Your Music Is Ruining Nature
Leave No Trace, Especially Of Your Playlist (Messed-Up But Managing #8)
There is a certain kind of person in this world that gets on my nerves quicker than any other. It’s that person who looks at the breathtaking beauty of nature and thinks, You know what this needs? My Spotify playlist! It’s the worst! I can’t stand it!
Also, I don’t understand it. Me, I go on a hike to escape the noise, to enjoy the peace and quiet of nature, to hear the sound of a gentle stream or the rustling of leaves in the wind. But just as I reach a scenic overlook, just as I prepare to take in the beauty of the world in serene silence, here they come—hiking boots, hiking poles, CamelBak, and a Bluetooth speaker clipped to a carabiner hanging off their backpack or, even worse, their belt loop.
It’s so obnoxious! These “Sherpas of Noise” grate on me. I seriously don’t get it. Are they that scared to be alone with their thoughts? What is it?! Instead of taking in the incredible sounds of nature, I’m now forced to listen to some guy’s workout mix at full blast. Instead of birds chirping, it’s Pitbull screaming “DALE, DALE, DALE, DALE” at me from the side of a mountain. Instead of frogs croaking by a quiet stream, it’s some 22-year-old dropping house beats like we’re VIPs at a pool party and instead of hikers in a state or national park.
And it’s never good music. You know what I’ve never once heard while hiking? Mozart. I’ve never even heard John Denver. I’ve never heard Bluegrass. You know what I have heard? A grown man rapping every single lyric to “It’s gettin’ hot in here, so take off all your clothes.” A grown man losing at basic human decency.
The same thing happens at the beach. It might even be worse there. I go to hear the sound of waves rolling in, the gentle rush of the tide, the strong crash of the shorebreak, the occasional call of a seagull plotting to steal my sandwich. But instead, here comes DJ Carabiner with a speaker the size of a cinder block, treating the entire coastline to an unsolicited mix of bad reggae, worse EDM, and early-2000s club bangers that should have died in 2009.
Look, I love music. I love it. But I also love not being held captive by a terrible playlist. If I wanted to hear an hour of bass drops and remixed TikTok songs, I’d crash a high school prom. And the worst parts? 1) If you say anything, you’re likely in for a fight because, well, that’s the kind of people they typically are; and, b) These people act like I’m the problem. They act like I’m the weird one for wanting to hike without a personal soundtrack provided by DJ Carabiner.
Look, I’m not asking for much. I just want a simple, peaceful hike without feeling like I’ve accidentally stumbled into a music festival headlined by some dude named Chad. And before you say, “Oh Michael, you’re just getting old!” No! I have always felt this way. This is not a grumpy old man thing. This is a basic human decency thing. There is a time and a place for loud music, and that place is not at the top of a mountain, where I’m trying to have a moment with nature and not vibe to someone’s pregame mix.
So to all the people out there enjoying the outdoors without turning it into a mobile nightclub, I like you. Thank you. You’re the unsung heroes of peace and quiet. And to the rest of you, the DJ Carabiners, the Sherpas of Noise, the Chad Coalition of Mountain Raves, seriously, just turn it off. Turn. It. Off. Nobody climbed 1,500 feet in elevation to hear you blast “Stop. Drop. Open up shop. Whoa…” at full volume. If I wanted that, I’d go to a Buffalo Wild Wings.
It’s simple really: if you can’t hike without an obnoxious soundtrack, stay home. Or better yet, go stand in the middle of a real music festival where you belong, preferably one that’s already loud enough to drown out the sound of me hurling your speaker into the nearest ravine. Because, you know what? I definitely won’t miss the sound.
What the heck right? I mean long, long, time ago I listened to music that my parents didnt care much for, but it wasn't offensive although louder than it needed to be, and confined mosstly to my car, my room, or in the company of other "music" appreciators. Well, maybe that is where we first need to look, ie define music. Then there's a thought, how about a "separation of human music and sounds of the environment". I live within a block of a high school and a public grade school, with students passing my house going both ways. It seems since we have the technology, the high schoolers want us to know that they can destroy our peace, not just with sound volume, but lyrics that defile any sense of meaning. A few years ago they required a car with the system to blast, but now they can slowly stroll (that would truly offend them to say they stroll) by the house rattling my windows, my teeth, and my peace. So, as I am aging and I reflect on my wonderful grandfather, who I came to understand after many years of working the fields driving a very noisy tractor lost much of his hearing. Again technology arose, and he was gifted to a hearing aid so as to be in conversation with us. Ah, but the wonder of wonders, even more important. He discovered he could mute out the world of my chatting aunts or other disturbing sounds by turning down the volume. Im not ready for a hearing aid, yet. So I will enjoy nature by closing my eyes and asking "Alexa" to give me some nature sounds at home. Technology wins again.