When You Hear Them Sound - The Weaponization Of Acoustics Photo credits: Rare Historical Photos

When You Hear Them Sound - The Weaponization Of Acoustics

September 27, 202513-15 minutes read

Written by:

Cosmin Nicolae

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Introduction

The use of sound as a weapon is of constant interest for the military-industrial complex that has, since the 1990s, added an ethical layer of “non-lethality” to security doctrines. In the 2000s, music was used as a means of torture in the “war on terror,” while “sound cannons,” as the media called them, were deployed at demonstrations.

The concepts at their core are not new: from the biblical descriptions of horns bringing down the walls of Jericho to loudspeakers deployed on the battlefields of WWII, from harassing noise coming down on the Viet Cong from US choppers to the mysterious illnesses of US consulate staff in Havana and the sonic boom dispersing protestors in Belgrade as recently as 2025, sound as weapon has attracted military attention and popular fascination, from theoretical to mercantile. Its invisibility renders it uniquely vulnerable to speculation. Even within military and commercial contexts, the lines between fact and fiction, between tactical efficacy and marketing, are often blurred.

In Romania, the spark of the 1989 revolution was said to be a loud bang, like an amplified firecracker, interpreted by demonstrators as either gunfire, rolling tanks or gut-churning bass. In the chaotic days that followed, confusion and psychosis spread: army communications were reportedly jammed with pop music, and sound effects of gunfire were broadcast from rooftops. In this marketplace of fact and fabrication, “ear-witness” accounts remain both revealing and unreliable.

What these events collectively underscore is our shifting relationship with sound, power, and space. From Jericho to Gaza, Beirut, Bucharest and Belgrade, this article offers a concise exploration of sound as an instrument of control, coercion, and myth-making.
Acoustic weapons may seem so efficient because their mysterious nature amplifies their psychological impact. Unlike visible weapons, their undetectable energy creates an aura of magic and power that keeps us guessing in a game of projected strength. (...) More than a technological leap, sonic warfare reflects our quiet surrender to the militarization of daily life.
Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld (1794-1872), The Battle of Jericho
Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld (1794-1872), The Battle of Jericho

Sacred Horns, Sonic Booms

The biblical story of the Battle of Jericho depicts collective, overwhelming sound as a tool of psychological and physical conquest. According to divine instruction, Joshua and his forces were to circle the city walls once daily for six consecutive days without making any sound. On the seventh day, they were commanded to march around the city seven times. Following this, seven priests positioned before the Ark of the Covenant sounded seven ram's horn trumpets, and miraculously, the fortified walls collapsed completely, as though demolished by supernatural acoustic force. Joshua 6:21: “Then they devoted all in the city to destruction, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys, with the edge of the sword.” The city was a formidable fortress that stood as a gateway to the Promised Land, making its conquest crucial for Israel's campaign in Canaan.

A similar, more historically grounded example can be found in the Celtic use of the carnyx, a long bronze horn, on ancient battlefields. The terrifying sound of these instruments was deliberately used to frighten Roman soldiers, demonstrating an early, practical application of acoustic intimidation. This use of a distinctive sound created not only an atmosphere of fear but also a kind of acoustic identity for the Celtic warriors.

Most historians agree that the Biblical account of the Battle of Jericho is fiction, though some scholars argue the archaeological evidence supports the biblical narrative when properly dated. Millennia later, in 2005, several human rights groups and UN envoys alerted the press to a new tactic employed by the IDF in Gaza. Israeli jets deliberately broke the sound barrier at low altitude to create deafening shockwaves that Palestinians compare to earthquakes or explosions. The tactic, intended to pressure civilians into opposing armed groups, has caused widespread health problems including miscarriages, heart issues, panic attacks in children, and psychological trauma. Medical groups reported a 40% increase in miscarriages and doubled cardiac admissions, while the UN has condemned the practice as collective punishment and demanded it stop. Despite Israeli claims that the method avoids direct harm, the sonic booms have traumatized children, damaged buildings, and caused severe stress throughout the population, with jets sometimes creating dozens of sonic booms per week, often during night-time hours. The practice was again documented in Gaza in 2016 and as late as 2024 in Lebanon.

