Some people seem oblivious to the sounds around them. Others thrive on chronic background music--loud, frenzied, not-listened to, pulsing music. Sam is such a person. He has ADD so having lots of auditory stimulation actually helps him focus. He gets calmer with music going full blast.
I was a single, silence-loving, book-loving, curmudgeon-introvert for 44 years. Sam's music makes me feel like I may lose control and start throwing things.
My father had a degree in music and taught band and choir in private high schools. He had a choir that made a recording of sacred choral music. We grew up hearing music--classical or sacred music--all the time. The worst musical noise we had was the cacophony of drums, bassoon, trombones, tubas, piano, french horn, bass clarinet, and lots of singing full tilt. But there was some predictability and pleasure to it. As children, it was exhilarating to find expression with my siblings with such gusto, although I recall mother blowing smoke more than once about the "confounded noise in this house!"
Sam bought a CD of two guitarist brothers last month after hearing them at an outside street concert. They sounded exotic and invigorating in the open air. But going full blast out of Sam's study, they sound like two manics on speed with ants in their pants. The volume, frenetic repetition, and lack of melody can run me right out of the house.
Oh, I like loud music. Beethoven's 1812 Overture, or Puccini's La Boheme at top levels make for a spiritual experience. I may need some extended silence to soak in the experience afterward, but these are musical numbers that one could conceivably walk away singing in one's heart. Not so with the sheer noise of the wild guitarist brothers.
Of course, not everyone likes my music, either. Sam says the relaxing music I play puts him to sleep, especially if he's driving. So we can only listen in the car to very upbeat chamber music--which I prefer over static-ridden talk shows or worse yet, station scanning (!).
Sunday morning, Stepdaughter #2 came to breakfast with her laptop and set it down next to her plate. It was playing some sort of nondescript whining, bellyaching, juvenile moaner-type singers. I gently pointed out that I had music playing already on the Bose in the corner: Bach motets. She winced, but turned off her computer and ate thoughtfully. I was so grateful to continue breakfast in peace.
My cousin used to have a fit about hearing Bach: all those bewildering chord progressions. While I felt myself ascending heavenward, she was spiraling into emotional oblivion, driven by the angst from the incessant minor chords.
Sam and I once found a wonderful Mexican restaurant in the Northwest. Thrilled to finally be free of the sallow, tasteless "Mexican" foods of the Midwest, we ordered and fell to. Almost as soon as we started eating, we both noticed the music in the place: Carribean salsa. We found ourselves eating faster and faster, gulping and gasping, as the driving rhythm of the music pushed us to speedily eat our food. We loved that place, but the music was intolerable. We eventually found another Mexican establishment that suited our musical and culinary tastes better.
I personally detest band music. Yes, my father was a band conductor and we lived and breathed John Phillip Sousa's music for years. But those tweedling, squeaking clarinets, out of tune, and the volume of band music was just more than I could ever bear.
It's interesting how each of us can be so different. I honestly have tried to assimilate and to meld to Sam's preferences in many areas of life--when they don't offend me or threaten my own tastes. I now like the music of Acoustic Alchemy, and David Benoit--both types of music that would have given my father spasms. And Sam listens to the Brandenburg Concerti and Pavarotti.
As I write, the door to my study is closed. Coming from Sam's study is some kind of drums beating that precipitously gave way to Kiri Te Kanawa singing "Sheep May Safely Graze." My blood pressure begins to return to normal and my shoulders unclench. It's a good world after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment