If you want peace on earth, turn off the radio

By BARBARA FREDRICKSEN, Arts & Entertainment
Published December 10, 2007

As we celebrate this holiday season, gentle reader, could we perhaps consider the possibility of at least one "aural holiday" in there somewhere?

An aural holiday is an entireday when no one plays that hideous, homogenized stuff some call "background music," also known as those sounds that pierce our heads from the walls, ceilings and floors of nearly every supermarket, airport, waiting room and, worst of all, department store and restaurant.

The theory behind it is that people buy more and eat faster if some chirpy sound urges them on, clearing the way for still another shopper or diner.

My theory is that it drives them, all right, but it only drives them crazy.

The idea for an aural holiday is the brainchild of Scottish musician and conceptual artist Bill Drummond, a man who obviously cares about music, who persuaded several stores and radio stations in Britain to declare a "No Music Day."

He started his crusade Nov. 21, 2005, declaring, "No hymns will be sung. No records will be played on the radio. iPods will be left at home. Rock bands will not rock. ..." (For a full list, go to www.nomusicday.com). On Nov. 21 this year, BBC Radio Scotland signed on to "No Music Day," to mixed reactions.

Drummond said he was sick of hearing good songs turned into "psychic landscapes" and obnoxious commercials.

Indeed, indeed.

It's bad enough when Bob Dylan shills for Victoria's Secret and Creedence Clearwater Revival's quintessential antiestablishment song, Fortunate Son, is used to sell blue jeans (in CCR's defense, the group lost control of the song in a deal they signed when they were struggling, and they had nothing to do with its misuse by the owner of the publishing rights - who should have had more respect, for heaven's sake).

But it's almost unbearable when a bland, electronic version of U2's poignant, emotional lament, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, is piped into my favorite grocery store as I try to make my selections in the foreign cheese section.

By coincidence, on the same day I read about Drummond's "No Music Day" crusade, I received an e-mail from a company in California that supplies in-store music, urging me to do a story about its product.

The company brags that it "received several requests this year to begin holiday music programming" as early as Nov. 1 and that it has "seen the launch date for holiday-themed music each year inch closer and closer to the beginning of November, as stores maximize the popularity of the season."

Why don't we just back it up to Dec. 26 and "maximize the popularity of the season" 365 days a year?

A way to maximize

Several years ago, when the last child in our family turned 30, we decided we all had enough stuff and gave up holiday gift-giving to each other.

Instead, most of us write checks to our favorite charities, which is faster and more heart-warming than a buying another pair of wool socks or another electric shaver that none of us really need.

As my list has grown longer, the checks have grown smaller, but I like to think if a lot of us donate, it all will add up.

On top of my list is The Angelus, that wonderful cluster of five homes in Hudson for developmentally disabled adults and kids. The center was established in 1979 by two living angels, Pauline and Dave Shaver, and it's been adopted by country singer Charlie Daniels, who has raised tons of money for it and become its most enthusiastic guardian angel.

You can send checks to The Angelus, 12413 Hudson Ave., Hudson, FL 34669.

Another of my favorites is the Humane Society of Pasco, where I adopted my big gray cat, Bustopher Jones II, many years ago. Bustopher died nearly four years ago, but I'm still grateful for the years we were together.

So I send a check to them at P. O. Box 10, Elfers, FL 34680 to help care for some other Bustopher until his new companion finds and adopts him.

This is also a good time to remember (with a check) the people who do nice things for you all year long, though you never see them: the garbage collectors who whisk away your debris and detritus in the middle of the night while you're snuggled in your bed, and the newspaper carrier who makes sure your St. Petersburg Times is safely on your driveway or doorstep by the time you have your first cup of coffee.

Cheers, and I hope you get to enjoy at least one silent night this season.

[Last modified December 9, 2007, 20:22:07]