The Physics

Photo credits: National Archives and Records Administration, USA
Photo credits: National Archives and Records Administration, USA
Jürgen Altmann's study Acoustic Weapons, a Prospective Assessment examines how strong sound affects the human body based on frequency, amplitude, distance, and exposure duration. His research establishes that ear damage can occur unnoticed starting at 85 dB, discomfort begins around 120 dB, and the pain threshold is approximately 140 dB. Between 140-170 dB, people experience temporary effects like breathing trouble, chest pressure, excessive saliva, blurred vision (at low frequencies), nausea, heat sensations, tingling (at high frequencies), dizziness, tinnitus, hearing loss, headaches, fatigue, and rapid heartbeat. Eardrums burst above 160 dB. Shock waves over 200 dB can tear lungs, while those above 210 dB cause fatal internal bleeding. However, Altmann dismisses manufacturers' claims about vomiting, bowel spasms, or loss of bowel control.

The human ear perceives certain frequencies as louder than others at identical intensities. At 40 dB, a 1,500 Hz frequency (used in LRAD - Long Range Acoustical Devices) sounds stronger than 15,000 Hz. Decibels work on a logarithmic scale: doubling sound power adds only 3 dB, while multiplying by 100 adds 20 dB. Two 80 dB sounds combined reach 83 dB, not 160 dB. Strong sounds mask weaker ones, and low frequencies cover higher ones—unlike vision where objects coexist, sounds overlap and blend through what's called the masking effect.

The modern era of sonic warfare began with the development of the loudspeaker and the sound recorder, which allowed for the controlled, repeatable, and strategic deployment of sound. A significant early example is the U.S. Ghost Army in World War II, a tactical deception unit that used recordings of tanks, aircraft, and soldiers to create the illusion of large-scale troop movements. This technology, developed with the help of experts from the entertainment industry, including the sound engineer behind Disney's Fantasia, demonstrated that an auditory environment could be a powerful tool for disinformation and strategic confusion. This marked the first instance of a direct, causal link between the entertainment industry and military applications, establishing what would later be called the “military-entertainment complex”.
Photo credits: National Archives and Records Administration, USA
Photo credits: National Archives and Records Administration, USA

Spectral Warfare

Mervyn Roberts chronicles the birth of aerial psychological warfare in his study of Vietnam operations from 1960-1965. The first combat use of airborne loudspeakers came in June 1963, when American advisors warned Montagnard tribesmen around the Kon Brai outpost that anyone remaining in contested areas would be killed. Tribal members recorded the warnings, which were broadcast repeatedly over their villages. Within five days, 2,400 Montagnards had fled to the outpost seeking refuge. Military tests revealed these aerial voices carried the greatest impact under cover of darkness, when both psychological effect and crew safety peaked.

By 1965, the Americans had refined this spectral warfare into an art form—guiding stranded refugees, facilitating humanitarian missions, coaxing surrender, disseminating propaganda, and torturing the enemy with sound.

Captain John Hodgin described the haunting NO DOZE missions in the Vietnam Archive Oral History Project—nocturnal flights over Viet Cong positions along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. From 9 p.m. until dawn, C-47s circled enemy encampments broadcasting an orchestra of torment: screaming voices, wailing infants, and funeral dirges designed to deny sleep and sanity. First Lieutenant Valentine commanded "C" Flight's airborne theater of psychological terror over the Mekong Delta. His unarmed aircraft carried only 10,000-volt speakers and tape recorders, yet wielded fear as their weapon. Night missions revealed the enemy's positions through tracers—“big yellow balls coming straight up”—while Valentine's crew unleashed their masterpiece: the “Wandering Soul” tape.

This four-minute symphony of dread began with Buddhist funeral music, then introduced a spectral voice wailing about death: “We have got one we call the Wandering Soul tape. It lasts about four minutes. It starts with Buddhist funeral music, then this spooky, wailing voice. Then a little child is crying, then the child is crying for its father. Then a Vietnamese woman comes on and tells how her husband was killed fighting for the VC. And all the time, this eerie background voice, wailing about death. It is a real beauty, guaranteed to raise ground fire anywhere. It even sends chills down my spine. It's so effective that even the government restricts use of it, they only let us use it in extreme occasions.”

A script of the tape reveals the chilling content of what would be playing down from the night skies over Binh Thuy. GHOSTLY VOICE: “Who's there? Who calls me? Oh God! It is my beloved daughter, my wife. I am coming home to you darling. But what a shame, I've lost my body. I was dead, oh darling. Oh, my dear friends! I am now back here to let you know that I was dead. What the hell was that death of mine! It was meaningless, uncalled for and totally absurd. It is too late, too late for me to know about it now. Oh, my friends! You are still living. You shall have a day when you see your darlings again. Do you hear me?”

