Just as one might pretend that the floor is lava, “The deathless tempest encroaching” reimagines the lagoon at the center of the Boston Public Garden as a stormy sea. As you approach, the soundscape grows from something looming and distant, to a veritable wall of static at the water’s edge. As if providing tangible cover, the backs of monuments muffle and alter the storm, while fragments of a poem and fictional shipping forecasts—written by the composer—emerge like debris reordered by the gale. Each monument reveals a different excerpt. The lagoon’s bridge becomes the storm’s eye: a place of unsettling, surreal calm. Sea sounds—apparent but abstracted—evoke Massachusetts’ maritime identity and the Back Bay’s history as an actual body of water. The aforementioned poem concerns the perceived immutability of stone statues against the ultimate and destructive power of the sea, with strong implications of New England cosmic horror.

I am a massive nerd for Lovecraftian horror; and in a similar vein, New England folk history and nautical lore. This project, “The deathless tempest encroaching,” has been an incredible opportunity for me to explore these three passions, while also combining them with ICMC’s 50th Anniversary theme of play. Beginning from “the floor is lava,” I began to imagine that the Boston Public Garden’s pond was an incredibly large tempest which one had to take cover from as they approached. This initial idea was the inspiration which fueled the entire soundwalk, and I am very honored to have it included in the conference.

Sounds of the sea (waves, birds, wind, foghorns, radio broadcasts etc.) were an obvious starting point for the audio, but I did not wish the soundwalk to be an entirely realistic experience, and I began to think about the auditory experience of the sea in an abstract sense. Fiction is fun! What I settled on for most sounds, whether pitched or non-pitched, was a swelling amplitude envelope with a long tail and precipitous peak; so as to evoke the pattern of tides and waves. The number of sounds I have chosen is fairly large, and meant to demonstrate the immensity of the landscape. String orchestra, choir, ship bells, radio equipment, deep-sea trembling, engine rooms, harbor ambience, whale song, and recorded voice combine to create a truly immersive and expansive experience.

The inclusion of text allowed me to allude more directly to the themes of Lovecraftian (or cosmic) horror and maritime history. As such, there are two distinct texts which I wrote for this project: a poem and a shipping forecast. The poem is inspired by the work of twentieth-century horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, a resident of Rhode Island whose work often centers on New England coastal towns. Given that the Back Bay was an actual bay of water prior to land-making efforts, I began to think of the sea reclaiming its lost territory in an apocalyptic manner. The shipping forecast I created is a fictional amalgam of both the real-world Boston Maritime Forecast and the BBC Shipping forecast. Using the locations of the former and the format of the latter, I concocted a forecast which might be read during the substantial tempest depicted in this soundwalk.

Bits of text can be heard while taking cover behind the monuments, whilst the full poem can be heard in the eye of the storm (that is, on the bridge which spans the pond, or on a swan boat if you’re feeling cheeky). The shipping forecast is too long to be documented here, but I have placed the poem below. The cover art and image (Figures 1 and 2 here) are of photographs I took in the Boston Public Garden just prior to the very late nor’easter of May 2025. I thought the coincidence between an odd storm and the themes of my project were uncanny, and so I stole myself from Watertown to downtown for a quick, and unplanned, photo shoot. The drawing of Cthulhu which I integrated into the cover art really completes the Lovecraftian themes, and I hope it delights you as much as it does me. Thanks all, and stay safe out there, I hear a tempest is encroaching.

Lightning stilled into fulgurite’s rough form
Where ravens gather, to watch the storm undo
All, that life has brought in order and line
Vainly clinging to indifferent stone, with mere sinew
And desperate strands delaying, the inevitable
Warmth of release into muffled abysmal waters
Beneath the roar, of such grand and impossible
Tempests which press all foundations to totter
And break and tumble into the unending tides
Who gaily dance, to the moon’s measured breath:
That transfixing void-borne spell, but a cosmic sigh
And yet it reigns and mocks old Death
Doomed to bow and sweep her lightless floors
While the Fates spin, as servants of the sea
Waiting for odd horns to sound at last and signal
From beyond star-flecked doors, when waters seize
That even deathless workers may cease their toil
And flee, to that static land where all have passed
Forever stilled, in darkness uncoiled.