I stood in line outside The Wiltern about to go to a concert I’d been waiting a long time to see. My friend S. had often told me I’d really like the band Porcupine Tree, and the solo work of its founder, Steven Wilson. I finally started working through a truly extensive discography, and over the last couple of years have become a big fan. Sadly my trip up to San Francisco to see the concert with S. fell through, so I was on my own at this historic musical landmark in Los Angeles.
This left me free to eavesdrop on the conversation behind me. Two strangers had fallen into talking, and as expected, it was all about music. I say “conversation” but it was really two interspersed monologues. One person would demonstrate their musical knowledge and experience, and their right to be at this event. The other would acknowledge it with a quick “uh huh” or even not acknowledge it at all, and then fire away with their own experience or fact. Not once did one ask the other for more information, or comment on the emotional aspect of what they were saying.
Like this, they talked at each other for 40 minutes, and never had a meaningful human exchange. Now you might argue that these are two strangers who would never see each other again, who are just passing time in a queue, and I’ll give you that. But the trouble is that these “conversations” are the norm even with people who you have longer term relationships with, whether colleagues or friends or family members.
Anyway, the Wiltern’s doors opened, the line started moving, and I went in and waited for the concert to begin. And when it did, I knew I was right to have brought a pair of earplugs, because the loudest sound levels were 110dB, and I wasn’t even that close to the stage. It wasn’t just loud — it sounded so forced and painful with hissy voices, and a complete mush of sound when everyone played together, that I wasn’t sure why I was there.I do understand that concert-going is about gathering with like-minded people, about sharing the energy of the crowd and the musicians, about being immersed in a multi-sensory experience. But if the sound at a music concert isn’t good, aren’t we missing the basic point of being there? Similarly, when people meet and talk, but don’t listen to each other, why are we breathing the same air?
Dense melancholia
I really expected more from Steven Wilson, a person whose recordings are excellent, and who is also famous for remastering a number of classic albums from Jethro Tull, King Crimson, Yes, and the like. Wilson is not afraid to challenge his audiences with his material, in the past, with dense melancholia, and then suddenly with an upbeat pop outlook. He has been described as one of the most famous rock musicians you’ve never heard of, and often talks in interviews about how he wants to be more mainstream. It says a lot about our current state that the way to do it is to play at 110dB, and stage a show with holograms and other visual tricks.
When I described the concert to an audio friend, he commiserated and talked about how everything today, even basketball games, needs to be a sensory onslaught. “There is never time to absorb and reflect on what you have just seen and heard.” In that sense the concert and the conversation outside were similar onslaughts, and similarly disrespectful. It’s interesting to contemplate which is a symptom of which.
Gautam Raja is a freelance journalist based in Los Angeles, US.