This marked a shift from large-scale deception to targeted harassment, paving the way for research into the physiological effects of sound itself.
Loudspeaker in the doorway of a Bell 'Huey' HU1D helicopter. Photo credits:
Loudspeaker in the doorway of a Bell 'Huey' HU1D helicopter. Photo credits:

From Gavreau to Guantánamo

French acoustician Vladimir Gavreau stumbled upon infrasound's destructive potential while running Marseille's CNRS mechanics lab. Steve Goodman calls him "a key hyperstitional figure"—someone whose reality became entangled with fiction, highlighting how science and imagination intertwine around acoustic weapons.

Gavreau built a 24-meter concrete-embedded organ pipe reproducing 7 Hz, then created an “acoustic laser” with seventy-four synchronized pipes of identical length. He claimed 7 Hz produced “unpleasant throbbing in the head” making “simple intellectual tasks impossible”, theorizing this matched the brain's alpha wave frequency associated with mental inactivity. His “acoustic gun”—a hybrid organ pipe and Levavasseur whistle set in a 200-kilogram concrete block—allegedly generated 196 Hz at 160 dB. Gavreau and colleague Henri Saul, wearing ear protection, reported “painful resonance” where “everything inside us seemed to vibrate”. Gavreau called it “very nearly lethal”, claiming longer exposure would cause internal haemorrhaging, with the resonance sensation lasting three hours.

Modern scientists at the same institute doubt Gavreau's conclusions, noting his experiments haven't been replicated under proper conditions. Yet his legend spread beyond academia. William Burroughs told Crawdaddy magazine in 1973 that Gavreau possessed “an infrasound installation that he could turn on and kill everything within five miles”, wondering if borderline infrasound music could produce rhythms in audiences. Industrial band Throbbing Gristle later claimed use of infrasounds and ultrasounds during their concerts induced both orgasms and involuntary defecation.

Researchers Stanley Harris and Daniel Johnson had already exposed men to 7 Hz at 142 dB for fifteen minutes without any drop in performance, dizziness, or confusion. This alone should make us skeptical of patents claiming "subliminal acoustic manipulation of nervous systems" using infrasonic frequencies. Broner admits an infrasonic weapon might prove lethal at 174 dB, but the engineering realities are absurd. Even an ideal system would need a thousand times more power than a Saturn V rocket at liftoff, and the sound source would have to be 1,100 meters wide to work properly at just 250 meters distance. His verdict is blunt: military infrasound isn't practical. The report suggesting Gavreau's so-called “Trompette Marseillaise” could recreate Joshua's feat at Jericho's walls was pure wishful thinking.

Sound as psychological warfare went beyond silence—it embraced its opposite: relentless, crushing noise. During the “war on terror”, interrogators turned music into a weapon, blasting it nonstop in detention centers and black sites. At Guantánamo and similar facilities, prisoners endured days or weeks of deafening sound in what soldiers cynically dubbed the Disco.

The playlists weren't random. Interrogators carefully selected culturally offensive and psychologically brutal tracks—AC/DC, Metallica, and Drowning Pool mixed with Barney's saccharine I Love You”. The logic was calculated: heavy metal's aggressive distortion would feel alien and grating to Middle Eastern detainees, while children's songs would infantilize and humiliate grown men. One former prisoner described the mental breakdown: “you lose the plot, and it's very scary to think that you might go crazy because of all the music.”

When these torture playlists became public, the reaction was telling. Outrage mixed with dark comedy as commentators debated the “best songs for torture”—a response that trivialized real violence by turning it into entertainment. This wasn't accidental. The military's use of pop culture as torture weaponized the very products designed for pleasure, revealing the twisted relationship between entertainment and state violence. The same songs that filled dance floors could, with enough volume and repetition, shatter minds—a perfect “sonic assault” hiding in plain sight.

Music and the war machine are more entangled than at first sight. The British record company Decca pivoted smartly during WWII. Tasked by the Royal Air Force in 1940 with refining underwater acoustics to distinguish British vessels from German ones, it seized the opportunity to advance its recording technology. In the aftermath of WWII, EMI transformed and captured German research on Morse code analysis into the development of cassettes and tape recorders, fitting the Abbey Road Studios for the next quarter-century. In a remarkable piece of avant-garde music trivia, when Karlheinz Stockhausen began mixing his ground-breaking electronic composition “Kontakte” at Westdeutscher Rundfunk studios in Cologne between February 1958 and fall 1959, his pulse generators, amplifiers, band-pass filters, and oscillators were all made up of discarded US Army equipment.

