No Muzak in Northern Cyprus?

The artificial soundtrack in public places seems to be missing here

Photo by Steve Pancrate on Unsplash

I was shopping in a large supermarket here in Northern Cyprus, when I noticed something. There was no background music.

In nearly every country I’ve lived in, some form of light music is played continuously, often interspersed with ads for the store. It’s as if humans can’t survive without a monotonous soundtrack for our every waking moment.

In the US, big box supermarkets play a constant stream of music, usually a disturbingly mellow version of music from the target demographic customer’s youth. It’s disconcerting to hear a light instrumental reworking of what began as a metal anthem. The shop across the street from my apartment in Italy has its own music feed that plays 70’s and 80’s hits interspersed with ads for the store. Elton John and David Bowie accompany me in my quest for dish soap and a new mop.

In almost every country there is a constant soundtrack for the shopping experience. It is so ubiquitous that it mostly goes unnoticed.

So it’s no wonder it took me a couple years to realise that it wasn’t there. There were sounds of people shopping, conversations, chatting at the deli counter, but no background music.

When I thought about it, the few times that I have heard piped-in music in a public space, I not only noticed it, but commented on it.

The first time I was in a coffee shop in April when someone put on Dolly Parton’s Christmas album. It seemed odd then, but I’ve come to realise that people here don’t necessarily associate Christmas music with the holiday. If it sounds nice, DJs or baristas will choose what they feel like listening to. But then, there’s no overload of Christmas music in December. On Christmas eve the classical radio station will go overboard on holiday music, but by December 26th, it’s all over. It’s a far cry from the old city centre of Modena where Bing Crosby singing White Christmas is pumped out over the sidewalks all month. In Northern Cyprus, I’m just as likely to hear the random holiday song any time of year.

Another time I was in a coffee shop in Girne. Maybe it was the barista’s own playlist, but it was interesting. The vocals sounded almost French, and when I asked the friend I was with, she said it definitely wasn’t French, but it did sound like a romance language.

It’s interesting that the rarity of recorded public music can spark conversation.

Sound is the most invasive of the senses. If we don’t want to see something, we can close our eyes or turn away. We can refrain from touching or tasting. Smells can be problematic, but they are rarely as pervasive as sound and noise. Music can be loud enough to discourage conversation or encourage us to leave. I was once in a coffee house where the music was so loud and discordant, that I couldn’t finish my coffee fast enough to get out of there and away from the noise.

In the 1950’s and 60’s music was piped in to workplaces to control workers’ moods. Calm music was played during most of the workday and more stimulating music was played at times when workers were feeling slow, particularly after lunch. This was so pervasive, that a friend of mine who helped people write resumes used the memory of music to help fill in details. If his client couldn’t remember which years they worked at a particular company, all he had to do was ask what songs were played while they worked. He could usually pin it down to the month using old top 20 lists.

Background music became a science. Researchers tried to find the ideal combination of musical stimuli to keep people shopping, or to get customers out of a fast-food place in order to have a higher turnover. It was a subtle form of mind control. Shoppers might linger in a store if a favourite old tune was playing, causing them to possibly find one more item to buy.

But consumerism isn’t a big thing here in Northern Cyprus. People don’t go in for retail therapy, and tend to go shopping when they need specific things. There’s very little shopping for the sake of going shopping. It’s not a pastime like it is in the US. There are no malls for kids to hang out in.

Instead, the shopping experience here is augmented by ambient noise. The sounds of friends accidentally running into each other in a department store, questions asked of clerks, the occasional squeal of children who found a toy they want, the clatter of cutlery in restaurants. It’s all human noises. No ads over speaker systems interspersed with music chosen to manipulate shoppers. It’s a calmer experience. I can sit outside a café and enjoy listening to birds singing rather than music designed to make me feel relaxed.

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