Aural Aggravation

Room40 – 22nd August 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Sometimes, I will encounter a release, and while knowing that I need to cover it, I find myself paralysed by the discovery that I am completely out of my depth. This is never more common when presented with works which represent cultures from beyond my – embarrassingly small – sphere of knowledge. And embarrassing is the word. Doubtless some would steam in and opinion with an overflowing confidence which presents itself in perfect disproportion to their knowledge, but bluffers inevitably come unstuck sooner or later, and are shown up as the arrogant cocks they are. I’ve always been of the opinion it’s better to be open about those gaps in knowledge, accept that no-one can know everything, and take the opportunities which present themselves to gain some education.

During my first or second year as an undergraduate studying for a degree in English, one tutor commented that I had squandered almost half of the first page on ‘rhetorical throat clearing’ – a magnificent and amusing turn of phrase, which summarises something I’m still guilty of some thirty years later.

Anyway: the point is, when presented with Ŋurru Wäŋa, the new album by Hand To Earth, I find myself swimming – or somewhat sinking – at first. The accompanying notes set out how ‘A search for a sense of belonging is at the heart of what drives Hand to Earth, a group of five people, who come together from different backgrounds, different birthplaces, and different musical approaches to share their songs, and by doing that to create something new.’

Peter Knight (trumpet, electronics, synthesisers, bass guitar) goes on to explain that ‘Ŋurru Wäŋa traces notions of home, belonging, and displacement. In the two parts of the title track, Sunny Kim intones the words of Korean poet Yoon Dong Ju’s poem, Another Home, in counterpoint to Daniel Wilfred’s song, sung in the Wáglilak language. Ŋurru Wäŋa (pronounced Wooroo Wanga), translates as ‘the scent of home’, and as we travel we long for that fragrance, passing the bee, guku, making the bush honey while the crow circles calling overhead.’

The notes add that ‘The music Hand To Earth creates collisions between the ancient and the contemporary; between the ambient and the visceral.’

And indeed it does. Listening to Ŋurru Wäŋa is a transportation, and transformative experience, not entirely similar from watching a documentary soundtracked by the sounds of the peoples being documented. From the very first minutes of the spacious whispers and slow, elongated notes of ‘buish honey (guku)’ the lister finds themselves in another place, another space, another mind. It feels, in ways which are hard to pinpoint, let alone articulate, spiritual, beyond the body, but at the same time closer to the earth – closer to the earth than I have ever been or even understand how to become. I realise I have been, and become so conditioned that such senses are beyond me, likely eternally, but on listening to the ringing sounds – not unlike the droning hum of a singing bowl – and breathy incantations of ‘Ŋurru Wäŋa Part I’ and revisited in the dark, sonorous rumbling of ‘Ŋurru Wäŋa Part II’ which brings the album to a close.

In between, swerving drones and impenetrable utterances evoke another time, another place, far removed, something mystical. It’s the sound of nature, of forests, of grass, of sky, as well as of soul, of heart, exultation, of but also the sound of humanity in a form so many of us have lost, and lost our capacity to connect to. This is the music of life, and it swells and surges, it’s the sound of being alive, and celebrating its magnificence.

Under capitalism, we forget that we’re alive, we trudge along, under duress, hating every day. Making it through a day is the goal for the most part, our ambitions are tied to capital, to the drudge, to the eye on the promotion, but, mostly on the commute, the team meeting, to clocking in and out, to the wage, to the 9-5, the confines of the shift, the need to pay the rent… We are all so numb, so desensitised. We’re not even living, but merely existing. With Ŋurru Wäŋa, Hand To Earth sing of another life – and it’s another world, and one we should all aspire to.

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