Oh Muzak, Where Art Thou?
I am in the Westin for a short stint in El Segundo, LA, CA, and I realized that it wasn’t just “The W,” but in fact everywhere I go it seems I am a captive to obtrusive, annoying, too-loud, shitty music. Supermarkets. Drug stores. Clothiers.
[I really wanted to say “Apothecaries” and “Haberdashers.” Pretentious? Moi?]
I could take some classical and baroque being played at a low volume. That I like. But what I really miss is ridiculous, sappy, oboe, strings and triangle versions of “A Taste of Honey,” “Baby I’m A Want You,” and “Eight Days a Week.” Remember? You’d be on an elevator and you’d hear a familiar tune, and think, “Jeez, they did a Muzak version of, what is that? ‘Me and Bobby McGee?' ”
Instead, I'm constantly subjected to weird mash-ups of reggae and techno. Nora Jones, U2, String Cheese Incident. Blaring. I was trying to do my timesheet yesterday morning in the lobby of the hotel because they have free wireless. In the room it was $9.95 + tax. I figured I could save the company some money.
I almost hurled my laptop across the room. They were blasting (ok – not really “blasting” – but the intensity extended beyond “background music” volume) some strange African-Disco-Techno-Shite that made me feel like standing up and screaming, “Will you please have mercy and turn that torturous drivel off! Put on some Henry Mancini or something! This isn’t a twenty-something ecstasy party. It is a FUCKING HOTEL LOBBY!”
It’s hell to get old.