17 minute read
Music Sound of Real. Richard Einhorn. My Circuitous Path to
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The film “Sound of Metal” rings true, but for reasons that have less to do with audiology.
By Richard Einhorn
One day, a musician’s worst nightmare comes true. Without any warning at all, he permanently loses his hearing, plunging headlong into deep, bottomless silence.
This sounds like the “elevator pitch” for last year’s “Sound of Metal,” a terrific film in which music, hearing loss, and deafness serve as the backdrop for an exploration of loss and difficult life choices in the face of an unexpected personal tragedy.
In fact, it’s a description of what actually happened to me 11 years ago. Like Ruben Stone in the movie, I—a composer and record producer—experienced sudden sensorineural hearing loss, and like Ruben, it upended nearly every aspect of my life.
Yes, the audiology in the movie is not “true to life,” but as far as I was concerned, it didn’t matter. After all, it’s a movie, not a textbook, and I’ve never looked to Hollywood for accurate medical information. “Sound of Metal,” like all good narrative fiction, focuses on the emotional journeys of its characters. And for me, having actually gone through similar situations to those in “Sound of Metal,” the film rings very true.
One day while setting up for a pre-concert event, Ruben, a heavy metal drummer (brilliantly portrayed by Riz Ahmed) hears some odd sounds in his head. Then much to his horror, his hearing completely flatlines.
Like Ruben, my sudden hearing loss was equally dramatic. In June 2010, I decided to get away from everything to focus on my music. I was feeling a bit dizzy as I drove up to western Massachusetts but didn’t think it was anything but allergies. I was still dizzy when I got to the motel and went to sleep.
I woke up at 5 a.m. and knew immediately something was terribly wrong. My ears were buzzing with tinnitus and odd ringing sounds, similar to but much louder than those Ruben experienced in the movie. Then I noticed I could no longer hear the very loud air conditioner in my room. I had gone deaf.
Panicked, I jumped out of bed and immediately collapsed to the floor. I had severe vertigo and the room was spinning all around me. I knew I had to get to the emergency room. I crawled slowly to the desk to find a phone book. The words in the Yellow Pages swam in front of my eyes. It took over 30 minutes to locate a cab listing.
Sudden hearing loss in both ears—what Ruben experiences in the film—is uncommon. More typical is what happened to me. Only one ear, my right, was damaged by whatever caused my sudden hearing loss. But unfortunately, I already had significant hearing loss in my left ear (moderate to severe, and due to otosclerosis, a bony overgrowth in the inner ear). And so, the result was exactly the same as it was for my fictional double: For all intents and purposes I simply couldn’t hear a thing.
At first, just like in the film, the medical professionals had to write everything they said down on paper. But as I waited to get examined, I texted my wife back in New York City and she, a resourceful person, found a smartphone hearing app. I downloaded it. Wearing earphones, I was able to use my phone as a microphone and amplifier to
Sudden hearing loss upended nearly every aspect of Richard Einhorn’s life, as it did for Ruben (far left, played by Riz Ahmed), shown with Joe (Paul Raci), in the film “Sound of Metal.” Watching Ruben take his hearing test brought back Einhorn’s own painful memories.
hear what my doctors were saying.
Watching Ruben take his hearing test brought back my own painful memories of that awful day. That sense of “this really can’t be happening…,” his nervous fidgeting and desperation, the struggle to understand, even partially, what was being said—yes, that’s exactly what it was like.
While Ruben received no medication in the film, I was prescribed steroids in the hope they would mitigate permanent cochlear damage from my sudden hearing loss. It didn’t matter. In the end, my hearing was just as irretrievably ruined as his. But again, my experience was more complex.
Around two weeks later, I started to hear something in my damaged right ear—but it wasn’t anything good. Speech sounded like a science-fiction robot screaming at the top of its (mechanical) lungs. The sound was far stranger than any of the hearing loss simulations heard in the movie and extremely disturbing. Even now, that crazed robotic distortion in my right ear is still there, a major interference with my ability to hear speech and enjoy music.
In the movie, Ruben, a recovering addict, joins an idyllic communal house for Deaf recovering addicts and takes a class in ASL (American Sign Language), quickly becoming fluent. The house is run with tough love by a Deaf Vietnam vet named Joe (in a pitch-perfect portrayal by Paul Raci, the son of Deaf parents). Joe instructs Ruben—who can barely control his emotional turmoil—to get up every morning, go to an empty room, and just sit. If he can’t sit still, Ruben should take a pad and pen and write. Write anything.
