The Sound of Silence

I have always loved music. When I was little, from my earliest memories, there was always music in my life, whether it be going to sleep at night, at age six or seven, to the sounds of “Bye, Bye Miss American Pie,” or the many songs from the late sixties, early seventies, that I, to this day, associate with being near the water and sailing the summer away.

When I was in high school and college I never went anywhere without the music cranked in whatever car I was driving at the time, from my grandfather’s brown, Plymouth Valiant, which we eventually put a better radio in, to my dad’s Plymouth Fury, man could that car fly, to the 1982 Toyota Corolla lift-back that I had all through college, thank god for the lift-back, but that is a very different story.

I was a percussionist from 4th grade on, actually if you count the pots and pans in my grandmother’s house much earlier, and then in band, orchestra, marching band, jazz band, and eventually a couple different rock bands. I was also in the “pit” for three musicals in high school, I was the percussion section, everything from the “traps” to the tympani, to the paper bag, when Charlie Brown gets his kite stuck in a tree and it rips.

In my adult life, I have seen countless musicals, on Broadway and around the world. I have seen Phantom eight times now, in four different cities, the one in Chicago was a road show, not done well, and the last in NY had its issues, but the Toronto shows never disappointed, with Peter Karre in the lead each time. Fosse, which I also saw in Chicago, was amazing. If I ever get the chance to see that show again I will in a heartbeat. I will say out loud that I did not like Les Miserables, I can hear the shocked responses as I write this, but so be it.

When I drove from the East Coast to the West Coast I had ever intention of listening to music the entire way. I packed every CD I owned into the car and had them readily accessible. I also had Italian language CDs as well for the occasional break from the music. What I discovered is that I spent eight to ten hours a day, for nine days, listening to the smoothness of the car, and the sound of the airstream over a well designed car at eighty miles per hour. I found myself looking out the windows, in all directions at nothing, and enjoying the view. I found myself driving through North Dakota, while the whole country was watching the flooding there on the news, completely unaware of the situation until I drove by oceans that were once fields on either side of the highway, for the better part of the day.

When I listen to music now it still has the same effect on me it always has, and if I hear one of those songs from my past that I loved then and still love now I will crank up the sound system and bug my neighbors. If I hear songs on last.fm that I have not heard before, or artist I have never heard of playing something that sounds familiar, I will crank that too. When I decide to hit the way back machine and start listening to Ray Charles, Dizzy Gillespie, Louie Armstrong, Dave Brubeck, Stevie Wonder, from the early years of his career, I crank that stuff up and pull out the sticks and away I go, traveling back to a time when I could play a little, when music was everywhere, when I had friends that I played and listened to music with.

I still love music, but there is a great deal more silence in my life today. I still love music, but listen far less frequestly. I still love music, but haven’t played a lick in a very long time. I still love music, but can’t remember the last time I really danced. I still love music, but I spend most of my time listening to “the sound of silence.” I wish I knew why.

Thank you again for getting this far with me.