The use of Sound Recordings in Social Science

What is the use of Sound in Social Science?

Can it provide access to alternative data sources? And how should these be analyised?

Or are they purely, rather abstracted, contextualisations? There to provide a 'feeling' of the place to illustrate something more, but without being able to directly signify it??

Below is a 9 minute recording of a walk through part of my research site: East Street Market in Southwark, South London. Its a lovely thing for me to listen to. It is evocative of so much; diversity, sociality, the space and place of the area, the history and of course, my own small role in it. But what does it do for the person removed? Does it provide an image? Is it a strong message of the place?

Ultimately I want to know if is sound recording works... as a piece of data itself.

Thoughts?

(Note: Enjoy my stupid voice at the beginning forgetting where the market comes out!)

East Street Market by Dr Ed101

Why doing a PHD is like the X-Factor

It appears that I have found myself a new laptop. It is a very small notebook. Far from powerful, far from unique. But already it feels like an old friend that will see me through this great journey that is my PHD.

OH GOD... I sound like I am on the X Factor. I guess, for me, this is my chance, my opportunity to explore the things that have been entering my mind all this time; To understand the theories and how they work with the rest of the world. There is no-doubt that it will be an emotional journey; there will be ups and downs struggles and (hopefully) more than a few successes. I will also be taught much and learn more. I will make friends and maybe even help people, influence local council and governmental organizations: Affect change.

But there will probably be less singing… and infinitely less Simon Cowell.

Community Council Meetings

I went to my first council meeting the other night.

As I sat at the back of the hall, waiting for my 5 minutes slot to speak. As I sat there it came to me that this might be the place where I become, as it were, a man. Or at least, a real man, an adult. This might sound strange to some, after all I am 33, no sorry- 34, I have a solid partner (although without a ring she will not let me call her a wife but she is, in all but name), a 3 year old son - I even have a pension! But sitting here, sweating and worried about the show of sweat through my shirt on this warm spring evening, I wondered if my professional identity would be born here: 'Dave the researcher', to later become 'Dave the consultant', or 'Dave the academic', maybe one day 'Dave the Prof!' I am soberly reminded of William Sutcliffe's book "Are you Experienced" which I read, suitably, whilst travelling in India. The book's whit centres around 'Dave' a north London boy who wonderfully positions himself in the world with the classic line "It's true what they say about people from South London, they really do have a different outlook on life", mocking the often heard phrase of the green hippie traveller (of which I was one) so prevalent then. In the book he returns from India - having had sex, got ill and seen too many temples, and becomes 'Dave the Traveller' the instant identity through the construction and narration of his past... and here I am doing just the same.

It probably has got something to do with the new business cards I had printed before the meeting: It’s all gone to my head.

The meeting contained a plethora of different juxtaposed personalities; the charismatic councillors, the angry locals, the troubled souls who seem to have missed the point and the over large men who feel that the sandwiches at the back have been made just for him. Maybe that is the only reason he is here. There are more statements than questions, people want to project themselves into the arena more than they want to affect change or influence those in power (or at least in closer proximity to ‘those in power’). My slot arrives quickly and my name, miss spelt and miss pronounced, jolts me out of my seat and I take my place at the microphone.

I am sure I speak too fast, I am sure I was red faced and many didn’t understand, and therefore care, what I said. But before I get back to my seat I have already got one name, one informant for information. By the time the meeting ends (half an hour late and 3 hours after I spoke) I have several more, a few leads to follow and I am positively bouncing with the experience of it. I walk off down the street through an area I would soon know all too well, a place that, until recently, I could not walk down through fear of personal attack.

I wonder through the streets to my bus home thinking about getting a bike to make these trips more fluid (and cheaper). I romantically place myself on the bike, laptop in the bag and my headphones playing back to me a recent interview. ‘Dave the researcher’...

My smile is quickly washed away as two young men throw themselves out of a nearby alley and my heart races and the imagined laptop in my bag vanishes... fieldwork.

The importance of field notes....

I have had it drilled into me that field notes should always be recorded as soon as possible after the event. In a move to test this theory, I have left it a couple of weeks since my second step into the field, to record the details here.

Of course that is a complete lie. I have just been busy and just a little slack.

The day before the interview I went to the location where I would meet my first contact in the area, and someone who will hopefully provide a road into the community. Hopefully she will turn out to be my gatekeeper, or one of them, for most of my fieldwork. I have come a day early so I don't get lost, so I am no late when it comes to the day. But I have also come to the area because it scares the pants of me. The Aylesbury Estate is infamous in South London for being a centre of low income housing and high crime. Arriving at the South end of this large estate find myself nervous and watchful; 'white middle class fear' I attack myself and force myself to walk on. But the concert slabs of buildings with the fenced of ground floor car parks aand net curtained windows feel oppressive and make my hand sweat. I walk as deep as I dare into the area before turning around and returning home...

