“We do lots of complicated
projects,” says Stephen Van Dyck, a partner at LMN Architects. “A building like
[this] is among the most complicated projects architects can
Every musical performance is unique, but they typically begin with an
identical ritual. The musicians file into their seats and the conductor cues a
lone musician to play a specific note. As the concert pitch lingers in the air, the ensemble tunes their instruments to match it,
cycling through each one of their strings while building a crescendo to a
distinct and harmonious drone. But the delicate adjustments to each instrument
aren’t the only things that impact the sound audiences (and musicians
themselves) hear during a concert. Architecture plays a huge role–and it, too,
can be fine-tuned, just like an orchestra.
Architectural
acoustics, as a science, is a relatively young field with its
origins in the late 19th century. But over the last century designers and
engineers have been able to understand how the composition of a space will
affect its aural characteristics with far greater precision and certainty than
in centuries past. Architects are now armed with a new tool to mold their
spaces to precise sonic specifications: algorithms. In fact, before they even
begin designing, architects can work with acousticians to model the ideal sound
of a space and come up with a design that meets those criteria by tweaking its
shape, materials, and contours.
While algorithms have been used by
architects to create mind-boggling
facades and other cool formal
experiments, the application of generative design to acoustics is a
compelling example of how algorithms can help produce more functional (and
often less expensive) architecture.
Algorithms played an essential, irreplaceable role in both
the design and construction of the University of Iowa’s new Voxman School of
Music.
The project, which includes a 700-seat concert hall, an
intimate recital hall, rehearsal spaces, classrooms, offices, and communal
lounges for both the public and students to enjoy, was complex in terms of its
size–but also its budget, since it was funded by millions of dollars of FEMA
aid after severe flooding in 2008.
“We do lots of complicated projects,” says Stephen Van Dyck,
a partner at LMN Architects, the
Seattle-based firm that designed the Voxman School of Music along with the
local firm Neumann Monson Architects.
“A building like Voxman is among the most complicated projects architects can
undertake.”
Designing something at the scale of the six-story building,
which clocks in at 184,000 square feet (roughly the same area as three football
fields), is challenging enough. But the extra structural engineering, acoustic
engineering, theatrical design, sustainability features (the building earned
LEED Gold certification), and custom architectural detailing inherent to a
space purpose-designed for music compounded that complexity. With 13 different
companies consulting on the project, LMN Architects had to think like conductors
to pull it all together cohesively. Digital design tools–like algorithms and
parametric modeling–became the metaphorical score that mapped out how
everything would fit together.
The most acoustically complex space in the building is the
concert hall. Look closely at any concert hall or auditorium where musical
performances take place and you’ll notice that the walls and ceiling are never
flat. The Voxman School of Music–with its contoured walls and ceiling–is no
different. A symphonic orchestra, a marching band, an acoustic jazz quartet, an
amplified rock band, a solo singer, or any combination of those things could
perform in the space. The acoustic design and audio-visual consultants Jaffe Holden worked with LMN to
create a space that would be acoustically flexible to accommodate those uses.
They wanted to let sound reverberate and linger but also provide
intimacy–meaning that regardless of where you’re sitting in the space you can
hear the instruments quickly.
The concert hall’s most dramatic gesture is an acoustic
reflector that hangs from the ceiling. In addition to shaping the room’s sound,
it also hides speakers, stage and house lights, and a sprinkler system for fire
safety. Each of these systems has its own set of specifications. Horton Lees
Brogden Lighting Design consulted on the lighting and had requirements like
being able to illuminate zones on the stage or specific performers.
The only way to juggle all of these parameters,
requirements, and specifications? Algorithmic design.
Scott Crawford–a design technologist at LMN and founding
member of its Tech Studio, a team that comes up with digital tools for the
company–developed the algorithms that the firm used to design the entire
building, concert hall included. In a traditional design process, the
architects decide on specific measurements for the buildings elements. A wall
should be X feet tall, a window should be placed here, a door there, and so on.
The difference in algorithmic design is that the programs don’t design to
specific measurements; they design to parameters.
“We talk about all these aspects of the design as
constraints, but they’re really relationships between pieces,” Crawford says.
“When we design algorithmically, we’re specifying the relationships between
them. The script is the logic for how things respond to one another.”
At the beginning of a project, the architects don’t know how
many speakers or lights or sprinklers are going to go into a project–these
details and needs constantly change and evolve. Algorithms help adapt to this
change more readily. By designing a dynamic model of the space using parameters
based on what these things need to accomplish, architects can easily
accommodate new requirements for a project. For example, as long as the stage
lighting can illuminate the first chair violinist, it doesn’t matter where it’s
placed. The architects can input new information into the model and let it
update itself to make sure all the requirements are met, and that the space is
visually beautiful and acoustically rich.
These algorithms dictated the shape of the concert hall’s
large overhead acoustic reflector, as well as other aspects of its design–like
the ratio of opaque and transparent sections, where the apertures should be
placed to allow for lights, speakers, and sprinklers, and the form of the
balconies and walls in the concert hall itself.
