It was supposed to be New Age and “World Music,” and panflutes and chanting were everywhere. Pure Moods was a compilation album that went hard in a very soft way. If you did not grow up in the United States in the late ‘90s, you may have missed his namesake entirely. Once I was the loud neighbor: a French man who lived below me in Queens came to knock on my door a couple of times to tell me he and his wife couldn’t sleep because I “walked too loudly.” I put felt on the bottom of my chairs and walked on my tiptoes from then on, even though I privately thought he should invest in a white-noise machine.īut Pure Moods is different, and not just because of the music he plays.
I woke up a few hours later to their headboard crashing against my wall as they made up. Last year I stayed in a hotel in New York where a loud woman screamed at her boyfriend for three hours that he’d “ruined her career” because he told people her real age. Then I had the neighbor who did lounge covers of “Poker Face” and the The Cardigans’ “Lovefool” and had a lot of loud sex with her shitty, shitty boyfriend, who treated her terribly.
I had one my second year of college who played the same piano riff on her keyboard, day and night, until I finally asked her to stop playing it at two in the morning, and she did. I’ve lived through all kinds of loud next-door neighbors.
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