Having lived in a few student houses and more recently a couple of Russian apartments, I have noticed that the following relationship holds true:
The volume of the music being played by a neighbour is inversely proportional to the quality of the music.
The same probably applies to people in cars.
I spent a summer living with a student who liked to play his music stupidly loud through a monster set of speakers. All you could hear was thumping bass, but the entire audio range of the music itself was utter shite. Another neighbour in a student hall of residence used to do the same thing, the purpose for which could only have been the equivalent of a child leaping up and down in the company of adults shouting “Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!”
I am convinced that those who play music stupidly loud in apartments or houses are those who fail to get positive attention by the normal method of not being a complete prick. Or they are simply retarded. In the case of my neighbours in the apartment above where I currently live, I am certain it’s the latter. They turn their music up most of the day to the point that the speakers distort. And true to the relationship described above, the music is shockingly bad: Russian teenie-pop and cheesy crooners from fifteen years ago. They have a small child, whose crying is often drowned out by the music, that I am guessing is the thickest, most illiterate brat in his class in both reading and speaking. As for listening, I’d be surprised if he could hear his own thoughts. I’ve not heard about any psycopathic serial killers originating from Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk before, but there is always a first and this kid is a prime candidate. Hopefully he’ll start with his parents, before turning the axe on the stereo.
I had a similar experience when I first arrived in South Africa. Living in the mine officials mess on of my neighbours liked to play Kylie loud enough so that he could hear it in the showers 30 yards down the hallway. He did this on Sunday mornings before he went to church.
Well, he did until a chum and I got fed up. We got up very early one Sunday and placed several large speakers outside his door. These we rigged up to a borrowed disco amp and inserted our secret weapon into the cd shuttle: “Beating the Retreat by the Jock Regiments”. Turning the volume knob to the far right we pressed “play” and ran like hell.
Admittedly the sound of every bagpipe owned by Her Majesty’s armed forces being played at max volume just outside his door at four in the morning did render the poor Kylie fan somewhat PTSD. But he never disturbed his neighbours’ Sunday mornings again.
I like to play music real loud once in a while too, particularly when i have to clean the whole house. Garbage suits the best for cleaning. You telling me I am a “complete prick Or simply retarded”? I am not really looking for attention, it just helps to get the necessary energy to keep moving through 10 rooms and 2 bathrooms, damn-these-big-houses-i-miss-my-tiny-apartment-in-russia… I also remember times when me and somebody-you-know-well-Julia used to turn the music up while getting ready for a big night out in Korea… You know, seems like you married to one of these pricks…
I am not really looking for attention, it just helps to get the necessary energy to keep moving through 10 rooms and 2 bathrooms,
You want to get a cleaner, love. Or a smaller house.
I also remember times when me and somebody-you-know-well-Julia used to turn the music up while getting ready for a big night out in Korea? You know, seems like you married to one of these pricks?
Well, not exactly. I doubt I’d have married a 23 year old Yulia. People change, you know, grow up a bit. They stop craving attention and behaving like teenagers. That’s usually when they are ready to get married.
You want to get a cleaner, love. Or a smaller house.
Or an iPod.
You should call the cops and make a fuss. In Moscow you cant get away with it – one call to the militsia and they’ll visit, no problem, and it’ll stop. I know it sounds draconian but I’ve had the misfortune of shitty neighbours in many places I lived – except Moscow, for that very reason.
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