“We would never have designed a ceiling like this without
our tools,” Crawford says. “It has 942 panels, none are the same shape. It can
get ridiculous when designers brag about the number of unique parts in their
work, but it’s not about the number of parts; it’s the specificity of what they
need to do, and we could control that with our tools.”
Elsewhere in the building, similar algorithmically mediated
balancing acts between acoustic performance and architectural design took
place. In the 200-seat recital hall–which has a street-facing, 30-foot-tall
wall of windows–the architects and acoustic engineers design a cast-panel
system of sound absorbers and reflectors on the ceiling and wall opposite the
windows and painted them crimson, which helps make the space visually distinct.
A pipe-organ hall features Venetian plaster walls and an ornate screen behind
the instrument itself to create warm, reverberant sound. In a practice room,
the architects designed a system of suspended metal “kites” to direct sound and
also to hang lights and fire sprinklers.
Proving something seemingly complicated is easy to
build, and showing it has secondary functions were really important to what
we’re able achieve,” Crawford says. “It’s not just for acoustics and aesthetics,
but function too.”
But the complexity of the building wasn’t the only thing
driving this novel design process–funding issues also played a role. After
floods inundated and damaged existing buildings on the university’s campus in
2008, FEMA awarded the university $83 million
to help reconstruction efforts for three fine arts and performing arts
facilities. Instead of rebuilding the school of music on its
campus, the university decided to move it downtown to better connect it with
the city’s social life. That decision gave the architects permission to come up
with a visually daring design for the building’s urban context–with its dove-gray,
textured terra-cotta panels and glass facade, the School of Music was
designed to be a striking symbol for Iowa City. At the same time, using FEMA
funding created a major constraint due to the rules of using disaster-relief
funding. FEMA requires an open-bidding process for the projects constructed
with its monies, and the contractor who offers the lowest price (and who is
often the least skilled) for the job wins. Even if LMN designed the most
visually and acoustically strong concept on paper, it wouldn’t matter if the
execution was terrible.
So the architects decided to design for the most basic
building techniques out there. You won’t find exotic finishes or rare materials
at Voxman, nor will you find anything that requires specialized hand-tooling to
make. You will, however, find techniques that have been used (and perfected)
for decades.
For instance, the architects specified an extra-thick
cast-in-place concrete structure since it’s affordable and common. Plus
concrete has mass, which is an important acoustic insulator and one of the best
defenses against sound transmission from the noisy street outside to the sounds
generated throughout the building. To counteract the harshness of the exposed
concrete structure, the architects designed felt “fins” that attach to the
walls and ceiling in the communal lounges, lobby, and hallways. They also
applied bright colors to certain details–like the elevator banks and doors–to
enliven the space, and specified industrial materials throughout the building, like
the perforated metal panels that comprise the railings and banisters along the
six-story-tall atrium and staircase that links the floors, to achieve a balance
between cost savings and aesthetics. When the sun shines through the
perforations, it creates a handsome dappled shadow effect.
The acoustic reflector in the concert hall, one of the most
complex pieces in the entire building, looks like a master artist sculpted it.
But it was actually produced by a company that typically makes metal facades
for gas stations and car dealerships. The designers called for a dull,
ultra-matte finish so that it didn’t look like metal at all. The material is
also quite thin, so the architects called for folded up edges to give it a
thicker, more robust appearance.
which
influences your perception of sound in a space. When musicians–and informed
audience members–see certain materials in a space, it affects their perception
of the sound. Wood for example, is associated with warm sounds. It was
important that the reflector didn’t read like an industrial element since metal
has a reputation for producing undesirable “tinny” acoustics. Even if a room
made of metal produced the exact same acoustics as a room made of wood, the
prejudice of metal’s sound quality might cause some to perceive it as inferior.
“This is a panel that’s normally used to make facades of
buildings that are exposed to extreme weather,” Van Dyck says. “When we
proposed making the signature element of a concert hall out of a facade panel,
there was quite a bit of heartburn.”
Even the way the architects produced their design documents
was novel. One of the most critical aspects of producing the building was
making sure its components–like the acoustic reflector–could be made on an CNC
machine by the fabricators. Typically, fabricators will redraw the architect’s
design documents since the programs architects use don’t always speak the same
language as the tools fabricators use. Not so with LMN’s team, which
produced design documents that were frequently one in the same as the
construction documents. When Crawford’s team created digital models for the
architects, the exact same files could be sent to fabricators, which sped up the
process and reduced human error. The only way the architects knew they
would get FEMA and the university to sign off on their ambitious designs was
because they had this digital model.
“It was incumbent on us to develop documents that are really
like an Ikea instruction kit that would be easy for any fabricator to
understand,” Van Dyck says.
[Photo: © Tim Griffith]Music was, the architects delivered the building to the
university ahead of schedule and under budget–an anomaly in an industry usually
plagued with construction delays and ballooning costs. The architects credit
the streamlined design and construction process wrought by algorithms and
digital models. But as pioneering and innovative as the process is, what
matters most is what came out of it.
“We knew we could make the most stunning building in the
world but if it didn’t sound good, it would be failure,” Van Dyck says. “Going
to a concert and closing your eyes and hearing spaces do their job is sublime.”
Source:
