Experiencing Music in the Pandemic
After a year of listening to music in solitude, the re-opening of the world does more than just bring back live music, but the shared experience as well.
Experiencing music in the pandemic has been different, of course. Aside from the lack of opportunities to see music performed live, the event of even just listening to music over the past fourteen months felt different. Our interactions changed and we became more solitary. What once was a form of uniting people and sparking joy, quickly devolved into a deeply personal, and at times isolating, experience. Instead of a way to release sets of emotions, music became, in many ways, a coping mechanism to the grief, trauma, and exhaustion the past year has brought on to us all.
COVID has altered two major ways in which I’ve experienced music since early 2020 and while one felt more immediate and apparent, the other didn’t hit me until recently, towards the hopeful end, when I experienced it again for the first time in what felt like forever.
A few months early into the pandemic when things felt the most uneasy and uncertain, I went to a local coffee shop one morning before work. It was one of very few interactions I had experienced at the time and they were playing the first album by American Football when I got inside to order. I made a comment to the barista, one of countless awkward interactions I’m sure I’ve had in the past fourteen months, and they replied “it felt like music a lot people would want to hear this morning.” The emo and post-rock elements of that record are essential trademarks of the band’s sound and the comforting nostalgia of the homespun sonic template was wildly reassuring. I didn’t know it at the time, but over the next year, these kinds of interactions would be very few and far between, as it would become increasingly rare to be in a situation to hear music outside of the house.
Outside experiences and hearing music in the world became atypical, but it’s been easy to talk to people about new music in the pandemic. Whether it be with friends over Zoom, texts, or phone calls, sharing new tunes has never been easier and reading about new recommendations online was one of the simplest ways to pass the time. Even though the vinyl industry has been facing problems keeping up with demand and the USPS faced their fair share of problems as well, countless stores were able to utilize online forums to keep things moving, so growing a record collection was still a pursuit of interest. Buying and acquiring new music has actually felt almost easier than ever and ample time allowed for more discovery than any other moment in life. However, while I was listening to more music than ever before, it was all happening within the confines of my apartment. I was experiencing music on my couch or while working from an office chair. It was all associated with my apartment and no other parts of the city or the world.
A great part about music is not only the emotional responses and feelings it can give listeners, but also how it can be associated with specific moments in time. Music channels memories that can be triggering in the way they recall such specific places, people, and events. As soon as that was taken away, listening to older music could and often would catapult me back to life in what I would refer to as “the before times.”
The time I was in Paris with my dad and we were in a clothing store where the owners were listening to Bowie’s Pin-Ups on vinyl. Hitting up a thrift shop in London and hearing Kraftwerk’s Computer World for the first time. Hearing Esquivel at Human Head Records in East Williamsburg and immediately buying an album to listen to at home. Listening to My Bloody Valentine at a party in college and watching Sean Parker do his shoegaze impression.
There are one-offs like those, but then there are others that seem to have an ever deeper sense of connection. I remember commuting to my first job after graduating from college and listening to James Blake’s debut album on the train as part of my daily commute. It was a freezing winter and I was miserable at this job. I can recall these feelings every time I hear those songs.
I once was sitting at a coffee shop in Tokyo when they began playing Broken Social Scene’s You Forgot It In People which convinced me to extend my stay and keep reading my book to give my feet a rest. Now when I listen to that album it brings me back to that moment of relaxation and relief in Japan. A calming sensation.
The first time I ever really got Oasis was when I heard a bar full of people belt out “Don’t Look Back in Anger” when it came on the jukebox one night in London. An entire room full of college people screaming along to a track that was over a decade old and seeing it come to life in an entirely new way, in its home country, gave it shape and context unlike I had ever imagined. Suddenly it made complete sense that close to 200,000 people would show up to see them at Knebworth in their hey-day.
There are connections that feel deeply intimate and personal and then there are others that are shared experiences like the one in the coffee shop. Those were the ones that I never realized how much I’d missed until they started happening again. Talking to strangers about music is another moment that can feel exhilarating. As things start to ease towards normalcy, having these experiences once again has been one of the highlights of the year.
At an outdoor bar in April, I got a drink and told the bartender I liked his Albert Ayler shirt. He was excited, said thanks, and we briefly chatted about Ayler’s discography. I said I only was really familiar with New Grass and he confirmed that it’s a great record and suggested Spirits Rejoice as another one to check out. It was awesome to hear a recommendation in-person from a fan and not a random opinion on the internet or an algorithm suggestion.
Not too long after, while picking up some wine, I signed my receipt and told the cashier “Have a good night! Be safe and enjoy Bob!” (Dylan was playing on the stereo.) He replied “yeah, just me and Bob tonight. You know, I’m trying to collect all of his studio albums on vinyl. It’s actually been pretty hard.” I’m not sure what caused this serendipitous event, but I instantly said “Oh, I totally get it. I did the same thing for Neil Young and it got hard when I hit the ‘90s.” We went back and forth for a bit talking about collections, favorite Neil albums (mine is Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and he loves On the Beach and in particular “Ambulance Blues”). It felt incredible to be able to have that conversation.
As the world starts to re-open and assuming things are safe, the return of live music will be a new, life affirming feeling that has been absent for far too long. However, I’m also excited about being able to hear music again outside of my apartment and make these new connections with songs, albums, and artists. I’m already imagining what I’ll listen to on my first vacation in months and what that might sound like. What will I hear the first time I stay out late at a bar? What will be the first song I see a band play when concerts are back? For the past year, we’ve had so much joy stripped away from music. However, while music uplifts the spirit like only it can, music is also a form of comfort in times of tragedy and for many, that has been the case since the pandemic began. Listening to certain music has been triggering and at times unbearable. I’m ready to start to experience music again in the real world and re-engage with the joy it brings to so many. I’m ready for more random conversations and connections. I’m ready to learn about what music means to strangers. I’m ready to experience music once again as a form of joy.
Until then…