I’m not a recovering addict and my attempts to learn ASL all failed, but once again, the film echoes my own experience. As with Ruben, I often became overwhelmed by the isolation hearing loss imposes and anxiety over the future. I didn’t have a guru like Joe to lean on but I picked up a self-help book for artists that described a simple routine called “morning pages.” Get up early, grab a pen and a pile of paper, and before doing anything else, write out three pages. Subject? Anything at all.
I started writing the next day and have done so every morning since, by now scribbling out well over 11,000 pages. I have ranted, waxed philosophical, written out dreams, analyzed poetry and art, sketched short stories, and imagined alternative lives. After a few years of morning pages, I added meditation to my morning routine.
For me, journaling and meditation are critical coping strategies for the stresses hearing loss generates. I found it quite moving to watch the fictional Ruben reenact nearly the same morning ritual that I have actually been performing for over a decade—and was quite amused to see that his handwriting is just as bad as mine! It is one more example of how emotionally resonant the film is to my lived experience of sudden hearing loss.
Ruben opts for cochlear implants, hoping to restart his musical career. Joe, who is proudly Deaf and has no use for implants, immediately kicks him out of the house. Ruben then flies to France to rejoin his girlfriend Lou. He attends a party held by her father, a pop songwriter, and quickly learns that the implants are no panacea. He can’t distinguish individual voices over the party’s din.
When Lou and her father perform a soft ballad together,
Yes, the audiology in the movie is not “true to life,” but as far as I was concerned, it didn’t matter. After all, it’s a movie, not a textbook, and I’ve never looked to Hollywood for accurate medical information. “Sound of Metal,” like all good narrative fiction, focuses on the emotional journeys of its characters. And for me, having actually gone through similar situations to those in “Sound of Metal,” the film rings very true.
Ruben tears up, not because the song is so sentimental but because he can’t follow the music; his implants mangle the melody and harmonies.
I don’t have implants, but once again, I’ve been there. Since my sudden hearing loss, large parties are often excruciating experiences. Like Ruben, I retreat to a corner and simply watch, impatient to get somewhere quiet. As for music—well, I’ve trained myself not to think about it. While my remaining ear enables me to hear well enough to compose—I’m creating music as much as ever—my perception of music is diminished and far less visceral.
We last see Ruben alone on a park bench. He takes off his speech processors and everything’s silent. Ruben straddles two worlds now, a hearing world where he no longer easily fits and an enticing Deaf world which, because of his implants, may also not fully accept him.
In the hearing loss community, many people I know worry that “Sound of Metal” may discourage people with profound hearing loss from getting cochlear implants. I don’t know if that will happen but it certainly hasn’t changed my mind.
While on paper I’m a candidate for a cochlear implant, hearing aids still help me cope reasonably well. If, as is likely, my hearing loss eventually progresses to the point where aids provide no more benefit to me, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to get cochlear implants. That said, I have some friends with profound hearing loss who would never consider them, a position I also support. This is a personal decision. “Sound of Metal” is a powerful film with well-drawn characters that are brought to life by a fantastic cast that includes numerous members of the Deaf community. The film also has a gorgeous, evocative soundtrack of unusual music, electronic sound effects, and hearing loss simulations.
Regardless of the liberties it takes with actual hearing health practices, it feels all too real to someone who actually experienced sudden hearing loss. What Ruben goes through is what I and many others have as well. The emotional weight of hearing loss is often given short shrift. This film shows how serious and all encompassing hearing loss can be.
Richard Einhorn is a composer, record producer, and hearing loss consultant and advocate. His music has been performed by major orchestras around the world. The former chair of the board of the Hearing Loss Association of America, he regularly speaks and writes about hearing loss issues with a focus on improving hearing health technology. “Sound of Metal,” directed and co-written by Darius Marder, is available on Amazon Prime Video.
Share your story: Tell us your hearing loss journey at editor@hhf.org.
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Metal band performer Jonathan Mikhail (far and near left) credits his father (center), an ENT and audiologist, for inspiring his eventual career in audiology.
My Circuitous Path to Audiology
By Jonathan Mikhail, Au.D.
