Lessons in Listening

Ever sat in a pitch-dark cinema with nothing on the screen?

At first, sitting in a dark movie theater with nothing on the screen feels like a glitch. But surrounded by this collective of fellow fans, I know I’m in the right place.

We’re told the new album will play through twice in its entirety. First just the audio, with the screen that once held monsters and superheroes starkly empty before us, and then a second time accompanied by a round of visuals specially created for each song.

Being me, I’m here for a new Pearl Jam album in any context, but it was the idea of that first listen in particular that drew me to the theater tonight. No focal point, nothing to look at. No phone, no laptop, no live band. Just pure and simple listening. An exercise in attention.

I’m someone who listens to music constantly. I was, apparently, in Spotify’s top 13% of users last year. Chores, driving, whatever — I always have (and maybe need?) something on in the background. I can’t remember a time when it didn’t feel crucial to curate a personal soundtrack, and today’s technology makes it easier than ever.

But how often do I stop and make music the center of my attention, rather than background accompaniment? When was the last time I listened to an album from start to finish without a single distraction?

Challenge accepted, Eddie Vedder.

Tonight I’ve allotted myself two notebook pages — one for each playthrough. And here’s the obvious catch: I’m drafting my initial notes longhand, in the dark! So chance is my co-author here. If future me can’t read what I’ve written, then that particular epiphany gets left on the page.

1. The art of sustaining a creative life has been on my mind a lot lately, and it’s worth noting that Dark Matter is the band’s twelfth studio album in about thirty-three years. I’m interested in longevity — not just what inspires art in the moment, but what keeps us going over years, through setbacks and rejections and dry spells. And so I find myself returning to musicians who experiment, even if I admittedly don’t love every album in the same way. There’s something admirable about the fact of continuation itself — the art of the attempt. Is it the practice of innovation that translates to longevity? The perennial delight of surprising yourself, first and foremost?

2. Have I ever been in a movie theater without something to look at? As I adjust to the dark, I get the sense that the quality of my attention has shifted without a single visual focal point, heightening other senses by comparison. Am I listening differently because I’m no longer looking?

3. An album’s first listen is a gift of newness. Each song is pure, untainted by any kind of experience, the freshest it will ever be.

4. What can we learn about ourselves by noting the lines that jump out at us in a song? I’m reminded of those viral images that circulate on social media: The first four words you see are your mantra for 2024. Surely there’s magical thinking at the heart of seeking connection where there is likely only coincidence. And yet, when Eddie sings finds herself in the song, I do.

5. Is there a difference between hearing and listening? I came to the composer Pauline Oliveros by way of Rob Walker’s The Art of Noticing. Oliveros wrote about the concept of deep listening, highlighting the distinction between simply hearing a sound and interpreting it: “To hear is the physical means that enables perception. To listen is to give attention to what is perceived both acoustically and psychologically.” In the case of the latter, attention is key.

6. For a while now I’ve been developing a theory of the Older Brother Band. Some musical group that you find when you’re young, who maybe seem to have life and art a bit more figured out. (Or maybe not — but their mistakes show you what not to do, as much as the right moves demonstrate a path forward.) Their songs come to you like advice, like little glimpses of the future. Their tours are a way of checking in with yourself as much as them — what’s changed since last summer’s show? And somehow, the new album always arrives right when you need it most. Of course, I know logically that this can’t be the case, that a record isn’t called into existence by the fact of one fan’s need. But gratitude feels the same either way.

7. I’ve been wondering about the ways that streaming has changed how we listen to music, even as an avid streamer myself. How have these platforms altered the quality of our attention? Do we neglect considering the album as a whole because we’re so fixated on the songs as pieces? I wonder, too, what we’ve lost as we individually pause and skip, pick and choose, each relying on a personal algorithm — something collective, maybe? A shared experience?

8. I think a first listen should always occur in the band’s intended order, as the songs move through their particular story. But I’m already anticipating the surprise and delight of future shuffles, how randomization might unlock fresh connection.

9. I can still remember how it felt to hear my favorite bands for the first time. The sense of awe in youthful discovery — the feeling that I had stumbled into an entirely new sonic universe, and there was still so much to uncover.

10. Listening without track numbers or time markers, we can’t visually know whether the end is coming. We might lose touch with our sense of beginnings and endings, unmoored without clear optical cues. Every conclusion is a little different — some fade out, some go with a bang, some slip almost imperceptibly into the next. But every song prepares you for the end by the mere fact of its beginning, doesn’t it? All you have to do is listen.

Publication news! If you also feel nostalgic for the golden days of blogging and zine culture, be sure to check out my new interview with Jackie Wang over at The Rumpus! Jackie’s latest book, Alien Daughters Walk Into the Sun: An Almanac of Extreme Girlhood, is a decade-spanning collection of writings pulled from her blog, interviews, zines, Skype talks, and more. As a perpetual fan of books with many identities (collage, travelogue, timeline), I loved this one.

Okay, folks — go give Dark Matter a listen, and I’ll see y’all again in May!