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I
have always wanted laugh tracks to save my surprisingly flat jokes,
narrative arcs punctuated during Neilsen sweeps months, perpetually
witty banter among friends, deep thoughts in between commercial
breaks, and, of course, perfect romantic moments captured for
all to see. In short, I have always wanted to live my life like
a weekly, one-hour television drama.
And
guess what? By creating a soundtrack to my life I have found that
I can almost feel like my existence really is captured inside a
cathode ray tube.
Lately
it has been a couple of '70s songs here and a few emocore ballads
there. But my soundtrack, which amounts to a personal mix tape,
is constantly changing. Whether I choose the tracks or they are
chosen for me they are always playing, surrounding me with sound.
Hollywood
taught me to expect my days to be filled with background music,
providing what amounts to a constant melodic commentary on the tragically
boring soap opera that is my day-to-day existence. Indeed, it seems
that the most important thing to happen to music over the past century
is its evolution from a form of artistic cultural expression into
a sonic backdrop that accompanies the daily grind.
Nobody
could have realized just how much empty sonic space there was in
the world waiting to be filled with music. Silence is no longer
golden; sound has become an omnipresent part of my being, from the
family room to the bedroom.
In our
society the movies are always attempting to imitate life. Personally,
it seems that more and more often my own existence becomes an endlessly
futile, subconscious pursuit in becoming a movie of its own. Music,
I have found, provides a score to my typical days, lending something
like the cohesion of a meaningful plot. To be quite honest, I have
become completely accustomed to music designed to fill the quiet
voids of my life. It has practically become ingrained in my mind.
Music
is present almost wherever I am on a daily basis. I am not speaking
of 'live' acoustical performances, mind you, but the mass-produced
sonic moments that have been pre-packaged for my endless listening
pleasure. At work, at home, at school, in the car, and just about
everywhere else I almost always have a finger on the 'play' button.
Decades
ago elevator music--Muzak--began this acoustic trend. However, these
anonymous, innocuous pre-techno beats had a purpose: to provide
an atmospheric sound that resisted close attention. In other words,
it was true ambient music and was not supposed to be listened to
directly, but rather used as a background to life, which still occupied
center stage.
This
is not the case anymore, at least not for me. Today ambient sound
is not enough. I have become so accustomed to a cinematic vision
of life where pop songs rule supreme that the music has to monopolize
any situation--and especially my attention--to satisfy me. Over
time this music, with its almost hypnotic appeal, is forced into
the back of my consciousness. Indeed, it becomes nothing more than
diluted acoustic fluid, overplayed and overhead to the point where
it means nothing to me anymore.
Still,
I share my knowledge of the words and tunes of well-known pop songs
with the rest of the world. It is our default conversation, our
universal dialogue. Think about it: In this day and age it is the
exception, not the rule, to know about politics or literature, but
everybody can sing along with the latest MTV hit.
Over
time I have begun to realize that all music is devalued if it is
treated as sonic wallpaper. Those songs, with lyrics and riffs that
I used to cherish, are now nothing but an obligatory background,
piped into every part of my daily existence. Of course, with so
much music surrounding me at all times it is becoming increasingly
difficult to separate the signal from the noise.
Yet
I continue to listen, unable to stop. And the more I think about
it the more I come to understand that it is not even really about
my subconscious wish to live my life like an hour-long television
show. I listen because, well...I have to. I am lonely without the
comforting omnipresence of melodic sound. Quiet is death. I need
to keep moving, feeling the rhythm if only half-aware of its existence.
So it
is with this realization that I report that my soundtrack, a relentless
mood-setter filled with favorite songs that are just perfect for
my day's most important scenes, is no longer helping to create the
ambient background I used to enjoy. It has instead become something
altogether more sinister. Indeed, my life is slowly yet methodically
drowning in a sea of subconscious sound.
Copyright
© 2000 Gary Baum. All Rights Reserved.
Gary
Baum is 17 years old and currently attends Calabasas High School
in Southern California. He writes a weekly manifesto (http://www.aphrodigitaliac.com/mm)
on the media, politics, and culture and is currently editor in
chief of his high school newspaper, the Calabasas Courier.
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