The simplicity and joy of recorded conversations

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Leah McLaren has narrated this article for you to listen to.

Recently I stumbled across a file of conversations I’d recorded with my seven-year-old son Frank back when he was four. Topics include his travels through wormholes, why he finds planet Earth ‘boring’, the tragic story of how his ‘first family’ died and how he got his ‘laser eyes’.

It was only by listening to these voice notes three years later that I understood just how precious audio recordings are, and also how under-used. The conversations I taped illustrate the nuances of Frank’s four-year-old self more vividly than any photo or video could. Anyone attempting to write fiction should take note of the power of audio – conversation and voice are how character is built. A physical description tells you relatively little. Why don’t we record more conversations, I wonder, if only for posterity’s sake?

Preserving everyday verbal interactions between our loved ones is something we don’t do enough of, in my view. In an era when everything else is itemised, filed and archived, the possibilities of audio seem strangely overlooked. Part of it is the unobtrusiveness of the medium. There is a covert slyness to audio. Most people instinctively object to the idea of being recorded, and yet we allow ourselves to be videotaped pretty much constantly: almost everywhere in this country we’re captured on CCTV without our knowledge or consent. We take photos and videos of our children and loved ones throughout the day and then post them online for any number of people to see. Yet the thought of recording the things people actually say in situ, no matter how sweet and innocuous, seems suspicious at best – and galling at worst.

Perhaps it’s simply a problem with association.