The Sound of Bad Music; My Unfavorite Things and All the Big Hits

I pulled my electric guitar out of the cozy confines of the velvet-lined case, strapped it on, plugged the cord into the amplifier, turned the volume up obnoxiously high, and scraped the strings with unbridled passion. The windows rattled, the dog hid, my wife yelled,

"Turn it down, I'm on the phone with my mother."

I tuned her out while I plucked power chords sounding so thick and beefy that metalheads would have saluted me with respect. I felt free and primal while I soared with the guitar gods. My idea of jamming to AC'DC's Back in Black would be exactly what the neighbors needed. For all I know, my distorted tones sounded like someone jackhammering on the front driveway.

Non-electric guitar players won't understand the euphoric feeling of creating such a grandiloquent expression except for maybe drummers who are just as deaf but endure more verbal abuse. I pity the parents of beginner percussionists who withstand the nerve-shattering pounding. The mayhem usually starts when their child receives a five-piece toy drum kit for their birthday given to them by a non-parent. The father proceeds to set it up while cussing about the person who bought it. The next thing you hear, the kid is beating the holy hell out of the things while the parents laugh and try to be patient with little Johnny's self-expression. After the cuteness wears off, the noise factor becomes a restriction on playing, or someone in the family blows a gasket and hides the drumsticks.

I enjoy listening to the dozens of instruments of a symphony orchestra. I'm awed at the level of talent it takes to be part of this large group of musicians. The skill required to perform in such an ensemble makes me wonder how they study their craft. For instance, how do you practice the kettle drums? The massive beast of a drum must send the neighbors into bellowing war chants, "Kill the idiot," directed at the individual who's pounding the damned things.

How do you learn the gong, the bassoon, or the trombone in an apartment or tract home neighborhood? I once lived across the street from a young man who was learning trumpet. There are no walls thick enough to dampen the awful noise from a beginner on this horn. A month of 'Three Blind Mice' was proceeded by 'Old McDonald.' These are songs every parent loves singing to their children. For me, they had reduced them to relentless torture, and I would do anything to make the pain go away. I guess I can be thankful he wasn't learning the marching band tuba, otherwise known as the Sousaphone. I can see it now; the family must put on those headphones that the ground crew wear for directing aircraft, and the Chrystal glassware must be secured. In addition, the poor kid playing the tuba will never impress the student body on talent show day.

Are these the same kids who grow up to find new ways to upset their fellow human beings? Take my neighbor, for instance, who sits on his Harley Davidson, revving the engine as it brings him to orgasm. Then we have the guy on the block who owns the king of all-leaf blowers. This contraption is a Volkswagen motor strapped on his back connected to a bazooka, allowing him to blow all debris to smithereens. The biggest noise crime of them all is the fellow who lives behind me. He will use every power tool invented by Black and Decker on a Sunday morning. In a perfect and harsh world, he will be paid back with relentless high-pitched drilling on his deathbed.

The children who learn stringed instruments such as violin, viola, and the cello can find notes that can make a catfight sound good. There is a fine line between the right note to play and the misplayed one, which can be heard over a whole ensemble. After years of practice and dedication to their instruments, the sour musical notes somehow disappear, and parents don't have to cringe during class recitals.

The next time when you are listening to an orchestra, think about the families and neighborhoods who must have tolerated the thousands of pitiful noises and spine curling racket. There will be a time after much patience and practice, the flute, which once sounded like a squeaky screen door, can now make me think of leaping long hair gnomes prancing through the forest. When a drummer finally learns his craft, the beats can be so satisfying that a hideous dancer like myself can find the rhythm. Lastly, even the vaulted bagpipes can bring tears to my eyes when an experienced player hits the first line of the notes of 'Amazing Grace.'

The Loudest Rock Bands of All Time

The Who - 126 decibels in 1976.

Heavy metal band, Manowar - 129.5 decibels in 1994

Punk Band, Gallows - 132.5 decibels in 2007

And the winner is Kiss, coming in at 136 decibels at a 2009 concert.