Live Music, Everyone Loves It, right?

I know many people are going to disagree with this post, but I am going to say it anyway.

I HATE live music at a bar.

Some people will blame it on my age. But the truth is, I have always hated it. I know, I know. I lived in Austin for almost ten years—the Live Music Capital of the World. Even then, when I was in my twenties, I hated it.

Here is the typical scenario: A group of friends says, “We’re going to see this band down at this bar. Want to come?”

Wanting to do something besides sitting at home watching true crime documentaries—one of my many guilty pleasures—I go.

Apparently, I have blocked out all my previous traumatic experiences of going to a bar to hear a band.

When we first arrive, it isn’t bad. The band may be warming up, but the music isn’t turned up yet. It is more like background noise. We can talk. We can hold conversations. We are having a good time.

Then the band starts their set.

The first song hits with the full force of their amplification. The sound rips through the bar like a sonic boom. Suddenly, it is as if the sound waves physically force everyone to lean inward toward their group.

I suppose it is simply human nature that causes people to still want to talk while the band is playing. They raise their voices, and before long, everyone is practically yelling at one another. It becomes like that old internet commercial where the neighbors are outside yelling, “LOG OFF! LOG OFF!”

You have to repeat yourself every time you speak. Most people in the group cannot hear you. However, your group insists on continuing the conversation anyway.

They apparently have no interest in hearing the band they came to see.

It is at this point that I start to tune out. It all becomes too much for me: the noise from the band, the conversations throughout the bar, and the conversation my own group is desperately trying to have over the noise.

It becomes too much.

I start to tune out.

Now, remember, tuning out is very different from being out of tune. I am the latter all the time.

I recently learned that loud and/or consistent noise can be a catalyst for a bipolar episode. For some people, extreme noise can put them into a manic state. For me, I tend to disconnect from what is happening around me and fall into depression.

So, what does any of this have to do with living in Uruguay?

Well, Thursday night, a friend suggested that we meet her and her partner at a bar. There was going to be a band playing Brazilian music, and they could dance.

Without thinking, I jumped at the opportunity. A chance to hear Brazilian music, and it would give Mikey a chance to dance.

So, we went.

When we arrived at the bar, the noise level was average. We met Eli’s partner. We ordered food, ate, and chatted. Honestly, it felt more like having dinner with friends than going out to hear a band.

Then it started.

The band hit their first note, and they were off.

The noise level grew exponentially, as if someone had simply pressed a button marked MAKE EVERYTHING LOUDER.

And, right on cue, we all did the same thing.

Everyone leaned inward.

Everyone’s voices grew louder.

For our group, however, it was not a nice, carefree conversation.

Oh, no, no, no.

It was a full-on bitch session.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I can bitch with the best of them. I have the skills. I have the experience. I could probably teach a master class.

I just didn’t want to spend a night out complaining.

The group bitched about AI, climate change, politics, what is considered a large city, who had tasted the best fruit, and people not recycling.

Then my perception—because I know my perception can sometimes be misleading—became that anything I contributed was either ignored or viewed as a disruption to the conversation.

I am not one to sit around with a group when I don’t feel like I am actually part of it.

Eventually, I got up and started walking around.

Then I found it.

An outdoor patio.

There was a bench, so I sat down.

All by myself.

I had found a place where I could disconnect from the overstimulation and relax. It was nice. It was peaceful. When the doors leading inside opened, I could hear the band and all the people. But then the doors would close, and I was back in my own little oasis.

It was about twenty minutes before Mikey came and found me.

After twenty-five years together, I think he knows what happens when I disappear from the group. He knows I am not going to simply wander off into the night. I will find a quiet place and stay there.

In my safe little world.

When he found me, he said everyone was going over to Eli and Lola’s place to play pool.

My immediate reaction was, Fuck that. I am not going to continue with Bitch Fest 9/10.

Of course, I didn’t actually say that.

I simply said I was going home.

I will catch a bus, go home, and relax.

When we walked back in, we learned that the group had decided to call it a night anyway. However, there are plans to go over to their house on Sunday and hang out.

I doubt that is going to happen.

My perception is that Lola does not particularly care to have me around. You know that kiss on the check we do down here when we say hello or good bye, it says A LOT. Before I allow that perception to become reality in my head, I will check it out and see if there is actually something there—or if it is simply my brain doing what it occasionally does best and creating an entire storyline without consulting anyone else involved.

So, there it is.

I hate live music in bars.

I hated it in my twenties.

I hated it when I lived in Austin, the Live Music Capital of the World.

And apparently, moving 5,000 miles away to Uruguay has not changed a damn thing.

Remember: Be kind to yourself and Be kind to one another