I had made contact with a member of a community organisation based in the area called Creation. They are a non-funded group aiming to make known the requests, feelings and needs of the local residents and tennents in the area. Sue (not her real name) has lived in the area almost 20 years, and she loves it.

By the end of the hour long interview, or general conversation with slight direction from me, she asks me where I am heading, and we plan together to walk through the estate, North, to the otherside. As we do she introduces me to the area a little and finally we get onto the subject of crime. She makes no small thing about telling me how bored she gets hearing people talk about the estate in such a bad light. She has never had any problems, and it has gotten better everyyear. Although some of what she says hides a little more of the truth, I am still left feeling silly and pathetic. But, after all, this is what this project is about... how does my understanding of this estate change from my image of it now, to the end of my research. How will this 'place' effect me and how has it affected others.

It feels like a long road... and the first steps, like any good journey, are a little scary.

The narrative begins...

I have chosen to blog my fieldwork diary. Ultimately this is a decision that feels right for me. I am not comfortable writing by hand, and have never really been. I also find the flexibility of test, even just the simple cut and paste, to be a constant creative tool for me. The blog is another medium, and its another tool, so, like the written word, it has function and it has form and as such I often feel free to express in way that the written, in he form that feels right.

I have taken my first step into work on my PhD. Ultimately it many never form a huge part of the results, or conclusions, but discussions I have with myself, with Caroline, with my colleagues will be the ones concerning method, and the method started today. Today I undertook my first piece of oral history.

I am currently taking a Masters in Social Research Methods at the School of Social Policy, Sociology, and Social Research (SSPSSR) at the University of Kent, Canterbury. Its funny saying that as I know how ridiculous that sounds and also because everyone who is ever likely to read this will already know. As part of the methods training, paid for you by one of the last 1+3 funding awards this country is ever so willy nilly hand out to the likes of me. If I had not made funding this year, I would have had to change my dreams. This has never been spoken, but Caroline and I know that we would need to. That said, they are now teaching me something that I never had time for as an undergrad. They are teaching me the methods of research... I thought that was what you did when you opened a book, or drank a pint with a friend!

So today, armed with a GPS phone accurate to 2700 meters (thank god it was that good) a shaky email giving me directions to a farm from the wrong direction, and assuming I was in a car rather than walking the 3.7miles from Berkhampsted Train station, and a name 'Ray Cooper'. Oh year... and it was raining. I got as close as I could to the farm without moving away from the nearest pub, and I stopped for a swift one. I honestly thought it would help. A sandwich and and a mint later I continued the last 1.9miles. I arrived, perfectly on time, and only damp enough not to illicit remark. We smiled and shook hands, he seemed instantly at ease in his own workshop. People obviously came and chatted alot, and it was good. I selected a tall seat for me, as if I was about to sit down and strum a guitar that he had just made. Ray Cooper was a Luthrian. He makes bespoke guitars for the those who can afford it. He is a drummer, a guitar player, he is "Ray the Guitar Maker". He lives in Potten End North East of Berkhampsted, and as we sit down and settle, I explain what this is for, and about the recorder. I place it casually on the floor and I ask "So tell when did you first hear about Potten End".

What then opened up was a delightful development of what Ray though of Potten End, Rays life surrounding the little village and how it has book marked his life through his 62 years. I spent the entire time stealing glances and trying to keep abreast of the multiple levels of information that I was trying to keep an eye on. It had only to last 1 hour. This is not a suggestion, it is just that I needed to leave and pick up Chas. Was this borrowed recorder working, a red flashing light told me that. Have I made suitable notes, have I got the issues I want to bring up again. More onto of this, 'What has he just said? What did I just say? Was that interesting? Are we off the topic? Did I miss something there? Did I just say that? Why did I just say that? What did he just say?". It was hard but execrating work. And then I walked the 3.7miles back to the station, listening to the tape again, smiling.

I did things wrong, I missed moments and talked over him 3 or 4 times. But I was on a tight control and he would never has stopped. I took it that there were time when he was more open, almost needing a new topic as he was getting board with the last one. But he would not have stopped, just needed to know that this is what I wanted. He talked alot, and that made things very easy. But it is in itself not necessarily useful or of higher quality. But there were other times when all I did was smile and nod and he continued.

I really enjoyed today. I am floating on the waves of it, the thought of it. The road that I have started on.