in art for purposes of public relations by installing art into fifty-one different stations and every single one of these pieces excludes an auditory element. These visual objects become figures on a sonorific ground that surrounds and envelopes these images where sound is the keynote around which all visual elements are flatly applied. This essay is an exploration of the soundscape of Montréal's underground network as an ephemeral work of public art. I will focus on the sounds generated by the MR-73 cars that operate on three of the lines. It will be first necessary to briefly discuss noise and its relationship to art and how it generates meaning or in fact masks it. Then I will explain the notion of soundscape as put forward by R. Murray Schafer. Finally, I will discuss how the Métro's three note sound is referential of Aaron Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man (1942)(4). This a referential keynote in the sound of Montréal's underground and it produces an ironic tension between the meaning of the noise and the physiological and psychological effects of the acoustic intensity in network in relationship to the original purpose of Copland's composition. To understand why what we hear in the subterranean environment is indeed art, it must be first established that noise has been a part of high culture since the Italian Futurists' art of noise. Commonly people associate noise with acoustic intensity (or loudness); author of the Handbook of Noise Assessment , Daryl N. May defines noise as "unwanted" (5) sounds. However, there are many varieties of noise, such as white noise and pink noise, that are, under certain circumstances, useful and desired and not necessarily acoustically intense. Because the notion of unwanted sound is clearly a subjective matter and an aesthetic judgement of taste, noise is a natural inspiration for social realism. When noise is perceived it is because there is a lack of some kind. Noise steals our sleep; it steals our patience and in its place, noise leaves misunderstanding and meaninglessness. Our perceptions of and definitions of noise have more to do with its castrating affect on us than it has to do with acoustic intensity. Noise underlines that there is discord, and it is discord that inspired artists like Paul- Émile Borduas, who lashed out with the Refus Global in 1948 against the noise of a societal structure that for him made no sense and held no meaning. What was said of the Montréal Métro by Michel E. Tremblay might well be said of Paul-Émile Borduas, "Montréal would never be the same." (6) Whether Borduas lived to fully appreciate that his life and work was constructing a legacy for modernism in Montréal and that his name would be both simultaneously rejected and embraced is uncertain. But as Moses never lived to enter the promised land, Borduas never lived to see the Montréal Métro and how it would impact the society he had already begun to transform. Ironically numerous attempts were made for underground train projects from 1910 to 1960, a span of time that almost matches exactly Borduas' lifetime. Perhaps not all noise can be decoded into meaningful sounds, but there is meaning in the architectural qualities and barriers constructed by sound. The Métro has its own unique effects on how people interact socially. T he Métro's rolling rubber tired system, which is quieter than many other underground trains, still g enerates its monotonous noises of significant acoustic intensity. (7) In 1976 as study revealed that the MR-73 cars, that continue to operate today on the orange, blue and yellow lines, reach over 100 decibels, a sound level that makes it impossible to carry on a conversation at reasonable vocal levels. Hearing damage can begin at exposure of 90 decibels (8) and it could well be, that those of us who use the Montréal Métro as our main transportation could suffer hearing damage over a period of time.(9) The acoustic intensity or loudness that is often associated with noise, affects the human body. It stimulates fight or flight, causing the heart to beat faster, cholesterol levels to rise and increased acid in the stomach. It also causes blood vessels in the brain to expand, while the blood vessels in the body contract which allows us to think more clearly and quickly. Continued exposure to acoustically intense sounds can in some cases cause ulcers, indigestion, loss of strength, heart disease, and even some birth defects. In addition to the physical effects there are also psychological effects from loud sounds. Stress does not necessarily cause mental illness but it can prevent recovery from medical problems or mental problems and it does affect the way people interact socially.