Why do so many programmes on Spanish television have low level background music?
Some news programmes have wildly inappropriate music playing under even quite serious news stories at a volume which impinges on the consciousness without adding anything to the viewing pleasure.
Sometimes you ignore the crying interviewees as they tearfully relate some horrific experience and concentrate instead on the music playing behind their soul baring words and realise that some trite piece of American superficiality is the background music to human tragedy. It is vulgar and deeply irritating as the ‘name that tune’ approach to serious news reporting detracts from the message.
It is not only news programmes that adopt this musical affectation, but also sports programmes. I have just ‘watched’ a Catalan sports programme.
Perhaps I should define what I mean by ‘watched’ when we are talking about a programme on a subject about which I have minimal interest in a language I don’t understand. If you are the sort of person who can speak fluent Spanish, are conversant in French and remember, in detail, all those Latin lessons from school (sic.) then Catalan should be a language which has sufficient linguistic links to what you know to encourage you to believe that you have a fairly good idea about what is going on.
I, however, am not one of that polyglot number and so, like Shakespeare (though substituting French and Spanish for Latin and Greek) I stumble my way though watching by the ‘one in twenty words at best’ approach to foreign communication. The fact that it is television also allows you the luxury of attempting to read body language and facial gesture into the general communication mix. This, often, does not help you gain the actual meaning of what is going on but, like the British version of ‘The Magic Roundabout’ you substitute your own story to the pictures that you see.
My other approach to language is based on extensive reading of ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’ – as indeed is much of my philosophy of life. I would refer the curious to an incident in one of the books where Pooh is visiting Owl and has to listen to his lofty conversation. Pooh being a bear of little brain whom long words bother, has slipped into automatic mode and is responding to Owl’s monologue with a random selection of ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.
I have refined this technique over years of trying to bluff my way through various countries using their languages by limiting my random, though encouraging responses to the affirmative. This usually encourages the speaker in foreign tongues to believe that I am fluent in that particular language. This is all well and good and ‘hands across the sea’ stuff, but it all falls into ashes and despair when the foreign conversationalist demands something more than a monosyllable as a response. Encouraging smiles, raised eyebrows and a general demeanour of hearty acquiescence, which is my equivalent to the required sentences has got me into all sorts of interesting scrapes in the past!
So the fact that the programme I was attempting to watch was a sports programme; that it centred its interest on football; that it was a discussion programme; that it was in Catalan all meant that this was something which on my Interest-ometer registered negative results. But the one thing which did prod my jaded resentment into some sort of apathetic notice was the music droning on in the background.
The programmes choice was a tuneless, meanderingly inconsequential piece of instantly forgettable jazz. Once again the music was too low to have character, but too loud to be ignored. Its effect was akin to the results you get when you wipe your glasses with a balm infused tissue. When you next look out onto the world your vision is impeded by a gauze-like veil which softens and smudges your view. The same is true with the music behind programmes.
I feel that I am as one with the immortal words of Mr Growser from Toytown (if that allusion has to be explained, and if you are not already humming the theme tune, then you should be grateful for your youth!) “It’s disgraceful! It ought not to be allowed!”
Alas, I allow that phrase to slip more and more easily to my lips nowadays.
Thank goodness!
Some news programmes have wildly inappropriate music playing under even quite serious news stories at a volume which impinges on the consciousness without adding anything to the viewing pleasure.
Sometimes you ignore the crying interviewees as they tearfully relate some horrific experience and concentrate instead on the music playing behind their soul baring words and realise that some trite piece of American superficiality is the background music to human tragedy. It is vulgar and deeply irritating as the ‘name that tune’ approach to serious news reporting detracts from the message.
It is not only news programmes that adopt this musical affectation, but also sports programmes. I have just ‘watched’ a Catalan sports programme.
Perhaps I should define what I mean by ‘watched’ when we are talking about a programme on a subject about which I have minimal interest in a language I don’t understand. If you are the sort of person who can speak fluent Spanish, are conversant in French and remember, in detail, all those Latin lessons from school (sic.) then Catalan should be a language which has sufficient linguistic links to what you know to encourage you to believe that you have a fairly good idea about what is going on.
I, however, am not one of that polyglot number and so, like Shakespeare (though substituting French and Spanish for Latin and Greek) I stumble my way though watching by the ‘one in twenty words at best’ approach to foreign communication. The fact that it is television also allows you the luxury of attempting to read body language and facial gesture into the general communication mix. This, often, does not help you gain the actual meaning of what is going on but, like the British version of ‘The Magic Roundabout’ you substitute your own story to the pictures that you see.
My other approach to language is based on extensive reading of ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’ – as indeed is much of my philosophy of life. I would refer the curious to an incident in one of the books where Pooh is visiting Owl and has to listen to his lofty conversation. Pooh being a bear of little brain whom long words bother, has slipped into automatic mode and is responding to Owl’s monologue with a random selection of ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.
I have refined this technique over years of trying to bluff my way through various countries using their languages by limiting my random, though encouraging responses to the affirmative. This usually encourages the speaker in foreign tongues to believe that I am fluent in that particular language. This is all well and good and ‘hands across the sea’ stuff, but it all falls into ashes and despair when the foreign conversationalist demands something more than a monosyllable as a response. Encouraging smiles, raised eyebrows and a general demeanour of hearty acquiescence, which is my equivalent to the required sentences has got me into all sorts of interesting scrapes in the past!
So the fact that the programme I was attempting to watch was a sports programme; that it centred its interest on football; that it was a discussion programme; that it was in Catalan all meant that this was something which on my Interest-ometer registered negative results. But the one thing which did prod my jaded resentment into some sort of apathetic notice was the music droning on in the background.
The programmes choice was a tuneless, meanderingly inconsequential piece of instantly forgettable jazz. Once again the music was too low to have character, but too loud to be ignored. Its effect was akin to the results you get when you wipe your glasses with a balm infused tissue. When you next look out onto the world your vision is impeded by a gauze-like veil which softens and smudges your view. The same is true with the music behind programmes.
I feel that I am as one with the immortal words of Mr Growser from Toytown (if that allusion has to be explained, and if you are not already humming the theme tune, then you should be grateful for your youth!) “It’s disgraceful! It ought not to be allowed!”
Alas, I allow that phrase to slip more and more easily to my lips nowadays.
Thank goodness!
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