S

o I’m not sure if all three of my 
readers are aware, but I’m kind 
of into music a little bit.

I grew up listening to “The Free-

wheelin’ Bob Dylan” in my living room 
while building cities out of alphabet 
blocks, Legos and a Thomas the Tank 
Engine wooden train track set. I like 
to ask people, “What was the first song 
you remember hearing in your entire 
life that wasn’t a children’s song?” cause 
you learn a lot about someone by what 
was played in their house growing up. 
The most popular answers I’ve gotten 
have been The Beatles and Motown 
(mine was “I Feel the Earth Move” by 
Carole King).

Now, in my sophomore year of col-

lege, I have consistently surrounded 
myself with new releases, tried and true 
favorites at almost every waking hour 
of the day. As I write this column, Ken-
drick Lamar’s masterpiece To Pimp a 
Butterfly is on rotation on my turntable. 
The album artwork is lying on top of my 
red fire truck milk crate containing my 
favorite selections from my dad’s vinyl 
collection he left for me when he moved 
out and albums I have dug out of bins at 
record stores.

However, we live in a digital world 

and I can’t bring the crate everywhere I 
go. To make up for this, I never leave the 
house without headphones.

“Put Your Records On” — Corinne 

Bailey Rae

If there’s anything I’ve put an exor-

bitant amount of time into, it’s Spotify 
playlists. I spend so much time combin-
ing Spotify playlists, asking for recom-
mendations from friends and waiting for 
new albums to come out (if you haven’t, 
please listen to The Decemberists’ new 
album and talk to me about it).

One of the most important moments 

of my day is when I leave my dorm, 
arrive in the lobby of South Quad 
Residence Hall, dig into my pockets, 
unwrap my inevitably tangled head-
phones, plug in, hit “shuffle” on my 
monthly playlist and step outside. That 
first shuffle pulls the trigger on my 
racing pistol and sets me off for the 
daily grind.

Last week, as I headed downstairs 

— ready to enter the world — I reached 
into my left pocket, the designated con-
tainer for my precious headphones. My 
hand wriggled around in my loose over-
alls pockets but I didn’t feel the worn 
white plastic of the cable.

Oh no.

“Empty” — Kevin Abstract
I stood in the lobby in disbelief. I was 

already late by Michigan Time’s standards 
(R.I.P.) and most definitely did not have 
time to run up to the fifth floor of South 
Quad to dig around in my drawer and find 
my headphones. I knew exactly where 
they were — lying motionless, balled up in 
the left pocket of the red pants I wore the 
day before. If only they knew how much I 
depended on them to function.

They were probably lonely, resting in 

a busted modular furniture drawer, pur-
poseless. No electricity running through. 
They were cold and just wanted to be 
used to bring joy or sadness or anything 
in between — depending on the song.

I was frozen in place. People bumped 

into me as they left the lobby, embarking 
on their respective journeys while I had 
the equivalent of cinderblocks strapped to 
my feet. If I couldn’t soundtrack my walk 
to class, what was the purpose of going?

“If I Ain’t Got You” — Alicia Keys
I knew the playlist the moment I got up 

that morning.

I was a little groggy because I was up late 

reading and even my shower and breakfast 
couldn’t get me out of that sleepy haze. I 
knew it had to have a good beat or an amaz-
ing, belting chorus. In the wise words of that 
Old El Paso tortilla commercial, everyone 
seems to know, “Why don’t we have both?”

I could not get Alicia Keys out of my head. 

It was driving me insane. But no headphones 
meant Alicia would have to wait. I tried play-
ing it from my phone’s speakers and pretend-
ing I was on the phone but I couldn’t hear the 
horn section well enough — a crucial part of 
the instrumentation of “If I Ain’t Got You.”

It was useless. I was going to have to face 

that cold, arduous world alone. No music to 
accompany my strides. I mustered up the 
appropriate amount of courage for the situa-
tion, pulled my hat over my ears and pushed 
through the lobby’s main doors. Maybe the 
walk wouldn’t be too bad after all.