(10) For these reasons noise abatement has become a serious issue in large cities as well as being considered in the architectural design of the Métro stations. In 1999 the Montréal Transit Society (STM) investigated how the architectural design of the Métro stations stood up acoustically. The study revealed that simple changes to the structure of the tunnel at the platforms would diminish noise. So far none of the recommendations have been implemented in any of the stations but it is anticipated that the new stations in Laval will be constructed using the principles of noise abatement recommended in the study.(11) In 1965, composer and leading sound theorist, R. Murray Schafer began a study dedicated to the relationships between people and their acoustic environment. This is where his notion of "the soundscape" was conceived. What interests me most about Schafer is the shift from a visual paradigm to the environment of the auditory. He said "A soundscape consists of events heard not objects seen ".(12) Like an object of visual culture, analysing a soundscape first requires a formal analysis of what is heard. Schafer says we must "discover the significant features of the soundscape, those sounds which are important either because of the individuality, their numerousness or their domination." D rawing on his background in music composition, Shafer says that our second step in analysing a soundscape is to identify the keynote which, "...is the note that identifies the key or tonality of a particular composition. It is the anchor or fundamental tone and although the material may modulate around it, often obscuring its importance, it is in reference to this point that everything else takes on its special meaning. Keynote sounds do not have to be listened to consciously; they are overheard but cannot be overlooked, for keynote sounds become listening habits in spite of themselves." Schafer says that the keynote is to a soundscape what in the visual the ground is to the figure. Montréal Transit Society reports that in 1966, the year the Métro opened up, they served 32.1 million passengers. They also reported that 209.1 million rode the Métro in 2000.(13) Everyday, thousands of people who ride the trains will be exposed to the public works of art in the various stations. We must also consider that thousands of people are not just being exposed to visual art but are daily surrounded in a unique auditory art that is machine generated. The MR-73 takes on a life as artist while its ubiquitous sounds move us and it physically displaces people in and around its subterranean soundscape. Trevor Pinch and Karen Bijsterveld explain that music when mediated by machines and technology can take on a Foucauldian self.(14) So too the MR-73 takes on its own life as performer of "music" for commuters. The two different models of cars that grace the four lines are the MR-63 and the MR-73. The MR-63 cars were manufactured by the company Canadian Vicker between 1963 and 1967. Initially these cars graced all four lines. However, in mid 1970s the cars were replaced on the orange, blue and yellow lines by the MR-73 model cars, manufactured by Bombardier. This newer model had a completely different kind of traction motor that would not only change the speed of transportation but change the soundscape of the underground. T he MR-73 trains are known for their particular sound that is heard as the trains accelerate. Most who ride these trains know the familiar the three notes: an F, a B flat and an F, that are heard as the pistons change gears during acceleration and the F that is heard as the train comes to a halt in the stations. Because the MR-73 doesn't operate on the green line, its signature three note sound cannot be heard there.(15) Although STM claims that the sound of the pistons has no link to Aaron Copland's musical compositions, the F, B flat and F are the first three notes of one of his most recognizable compositions from 1942, Fanfare for the Common Man, which was chosen as one of the theme songs for Expo 67 hosted by the city of Montréal. Howard Pollack writes that Eugene Goosens of the Cincinnati Symphony commissioned Fanfare for the Common Man as a morale-boosting project for the war effort.(16) Let us listen to the high F the Métro makes as it comes to a halt. The doors open with a bang, common man boards the train, then the doors close. Copand's tympani booms twice like the opening of the Métro car doors and again as they close. As both Copland's fanfare and the MR-73 accelerate we produce the same three notes: F, B flat and F. The Métro's the referential three note sound juxtaposed with the growling noise of the train is a contradictory statement where Copland's stirring fanfare meant to ennoble the down-trodden of war and the Futurist growling noise engines and speed was a glorification of war. In Douglas Kahn's Noise Water Meat , he explains that the Futurists' noise as art was "made significant by making others - primarily women and non-Europeans - insignificant in a context of war and religion."(17) Borduas who wrote the liberating Refus Global has also been accused of being patriarchal and in fact his own auto biographical writings on the Automatist movement exclude women artists entirely.(18) What Claude Gauvreau (1925-1971) wrote a character in one of his plays could have been said by Borduas himself: "crossing the desert of contradiction, I lose my strength."(19) The sounds in Montréal's underground tell the history of art in Montréal and the personal contradictions and struggles that became part of Paul-Émile Borduas' Legacy who on one hand declared a total rejection on the limitations of his society and at the same time perpetuated them as a product of that society. Eventually all of the cars on all of the lines will be replaced. STM has said, and it is no surprise, that the train technology has changed significantly since 1976 when the MR-73 was put into operation. When the MR-73 is replaced it is not likely that the new cars still generate the keynote sound; we will be unable to hear our fanfare,(20) but hopefully the acoustic intensity of the new cars will be much lower so that our hearing will serve us longer. Pinch and Bijersterveld point out that "[visual] metaphors dominate our language"(21) and therefore the very manner in which we communicate determines that we "view" the world rather than hear or feel it. If we remember the keynotes that have shaped our soundscapes we will better understand our own behaviour. R.Murray Schafer made an important point about the keynote: "Even though keynote sounds may not always be heard consciously, the fact they are ubiquitous there suggest the possibility of a deep and pervasive influence on our behaviour and moods. The keynote sounds of a given place are important because they help to outline the character or men living among them...Many of these sounds may possess archetypal significance; that is, they may have imprinted themselves so deeply on the people hearing them that life with out them would be sensed as a distinct impoverishment. They may even affect the behaviour or live style of a society..."(22) If we can retrieve the auditory from background into the foreground of our conscious listening we will reveal that what shapes us goes far beyond vision. Composer, TV producer, and bassoonist, Pierre Mercure (1927-1966) was a key player in the sound of Automatism in Montréal. From 1944 to 1949 he studied at the Conservatoire de musique à Montréal, aspiring to be an orchestra conductor, while working under the tutelages of Marvin Duchow and Claude Champagne. Before leaving to go to Paris in 1949 he participated with the Automatists Françoise Sullivan (1925-), Claude Gauvreau and Jean-Paul Mousseau. But Mercure was able to see what he did as sound as much as music. "Throughout the period 1948-1959 Mercure was looking for new sonorities."(23) One of his most important contributions to sound and art in Montréal was the festival he organized called The International Week of Today's Music held in August of 1961. Some of the most prestigious names in sound art and music were in attendance including John Cage and Karlheinz Stockhausen. In 1962 Mercure was even involved in generating compositions with his knowledge of music generated electronically such as Structures métalliques III which he presented at the Fluxus Internationale Festspiele Neuester Musik in Wiesbaden . Before his untimely death in 1966 Mercure composed H2O per Severino in true automatist fashion where "a work in open form, with neither beginning nor end, in which chance events of the moment together constitute a formal entity."(24) Almost as an afterthought, Ray Ellenwood mentions in his conclusion of Egrégore: "And what of Pierre Mercure, who was not a signatory of the Refus global , but who provided music for Automatist performances of theatre and dance...for a period of about ten years?" Curiously, Ellenwood never does answer his own question, only giving Mercure a passing mention in the book. He excuses this by stating that his lack of expertise in "the performing arts, radio and television", all of which Mercure was actively involved in, "suffered in this book".(25) This is evidence of the hegemony of vision in art historical writing. Since when did art become purely visual field anyway? My answer to this: never. The humanities and social sciences have attacked the notion that art transcends the social, political and the everyday since the 1960s. But as Janet Wolff notes that music, "is strangely absent" and despite all the interdisciplinary activity around these fields of criticism music has maintained a certain "aesthetic autonomy" and the Automatist movement is no exception to this. The fact that sound is non-representational is clearly no excuse for this autonomy in the study of art history. Wolff suggests that it is because writers outside of music may feel untrained in the specialized and technical knowledge to talk about the auditory, so they are unlikely to engage in the discourse, and yet they use same methodolgies to discuss the visual, as do those who are specialized in the field of music.(26)
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