Louis VI (3:37)
We humans have stopped listening. Wow, you all really listen to that. But it's true. There's a language out there that we all know how to communicate really quite well. But we've tuned out of one. We're innately fluent in, yet forgotten how to hear. I truly believe the key to solving many of our crises as humans is relearning to listen to this language. What I'm talking about is the sounds of nature. I want to take you all somewhere real quick, if that's all right. I want you to close your eyes a sec and make a mental note of how you feel right now. You can be happy from the week, stressed. It is a Wednesday in the middle of the week. Charmed already from my London accent or annoyed by it? Just be honest. Now close your eyes and open your ears. How do you feel? Different, right? Bit better, maybe Slightly more relaxed. You were just transported to West Papua. That beautiful melody was a hooded butcher bird, which, believe it or not, is carnivorous. Didn't think predators could sing like that, right? So what's happened? Is it that you're all nature geeks like me? Maybe. But it's probably because we're all evolutionarily hardwired to nature's sonic language. See, we're so hardwired to it. The choruses of birdsong, percussion of insects, the symphony of amphibians has all been shown scientifically to trigger your parasympathetic nervous system, AKA make you feel relaxed. You probably also noticed you were in a forest, and a tropical one at that might seem obvious to mention, but that was just from you using your ears. Look at you, flexing your fluency already. It's possible the bird song makes us feel relaxed because it's been a generous signal from Mother Nature that there's no predators around. But it can't be all relaxing. Hearing this from an unseen lioness near you in the dark, Trust me. Triggers a cascade of fear, but one that's also practical and proportionate. Eerie, unusual silence does the same thing. It's no wonder that we're seeing a rise in anxiety in cities. We may be unknowingly subjecting ourselves to an evolutionary stress. See, nature sound does something to us. It's often hard to put into words, true, but our nervous system understands it like a remote control. Blindfold on, I bet I could put any one of you in a biodiverse environment and you'll be able to tell me if it was dawn, The middle of the day, Dusk. Or nighttime. That call right there was a putu, which is a crazy word worth looking up when you get home. Each of these were recorded in the exact same place in the Amazon rainforest. The more biodiverse, the easier it is. There's an even deeper level. There are still first nations trackers alive today that can tell you there's an unseen predator moving through the forest in a northwest direction. Just from the change in birdsong. Our ancestors were polyglots of ecology. To listen was to know inattention was literally life threatening. Our ancestral grandmothers and grandfathers lived in an attentive relationship to the songs of other species, contributing to conversations that span back millions of years. But that fluency is still in you. Why? For our entire evolution, listening has been a big part of our compass. But now we turn that off, it's no wonder that we lost our bearing. So what's this got to do with solving crises? Louis, I'm glad you asked. Now, my path to standing before you here today is an unusual one. I'm not exactly from a place abundant in natural chimes. Born and raised in grimy old North London, more common to hear sirens and music, good music I might add, than birdsong. Growing up in Enns, my love of music led me down the path to becoming a musician. But I'm standing here today as a massive nature geek. Nice to meet you. Even though I grew up in the city, I've always been fascinated by nature from day dot. Yet it was something that me and my friends had the least access to. Yet many of us had ancestry from nature rich places. For a long time, I felt that these two worlds I had to keep separate. How would you market a rapper that can talk to you about the complexities of Hyman Oxford with a full blown degree of zoology? But during COVID my amazing mum and sister really persuaded me to combine the things. The damn things. A couple more swear Words, I might add, but I won't say. See, Sam was the common denominator between my two loves. Yet if there's over 55% of us humans living in cities and rising, we don't get to experience this. If I want people to reconnect to nature, I need to bring these sounds back. So I built these omnidirectional mics that I bring with me wherever I go. When I'm not being mistaken for an alien with a probe, I record. The first time I did this, something crazy happened. I put my headphones on and I disappeared. Not literally, of course, but I wasn't an individual anymore. I was plugged into an overwhelming, highly synchronous chorus of aliveness. See, listening to these sounds, it didn't just tell me information. It made me feel like something, like a soup of life, a language that my DNA knew, that I fundamentally understood, not as Louis, but as a human. Surely this could be a new tool for people, particularly people from the diaspora, to reconnect to the places that we're from that's still abundant in nature. There, see? Remember, through a long history of colonialism, extractivism, the transatlantic slavery, US Diaspora have been pulled not just from the lands we're from, but from the nature There. Sounds as common as the rising sun to our ancestors are now extinct in our experience. But that's happening to all of us wherever we're from. Reconnecting to nature is fundamental if we're to have a future on this planet, because planetary health and our health go hand in hand. See, nature sounds are so important to us as a species. We evolved not just to hear the information, but to have an emotional response to it. That's probably why music is so powerful for us. It transcends barriers. Where words fail, it adds meaning. It resonates. Many scientists believe music predated language in humans, inspired by mimicking the songs of Earth. But we are relatively new on the scene as musicians. Try telling a nightingale or humpback whale that we invented music. Mother Nature is the original artist, going back to that hooded butcherbird. I can imagine that mimicking moment. What's crazy is I did nothing to this, and I was recognized this. I was like, this is G Phrygian, which is C minor for those that ain't geeky in music like me. But let's check with the harmonies. Okay. I can imagine people hearing this and being inspired back in the day to get musical with it. But we got to check the chords. And obviously, what is a song without bass?