soothe and relax my soul or send shivers down my spine, invoke nostalgia, laughter, tears or form a lump in my throat depending on the memories they bring.
I fall asleep every night and wake up every morning to the sound of barely audible music and nothing can put instant creases of irritation on my forehead faster than the sound of loud music, be it in a vehicle, a neighbor’s house, simply anywhere.
Call me ignorant or old-fashioned or ‘baduy’ and I won’t care. Since my cradle days I never had a passion for loud music, and LOUD for me is when I have to raise my voice when I speak to be heard.
Acting as a guide to a group of media practioners attending a four-day seminar in the city a few weeks back, I took them to the only place I knew that ‘serves’ live band: Promenade at Rizal Street. The place was almost deserted and I discovered why when the guard told us that they have a folk singer as performer for the night. I would have loved to sit down and relax but the faces of my 10 companions turned sour in unison. Their faces spelled an expression of ‘ugghhhh’ because they wanted something ‘live’.
I told you I’m not a rock fan so I was left with no more suggestions when one of my companions from Cotabato suggested a resto-bar in Bajada where a live band performs nightly. They all agreed and it was my turn to go ‘ugghhh’ but I had to give in. Majority rules (besides I was the host)!
The moment I entered the place and saw the stage, I wanted to back out but I had no choice. The performing band was composed of six young men — all sporting long hair and colorful body tattooes. (I was not expecting priestly-looking performers, mind you).
The bar was patronized mostly by the ‘twenty-something’ and everybody seemed to be having a good time. My group immediately fitted in with the crowd but I felt like a fish out of the water. (Take note: six of my companions were older than I am so it must not be the age-thing).
When the band started to sing with the loud banging of drums, I felt a incoming headache clawing its way toward me.
As the night went deeper, the music became louder and the audience wilder. For me, it was all a roaring, deafening noise and to top it off, the headache had all ready hit me full force.
The singers seemed to be heading towards a climax that everybody seemed to understand, except me. The audience alternately clapped and waved their hands in the air. Some of them danced beside their tables and spun around so fast
I got dizzy looking at them. The stamping of hundreds of feet added to the already loud ringing in my ears.
When the band took a final bow amidst loud yells and hoots from the audience, my headache also took on a final dizzying pain I felt as if my head split in two. I tried to conceal my condition from my companions and almost succeeded but one of them noticed me digging into my shoulder bag for an aspirin and downing it with a glass of water.
“If it’s too loud, you’re too old,” he jested but I didn’t care. Listening to rock music would be my slow agonizing death and now you know how to kill me.