Funny flashes came to appear,
quite randomly first, then here, then there.
These were the kinds of thought flashes I have not yet been quite comfortable to share with others, at least up to now: was what I was experiencing part of getting older or, worse, getting old?
I used to excitedly step into any warehouse- or closet-sized used CD and LP store and roam those sacred isles, time suspended, for hours, discovering the odd treasure almost every time I go, then taking my finds home, eager to put headphones on and get lost in the music... I shudder to admit it- it has been years!
For a while I was unclear and quite confused: Was not my whole life built on the promise and premise of good music, good sounds? Leaving my entire existence in Germany to start anew, to be closer to the music? Spending countless nights on sticky, smokey bar room floors, playing the last set to empty chairs till 1:30? What happened to the unexplainable excitement of hearing a new band, a new production, an exquisitely recorded song?
When I first heard my middle aged friends mumble to me about the annoyance of “music in every room”, about the disquieting accompaniment of the same 180 songs in every dentist’s chair in America, I literally tuned them out. Fuddy Duddies, just like my parents! I remember, I could barely sell them the Beatles’ “Here There and Everywhere” at the time- too much beat! Too much change of habit required!
So here we go, buddy- getting crusty, artistic arteries hardening. Not me, of course!
Then, about five years ago, I started getting annoyed with myself about my dismissive reaction to music. Lost most of my interest in experiencing new sounds- self- and foreign-made, seemed all the same gray to me.
What the hell? Me too? I noticed how I got increasingly irritated every time I would enter any type of store, office, elevator, plaza, garage... indeed! music in every room! Shit music scratching at my auditory nerves from every room! Music I did not choose, did not want to adjust my mood to, music out of any context, music that made no sense to me, music as utter, complete background, music that had no purpose, it seemed, other than to animate me to spend my money more willingly on items I otherwise might not spend it on.
Finally, two days ago, on a beautifully mild, fall afternoon, a funny thing happened on my way from the parking lot of a giant mall to the frontage of the name-brand stores: I hear music from everywhere in the sky! Cream’s ‘Crossroads’ of all songs imaginable, squawking from tiny waterproof loudspeakers mounted high on the mall’s lamp posts! Every lamp post! As far as my eyes could see!
It was so decreed, I imagined, that gross sales for the mall would be going up by .8% if shoppers are .8% happier. This is achievable, it was decreed, by means of force-feeding dear shoppers memories of better musical times past.
Whether it’s Whole Foods’ playlist (Monkeys to Lovin’ Spoonful), Trader Joe’s playlist (Four Tops to Natalie Merchant; speaking of Natalie Merchant: there is not a day or place at any store or mall where she ever takes a break!), or Sears’ playlist (urban contemporary- the light touch), there is no more quiet time for my ears, no more place to just hear or coax out of its cob webbed corners the music in my head, no more restaurant where I can enjoy random sounds created on the spot by the people around me. No letup.
It’s not even optional any longer, but, from my sense of wandering around places of business or congregation, clearly compulsory practice now for every merchant: If your business does NOT participate in this Chinese water torture from opening day one, we promise, your doors will be closed for good on day ten!
Maybe my artistic arteries are not clogged after all, maybe I am just chronically overstimulated by the ceaseless, uncaring bombardment of background music which is done for the basest, unkindest, uncaringest motives imaginable; overstimulated to the point that music has lost its specialness, for now... until the Luddites develop what’s already in my arsenal as antidote for visual bombardments by public TVs: the zapper.
P.S.: Has anybody yet connected the aerial Musak bombardment to the lagging music sales?