A howling wail that sounds like God's own saxophone freezes every human on the beach. All conversation within a mile stops dead. Some bystanders fret about an impending air raid. Others think a supertanker is lost in the San Francisco Bay's hovering fog. Fortunately, it's just another guerrilla concert performed by Jason Gorski, aka the Fogmaster, as he conducts his symphony of diesel-powered foghorns.
After moving to San Francisco in 1984, Gorski, 39, found work at the Exploratorium science museum, where he began tinkering with an old set of Coast Guard foghorns that had once warned mariners to stay away from the Bay's Angel Island. The vintage maritime signals had been retired, and Gorski managed to snag them on "permanent loan."
Weighing 65 pounds each, the horns are copper bells – 28 inches long, 20 inches wide, and containing a solid brass diaphragm 8 inches in diameter – that come to life with help from a diesel-powered air compressor. By varying the amount of air that reaches the diaphragm and by inserting objects into the bell, Gorski creates music that is overpowering but oddly seductive. Peaking at 140 decibels, the stomach-clenching volume and wild harmonics force the Fogmaster to wear head-to-toe protective clothing while performing his concerts. But from miles away, the sad, bellowing songs evoke longing and distraction.
Gorski's concerts tend to be spur-of-the-moment – and for good reason. During one recent performance, US Army police cars rushed to the end of an old pier near the Golden Gate Bridge where Gorski had set up his horns. Standing clear of the sonic shock waves, the cops pleaded with Gorski to end the show, but the maestro politely reminded the officers that no permit is necessary to conduct an acoustic performance. Then, with a wave of his hand, he allowed one more caterwauling blast to shred the damp night air. As the echoes died down, Gorski turned to the cops. "All right," he said with a smile.
This article originally appeared in the October issue of Wired magazine.
