Few things in this world sound sweeter than a unique and recognizable voice, that sing-songy cadence carried by someone familiar. It comes in the form of an old childhood lullaby, your favorite singer’s light and airy love ballad, or any track off Norah Jones’ dreamy debut album Come Away With Me—take your pick.
For me, however, “music to my ears” means the fluctuating nasal tone of a raspy-voiced Connecticut man in his late 60’s. Well, that and screeching bagpipes paired with screaming vocals. Wait—don’t go. Let me explain.
“Swing and a ground ball, stabbed by Foulke. He has it,” the familiar voice barks hurriedly, the tone saturated with escalating excitement. “He underhands to first, and the Boston Red Sox are the Woooorld Champions.” The word is dragged out for miles, high-pitched and as scrappy as it gets. “For the first time in 86 years, the Red Sox have won baseball’s World Championship.”
Astounded, he squeaks, “Can you believe it?”
The incomparable Joe Castiglione has one heck of a voice. A long-time affiliation with the Red Sox has made his name practically synonymous with the organization. He’s been there for it all—pivotal changes to the lineup, the astounding end to an 86-year curse, and a lot more losing seasons than Sox fans are willing to acknowledge. He landed a role in my childhood as that disembodied radio voice which for years lulled me to sleep on long, nighttime car rides home from wherever my family happened to venture. His voice is rough, it has a whole lot of character, and it ain’t too pretty, if we’re being quite honest.
The Dropkick Murphys are like that, too. The Boston-based band’s hit 2004 song “Tessie” is a discordant convergence of poorly-played bagpipes and slurred refrains. It’s a chaotic track that fits better as a tuneless drinking song than a celebrated stadium anthem. “Tessie” is a far cry from Neil Diamond’s melodic “Sweet Caroline,” and it lacks the jaunty background beats in the other Fenway favorite, “Dirty Water” by the Standells. Instead, it’s sloppy, it’s far too loud, and—perhaps because of all this—it’s just plain awesome.
This is the sweet sound of Boston, I’ve found. It’s derived from the incessant car honks of impatient drivers who just want to get to the nearest Dunk’s before The Pike jams in the morning. It’s the deafening boos heard outside the ballpark when our friends from New York pay a visit. It can be heard in the the intolerable screeching of an incredibly ineffective public transport system. Most notably, it’s emphasized in my family’s complete “disregahhd” for consonant sounds usually implied by the letter “R.”
Unmanicured and entirely unedited, Boston’s admirably unapologetic vibe is often what draws people to the area. Perhaps the best thing about this supposedly shining “city upon a hill” is that it’s not perfect—far from it, actually (sorry, John Winthrop). But the ever-imperfect, rough-and-tumble type of charm Boston boats beats any other city’s by a mile. The city’s raw strength and brilliant resilience is glaringly apparent. For me, Boston’s sound is comforting, it’s reliable, and it’s home.
Now, if I had to venture a guess, Castiglione probably couldn’t carry any semblance of a tune for all the tea in Chin—er, Boston Harbor. But who cares? Though he’s not a native Massachusetts man, the guy boasts an unmistakable sound that perfectly encompasses the quintessential elements of the city. So does music from The Dropkick Murphys—and the Red Sox, too, while we’re off listing things.
While 2004 brought strange fads like Livestrong bracelets and Napoleon Dynamite, it also brought together an even stranger band of ragtag baseball players whose unkempt beards and untucked shirts were the laughingstock of the AL East—that is, before they trounced every team unfortunate enough to have been placed in their path.
Boston’s signature sound is (and always has been) harsh rather than harmonious. It’s ugly, yet intriguing. It doesn’t pretend to be glitzy or glamorous, but instead opts for the unflattering.
Then again, for a city closely associated with baked beans and 2004 World Champions who enthusiastically referred to themselves as “idiots,” what did you expect?
