AC/DC and a Lesson for Life
January 27, 2006
What’s the difference between noise and music? It’s an age old question.
According to my students, noise starts at the precise moment that the music stops. For my dad, that moment was when I turned on AC/DC. For him, the music ended right there.
I used to have this paper route. It was an afternoon route five days a week. On the weekend, however, it was a morning route. The Sunday papers were super heavy. There were always lots of inserts and ads. The paper came in three sections; the comics (and ads), the “Sound Life” section, and the front page. These sections had to be put together before the paper could be delivered so I woke up extra early on Sunday.
Sundays were a big day in my house. You see, my father was a minister. Sunday was the reason for the rest of the week. Everything he did from Monday to Saturday revolved around making Sunday the perfect day. I was free to roam about the rest of the week, but by God, Sunday will go right!
I would get up before the sun. It’s always a refreshing burst to splash into cold dark day. I would get the hand truck out of the garage and drag it down the block to where they delivered my papers. I would load seventy five newspapers, spread out over half a dozen bundles onto the hand truck and cart them home.
I was allowed to put them together inside the house as long as I was really quiet. My father was a very light sleeper. Everything woke him up and he was less then pleasant when he had been woken up; especially on Sunday.
At 5:30 I could be found dragging those bundles off of the hand truck and into the living room. There I would sit and assemble my papers. This process was greatly aided by the addition of AC/DC. I could plug the head phones in, crank the AC/DC, and put those rags together in no time. Life was beautiful at the ripe old age of fourteen. One particularly beautiful morning started out just so. Everything was going gangbusters.
My dad was into his stereo. He admired it, though he rarely played it. He always liked to have the cutting edge. There were buttons and switches for everything. Playing a cassette or an album was a major ordeal as you had to push all the right buttons to make it work. His equipment was top of the line. The unwritten rule was that we could use it, but we had to leave no trace of ever having touched it. His stereo was precious material.
I plugged the headphones in, cranked the volume way past eleven, pressed the play button on the tape deck, and ran back to my seat to let the concert begin. I was one of those strange kids that got great joy out of going deaf at rock concerts; I stood as close to the speakers as I possibly could. The headphones couldn’t be too loud.
I was in heaven; listening to some great tunes, stuffing papers, getting jazzed for walking my route on this way too cold morning. I saw something out of the corner of my eye. My eyes played tricks on me sometimes so I didn’t really believe it at first. Then I saw it again! I turned my head and there was my dad. His hair was standing straight up and he was yelling something awful. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was saying. There was no way I could hear him over the thunder of the music. I took off the head phones, but the music didn’t stop!
I had forgotten to press the button that turned off the speakers in the living room. The windows were rattling! Man was he mad!
After that he always had an aversion to AC/DC.
MJR
What’s the difference between noise and music? It’s an age old question.
According to my students, noise starts at the precise moment that the music stops. For my dad, that moment was when I turned on AC/DC. For him, the music ended right there.
I used to have this paper route. It was an afternoon route five days a week. On the weekend, however, it was a morning route. The Sunday papers were super heavy. There were always lots of inserts and ads. The paper came in three sections; the comics (and ads), the “Sound Life” section, and the front page. These sections had to be put together before the paper could be delivered so I woke up extra early on Sunday.
Sundays were a big day in my house. You see, my father was a minister. Sunday was the reason for the rest of the week. Everything he did from Monday to Saturday revolved around making Sunday the perfect day. I was free to roam about the rest of the week, but by God, Sunday will go right!
I would get up before the sun. It’s always a refreshing burst to splash into cold dark day. I would get the hand truck out of the garage and drag it down the block to where they delivered my papers. I would load seventy five newspapers, spread out over half a dozen bundles onto the hand truck and cart them home.
I was allowed to put them together inside the house as long as I was really quiet. My father was a very light sleeper. Everything woke him up and he was less then pleasant when he had been woken up; especially on Sunday.
At 5:30 I could be found dragging those bundles off of the hand truck and into the living room. There I would sit and assemble my papers. This process was greatly aided by the addition of AC/DC. I could plug the head phones in, crank the AC/DC, and put those rags together in no time. Life was beautiful at the ripe old age of fourteen. One particularly beautiful morning started out just so. Everything was going gangbusters.
My dad was into his stereo. He admired it, though he rarely played it. He always liked to have the cutting edge. There were buttons and switches for everything. Playing a cassette or an album was a major ordeal as you had to push all the right buttons to make it work. His equipment was top of the line. The unwritten rule was that we could use it, but we had to leave no trace of ever having touched it. His stereo was precious material.
I plugged the headphones in, cranked the volume way past eleven, pressed the play button on the tape deck, and ran back to my seat to let the concert begin. I was one of those strange kids that got great joy out of going deaf at rock concerts; I stood as close to the speakers as I possibly could. The headphones couldn’t be too loud.
I was in heaven; listening to some great tunes, stuffing papers, getting jazzed for walking my route on this way too cold morning. I saw something out of the corner of my eye. My eyes played tricks on me sometimes so I didn’t really believe it at first. Then I saw it again! I turned my head and there was my dad. His hair was standing straight up and he was yelling something awful. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was saying. There was no way I could hear him over the thunder of the music. I took off the head phones, but the music didn’t stop!
I had forgotten to press the button that turned off the speakers in the living room. The windows were rattling! Man was he mad!
After that he always had an aversion to AC/DC.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 10:29 PM
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