Christmas is heard in New York. I notice it every year before even the decorated trees and illuminated windows appear: It’s the sounds to tell me that December is coming. It is as if the city, under the layers of traffic and noise, had a secret soundtrack that wakes up when the parties approach. They are scattered notes that for me are worth more than a thousand luminaries and remind me of the first winters in which I was trying to figure out if New York could really become home. Maybe that’s why every December I’m surprised to listen more than to watch. Because Christmas, here, first of all it feels.
There is an unmistakable sound that in late November invades the most touristy streets, crowded and illuminated by the lights of Christmas. It is the titinnium of the bells of the Salvation Army volunteers, shocked at the rhythm of familiar music, between songs and improvised dances, also useful to warm up while the temperatures begin to get stinged. I don’t think I have special traditions related to Christmas in New York, yet, the first bell of the Salvation Army is an unequivocal signal for me: Christmas is at the door. And maybe then a personal ritual I have also: leave a few dollars to these volunteers who, besides doing good, spread joy and carefreeness. My favorites are those in front of the Grand Central station, on the 42nd street, under the deck chairlift at party. Around the iconic red bucket of the offers throughout the day you collect loops of people, which are dragged by the known notes of Mariah Carey. And the songs are the other sound that makes New York special in December.
The first time I came across the Christmas carols was in the hall of the Peninsula Hotel, by chance. I came in for curiosity, to peek the decorations, when I found myself immersed in a small unexpected concert. A group of singers, with traditional clothes, plastered classical melodies at the base of the large staircase decorated with pine branches. Their voices created a suspicious, almost unreal atmosphere, where even Fifth Avenue traffic seemed to stop for a few minutes. I’m almost moved, and since then I’m back to the Peninsula every December: and here is a second tradition that I had not realized to have!
The tradition of Christmas carols has deep roots: arrived in New York with Anglo-Saxon immigrants in the 19th century, then intertwined with the musical cultures of the city, from the choirs of churches to spontaneous songs on the street. Over time, carols have become a family presence of the holidays: first plastered door to door, then executed in the large halls of the hotels and in the places of passage, as a musical gift for passersby. Today they maintain that original spirit capable of creating, for a few moments, a sense of closeness among strangers even in one of the busiest cities in the world.
And here, while the voices fade and confuse with the buzz of the city, another sound begins to flourish in the winter air: dry and metallic, but always unequivocally “Christmas”. It is that of the blades of skates that affect the ice of the many slopes in the city, which announce another of the soundtracks of New York Christmas. There’s a premise here: I can’t skate. I’ve tried it recently, but as far as I’m on skis, skates aren’t my ideal way! But there is something hypnotic in the way people slip on the ice, and I could watch this show for hours.
The slopes multiply every year, appear on the rooftops above illuminated skylines, appear in hidden squares and in panoramic spaces such as the park under the Brooklyn Bridge in Dumbo. Here, in the most intimate places, I like to listen to the scratch of the blades mixed with the laughter of the people until the last moment before the closure of the slopes when everything is silenced.
And just with silence, sound not sound, I would like to conclude this short journey through the acoustics of Christmas in New York: that surreal peace, to which the city is not accustomed, that invades the streets, exhausted of celebrations, in the late afternoon of Christmas day and the morning of December 26. Midtown streets are suddenly empty, taxis slow down, clacsons stop playing, as happens only on Thanksgiving, when New York seems to hold its breath. In those moments, the city turns: every kitchen, every window, every decoration seems to stand out even more, and Christmas feels not in the sounds, but in their absence. A silence that suspends time, opens your eyes and makes you feel the city as your own place, even if only for an instant!
Article I can’t skate, but I love listening to Christmas in New York comes from IlNewyorkese.
