Interview: The Acoustic Architects of Canada

What first drew you to focus on acoustic architecture?

It wasn't a direct path for me. I actually began my career designing marine research facilities, which have their own set of acoustic challenges. Working with marine biologists, I became fascinated with how certain sea creatures—whales, dolphins—manipulate sound underwater. That led me to start thinking about buildings as essentially acoustic instruments that we inhabit.

Your work is known for incorporating biomimetic principles. Why is nature such a good model for acoustic design?

Nature has been solving acoustic problems for millions of years. Think about how an owl can fly silently to hunt, or how a spider can detect the tiniest vibrations on its web. These aren't accidents—they're refined acoustic solutions that have survived the ultimate test: evolution.

In the Vancouver Airport ceiling project, we studied owl feathers under electron microscopes and found this remarkable serrated edge structure that disrupts air flow and eliminates sound. We translated that into architectural elements at a much larger scale. The resulting ceiling not only manages sound beautifully but creates this visual connection to the natural world that resonates with visitors.

What's been your most challenging project from an acoustic perspective?

Definitely the Okanagan Sonic Arts Centre. It's situated between a highway and a vineyard, and the client wanted a building that could open completely to the landscape during performances in summer months while still maintaining acoustic control. We ended up developing a system of retractable acoustic "gills" inspired by fish respiratory systems that can modulate the sound environment based on weather conditions and performance needs. When fully deployed, they capture and channel the sounds of the vineyard and lake; when closed, they create a pristine acoustic environment immune to highway noise.

How do you see acoustic architecture evolving in Canada over the next decade?

I think we're going to see much more integration between digital and physical acoustic solutions. Right now, there's often a separation—we shape the physical space one way, then overlay electronic sound systems. The future will blend these more seamlessly.

I'm also excited about responsive environments that can learn. Imagine spaces that recognize acoustic patterns—like when a conversation is happening versus a presentation—and subtly adapt their properties to support that activity. We're already experimenting with materials that can change their acoustic absorption rates in response to environmental triggers.

Heritage buildings present unique acoustic challenges. What's your approach when working with these structures?

I always begin by listening to the building. Every historic structure has its own acoustic signature—what I call its "voice." Before suggesting any modifications, we conduct extensive acoustic mapping to understand how sound currently behaves in the space.

The common mistake is to impose contemporary acoustic standards without considering the original acoustic intent. A 19th-century chamber music hall wasn't designed to today's standards, but it may have qualities that were specifically crafted for period instruments and performance styles.

Can you give an example of how this approach shaped a specific project?

When we restored Église Saint-Jean-Baptiste, we discovered that the original architects had embedded resonating chambers within the walls—clay pots called "acoustic jars" that were a technique dating back to medieval times. Rather than replacing these with modern solutions, we restored them and complemented their function with minimally invasive contemporary elements.

The result preserves the church's distinctive warm reverberation that works beautifully for choir music while subtly introducing acoustic treatments that make the space viable for a wider range of performances. Audience members often comment that the space feels "historically accurate" while musicians appreciate the technical performance quality.

What are the most common misconceptions about acoustics in heritage buildings?

The biggest misconception is that old automatically means poor acoustics. Many historic buildings have extraordinary acoustic properties that we struggle to replicate today. The Palais Montcalm in Quebec City, for instance, has natural acoustic qualities that contemporary concert halls achieve only through complex engineering.

Another misconception is that you can't improve acoustics without visible modern interventions. With careful design, acoustic improvements can be nearly invisible. We've developed techniques to conceal contemporary acoustic treatments within existing decorative elements like moldings or behind historically appropriate fabric coverings.

How do you balance acoustic needs with preservation requirements?

It's about finding the intervention that has maximum acoustic impact with minimum physical disruption. Sometimes that means accepting some acoustic compromises to preserve significant heritage elements.

We recently worked on a 1920s theater where the original plaster ceiling medallions were key to the building's heritage status but created problematic sound reflections. Rather than removing or covering them, we adjusted their positions by mere centimeters—preserving their appearance while redirecting sound waves to improve clarity. It's this kind of surgical intervention that defines our approach.

Your practice focuses strongly on inclusive acoustic design. How did that specialization develop?

It evolved directly from personal experience. My son is autistic and hypersensitive to sound. Watching him struggle in environments that most people find perfectly comfortable made me realize how acoustic design often assumes neurotypical hearing processing.

After several years in conventional practice, I returned to school to study auditory neuroscience and began collaborating with occupational therapists. That cross-disciplinary knowledge helped me develop design approaches that consider the full spectrum of how humans process sound, not just the average experience.

