There has been no rain for weeks and the hot weather has seen the pond all but disappear. Cupping ones ear to the surface of the steel cover it’s possible to hear subtle tones and water sounds, but with the falling level of water the music is on the verge of silence.
Something ahould always be going on in the depths though. The horn, acting in reverse as a “microphone”, picks up ambient sounds of the forest and passing planes. Altered in tone by the acoustics of the hole they can be heard, if one listens very carefully, quietly reverberating underground.
The original flints have now been replaced by a corten steel top. Besides affording better protection, it is now possible to catch a glimpse, through the slits, of the chamber and instruments below the ground.
The water in the hole continued rising to the point where all the instruments became submerged, the music being reduced to its minimal state, water dripping into water, a giant suikinkutsu. Now pumped out, they are all playing again.
The water in the hole is rising. What once looked like a futuristic city of tuned percussion now lies pretty much completely submerged. The consequence is that the music is now largely made up of watery sounds, accompanied by the chiming of the few instruments that still hang above the surface.
It sounds lovely but if you’re planning to visit don’t expect the full ensemble for the time being. It’s quiet, minimal and aquasonic.
There are several possibilities for the fact that the drain doesn’t work. The most likely is that the chalk under the floor of the hole takes its time to soak up the overflow and it’s still coping with the deluge that poured in during the storms a couple of weeks ago. This adds an unexpected and not unwelcome new dimesion to the ebb and flow of the music.