OK. Being home the past two evenings with my windows open to air out the sauna/smoking room that is my apartment, I have learned to deal with the sounds of (almost) summer. Sometimes it's the sound of the knife-sharpening truck or the guy across the street pruning his shrubs. Yesterday, I couldn't determine if I was hearing something coming out of my speakers or if it was outside. Looking out onto the street, I saw a tiny old man dressed impeccably in a suit and hat, carrying a boombox (when was the last time you used that word, let alone saw one?). The smooth, although tinny sounds of jazz filled the street, warming a rather chilly evening. Today, he passed by again, this time spreading the love of Eurodisco- something a little more upbeat for a beautiful sunny day perhaps?
These days, it seems almost impossible to escape top ten lists, award shows, blogs (aha!) and anything else that mildly resembles an opinion. We like to read about what people think and then argue about it with our friends. When it comes to our music, do we shout out loud what we like or hate, or do we scramble to hide guilty pleasures? Enter the iPod. While having someone scroll through your playlists, you can either feel like someone is rifling through the drawer in your bedside table or show off your spectacularly eclectic tastes. But who actually hears it the way you do?
The old man is bringing his music to the world on the street. There is something so basic and human about this. His desire in sharing musical joy is endearing. Bodily organs-shaking bass lines vibrating the side panels off a car kind of thing- she says as a car drives past doing just that- are excepted.
