189bpm. The speaker toers over me like a monolith, the bass emitting waves that rattle my ribcage. I’m not just hearing the music anymore – I’m becoming it, my body a living conductor of sound waves that pulse through muscle and bone.
“You cannot do this forever, you know.” My friend’s voice cuts through the wall of sound. He’s been working in the industry long enough to wear his hearing damage like a veteran’s badge. I catch the concern in his eyes, but the bass drowns out my better judgment.
For two years, I ignore my friend’s pushes to get myself custom earplugs. It is a two-hundred Euro investment: warm wax moulding to every curve of your ear canal, creating a perfect acoustic seal. DJs swear by them. Sound engineers won’t work without them. But I’m still young enough to feel invincible.
Another point, hindering me from getting them, is having witnessed some of them being lost – entire dance floors transformed into search parties, phone flashlights scanning sticky floors for a tiny, brightly coloured piece of silicon. Lost causes, most of them.
Slowly, imperceptibly at first, my hearing starts to shift. I notice that I am taking a few steps back from the speakers, my body unconsciously retreating from something my mind isn’t ready to acknowledge. But the pain in my ears becomes more high-pitched and stays with me for hours after – a particular frequency that strikes like a tuning fork, leaving them ringing.
Finally, I compromise and purchase the LoopSwitch earplugs. Three settings to modulate. Their website promises: “Live life at your volume”. Attached by a string with magnetic parts that make them connect to be worn as a necklace. I still forget them on a regular basis.
Worst case, I make my own ear protection out of tightly twirled pieces of toilet paper.
