THE WAR ON DECIBELS
Hi. My name is Charlie.
This is a story about me. A story about what I went through. How I ended up here. Where I am is 100 miles from nowhere and yet right in the middle of it.
What I am is alone. Alone and you know what? It’s perfect. Who needs neighbours?
I have found my perfect place. So here goes.
Day 1
I wake up to the sounds of what I imagine are roadworks on my street. It turns out to be the sound of a volume control dial turned as far as it can go.
I cannot describe the music to you, as I have no interest in what music it is. All I can think of is how to get rid of it. It brings to mind the work of Palahniuk, in his novel Lullaby; he describes noisy neighbours as ” Quiet-o-phobics and Noise-o-holics “.
I can so relate to this sentiment. I have forever had to live in rooms or houses where the other occupants seem to be allergic to silence.
Often my band finish band practice or come home straight from a gig and what does the guitarist do? Go straight to his room and put loud music on.
I often request that no music be played on the stereo for the ride home.
What I really hate are people who listen to music to go to bed.
I find it deeply annoying and strangely ironic, that whilst their music is helping them to sleep, it is keeping me awake.
I get up and have a cup of tea. The relaxing sound of the kettle boiling obediently is drowned out by some cheesy ibizan chart smash. They all sound identical to me. I hate the lot of them.
I write a note. Making it sound as courteous and civil as I can. Not to imply fault on their part, more to imply distress on my part. It reads thus:
Dear Occupants. While I am grateful for a reason to get out of bed in the morning, I am troubled by the lengths ( and volume ) you go to, to ensure I enjoy the ‘best part of the day’. I wish to make it clear that I am not ungrateful, just that would rather be able to hear my alarm clock for a change. As a fellow denizen of this terrace, I feel I am at liberty to express my right to wake up as and when I choose. I am sorry that I find your methods unorthodox, but could it be possible to leave the neighbourhood rise scheme to our alarms and us. Yours, Charlie, no 15.
And I post it in the letterbox.
Day 2.
I wake up to the sound of what I imagine is a herd of Rhino, stampeding through my home. It turns out to be the sound of a street gone to hell. The loudest (perhaps the only) public address system I have ever been awakened by. Although Public address is somewhat of an understatement, more like a Public Distress System. I run to the phone and I hit the nine button 3 times.
‘Hello, which service please’
‘Police’
A few moments pass.
“I’m sorry, i cant hear you, could you somehow isolate the source of the disturbance?”
“That is why I am ringing you” I shout back.
“Oh I am sorry, which address please?”
“15 Evergreen terrace.”
“And you are reporting the noise pollution?”
“You think?”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Sorry, just snappy is all”
“That’s ok, sir, be there shortly, do you wish the call to be anonymous?”
“Yes Please”
“Ok, may I ask who is calling?”
“Charlie Brown”
“Ok, Mr Brown, we wont tell anyone it was you who called. Good bye ”
And I wait.
Day 3.
I wake up to the sound of what I imagine to be a squadron of Lockheed C130 Hercules aircraft flying through my bedroom. It turns out to be the sound of the camels back breaking.
The Public Distress system has gone supersonic. I ring around the terrace to see why the hell nobody else has complained. No answer from anyone. I knock on their doors. No answer. I look through the windows. No furniture.
Everyone has left.
We have lost the war.
And so, I dutifully pack my bags and leave.
But not before I have nailed boards and planks over every door and window of the offending house.
With all that noise, he never heard a thing.
Posted on Wed, 14 May 2003 at 15:30
