The Friday Afternoon and Evening Cacophony Club

There is a church directly across the narrow street from me. (See photo to the left.) Their church bell rings most Sunday mornings at some time between 8:50 and 9:05 (even the church runs on island time). They sing hymns, usually a cappella, with an occasional guitar or drum as background. There are not many voices, mostly female. Most weeks, they also sing Féliz Año Nuevo to someone. This Friday, a new performance intruded—one that could be heard eight blocks away.

Recently, on Wednesday afternoons, as I’m napping and then tutoring, a group has come to the church to practice singing hymns. They are not overly loud, and I’ve learned to tune them out. I applaud their effort; they need the practice.

This Friday, starting at 3:00, just as I settled for my afternoon nap, a new group took possession of the church. At first, there was a drummer, a singer, and a horn player. I recognized the instruments. The drummer made a lot of noise on several drums. He seemed to feel that rhythm was optional. The horn player blew some notes, solid, pure, sweet notes, but unrelated to each other in any sense of melody or rhythm; perhaps it was meant as jazz? The singer had a grown man’s voice. I would have expected that by the time he reached manhood, he would have had ample opportunity to learn where the notes were, but he wasn’t hitting even one out of twenty squarely on the right frequency; the notes were such a mish-mash of above and below that I couldn’t at all make out the tune. Unlike the hymn singers, these three were working for the greatest volume they could project without blowing out the speakers. In spite of my nap being obliterated, I had to chuckle. It was, without doubt, the most awful “music” I have ever heard in my life.

It’s nearly 8:00 P.M. now. They have taken two breaks and come back from each with more players and singers. Currently, they are making sounds that resolve into very loud, but recognizable tunes. Also, there seems to be an audience, as I hear applause when they stop. I, too, feel like applauding when they stop. I’d give them a standing ovation if only they’d promise not to start again.