The Man Who Didn’t Like Music
When I was a student at UCLA, I used to joke that I could never be friends with someone who didn’t like music. Then I met a young filmmaker in the Theater Arts department named Greg. He had movie star looks with deep blue eyes, greased-back hair and a weathered leather jacket he wore like Fonzie. We bonded over coffee and discussed our favorite movies. I told him how much I loved Stanley Kubrick.
“Kubrick has the greatest soundtracks,” I said. “My favorite is Clockwork Orange.”
“I can’t stand it,” Greg said.
“Why?”
“I don’t like music.”
“What do you mean?”
“Music makes me nauseous.”
I figured he was talking about classical music since Clockwork Orange had pieces by Beethoven and Rossini. (The Malcom McDowell character hates Beethoven.)
“You mean symphonic music, right?”
“I’m talking about anything with a melody or a tune.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It makes me dizzy. All my muscles contract like I’m going to have a seizure.”
“But you’re a film buff. How can you watch movies without listening to music?”
“That’s why I carry these.”
