Nobody likes anyone else’s music. We just don’t want to hear it. And if it’s accompanied by commercials, it’s even worse. The children of the people next door crank up to something that sounds like zydeco country. The metrosexual on the other side is stuck in the 80′s. The old dude across the street used to blare his car satellite radio, while leaving the car door open so the speaker was pointed directly at my house. Jazz. Sometimes he made it into the house before passing out from the drink, other times he lay in the driveway. I have no sympathy. He was a mean drunk. Finally he was taken away (screaming and fussy, and drunk as usual) where he passed away (from not drinking I suppose), and his kids that never had anything to do with him sold that house to a young couple with a child. And 80s music.
I don’t want my life scored. The music I like is the music that disappears until summoned. For example, when there is some ridiculous planet-destroying expenditure going on, I always hear “And whitey on the moon”. RIP Gil Scott-Heron. Google the lyrics.
When things look grim, BD tells me “You’re on your own, you always were”. At which point Tom Waits says “Come on up to the house”.
Dan LeSac vs Scroobius Pip tell me not to believe the hype “The next big thing – just a band”.
Brian Seltzer uses only guitar words for A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. That works too.