Dear Mike Listens To Records,

Angry in Amherst

Dear Angry,

It’s hard for me to hear about noisy neighbors because I was one for years. My poor ex-landlords are still cursing my name (although our beer cans probably put their kid through college, so maybe not). Lucky for you, though: I’ve changed, and am now one of the foremost authorities on records and their many applications, such as angry neighbors.

Take it from me: your neighbors don’t think they’re being loud; they think that you’re being unreasonable in your requests. After all, it’s their apartment, and they have the right, blah blah blah (forgetting that you have the right to do crazy stuff like sleep or read a book without wearing earplugs). The right record can not-so-subtly send a message to your downstairs neighbors. The problem is picking the right one.

Which is where I come in.

Part of your situation is being indignant: you can’t believe how loud they are! How inconsiderate! The proper musical selection will create a similar indignance in your neighbors, forcing them to re-evaluate their stance. (Plus, it’s kinda fun to have everyday irritation, right? Amirite?)

Choosing the wrong record will make your neighbors want to hang out with you, or, worse, begrudgingly respect your awesome taste. It’s awfully hard to create the sort of hateful silence you want when the neighbors are knocking on your door, bong in hand, asking if you wanna check out the new Phish bootleg they just downloaded, you know? You’ll never get to show ‘em if they befriend you! So your selection needs to be perfect.

You’d think that the records you play when you want people to leave your party would be the obvious choices here, forgetting that those records are your favorite. You’ve never met another living soul who enjoys Mrs. Miller Sings, so her off-key renditions of songs like “These Boots Are Made for Walking” seem safe. The law of averages, though, is never on your side: sooner or later you’re going to meet someone else who thinks Mrs. Miller is as funny—and listenable—as you do. If it’s your neighbor, get ready for late-night requests to watch another episode of Family Guy. (This law of averages applies, in reverse, to whatever ironic pop song drives you to unironic madness: chances are the neighbors will like it. You’ll only be driving yourself crazy by blasting “Don’t Stop Believing” or whatever.)

So Mrs. Miller is right out. So is Wesley Willis. God bless Wesley’s soul, but admit it: Wesley Willis fans—the one who preach the dude’s musical genius and laugh too loud at all the jokes and have all the albums—are way worse than Wesley Willis’s music, in the same way that They Might Be Giants fans ruin the several redeeming qualities the band might’ve had if they existed in a universe devoid of fame and popularity. Again: your neighbor might wind up digging it. You’d be responsible for the creation of another Wesley Willis fan, and we wouldn’t want to have that on our shoulders, no way.

If this was a column called Mike Listens To CDs, then the obvious answer would be Jandek’s The Humility of Pain, the second of the three Irish Vacation Photo discs he put out a few years back, and easily the most atonal / unlistenable of the man’s storied and wildly difficult catalogue. But, alas, rules are rules—I’d be setting a bad precedent for future advice-seekers if I immediately caved to my own rules in my very first column.

Some readers have been thinking one thing and one thing only as they read along, and that thing is: Slayer! (Or maybe two things: Motherfucking Slayer!) I hear you, and I understand the urge, but let’s face facts here: it’s December of 2011, and Slayer, though awesome, just aren’t shocking any more. Blame the Internet, Hot Topic, the collective intelligence of the youth of America, whatever you want, but fact’s a fact: Slayer is a cool band to like. So even if your neighbors are wicked mad you woke ‘em up with “Angel of Death,” once they discover it’s Slayer they won’t be mad any more, and will begrudgingly respect your awesomeness and ask you to watch Family Guy, and we don’t want that. You could not tell them, but they’ll find out next time you go to a party, think you’re being modest, and try even harder.

Your selection has to be noisy, but can’t be too formless—there needs to be some structure implied in your choice. Simple screaming is too easy to tune out, as is white noise, we’re going to eliminate Merzbow and Whitehouse and stuff like that (though such records might be good to have on in the background to drown out the neighbors).

Metal is a step in the right direction. We’re looking for something beyond formless noise, and we’re further looking for something dynamic, with enough stops and starts and changes to drive your neighbors as crazy as they drive you. Remember: one of the worst things about noisy neighbors is waiting for the other show to drop. You think they’re done making a racket, then, fifteen minutes later, more glass breaks and there goes the neighborhood.

So, Mike Listens to Records recommends you get yourself a copy of Petitioning the Empty Sky by Converge. The band is wildly popular—but not too popular, not Slayer popular—so you might have a hard time finding their stuff on vinyl if you don’t have it already. It’ll be worth it, though. The first song, titled “The Saddest Day,” is a bonanza of passive-aggressive riffery: Jake Bannon’s screams are unintelligible and dynamic, Kurt Ballou’s guitars sound designed to pierce walls, earplugs, and senses of entitlement. Plus the song is long, and will drive noisy neighbors to tears with its eight minutes of riff soup. If you’re feeling sporty / had a lot of coffee to drink, you can mosh around the living room during the pit part. Sick!

The Saddest Day

I hope this helps, Angry in Amherst. Good luck with your situation.

Your pal,

Mike / Mike Listens To Records

Send your questions to Mike c/o 365 Albums a Year.