Relearning How To Listen
I forgot how to listen to music. This fact lead me to me eventually dislike music. Whether it was melody or discordant clatter I found it distracting – much of it sounding generally the same. My ipod, once essential when I left the house, was put to rest in a drawer next to a host of other outgrown artifacts. But don’t get me wrong, I liked hearing music when I went to dance clubs and house parties. I may have even gone to a concert or two during this time, but something had changed. I realized that while I still hear music, I had stopped listening to it.
I did not make the decision to relearn how to listen to music. After about three years I felt like I was kind of over it. I was wrong, or rather mistaken. For the time being I may have had no place in my life for song, but all of a sudden I fell back under its spell. The process was intuitive. It just happened. Like the scales from Paul’s eyes I could hear again. It blew my fucking mind.
I was sitting in the Hemp Hotel (a great place to stay if you are ever in Amsterdam) enjoying a lazy afternoon when Bunny Wailer’s “Iron Shirt” came on the stereo. I had never even realized that Reggae was religious music for God’s sake! Once I heard his song I was changed. I was the restored King Théoden of Rohan, and I was on the war path for that evil agent of Saruman, the Grima Wormtongue of my ears, my ipod.
The quiet buzzing counsel of that despicable piece of technology was nothing but poison. Instant access to thousands of songs is an affront on decency and more than this man could handle. My overdose came slowly, insidiously, drop by drop into my ears. My ipod, Claudius. Internally I began to decay but showed no outward signs. Eventually the poison had worked its spell and I had become apathetic towards the lyrical verse; only adding to a growing sense of personal and cultural ennui. I should have dashed it to the rocks, that vile white rectangle. I didn’t.
Now I am recovering with the aid of intentionality. Intentionality is central to how I listen to music now. I mostly try to listen to records. The first record I bought was The Velvet Underground and Nico – I have hung the album cover on my wall. Andy Warhol’s “banana” is now my favorite piece of modern art.
I hope this tale of woe can serves as a reminder to someone about something they had once forgotten.
(Author pictured above)
