Written by Li Wen-Yi

Hi, I’m Li Wen-Yi, a 34-year-old musician and podcaster from Taipei. I’ve spent the last decade blending traditional Asian sounds into experimental music while traveling across the continent with a mic in hand, collecting the voices of cities. My podcast, Echoes of Asia, dives into how soundscapes shape our perception of culture. Today, I want to share something close to my heart: the secret soundtracks of Asian cities and how they create a symphony of identity.

The Unheard Heartbeats of Asian Cities

Every city has a sound—a rhythm that pulses through its streets and breathes life into its spaces. When I stand in the middle of Taipei’s Shilin Night Market, the buzz of scooters darting past, the metallic sizzle of skewers on charcoal grills, and the singsong calls of hawkers create a chorus that feels alive. It’s not just noise; it’s identity.

This is the magic of Asia’s urban soundscapes. They’re not planned or orchestrated but emerge naturally from everyday life. Take Ho Chi Minh City, for instance, where the hum of motorbikes forms a constant backdrop, interrupted only by the high-pitched honks of riders weaving through chaos. It’s chaotic, but if you close your eyes, you’ll find an odd harmony in it. Or Kyoto, where temple bells resonate at sunset, their low, meditative tones cutting through the modern world like whispers from the past.

These sounds are more than ambiance—they’re cultural markers. They tell stories about the people who live there, the history embedded in the streets, and the traditions that refuse to fade, even as skylines change.

The Soundtrack of Taipei

I want to start with my home, Taipei. Night markets here are celebrated for their food, but for me, it’s the sounds that stand out. Vendors call out, “Lu rou fan! Hot and fresh!” as the pop of oil frying chicken fills the air. The murmur of families shopping, the occasional laughter, and the faint strumming of a street musician combine to form a melody that’s uniquely Taiwanese.

I’ve worked with fellow artists to record these sounds, weaving them into compositions. One musician, Grace Hsu, recently incorporated recordings of MRT train announcements into an electronic track. “It’s our urban voice,” she told me. “When you hear it, you know you’re home.”

These sounds are fleeting, though. As modernization and noise regulations creep in, certain elements risk disappearing. The distinct hum of old diesel buses was replaced by quieter electric models last year, and while it’s better for the environment, I can’t help but miss that sound of the past.

The Buzz of Bangkok

Bangkok offers a completely different auditory experience. When I visited last year, I stayed near Chatuchak Market. The chatter of vendors negotiating in Thai, the distant clang of construction equipment, and the hypnotic tuk-tuk engines stuck with me. Late at night, the soundscape softened—just crickets and the occasional chatter of late-night food stall owners cleaning up.

Bangkok is also home to one of the world’s busiest transportation hubs. The sharp whistle of a train conductor at Hua Lamphong station reminded me of how movement defines this city. And yet, despite its busyness, Bangkok has a way of integrating these elements into a harmonious whole.

Kyoto: The Sound of Stillness

In contrast, Kyoto is a city of stillness. Walking through the Arashiyama Bamboo Grove, I recorded the eerie creaks of swaying stalks and the faint patter of tourists’ footsteps. Here, sound amplifies silence. At a Shinto shrine, I stood transfixed by the resonant clang of a bell rung by a worshiper.

One local historian I interviewed, Akira Tanaka, described these sounds as “cultural fossils.” They preserve Japan’s spiritual traditions in ways visuals can’t. “When you hear a temple bell,” he explained, “you’re not just hearing metal strike metal. You’re hearing centuries of prayer.”

The Chaotic Symphony of Manila

Manila, in the Philippines, is another city I explored last year, and its soundscape couldn’t be more different. Jeepney drivers yelling destinations through open windows, street vendors advertising halo-halo, and the occasional burst of karaoke from a roadside bar all create a joyful chaos.

Filipinos are natural storytellers, and their soundscape reflects this. One jeepney driver I met, Raul, laughed when I told him I loved the sounds of his city. “We’re noisy, yes,” he said, “but noise is life. Silence is loneliness.”

The Threat of Silence

As much as I love these vibrant soundscapes, I worry about what the future holds. Urbanization, noise regulations, and tourism all threaten these organic soundtracks. A report from the UNESCO Creative Cities Network (2023) revealed that half of Asia’s traditional street vendors have been displaced in the last decade due to gentrification. These are the same people whose voices and rhythms define their cities.

And then there’s the environmental impact. Rising decibel levels in major cities have sparked health concerns, with the World Health Organization (WHO) highlighting noise pollution as a growing problem in 2024. While quieter cities may be healthier, I wonder: what happens when cities lose their sonic identity?

Preserving the Sounds of Asia

That’s why I believe in recording these soundscapes now. At my NGO project in Taiwan, we collaborate with communities to document their urban sounds, from fishermen singing traditional chants in Kaohsiung to the vibrant market cries of Taipei.

Technology has also joined the effort. In Singapore, the government is using AI to map the city’s changing soundscape, while in Japan, apps like Otocast provide audio guides narrated by locals, preserving not just sounds but the stories behind them.

Why Sounds Matter

When I look back on my travels, it’s not the skyscrapers or monuments I remember most. It’s the sounds—the human voices, the echoes of history, the songs of daily life. These soundscapes connect us to place in ways we often overlook.

So, next time you wander through an Asian market or stroll down a busy street, take a moment to listen. You might just hear the city’s heart beating.