Hearing, after all, is in the first place involuntary.
The baby on the rug (the listener I once was) soaks up these surrounding ambient sounds. As he absorbs them he changes them. Kitchen murmur of adults, wind raking trees radio jingle buzz, noon siren, rumble of car rounding a bend: its is a river of sound he does not so much hear as inhabit.
House Music Part II
These are august memories, distant glimpses of a cathedral to be explored on some later day, only just not yet.
What childish relief to turn to music on a scale whose implications my ears can encompass, like the theme songs streaming from the bulky black-and-white television installed in the upstairs den that overlooks the driveway. they are ready-to-eat folk tunes off a cereal box, toys for the ear. when one of these plays it drowns out every other possibility of sound.
—Sonata For Jukebox: An Autobiography Of My Ears by Geoffrey O’Brien