One of the last things I do in the morning is to put my ear phones in and turn on my iPod before I leave the apartment. This morning as I did that, I began to wonder if my Song of the Day list, that I’ve started here is reflective and or predictive of what is going on in my life. Most of the songs I pick just are chosen, because they struck a chord that day. I will have to admit that the choices for last week were chosen because of the biblical references. (I’ll write more about that some other time.)
So I thought is the Song of the Day the soundtrack of my life? Is it the score of my moods? Then I thought of Steph of course, because she is so fond of movie soundtracks. She really likes soundtracks. Then I thought of Elizabethtown, a score and movie she and I have spoken about, but that I have not really seen or heard. I made a mental note to rent the film and then to write Steph next week, after she returns from her trip to Nicaragua, to discuss it with her. Of course she got me again. When I got to work there was a email from Steph telling me that she had made a couple of CDs of the Elizabethtown soundtrack for me. She was trying to arrange a way for me to get the discs before she left.
I haven’t heard the discs yet, but it should be interesting. It is so weird to have this connection with Steph. If you read my blog, you would think she and I talk a lot. We don’t. I see her once a week and usually that is accidentally or very casually. We are both busy with the end of the school year, so we don’t have much free time. We are both very fond of Jeremiah and Arthur, but this psychic connection seems to have little to do with that, other than that is how we met. I do not know what it is. It makes me smile and yearn for more, to want to figure it out. It makes me think of a few lines from the song Woodstock of course.
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it’s the time of man
I don’t know who l am
But you know life is for learning
We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden
I’ve been thinking about music a lot lately. I guess that’s obvious. This morning I was awakened by Scott Joplin on the radio. NPR was doing a piece about Joplin and a recording of a recently found piano roll was playing when my clock radio went off. It was the "Maple Leaf Rag." How can you not like that number? After I got my coffee I remembered another piece by Joplin, that I love. I found it later in my collection. Its called Solace. I’ve played it about 30 times today.
Did Scott Joplin find me today, or did I find him?
I had it all set. It had taken me a few blocks, but everything was balanced. My hat was on just right, holding my new cheap earphones in place. If I don’t have the hat on right, all I hear is treble, forget the bass. I guess I’ll have to get new headphones when it warms up. The scarf was in the right place, so it didn’t pull out the phones. After a couple of tries, I finally found the right play list. And I made it through the turnstile at the T station without losing my backpack or dropping my Charlie card. (I am hopelessly clumsy) I was on the platform and I was beginning a perfect day. The first day of Spring.Yet there was something wrong.
“What the hell is that?” I am sure I said out loud. Mixed into my music was this loud wavering, sizzling squeal. It sounded like someone trying to tune their cat with a George Forman grill. Was there something wrong with my I-pod. That’s what I get for not paying for all of my music. So I paused the song, but the poor cat only screamed louder. Thank God, I would hate to have to replace my second favorite battery operated device. What the hell is that!?! So I took off my hat and my phones and then I figured it out. It was an MBTA approved street musician. I put the phones back on and tried turning the volume up, but nothing could balance out that squeal.
How did this guy get approved? Who did he pay? The sound of his bad amplifier and his poorly tuned guitar were almost hidden by his terrible playing and his supremely horrible voice. (I know I’m over doing the adverbs and adjectives here guys, but you weren’t there) How does someone go about getting one of these permits? I began to wonder if there was a schedule posted somewhere on MBTAcom for the times and locations of the individual performers. That way I could find out his permitted days and take a taxi, or just call in sick, anything not to hear that sound again.
When I first started taking subways, back in the 80’s in NYC, occasionally there would be a performer on a platform, but not often. Visitors from Boston would ask, “Don’t you have musicians in the subway?” A short, “No,” was always my answer. I found them annoying then too, I guess. Actually there weren’t many. I’m not sure why, but I think we just moved too fast there to stand to stop and listen, so there was no money in it. Maybe you might see a performer in a big station, where several different lines met up, but not often. The trains don’t come as often here, so I guess we have more time to listen to a set, feel guilty and throw something in the hat. I began to wonder if he would take ten bucks to stop playing until my train came.
I think Bostonians are more tolerant. Of course, lots of young people from Long Island come to Boston, to get away from Mom and Dad, ostensibly to study Business or Law or Medicine or Engineering, but in reality they want to become musicians. So I imagine the ones that don’t become successful musicians, become lawyers or doctors or even managers of a Massapequa McDonalds, but unfortunately for us, not this guy. So I’m down there waiting for a train and I’m forced to listen to him turn a cat inside out and wishing I had a tape recorder. Why a tape recorder? Well I figure a few more minutes of listening and I’m going to garret him with my headphone leads. So when I’m arrested and it goes to trial, the minute my attorney, he’s from Oyster Bay by the way, plays the tape, I’ll get off. There isn’t a jury of my peers that would convict me after listening to that man made sound.
Of course I have chosen to live in a city. A big brash loud East Coast city. I’ve lived in NYC, Buffalo and Boston, each city is slightly different, especially the background level. Boston could be worse. I am sure the background noise is the reason personal listening devices have become so ubiquitous. City dwellers want to filter the noise out of their lives, or at least choose the noise they prefer to hear. We want to balance out the dissonance. Our MP3 players allow us to have a few moments of equilibrium in our day. We are attempting to find equal footing while we fight the horde. So why, on this first day of Spring is this guy fucking with my balance. My few minutes at the station every morning are the equinox between the house and the office and it should be sacred.
Fortunately an Ashmont train pulled into the station and I finally found a way to escape the poor, poor pitiful musician and the horrible viscous other worldly sounds.
Well ok, he wasn’t that bad, but lordy he wasn’t good.
