Article June 20, 2005 Issue

THE INSPIRING SOUND OF SILENCE

By Laura Lapointe

I LOVE MUSIC. And most of the time I like it loud. I love to be engulfed in the surround sound of my favorite songs so I feel as if I'm inside the music or hearing it live at a club or concert hall—even when I'm at home or driving around town. I love my music so much that I want to share it with the whole world! This desire may seem good-natured enough, but it became problematic when I was living in an apartment in New York City, and I received noise complaints—namely, obscenities screamed out the window and nasty notes from next-door neighbors.

At first I felt defiant. I hadn't been playing music late at night. And it wasn't as if I were playing offensive music; most of my favorite CDs were songs that I had sung with my college gospel choir. But then one of the notes mentioned that there were people in the building who worked night shifts and needed to sleep during the day when I often wanted to share my favorite songs full blast. I felt chastised and humbled, realizing I needed to reassess my actions.

For the rest of my time in that apartment, I did turn down my stereo and make an effort to consider the well-being of my neighbors. Still, music played almost continuously while I was home. I lived in a studio in a neighborhood where I had no acquaintances. The music, and especially the DJs on my favorite radio station, kept me company. Little did I know that to some degree the music was also keeping me captive.