The sounds of a place are a central ingredient in its character. Whereas sight and touch, and even smell, are often integral to the design process, the way a place sounds (unless you're designing a concert hall) is largely incidental: rain falling against windows, the hum of machinery, voices of passersby.
Things are different when those voices are automated:
If our nation's capital had a hall of fame, Sandy Carroll would be inducted next week. When she intones "doors closing" for the last time, the city should respond with an equally soft: "doors opening." Ms. Carroll's decade as the voice of the Washington Metro gripped this city longer than any president has held the White House since FDR. Her velvet-voiced dominance seemed unshakable to thousands who glide daily through the elegant capital underground.
But Metrorail is looking for a fresh voice - with some attitude. With 5 million new riders each year, chaos in the cathedral-sized stations is overpowering Carroll's gentle nudge, says spokeswoman Cathy Asato. The familiar voice has become background noise, she adds, and Metro needs something fresh to "make riders take notice."
These recordings become part of the theatre of everyday life, and can take on a kind of iconic status. Voice recordings can impart personality to space. Every Bostonian can probably imitate a Red Line train ("The destination of this train is...ASHMONT"). New York City capitalized on this when it began commissioning celebrities to record announcements urging taxi passengers to buckle up a few years back.
For your listening pleasure, a recent NPR report on Washington's search for a new Metro voice.
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