All This Noise

The Hidden Cost of High-Functioning Addiction

I’ve had the same morning routine since I was a child. Even now, I wake earlier than I need to, make a plunger of coffee, and take it back to bed, where I listen to music, read, and write. I’m not sure when I started drinking coffee, but it was probably earlier than you'd expect. I was always desperate to be older, more independent, more in control of my own time.

When I was little, I had a TV in my bedroom. One of my favourite ways to escape was watching music videos before school. I’d flick between Juice TV, C4, MTV, and J2. J2 was my favourite—it played the kind of music my dad and I listened to. Before Spotify, we bought CDs or downloaded songs one at a time to load onto an MP3 or iPod Shuffle. I listened to The Waterboys, Bruce Springsteen, Nelly, Meat Loaf, TLC, The Doors, All Saints, Gabrielle, Matchbox 20, Jamiroquai, Morcheeba, Eminem, and Counting Crows.

I love music that swells. I love it when the vocals are a cry. I want to hear the artist pleading with me—like Marlon Williams in Dark Child. I love music that builds and builds until it cracks.
I want crescendo and layers and stacking sounds until a rupture—where everything fractures and spills over. Then the release: a moment of harmonic resolution and sonic denouement.