The Wall

After our brass concert Tuesday night, I went with a group of young musicians to the pub on campus. This was the last concert of the spring season for all of us, making it a good time for a bit of levity and a pint or two of a good porter. We arrived to a wall of sound coming from an equally impressive wall of speakers, all managed by a DJ. The only live musicians were looking for a table. We had to arrange where to sit by hand signals, since none of us could hear a thing except for the Latin din.

My impression is simply that I saw little purpose in going there with friends. There was no way to communicate except by touch or gesture and my touchable is 350 miles to the south. The others grumbled a bit, but managed to communicate at least enough to hit the dance floor, in itself somewhat humorous when the two gals dragged the (very good looking) gay guy out to dance. Clearly, though, I'm not in the target audience for the DJ. Not only am I un-thrilled with DJ's replacing live bands but I just don't get the point of the mind numbing roar. It could have been fun with about a 180-degree turn of the gain control. As it was, however, we were all isolated by the musical cannonade; each person left to what thoughts could survive.

I will say that after swapping tastes of the brews, most wound up drinking what I had ordered. That was flattering, which felt good, but the environment was beyond me. Anybody care to explain to me what I'm missing?