Touch of Sound is one of those under-the-under-the-radar films. It’s a film that shatters your notions of documentary film-making, the concept of sound, the limits (or lack thereof) of disabilities, and music, in this case, percussion. The spine of Touch the Sound is Evelyn Glennie, “first person in musical history to successfully create and sustain a full-time career as a solo percussionist.” She’s worked with top-notch musicians like Bela Fleck, Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Bjork, Bobby McFerrin, and Sting. She gives over 100 performances with orchestras and musical artists each year. She’s won two Grammy Awards. Oh, and one other thing — she’s deaf.
How does she explain her talents in spite of what most would call a “disability?” As Glennie reminds us, sound is all about physical space being altered, and we experience sound by way of a physical reaction to waves. For most of us, this occurs through our ears. For Glennie, it’s a whole body experience. We see this played out in the film in many ways — through her jaw-dropping-gorgeous improvisational recording sessions with Fred Frith, through her tapping of random objects on her family’s farm, through her practices with traditional Japanese percussionists, through her teaching session with a hearing-impaired teenager.
To demonstrate how important the “location” of sound and movement of particles can be for us, the gutsy-as-hell Glennie sets up a snare drum right smack in the middle of Grand Central Station, and plays one of the most impressive drum solos I’ve ever heard. The people in the station end up looking at the ceiling because the echo is smacking them in the ears. Glennie puts it this way: “Hearing is a form of touch. You feel like you could almost reach out to that sound and feel that sound. You feel it through your body and sometimes it almost hits your face.”
Sound — the film reminds us, again and again — surrounds us: footsteps, construction sites, cars whizzing and honking, cell phones, blaring headphones, air conditioners, birds, suitcases being dragged, the chatter and babble of those nearby, babies crying. We forget it or ignore it most of the time. But — just as feelings linger, inspiration lingers, childhood lingers, and tragedies linger — sound lingers.
And in Touch the Sound, we also get to experience, not just Glennie’s phenomenal talents, and not just her wisdom on the subject of sound and percussion, but we hear the differences of place. Through the movie, we travel to Japan, New York City, Scotland, Santa Cruz, and Germany, hearing the different tones of each of those locations, and I’ll be damned if they didn’t stay with me.
Remember, Glennie is almost completely deaf, but she adds this toward the end of the movie: “The opposite of sound definitely isn’t silence. I wonder if it’s something more static. It’s the closest thing I can imagine to death.” If she’s right, and I’m willing to wager she is, then that means music, well, that means music is life.
Listen (and see) for yourself:
