Thanks to Hanif Abdurraqib and his wonderful podcast, Object of Sound, for this question, this prompt, and his textured reflections on music and life. The latest episode, “The Sound of Where You Come From (feat. Angélica Negrón),” can be found here.
The Sound of Where I Come From
Cat scratch, meow, stadium twang on the living room stereo, Kirk Franklin on my sister’s stereo, blast of bass from passing cars, Ace of Base, “Ace of Spades” on dad’s job site, Boyz II Men in the basement, my sister and I making up dances, Dupont Ave, whoosh, whoosh, kids yelling, kids skidding on bikes, baseball cards in spokes, tktktktktktktktktktk, neighbors yelling hellos from across the busy street, Black moms hollering from porches, white moms whistling from porches, silent fathers, murmuring fathers with other fathers in garages, gutting fish, plucking pheasant feathers, the crank of torque wrenches, the cracking open of a Diet Coke, water slapping the hull of the boat, splat of suds from sponges, driveway car washes, spray of hoses, “Oh, I’m gonna get you!”, bounce of the basketball, clank of rim, swish, bap, don’t hit the car, bap, don’t hit the neighbor’s house, fwump, don’t smash mom’s hostas, "Holler If Ya Hear Me,” dad yelling turn that shit off, mom yelling turn that shit off, but not really yelling because they didn’t yell, and they didn’t curse, they just silently shook their heads, the sound of their sighing and walking away, the sound of their silences, sirens, screech of tires, twang, thump, whump, rattle, slap of the side door, sizzle of skillet, shlup of tuna noodles, Garth, Whitney, Shania, “way down yonder on the Chattahoochee,” Mariah, Brooks & Dunn, guns, “Shall we pray?”, clay pigeons, sirens, fire truck whomp, pound of nails, pssst of the unplugged compression hose, pop pop pop of the nail gun, pttsst pttsst pttsst of the staple gun, thwang! there goes the nail, pssssssssssss of the unplugged compression hose at the end of the long work day on dad’s job site, rev of compressor, thrum of the generator, snip of mom’s pizza scissors, crinkle of ramen packages, flap flap flap and rip of the seasoning packet, “some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers,” cat scratch, meow, sick meow, hungry meow, aimless bored meow, “In the name of Jesus,” hiss, piss, smack of hand on neck, hand on leg, hand on head, mosquito, “dangnabbit,” landline ring, sticky boop of the buttons, KS95 in mom’s Aerostar, KDWB when we begged, K102 in dad’s truck, KMOJ in my room, 93.7 The Edge in my room, KQRS on dad’s job site, muzak in the grocery store, muzak in the dentist’s office, mom always had a thing for Rod Stewart and Kenny G and the Transiberian Orchestra, dad had a thing for Mariah, but only really the Daydream era, Rainbow got too risqué, I guess, and there’s a lot you could unpack there, but this is strictly about sound so I’ll leave it right there, AC/DC on dad’s job site, “In the name of Jesus,” “Shall we pray?”, baseball sounds, pop of mitt, foul ball sound, the sound of nicking it, the sound of whiffing it, biffing it, the sound of the dumb luck hit off the tip of the bat, the sound of really connecting, the fourth-second of silence before the crowd erupted, the crowd erupting, crunch of sunflower seeds, bubble pop, Pop Rocks, pop-its, the sweet spot, sweet spot on the bat, sweet spot in the glove, pock pock pock, “here batter, hey batter,” “strike three,” “hunh!” of the umpire’s strike call, “nope,” “ball,” “outside,” “foul!”, “safe!”, “Duuuuude. Did you see WWF last night?”, “Kirrrrbyyyyyyyyyyyy Puckett!” Automatic for the People, “isn’t it ironic?”, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory, To the Faithful Departed, “ ‘I just shot John Lennon,’ this is just a load of garbage! Turn this bull crap off,” dad coming home, saying he just played basketball at the park, “You know, with the brothers,” the cracking open of Diet Mt. Dew, “Iiiin west Philadelphia…”, the walloping wash of the box fan in the summer, the sound of lying on the floor beacuse it was too hot to do anything else, cat scratch, sick meow, hiss, fire truck, police car, Dupont Ave, whoosh, whoosh, screech of tires, squeak of brakes, slap of the screen door, zzzzzzzz “fish on!”, water, always water, slosh under the boat, plunk of the walleye thrown back, the pike released, the too-small sunfish, the fish flapping on ice in the cooler, the last gasps of life, sizzle of skillet, crack of the Coke can, decompressed hiss of the city bus, diesel gurgle of the school bus, dad’s squeaky breaks, “Come as you are,” “Bone bone bone bone, bone, bone, bone, bone, bone” “The world is a vampire,” “The twenty second of loneliness,” weird church music I never understood nor cared for and can’t honestly remember but it was there, it was always there, “I wanna feel the heat with somebody,” stadium twang, “In the name of Jesus,” “What the heck kind of music is this?”, orioles, robins, chickadees, warblers, but only occasionally, and when all the other sounds and my mind were quiet enough.
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In a few weeks—no start date yet—First Thoughts will become book(ish). I’ll be veering slightly away from these first-person, sometimes solipsistic reflections and embracing a veering outward toward that-which-always-is, which is—surprise, surprise—books. They’re always there, on my mind, in my imagination, and stacked like protective turrets around me. So, there’s your official teaser. Stay tuned, and in the meantime, I’d love to hear the sound of where you come from, however you interpret that—songs, albums, vernacular, or simply the sounds of the environment. Thanks, as always, for reading.