I know a Grover who has recently moved into town. He loves the sound of the train whistle when he is lying in bed at night. Somehow it is a reassuring sound, and I agree with him about that. There was a was a recent movie—I think it was Birdman–when the hero was staying in a cheap walk up room in NYC, and out the window the train came by. It is a sound that perhaps is reminiscent of the days when trains opened up America for visitors and citizens.
So how about sharing your favorite sounds in Ocean Grove. Just comment below. (Re-posted from April, 2015.) See the comments from then; and add new ones.
We already heard some thoughts on this from Grovers commenting in our wind chime post. Here is one:
From Tom Costantino “We have church bells, emergency sirens, vehicle noise, construction noise, nj trains that must honk at every crossing, partiers walking to and from Asbury Park, dogs barking, squirrels rustling, birds chirping, neighbors quarreling, garbage trucks, recycling trucks, deliveries, taxis and more. I love it and the wind chimes too.”
Video by Paul Goldfinger, filmed by the tents. Listen closely.
STARLIGHT EXPRESS. This show by Andrew Lloyd Webber is about trains, and it is one of the most underrated Broadway scores:
(…”can’t explain that midnight train.” )
I absolutely LOVE Starlight Express. I saw this musical in London in the summer of 1993 (I was in middle school). They performed on roller skates. Probably in my top 5 musicals of all time.
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My favorite, favorite sound in Ocean Grove is the sound of the small airplanes as they pull the banners over the beach…the official ‘Sound of Summer!’
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I live several blocks from the beach and when the wind is right I get distant surf sounds all night long! Wonderful for insomniacs like me.
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Something would be wrong if we lived in the Sounds of Silence.
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I agree with poster Ogrover, I too live several blocks from the beach and when the wind is just right the ocean sounds like it’s banging on my kitchen door begging to be let in. However, I personally believe a windy and rainy day beating on my 130 year old roof, windchimes singing, is the closest I will ever get to bliss.
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We love the songs played on the hour from St. Paul’s Church during the day. We find wind chimes discordant and intrusive.
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Now that the neglected historic house next to us is being re-done, inside and out, we can gradually begin to see that it will be a showplace. The workers come and go, and now we have a symphony of construction sounds performing for us every day. We have hammering, clanking, sawing, grinding, digging, generators rumbling and the slam of the nail guns. The workers converse, shout orders, laugh, and park cars and trucks. And they play music, but the style depends on which crew is there. Yet they are conscious of the noise and they try to keep it down.
They are regular guys who say good morning to us, save our parking space, and bring in our garbage pails. They loudly perform miracles as they lay pipes, electric wires, build interior walls and grunt as they lift heavy objects like the steel basement doors going into the back.
The new owner, from New York, has a history in the Grove, and he seeks us out to chat when he visits the job. Mostly he isn’t here because he trusts these guys. That basement door will give him storage space for his surf boards. He has kids, so there may be the sounds of his family. But he has an electric car which barely makes a sound—maybe a low hum.
This cacophony and clamor is not so bad; in fact it’s sort of reassuring that life goes on and that we will have a beautiful house next door and new neighbors. And soon we will have a grandchild who will live in the Grove and whose voice will add to the symphony of sound around us.
I need sound for comfort. I need the radio on when I wash up in the morning. When I work on Blogfinger I sit in my office on the second floor and listen to a lot of music coming out of my Bowers and Wilkins computer speakers. The music has to sound great. In the summer the windows are open and the melodies linger on, floating softly out the windows, and passersby may notice; but not too loud—where music can become noise. “Where is that music coming from?” I hear them ask.
It comes from the heart as do the sounds of our magic-makers next door.
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Ducks quacking in Fletcher Lake neighborhood .
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The sound of rain falling on the tent canvas.
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