Some time ago, I was chatting to a friend of mine, whose son is a professional musician about the importance of looking after your ears, meaning the need to protect one’s hearing. I’ve been going to gigs for well over half a century now and it’s a lesson I have only recently learned. From my teenage years onwards, I attended gigs where the volume was simply excessive and my reward, in later life, is some hearing loss in one ear, a lot of hearing loss in the other and varying degrees of tinnitus in both. The sound of silence is a forgotten pleasure and I can’t pretend I should have done something about it at the time.
I’ve been to two gigs in recent weeks. One at Bristol’s Crofters featuring the London ‘Americana’ band Little Grandad and more recently the reformed 1980s legends Misdemeanor at the Thunderbolt. For the former, I realised I had forgotten my ear protectors which cancel out the vary worst of the excess volume but do not detract from the actual music and found I had to leave the performance area from time-to-time because it was simply too loud for me. It hardly added to the experience, I have to say, although it was entirely my own fault for being so careless. I remembered my protection at the second gig which, I have to say, was just as well because the show was VERY LOUD, at least to my ears.
In 1972, I went to a show at the Bristol Colston Hall, which these days is called the Beacon, and saw the progressive rock band Jethro Tull. I was near the front of the balcony and was shocked at just how loud the show was. As I was leaving, my ears were ringing ferociously, so much so that I thought the ringing would never end. This experience was repeated many times over the years.
My worst experience of excessive volume came at the Hammersmith Odeon in 1975 where American rockers Blue Öyster Cult were topping the bill. The Cult were not the problem. Loud, but not too loud, which was more than you can say about the support act, a completely unknown trio called Mötorhead, who appeared to have never met each other before, rehearsed or even knew the ‘songs’ they were playing. They were absolutely terrible and as they trudged through a dismal set, some members of the audience vented their feelings, quite rightly, too. Band leader Lemmy, for it was he, instructed the sound desk to crank up the volume and the sound got louder and louder. It was the first time I felt pain from loud noise. You could hardly call it music.
Again, my ears rang for weeks afterwards, as they did after many gigs I attended. I reached the point of no return in 2010, again at the Colston Hall when I took my sons to see the Australian rockers Airbourne, who are very much like AC/DC but much, much louder. It was, by some distance, the loudest show I had ever attended and the post show tinnitus has remained ever since. Far too late, I realised I had to do something about it.
I purchased some ear protectors which these days I take to gigs when I actually remember, which is most of the time because even the gigs which don’t appear to be too loud are still loud enough to damage one’s hearing. Even as I sit here, writing this blog, my left ear in particular wizzes and whooshes away on a permanent basis. It’s horrible and, I repeat, entirely my own fault for being so cavalier with the health of my precious lugholes.
To be honest, I never really understand why some artists and bands insist on playing so loud. It’s probably because of a strange belief that rock music should be played at excessive volume but perhaps there is an element, as there was with the fledgling Mötorhead, of covering up how crap they were. Yet I have been to countless shows over the years which were not too loud and in some cases not really loud at all – and the shows were great. I have rarely, if ever, been to see someone and thought: “Well, this is far too quiet”.
So many old rockers now require hearing aids, including the likes of Paul McCartney, Stephen Stills, Pete Townshend and MOR crooner (who I quite like BTW) Billy Joel. I fear I am not too far away from requiring aural assistance, too, such is my increasing inability to converse properly, particularly in a crowded room alive with conversation, although my vanity currently precludes the desire to admit it publicly. Hell, I don’t even like wearing glasses, never mind hearing aids.
The thing is with loud music, when you’re young you never think that you’ll be that old codger wandering around saying “Pardon?” every time someone says something but, hello, here I am. I don’t need a sea shell to hear the sea. I hear it 24/7 perfectly well, thank you.
If you do music and your ears are doing okay, I strongly recommend you do your bit to keep them that way. Because once your hearing has gone, it’s gone. Just like mine.