“Everything 
is 
Awful” 
— 
The 

Decemberists

I was so incredibly wrong. The sounds 

of the outside world were nothing com-
pared to my typical musical style. Cars 
honked at pedestrians, blue buses sped by, 
almost splashing walkers with rainwater 
pooling in the gutters and there was nei-
ther rhyme nor reason to the walk.

I heard so many conversations that 

were not meant for my ears. I am a very 
large fan of eavesdropping, some things 
are best left unheard. Here’s an example:

“Sometimes I eat strawberries whole, 

including the leaves, so I can get my daily 

serving of fruits and vegetables at the 
same time.”

Let’s be real. I didn’t need to know this 

fact about someone, and though they gave 
me content for this column, it was not what 
I would have preferred hearing on my way 
to class. That’s just a fact of life.

I was left without a purpose. I couldn’t 

match my pace to the beat or nod my head. 
I couldn’t pretend to play air piano to make 
people think I was like every other virtu-
oso at the University of Michigan. I was a 
fish out of water.

“Naked” — Ella Mai
I felt bare without those white earbuds 

leading a trail to my phone in my pocket. 
Wishing I had turned around when I had 
the chance, the sensory overload of vehi-
cles and odd fruit-based preferences was 
a lot to handle when I was already a little 
dazed from my morning.

Moving past my “Bob Dylan in the liv-

ing room” days, I had always found a way 
to bring music wherever I went. Being an 
only child means a lot of things, but one 
trait is pretty consistent among all single 
children I have ever talked to about the 
subject — it’s lonely as hell.

On long car rides to Kalamazoo, where 

almost all of my extended family lived at one 
point, I would sit in the backseat, straining 
my eyes trying to read everything I could 
see as the sun began to set. When it became 
no use and my parents wouldn’t let me turn 
the inside car overhead light on because it 
“distracted other drivers,” I would pull my 
yellow Sony Sport Discman out of my back-
pack. I’m pretty sure it was my dad’s before 
I adopted it. Flipping through my binder of 
CDs, I somehow always went back to my 
“I Love the ’80s” CD. Popping in the CD 
and placing those cheap foam headphones 

over my ears, I’d press play and track one, 
“I Love Rock ’n’ Roll” by Joan Jett and the 
Blackhearts, would weave its way to my 
eardrum and practically force me to tap my 
feet, singing the wrong words (I thought 
she said “juice box” instead of “jukebox” for 
a very long time).

But on my walk, I noticed a lull in cars 

and people walking to class. That’s when I 
heard the beauty of the walk without head-
phones: birds chirping, the Burton Tower 
in the distance, the crunch of snow still 
waiting to melt.

“I Like The Way This Is Going” — Eels
At that moment, I was cast back to my 

Alternative Spring Break trip to Harlan, 
Ky., a few weeks ago. I would wake up early 
in the morning, the sun just rising, and I 
would stand on the porch, listening to the 
sound of the breeze rustling the dense for-
ests ahead and the river running behind 
our compound. After realizing how long I 
had been drifting off into space, I rushed 
to the separate bathroom building, imme-
diately started a playlist on my speaker and 
hopped in the shower.

I cherished those brief moments of bliss 

in Kentucky, looking at the cows next door 
and imagining a world where I could live in 
that exact space and time for years on end. 
Why couldn’t I do the same in Ann Arbor?

I’ll be the first to admit I heavily depend 

on music to survive the weeks at school. It’s 
a release of stress, a culmination of emo-
tions and a method of expression unlike 
any other. However, stopping and listening 
to the tiny soundbites we often block out 
unconsciously creates a soundtrack of its 
own — one more authentic and without 
order, reason or control.

Maybe I’ll forget my headphones 

more often.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018// The Statement 
7B

BY MATT HARMON, DAILY NEWS EDITOR
Soundtracking: Forgetting your headphones

ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY

