Substitute

Pete Townshend by Tom Wills, 2010/2013

Pete Townshend tried to warn me.  I remember reading this in the 1980s, before iPods and ear buds, when headphones were big and heavy and accurately loud:

"The volume during the concerts has not to do with it, it is important that you understand this,”  he said, when asked what he thought damaged his hearing the most.  "Headphones, headphones, headphones!"

"After the concert I got home and played guitar through headphones. My sound --  electrosound -- it cannot be played on an acoustic guitar. I could not drag into the living room the amplifier and speakers ... and hammer on two kilowatts. (With) headphones, all the rate of hearing loss increases at least 10 times. I was told that some muscles related to the eardrum, under the influence of alcohol, just lose their elasticity."

I play the drums. I have an electric guitar, and two amplifiers.  I was onstage from kindergarten through 12^th grade, playing those drums at schools, basketball games, football games.  I played in basements, back yards and bedrooms.
Alcohol was not the problem.

1979

One of my favorite exercises at the time was to string my fat Koss headphones across the bedroom, from the Ludwig drum set to the stereo, and bash along to The Who. “Won’t Get Fooled Again” and the like – I had them all down.  I recall playing all four sides of “Quadrophenia” in succession.  Bet the neighbors loved that.

The Frenemy

I did DJ work, and spent tens of thousands of hours mixing up tapes at home: Cassettes, reel to reel and now CDs.  I still do it, and I still wear headphones – because everyone here bitches about my music volume.  There are four pairs here, including the old Koss phones, which are still the best.

So, I cannot blame Pete Townshend for my problem. I can only blame myself.  Sure, I can hear.  But it’s all at one level.  There is no loud and no soft, no highs or lows. In a crowd I’m a disaster.  People at work have to repeat things to me, because the white noise sound masking system there makes them sound like bad AM radio.

“Turn up your hearing aid, old man.” I can’t tell you how many times I hear that at home.   

Playing loud, which I love, has muted everything else.
I used to think it was just “selective hearing.” But it's become noticeable to others.

Recently I bought some new stereo equipment: Two hearing aids.  Made in China. They work well but are ugly and uncomfortable. I’m trying to get used to them but don’t like them. Eventually I will get smaller ones for inside my ear, I guess, if I really want to hear what’s going on around me.  

Left and right. Stereo.

I haven’t worn them to work and probably won’t until I get smaller models. These are “trainers” for the hearing impaired.  Wearing them outdoors, I can hear everything to excess. Birds sound nice but dogs barking make me jump. I can hear people calling me from inside of the house. Part of the learning curve is finding the right volume setting. It's ironic that it seems to be "2" for me, not "11.5."

All of this was going to be kept under wraps, except to neighbors who will see me wearing one or two outdoors this summer.
But I started sprucing up a drawing of Pete Townshend, originally done in 2010, and thinking on it.
Pete is sliding toward stage front during "Won't Get Fooled Again." I still have the song memorized.

The original Pete rendering was too rough, it lacked a background, and the frame was crappy. It bothered me every time I passed it in the stairway.  It was too good a pose for such a shoddy treatment.

So, this month, I worked over Pete’s face, arms and hands; his clothes and arms; and added a somewhat novel background. 

The original in 2010

"I'm a substitute for another guy
I look pretty tall but my heels are high
The simple things you see are all complicated
I look pretty young, but I'm just back-dated.”

The first frame.

The background was created by shading from dark to light, and then  blotting over it with a kneaded eraser.  The pounding noise generated as I moved the eraser over the paper, reverberating through my wooden drawing table, annoyed my oldest daughter and awakened her baby upstairs.

“Dad, what the fuck are you doing?” she said.

I heard her, but pretended that I didn’t.