I hear ya

Last night we went to a party where there was supposed to be live music. A group of four older guys with guitars and a drum kit were slated to play 50s songs, which is one of the two genres that I really enjoy, the other being classical instrumental from the baroque period.

When I got inside the venue, and saw the size of the speakers and the amplifier console with its upward curving red line of LEDs, I knew it was going to be a noisy night.

In anticipation, I had brought with me a pair of compressible foam earplugs that I sometimes use when the going gets too enthusiastic in our drumming rehearsals. With the first crash of the cymbals and the thwanging of the guitar, I could hear nothing but the shattering high frequencies that sounded like glass being broken. The bass guitar could not so much be heard as felt. As fast as I could, I rolled up the little cones and stuffed them into my ears. As the foam gradually expanded, the extreme noises died back, and I began to recognize the songs the band was playing. It actually became enjoyable as the crystal-shattering, floor-shaking ends were cut off while leaving a subdued middle.

I looked around at J who was busy trying to make herself heard and to respond to other people at our table. It occurred to me that the others might be experiencing this same pain. I got up and went to the car where I had stashed a package of these wonderful earplugs and brought them back to the table. Everyone took a pair.

I have tinnitus, as do many of the older people who were at the party. It manifests in my case as a high-pitched frequency that is constantly present, although not (thankfully) constantly heard. It does interfere with my enjoyment of orchestral music, primarily live, but also for several years now on CD and DVDs. The violins in particular trigger my awareness of this background noise. As some wag said, "The trouble with this music is there's too much sax and violins."

During the (mercifully short) evening, a young boy, perhaps seven or eight years of age, was the only dancer on the floor. I didn't think of it at the time, but since he was a mere ten feet from the band, in front of a large speaker array, there could be no doubt that his hearing was being damaged. Nevertheless, he did his moves for about ten minutes with his sneakers flashing those little red lights near the heels as he pranced around. It was cute and amazing.

When he has trouble later in life making out what people are saying, or cannot enjoy music because of a persistent ringing, will this young fellow blame his parents or the band or a society which is deathly afraid of silence, yet whose most popular catch phrase is, "I hear ya"? Or will we by that time have developed aural implants that instantly clamp down sound bursts that threaten our audiological well-being? Or will electricity have become so expensive to produce that the rock or country band with the thousand watt amplifiers have gone the way of the dodo?