What principles guide your approach to inclusive acoustic design?

First is what I call "acoustic legibility"—creating spaces where important sounds are clear and distinct from background noise. This benefits everyone, but it's critical for people with auditory processing differences or hearing impairments.

Second is providing acoustic choice and control. Different activities and different people have varying acoustic needs, so we design gradients of acoustic environments within a single building. The Toronto Children's Learning Centre, for instance, includes spaces ranging from vibrant, sound-rich areas to ultra-calm acoustic retreats, with clear visual cues signaling the acoustic character of each zone.

Third is transparent transitions. Abrupt acoustic changes can be jarring, especially for sensitive individuals, so we create transitional zones that step gradually between different acoustic environments.

Have advances in materials science changed your approach to inclusive acoustic design?

Absolutely. New materials have been transformative. We're now using acoustic metamaterials that can selectively filter specific frequency ranges while allowing others to pass through. This means we can design spaces that reduce distracting or triggering frequencies while maintaining overall sound awareness—critical for both comfort and safety.

We're also using digitally fabricated acoustic elements that can be customized for the specific acoustic needs of a space or even individual users. In the Toronto Reference Library renovation, we installed adjustable acoustic "clouds" that library staff can reconfigure based on how the space is being used that day.

How do you see inclusive acoustic design evolving in Canada?

I'm seeing promising movement toward acoustic standards that go beyond simple decibel measurements to address qualitative aspects of sound environments. The Canadian Standards Association is developing guidelines that incorporate neurodiversity considerations into acoustic requirements—a significant step forward.

I'm also excited about personalized acoustic solutions. We're working on a project that uses distributed micro-speakers and directional sound technology to create personalized sound environments within shared spaces. A teacher could deliver instructions that are subtly amplified for students with processing differences without changing the acoustic experience for others.

Ultimately, I hope inclusive acoustic design stops being a specialty and simply becomes how we design all buildings. Good acoustic design doesn't just benefit people with special needs—it makes spaces better for everyone.

You've specialized in designing for extreme Canadian environments. What unique acoustic challenges do these settings present?

Northern and remote environments present fascinating acoustic paradoxes. On one hand, you have areas of profound natural silence that make even minor building sounds painfully obvious. On the other hand, extreme weather conditions—howling Arctic winds, heavy snowfall, intense temperature fluctuations—create structural and insulation challenges that affect acoustics.

There's also the challenge of cultural appropriateness. When designing spaces for Indigenous communities, we need to consider traditional acoustic practices and sound relationships that may be very different from Western acoustic standards.

Can you tell us about a project that exemplifies these challenges?

The Iqaluit Cultural Centre is probably the best example. It includes a performance space designed specifically for throat singing and drum dancing, traditional Inuit practices with unique acoustic requirements. Working with elders and performers, we learned that conventional Western acoustic treatments would actually undermine the acoustic experience they wanted.

We ended up developing a hybrid approach that incorporates materials and spatial arrangements rooted in traditional snow house (igloo) acoustics—which have remarkable sound properties—while using contemporary engineering to address practical issues like thermal insulation and durability.

The building also needed to function in temperatures ranging from -40°C to +25°C while maintaining consistent acoustics. We developed composite materials that maintain stable acoustic properties despite dramatic temperature changes, adapted from aerospace technology.

How does sustainability factor into your acoustic design for these environments?

Sustainability and acoustics are actually closely linked in extreme environments. Many of the strategies that improve thermal performance—like high-mass walls and careful sealing—can also provide acoustic benefits if properly detailed.

We've also pioneered the use of local materials with low embodied carbon that provide acoustic functions. For the Yukon Arts Centre expansion, we developed acoustic panels made from local beetle-killed pine processed using traditional techniques. These panels sequester carbon while providing excellent sound diffusion properties.

In remote locations, maintenance is also a sustainability issue. We design acoustic solutions that can be maintained with locally available skills and materials, avoiding the need to fly in specialists or replacement components.

What innovations in your field are you most excited about?

I'm particularly interested in acoustic designs that respond dynamically to environmental conditions. We're developing systems that can automatically adjust their properties based on exterior weather conditions or interior usage patterns—especially valuable in multi-purpose spaces in remote communities.

I'm also excited about cross-cultural acoustic research. We're working with Indigenous knowledge keepers to document traditional acoustic practices—how sound was managed in pre-contact structures and settlements. This research is uncovering sophisticated acoustic principles that contemporary architecture can learn from.

Perhaps most exciting is the growing recognition that acoustic design isn't just a technical specialty but a fundamental element of creating culturally responsive, environmentally sustainable architecture for Canada's diverse regions and communities.