The Theremin and its signature wailing sound evoking sci-fi worlds or moments of cinematic horror are results of a military lab work. In his early twenties, young physicist Leo Theremin joined the newly created Physical Technical Institute in Petrograd. After the 1917 October Revolution, the Soviet government tasked Theremin with researching proximity sensors. Building a device using electromagnetic waves to measure gas density and detect approaching objects, he accidentally made an instrument that produced a high whining sound. The instrument lacked military application. When Theremin returned to the Soviet Union in 1938, following an accomplished career, he was sent to a scientific gulag for 8 years to work for the KGB. Theremin's most notorious creation during that phase was the Buran, a hidden listening device that remained undetected for 7 years in the U.S. embassy in Moscow.
Swedish soldiers operating an acoustic locator in 1940. Photo credits: Rare Historical Photos
Swedish soldiers operating an acoustic locator in 1940. Photo credits: Rare Historical Photos

Frequencies of a Revolution

The bloody denouement of Romania's 1989 Revolution, which toppled one of Eastern Europe's last dictatorships, remains cloaked in conspiracy, disinformation, and revolutionary fervor. Harun Farocki and Andrei Ujică's Videogrammes of a Revolution masterfully excavates the layered archaeology of images and sounds from those fateful days—after all, this revolution was televised.

Attempting to suppress a grassroots uprising that had erupted a week earlier in Timișoara, Ceaușescu staged a mass demonstration on December 21, 1989. As the familiar pageantry of signs and slogans filled television screens, his speech was suddenly interrupted by a cascade of disturbing incidents. The cameras, trained on the palace balcony, did not capture what was happening in the square below, but the microphones picked up an escalating noise from the crowd: screams, stampeding, terror. The live broadcast cut to a “technical difficulties” placard, fueling fear and speculation from those watching at home. The crowd scattered into adjacent streets, and over the following hours and days, events spiraled into the bloodiest chapter marking the end of Communist regimes in the region. Numerous theories attempt to explain what triggered the panic that surged through the masses that day, many pointing to the deployment of a psyop device.

In the official indictment, the Romanian Prosecutor’s office includes anonymised personal accounts such as: “I personally felt an extremely powerful vibration that induced fear—something I also observed in other rally participants around me. I perceived this vibration as a compact, deep, homogeneous sound, possibly low frequency. I saw individual actions where women were poked with sharp objects. This appeared to occur simultaneously with the fear-inducing sound”.

Key testimony from witness D.I.: in December 1989, he served as engineer colonel in the Army's Superior Political Council technical equipment section. On 21.12.1989, his unit (02348 Bucharest) deployed four special vehicles to amplify sound and support Romanian Broadcasting's system.

“I state with full knowledge that one of these vehicles was the source of low-frequency panic sound that caused disorder in the crowd gathered in Palace Square during President Ceaușescu's rally. Over time, people believed this sound was generated by Soviets or Americans, but the reality is it came from one of our four vehicles positioned around the square. The panic signal was a special propaganda operation against the enemy.”

He clarified that the panic sound, recorded on two magnetic tapes, was likely imported. These tapes weren't in official unit records and had never been field-tested before 21.12.1989. The sound was meant to be deployed during Ceaușescu's speech only if opportunity arose. That moment came when infiltrators among demonstrators began “diversionary actions”, stabbing people with sharp objects, especially targeting women, creating uncontrollable crowd movement. “At that moment, we triggered the panic sound. We decided to experiment with live use of that sound. We knew theoretically what effects such sound could generate. It was broadcast on low frequency and created maximum panic effects depending on the subjects.”

The panic tapes were allegedly burned that very evening. The tape was said to incorporate tank rumbling, machine gun fire, and explosions, which may explain witness reports of grenade or firecracker explosions during the event.

Although corroborated by eyewitnesses, it’s hard to say where fact ends and fiction begins. Tapes containing hostile noise could, in theory, be 100% real; their efficient deployment by an army with its rudimentary tech seems highly unlikely. Afterall, legends circulating at the time included claims that the army had a laser weapon capable of melting tanks.
Ministry of Defense stage. Photo credits: Agenția Media a Armatei & TikTok MaPN channel
Ministry of Defense stage. Photo credits: Agenția Media a Armatei & TikTok MaPN channel

Sound and the Fury

Levels of sophistication notwithstanding, that people gathered that day reacted to noise and later described it as a source of severe panic and discomfort is demonstrable. In the most recent incident, compared by international media to the events in Bucharest, protestors in Belgrade witnessed a strange, uniquely terrifying phenomenon.

