Jill Stephenson and Andrew Hook
Photograph by Islay McLeod
Once upon a time, there was an acknowledged difference between ‘music’ and ‘pop music’. But for the last couple of years or so media outlets seem to have agreed that all should be classed as ‘music’. This is, I suppose, part of our non-judgemental egalitarian society, where it is regarded as divisive, relativist or ‘elitist’ (a word that should be banned) to suggest that the works of the great classical composers are superior to those of any passing fad or fashion in shouty pop music.
The ‘latest album’ put out by teenagers is discussed earnestly on cultural programmes such as Radio 4’s ‘Front Row’, with serious examination of the ‘artistry’ of pop icons such as David Bowie.
If older as well as younger people wish to listen to the racket emitted by pop ‘artists’ or groups, that is, of course, their inalienable right. My preference would be for them not to inflict it on me, whether through leaky headphones on buses or trains – which does still happen – or by imposing pop music on us all at pretty much any public event.
Edinburgh’s New Year celebrations seem to consist entirely of noisy bands playing in the open air. They’re a good thing to miss. The Queen’s diamond jubilee could not be allowed to pass without a pop concert at Buckingham Palace. I have tended to think that Prince Philip’s indisposition was strategic – so that he didn’t have to go and listen to that dreadful din. But, to be fair, it was also reported that either he or the Queen had reputedly said that it didn’t really matter: ‘We’re both so deaf we don’t hear a thing’. Lucky them.
The worst excesses are to be found in some town centres, although not yet in Britain, as far as I know. Already, years ago, there was compulsory listening to grotty music from loudspeakers in some French provincial towns. In the centre of Dniepropetrovsk (Ukraine) in September, two different raucous streams of ‘music’ blared continuously and competitively in the central square, close to the statue of V I Lenin. Apparently, it was not intended to punish him for the excesses of the Bolshevik revolution.
Our guide told me that it was in the name of advertising. It seems to have become similar to the political propaganda that festooned cities of the former GDR. When I asked how people put up with all the propaganda, I was asked in return: ‘What propaganda?’. They had become so inured to it that it was rather like noticeboard blindness: a senior colleague would say: ‘But I put a notice up about it’. Yes, indeed, among all the other notices that we all routinely walked past without looking at them. It seems that, similarly, the good citizens of Dniepropetrovsk don’t notice the noise now, which is presumably bad news for the advertisers.
The ubiquity of grotty and thoroughly ephemeral music is, though, a kind of pollution to which we are all subjected much of the time. Gyms and some restaurants – but not yet taxis, as in Mexico – churn it out indiscriminately to those who like it and those who don’t. Some shops do the same. Men working outdoors need to have their music blaring at the neighbourhood. Any commercial concern one tries to deal with on the phone assaults one with it if one is put on ‘hold’. I recently had the wit to ask not to have the awful music put on when I was being put on ‘hold’ for the second time in a call. The voice at the other end said: ‘But then there won’t be anything’. I replied: ‘Silence is good’. And it was. I didn’t even have an irritating voice telling me that I could solve all my problems on their website – which I couldn’t, which was why I was on the phone.
Why is it that people are so afraid of silence? Some of us are, apparently unusually, unable to concentrate on anything if there is a distracting noise. Of course, I belong to a generation that has not had its eardrums wrecked by listening to loud music at close quarters in its youth. But I have the impression that the curse of silence is one of the arguments being trotted out by those who think that having patients in single rooms in hospitals is a bad idea – whereas it would be nice if we had the choice. It doesn’t have to be a bad idea: in your own room, you can choose which TV programmes to watch (or not); you can listen to your own music, and not other people’s; or you can read in peace. But that seems to be regarded as a sign of selfish individualism, not wanting to chat with complete strangers, not wanting to conform to their tastes.
The imposition of loud pop music on the public at large is an indication that authorities of various kinds think that we should all conform, and like it. Oh yes, they want us to like it – that’s democracy. One of these days, I’ll be carted off to a collective (and corrective) facility for ‘re-education’ so that I learn to accept and embrace the tastes of the majority, especially including shouty pop music and possibly also including allegiance to a football team and the worship of celebrities. Non-conformists are dangerous, don’t you know?
Jill Stephenson is former professor of modern German history at the University of Edinburgh
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