The Art of Listening I
s Mom home yet? I would yell out from my bedroom anxiously awaiting her arrival home from a trip to the grocery store. If I heard “yea” from somewhere in the house, I would tear out of my room and as gently as I could paw through the bags till I found it, the towering box of Honey Comb cereal. Saying a little prayer I would turn the box over to see just what song was on the back of the box. Yes I said“song”on the back of the“box”. For a short time the cereal companies had 45’s on the back of their boxes that you could cut out and put on your record player and play. My favorite at the time were songs by the comic book-come-TV cartoon series-come top 40 band “The Archies”. The songs on the back of the box were as sugary as the contents in the box, and I loved them both. “Sugar Sugar” (how appropriate) “Jingle Jangle” and the Theme from the Archies, “Everything’s Archie” were songs I remember cutting out and playing them over and over. I knew every word and every drum beat by the time I finished the cereal within the box. That simple and thrilling exercise began for me a life long pleasure of listening to music. When I became old enough to begin appreciating “real” records, I would save or more than likely beg my folks for the 50 cents needed to head to the record department in the local Shopko store near our home. The radio would give me an idea of what I should be looking for, and I relied on“American Top 40” with Casey Kasem to hear the songs I loved. I would stand for an hour or so in front of the rack that would display the top 40 hits of that week and be filled with the agony of the decision of what to buy. Torture! I enjoyed the entire record buying experience. I knew the song(s) that I liked and would eventually purchase, but I was just as enthralled with the sleeve that the 45 came in. Picture sleeves were my favorite as it would often be my introduction to what the group of musicians that sang my favorite song looked like. All of this made the song come alive for me. When I got the record home it always felt like magic. I can still see me putting the 45 on the plastic adaptor (that would slide on the post that held the 33 rpm’s in place) watching it drop and the record arm moving over and the sound of the needle making contact with the vinyl. Then the music would start, and I could not be moved. Over and over the song would play as I sat and paid attention to what I was hearing and how I was feeling. I was focused and open and learning and enjoying the magic of recorded music. I was listening. w w w. a m e r i c a n a g a z e t t e . n e t
In my teens collecting LP’s became my hobby. I was a pop music junkie enjoying the melodies and harmonies of that style of music. The Beach Boys were my favorite, but there were many others, too. But, I always did the same thing when it came time to listening to a record. I would look through my stack of LP’s in my orange crate and pick the one that spoke to me in the moment. Without really realizing it at the time, my LP choice would be one that was reflecting my feelings at the time, or if I had a new record and had not read all the liner notes yet, that would get top billing. Once the record was chosen, I would line up my rocking chair (Grandpa’s old one that was just right for record listening) to be a perfect distance away from and smack dab in the middle of the stereo speakers that were on the small tables in my room. As much as I loved the notes being played, I also was very aware of the production of and the placement of all the instruments in the spectrum of the stereo 2 channel reproduction. I would put the needle down on the first cut of the LP, get in my chair, and not move until side one was complete. I would either have the record jacket in my hands looking at it as I listened, or I would turn off the lights and allow myself to experience the music with my ears only. It did not take long before I could sing every song entirely. I was paying attention to what the artist was giving me and forming my opinion about what it meant to me. I was listening. Now in my mid 40’s my music listening habits have changed. I find myself putting CD’s on in my car (always wanted a dashboard mounted record player!) or in the CD player in the house and then doing something else like driving, cleaning, exercising or drumming, but not really listening. I would hear the music, but it just was not the same. The CD’s that are new to my collection have a song or two that I know from the radio, but the rest of the songs are a mystery to me. My attention is now divided and because of that choice, so is my pleasure. My music listening experience has changed just like the format of the music itself. I believe they go hand-in-hand. As music became more portable and convenient, I found myself enjoying it in a different way often in a less satisfying way. For me,the removal of the commitment to sit down and listen to the record on the player has also reduced my connection to the music and the emotion of the artist. I no longer “feel” the music, I simply hear it. This summer I decided to make a conscious effort to revisit the music listening habits of my youth. Rather than turn on the TV, I would pick a CD and put it in my home stereo CD player. With the CD cover in hand I headed for the couch (which is perfectly centered, smack dab in the middle of the speakers!) hit play just to see what I would feel. I was amazed. It still worked! Before I knew it I was captivated by the music and the production of the selected CD and was swept away. I was listening again! I realized something else as well. As I began the exercise of once again sitting down and focusing on what I was listening to in the CD player,I also realized and reflected on how I listen to the people in my life. I can remember after the completion of listening to a Sheryl Crow CD I just sat there in the silence and thought that I don’t do this enough with the people I love. I don’t listen to them; I just hear them. I reflected on recent conversations with others and realized I was so busy thinking of what I was going to say next that I never really heard what they were telling me. I thought of the irreplaceable experience of looking someone in
the eye, hearing their words, and allowing myself to be moved by the experience. My computer and cell phone create a gap between me and the other person. I still had the experience of communicating with the other person, but I found myself less involved and less committed to really listening to them. I sat there in the silence amazed at how this lesson came to me. I rediscovered the passion I have for making the object of my attention my only experience. In the very fast paced world we all live in we all seem to be trying to do so much. It’s as if I am afraid that if I stop to pay attention, there will be things passing me by that I think I do not want to miss. I am beginning to understand that I will never be able to experience all of the possible things that come my way, so I must begin to choose a few things that I select as important and make them the focus of my attention. I believe that my deep joy comes from committing to what is in front of me from start to finish, just like side one of a record. It might be to pause and enjoy a flower and not just look at it. It may be closing my eyes and hearing the wind in the pines and not just watching the branches move but just taking time to listen. Did the mail come yet? I would yell from the lower level of the house. If I hear“yea”I tear up the stairs and out the door to paw through the junk mail to see what LP Ernie the mail guy has delivered, freshly purchased from E-bay. Time to dust off the needle! Written by: Jim Smith
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