Have you ever been to a quiet place? A place where the houses are set far apart… and maybe you can’t even see the next house. It might be a place where air conditioning is not in vogue. And on a warm summer’s night the windows open to a medley of outdoor sounds. Chirps & squeaks of crickets and cicadas create a “wall of sound” that can match the “buzz” of any nighttime New York City street.
On one level, it is simply a blend of sound… on another there are specific sounds that can be picked out… like a single spice in a particular sauce… or a single instrument in an orchestra.
You don’t have to be in the “country” on an August night, or on the Upper East Side in Manhattan to experience the buzz. Stop into Ash Creek Saloon on a Thursday evening… pick a cozy stool and listen… listen to the buzz.
On the way in I give a quick “hi” to Red (he is stationed at his usual roost, on the “goal line”), and then I move at flank speed to a stool that will give me an advantageous view of the Yankee game that is in progress on the big screen.
Sean and Nicole are patrolling the business side of the bar… theirs are the first voices I pick out and respond to. It’s a busy night and Nicole has my Wild Turkey Rye in front of me before I say a word… “Hiya Jim, nice to see ya…” And she is off to mixing serious shots for a clutch of folks at the other end.
Then Sean moves thru, seeing that Nicole had covered my beverage need, merely thrusts his hand in greeting, “Hello Seamus!”
No other person calls me Seamus… and I must say, I look forward to the greeting. I feel like I have been accepted! I love it! Yeah, Seamus… it works.
Whisky in front of me… the Yankees at bat, drubbing the Devil Rays to the tune of 10 – 5, I can ease back on the throttle. The sound of the TV is turned off in lieu of music… and it is the sound of music that I hear next… not The Sound of Music; but Dire Straits The Sultan of Swing. Yes, I like that.
Bits and pieces of conversation surround me. It could be 3 or 4 people, maybe more… maybe just two. I think the technical term is a “talking unit”. And in rare cases, it’s just one patron. Be advised: folks talking to themselves at a bar should be given wide berth… they maybe in a work-release program, or maybe worse.
There’s pleasant chatter, an occasional laugh that raises above the din… but the over all sound is no different than the outdoor symphony heard on a hot August night in the hinterland.
No need to focus on the specific voice, or phrase… it’s good enough to get lost in the texture of various pitches and melodies.
The buzz.
And on this night, at least… nothing mean spirited.
Next song… Up On Cripple Creek, The Band. Too bad Zack’s not here… it’s one of his favorites.
Uh oh… shmuck alert. A member of the pod to the left punctuates his remarks with an accusatory point of the finger. His voice is like picking out the oboe in Rhapsody in Blue (I think he was complaining about a “Mars/Venus” issue). I glance over, “Venus”, to his immediate right does not look too happy. I could be wrong on this, but I don’t think he is getting “any” tonight. Luckily he has to “hit the head”, and the peaceful buzz resumes.
Sean returns. “Seamus, are you ready?” He has correctly assessed that my beaker of Rye is at the dangerously low level. I nod my gratitude.
It’s been a long day, in a string of long days. I spend nearly my entire day talking to folks… talking to folks about wine (which is what I sell) why a certain Spanish Red from Ribera del Guadiana is best thing since Mother’s milk (don’t ask me what that tastes like, it’s been a while since I’ve had it). I talk, talk, talk… specific words, specific conversations… totally focused one to one.
It’s nice to melt into the buzz, to get lost in the comfortable, non-focused sounds in a hospitable place… nothing untoward (now that the shmuck is in the john). Songs kick over, some noticed, some not.
Nicole drifts this way. She bears a pint of Bass for a patron to my left. He nods appreciatively probably more for Nicole’s admirable cleavage than the ale.
I guess it’s pretty much the same, isn’t it? The wind moving thru a stand of Birch trees… taxis honking and jostling 10 floors below, or the sweet hum of voices and music in Ash Creek Saloon.
It’s just a buzz.