Composed and Produced by Sami El-Enany
A Falling Tree Production for 'Short Cuts' for the episode 'Without Words'.
First broadcast on Radio 4 on Tuesday 17th January 2023
Al Waqwaq. An elusive archipelago reigned by a Queen? Or a tree that bares children in place of fruit? Perhaps, instead, it's a many-branched menagerie, on which animals with prophetic gifts dangle by mane, hoof or hair, and ripe humanoid fruits exclaim ‘Waqwaq!’ as they fall to the forest floor. In Arabic literature, illuminated manuscripts, and Islamic cartography, Al Waqwaq shapeshifts, refuses to stay still. Much like the fierce oceans that reportedly surround the island/s themselves, the myth of Al Waqwaq remains harder to navigate than most.
The origins of this composition are not so easily defined either. From a hearing test that had me deciphering words in a sea of static, to an autumn walk through the dense mountain forests of Western Parnitha—where ghostly leaf music made me swear an oath to tend more carefully to the character of noise in my work. What have I learned from the talking trees? To compose without intention, as if the wind had written it, in all its sonic guises and with the destined beauty of chance.
So let me shroud Al Waqwaq in yet more myth. Where the leaves speak, and consonants cast shadows, where letters fall like water droplets, nestled under wing and silver beak, between the Murmur we emerge from and the Murmur we return to, we grow upon the Waqwaq tree.
Composed and Produced by Sami El-Enany
A Falling Tree Production for 'Short Cuts' for the episode 'Without Words'.
First broadcast on Radio 4 on Tuesday 17th January 2023
Al Waqwaq. An elusive archipelago reigned by a Queen? Or a tree that bares children in place of fruit? Perhaps, instead, it's a many-branched menagerie, on which animals with prophetic gifts dangle by mane, hoof or hair, and ripe humanoid fruits exclaim ‘Waqwaq!’ as they fall to the forest floor. In Arabic literature, illuminated manuscripts, and Islamic cartography, Al Waqwaq shapeshifts, refuses to stay still. Much like the fierce oceans that reportedly surround the island/s themselves, the myth of Al Waqwaq remains harder to navigate than most.
The origins of this composition are not so easily defined either. From a hearing test that had me deciphering words in a sea of static, to an autumn walk through the dense mountain forests of Western Parnitha—where ghostly leaf music made me swear an oath to tend more carefully to the character of noise in my work. What have I learned from the talking trees? To compose without intention, as if the wind had written it, in all its sonic guises and with the destined beauty of chance.
So let me shroud Al Waqwaq in yet more myth. Where the leaves speak, and consonants cast shadows, where letters fall like water droplets, nestled under wing and silver beak, between the Murmur we emerge from and the Murmur we return to, we grow upon the Waqwaq tree.