Some of us cannot study without music. Forced to work in silence we decide after about a page and a half that a power nap (15 minutes, max) couldn’t hurt and we’re out for the next few hours.
But. Music must be listened to properly. This means it must be very loud, preferably the only thing you can hear. This leads to all sorts of problems – angry neighbours (who, however, will have strange pujas in their houses the night before an important exam. With women singing in loud nasal voices), parents who strive to be thought responsible citizens, and the like. A friend’s father has soundproofed a room in his house so he can listen to his music without being a public menace. Those of us who cannot do this are asked to use headphones or earphones.
The thing is, though, headphones go against everything we’ve ever learnt about music. We have listened to music out of speakers, knowing that the sound will fill a room, that no one will hear us if we let ourselves sing along. Loud music from speakers allows you a certain privacy that way – no one will ever know you can’t sing the simplest chorus without changing scale three times. It’s a privacy you come to take for granted.
Then they make you use the earphones. They even create shiny technological things to use said earphones with and make you lust after them with cunning advertising campaigns. And suddenly, all that security is gone. No one else can hear the music, but they can hear YOU yowling away very clearly. If you’re a good singer this may not worry you much. I myself am rather…creative when I sing. I refuse to tamely follow a tune but attempt to harmonize with it instead. The results can be embarrassing.
What makes it worse is your sheer helplessness. (You could, perhaps, stop yourself from singing along by sitting up and forcing your mouth shut, but I’m not sure you’d actually be able to listen if you did). People who talk in their sleep might perhaps understand this insecurity – not being able to control what other people might hear you say.
I have had some disastrous headphone experiences myself. Iron Maiden and elderly dinner guests (bring your daughter to the slaughter), a rendition of Clapton’s Layla years ago that still causes Shikha endless amusement, and most recently my version of You Flesh is so Nice by Jeff Buckley. This last was pretty bad, but I maintain that The Goldfrapp Incident (the song in question was Twist, if you must know) remains the worst of the lot.
I am informed, however, that when I talk in my sleep I am completely incomprehensible. This, at least, is comforting. Sigh. One takes what one can get.