Music in the psych ward was a relief. I drank it all in gratefully, even when it was just someone howling along to “Simple Man” (which I hate). It was not like that in rehab. Music was an inverted pyramid, a hollow tang, sucky dog dirt. The boombox radio in the day room was always on the local pop station. If someone changed it, unseen actors reset it. I had less control when I had control. I could tune the radio to a new station whenever I wanted, but it was pointless. The radio always went back to that one station. I heard “
A Summer of Listening, Part 2
A Summer of Listening, Part 2
A Summer of Listening, Part 2
Music in the psych ward was a relief. I drank it all in gratefully, even when it was just someone howling along to “Simple Man” (which I hate). It was not like that in rehab. Music was an inverted pyramid, a hollow tang, sucky dog dirt. The boombox radio in the day room was always on the local pop station. If someone changed it, unseen actors reset it. I had less control when I had control. I could tune the radio to a new station whenever I wanted, but it was pointless. The radio always went back to that one station. I heard “