During a massive anti-government rally in Belgrade on March 15th, 2025, thousands of peaceful protesters suddenly fled in terror after hearing what witnesses described as “a sound from hell”—a brief, swooshing noise that sent crowds stampeding toward sidewalks in inexplicable panic. Serbia's authoritarian President Aleksandar Vučić has faced mounting accusations that his security forces deployed an illegal acoustic device against the demonstrators. Officials first denied possessing such weapons, then, when confronted with photographs of a Long Range Acoustic Device mounted on a police vehicle, admitted ownership while insisting it wasn't used. The manufacturer, Genasys, disputed that their device was employed, but over half a million Serbians have signed a petition demanding international investigation.

Eyewitnesses interviewed for this paper describe their experience. J. L. describes a wall of noise “as if some cavalry was coming from one direction, then people panicked and moved aside to escape from an undefined attack”. She describes feelings of fear, anger, confusion and helplessness. I. P. describes it as “the sound of many car tyres screeching”, which for many evoked separate incidents in which pro-government drivers ploughed through protestors, just days before.

As established earlier, physics and technology required to send a “pulse” through a crowd to achieve the dramatic effect, as seen in countless videos of the Belgrade incident, do not quite correspond in reality. Experts in non-lethal weapons, whether on the commercial or the academic stride, all have a stake in explaining and confirming the deployment of a highly sophisticated sonic weapon. Photos of Serbian law enforcement vehicles do show mounted devices of the LRAD variety.

A device called Superhailer is being marketed as a long range acoustic communications device, with uses including de-escalation, crowd control, peacekeeping and disaster management. “A modern alternative to using force or aggression, 100% safe in use and complies with health & safety legislation, equipped with comprehensive integrated evidence recording, easy to use with all functions automatic requiring no user judgement, very media friendly and highly defensible in court.”

Acoustic weapons may seem so efficient because their mysterious nature amplifies their psychological impact. Unlike visible weapons, their undetectable energy creates an aura of magic and power that keeps us guessing in a game of projected strength. The concept of “non-lethal” warfare was championed in the 1990s by a motley crew of science fiction writers, futurists like Alvin and Heidi Toffler and military figures like Colonel John Alexander. Alexander, fascinated by the MK Ultra experiments and Soviet “paranormal applications”, envisioned silent, undetectable “psychotronic weapons” that could “induce illness or death at little or no risk”. This collaboration of fantasy writers and military leaders reflects a shift from the military-industrial complex to a new “military-entertainment complex”, where controlling public image is paramount.

Rumours about these weapons often originate from manufacturers and military officials promoting their products, and these claims then circulate through media and public opinion, separate from their sources. It is the current stage in a fast process of urban militarisation, in which the public eye (and ear) is being desensitised to the deployment of military equipment, personnel and strategies from combat theatres to urban centers. In an act framed as “public diplomacy”, Israel broadcasted Benjamin Netanyahu's UN speech into Gaza using loudspeakers mounted on trucks along the border. The operation sparked immediate controversy in Israel, with early reports suggesting soldiers were deployed to set up and protect the speakers. It is unclear whether the speech was actually heard inside Gaza.

More than a technological leap, sonic warfare reflects our quiet surrender to the militarization of daily life. At the time of writing, there is a record number of state-based conflicts happening in the world, with some reports citing as many as 50 active conflicts of massive scale. The ubiquity of war-related language and imagery, from cinema to gaming and sports, makes it easier for profiting entities to normalise the presence of military equipment and combat field strategies in everyday urban life. The gargantuan EDM festival Untold (Cluj, Romania), with half a million participants, hosts a Romanian Ministry of Defense stage that popularises recruitment, army lifestyle, guns and ammo. There’s a DJ in combat fatigues, with a group of merry cadets doing dance routines on stage to a set of electronic dance music. As an artist with electronic music as a major part of my practice, this gives me great pause. In writing about these invisible weapons, I've come to understand that the most effective control may come from the fact that we've grown so accustomed to their presence, that we no longer hear them coming.
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*This article is part of the project The Sonic Turn, co-financed by the Administration of the National Cultural Fund. The project does not necessarily represent the position of the Administration of the National Cultural Fund. AFCN is not responsible for the content of the project or the way its results may be used. These are entirely the responsibility of the funding beneficiary.
About the Author

Cosmin Nicolae

Romanian-born, Berlin-based multi-disciplinary artist working in the realm of sound, image and text.

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