I have always loved music and have been a musician since age 3, when my parents enrolled me in piano lessons. I wanted to grow up to be a touring musician, and this dream was realized when, during my final semester of college and after completing my bachelor’s degree, I performed as a guitarist and vocalist in a metal band that toured regionally.
Thanks to my father, an audiologist and ENT (ear, nose, and throat specialist), I was more than informed about noise-induced hearing loss and tinnitus and did everything I could to protect my ears. He refused to let me go on the road without earplugs and soon, my band was playing while using in-ear monitors—devices to help us hear ourselves and protect us from auditory fatigue.
I didn’t realize it then, but these paths were leading me to a career in audiology. When I was a child, my dad would beg me to come to his office to see the work he did. Eventually, to make some extra money, I’d go in and help with administrative tasks.
In my final semester of college, I caved to my dad’s requests and shadowed him one afternoon. I was astonished by what audiologists actually do over the course of a day. I once believed that audiology was nothing more than fitting hearing aids—and I had no interest in selling a product. What I saw was my dad’s love for his patients and for the field of audiology.
After this epiphany, I had to do some catchup work to become an audiologist. I had no relevant undergraduate prerequisites for the field, so I took a detour to earn a master’s degree in technical and professional communication before finally earning my Au.D. at Wichita State University in Kansas.
I’m grateful for the extra experience I earned doing research and academic writing. Now I am pursuing a doctorate of education in health professions, and I am able to bring an audiologist’s perspective to my studies, hopefully enlightening the greater medical community about the profession.
As an audiologist, I work with many demographic groups, helping patients with hearing loss by fitting them with hearing aids. But I’m just as passionate about educating people to help save their hearing. Our hearing ability is truly a marvel, and while modern hearing aids are spectacular, no hearing device can completely replace the human ear.
My clinic works with many industrial worksites to help promote hearing conservation and hearing health awareness. Each year roughly 22 million U.S. workers are exposed to dangerously high levels of noise. I’ve traveled around the country, providing audiology education and in-ear monitor fittings at churches, for touring bands, and for other groups.
Hearing conservation and protection starts with educating the public, and then intervening when necessary, such as with hearing aids. I know those in the music industry depend on being able to hear. I still go to shows and concerts, wearing hearing protection, but not as a guitar player. I attend shows as someone who understands music and the science related to hearing and how important it is to protect our ears.
Jonathan Mikhail, Au.D., is an audiologist in Missouri. For references, see hhf.org/summer2021-references.
music
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From a $3.95 Guitar to the Solid Body Electric Guitar
How Les Paul’s persistence changed the world of music.
By Les Paul from his memoir, with input from Sue Baker
Music legend Les Paul is famous for inventing the solid body electric guitar and other innovations related to recording music. Less known is that he also had a hearing loss and wore hearing aids in both ears. A tinkerer his whole life, Les describes the creation of the guitar in his autobiography, “Les Paul in His Own Words.”
“I got my first guitar in 1927 at the age of 11. It was a little Troubadour flat top from Sears and Roebuck, a cheap little bow-wow that cost less than five dollars. I was so proud of that little guitar and spent most of my spare time playing it... anywhere somebody would listen.”
When he started performing as a young teen, Les was known as Red Hot Red because of the color of his hair. He played regularly at a drive-in barbecue stand and was convinced his tips would increase if the people in the back of the audience could hear him sing too.
He figured out how to amplify his voice and harmonica by mounting the mouthpiece from his mother’s telephone onto a wooden broom handle and wiring it to her radio. But then he was handed this note: “Red, your voice and harmonica are fine, but your guitar’s not loud enough.”
That sparked Les Paul’s search for how to amplify his guitar.
“I took my dad’s radio-phono player and took the tone arm off the phonograph and just jammed the needle right down into the guitar’s bridge and taped it in place. Then I turned up the volume and played through the amplified speaker. With my homemade microphone, I ran my voice and harmonica through my mother’s radio, and the guitar through my dad’s phonograph.”
Les had just created an electric guitar! It was around 1928. “I loved the way my guitar sounded coming out of the speaker, so I started trying different things to deaden the vibration and stop the feedback. I tried filling the guitar up with tablecloths and shorts and socks to muffle the sound…. That was a step in the right direction, but not the solution. So then I poured it full of plaster of Paris.”
That was the end of the troubadour.
Looking to sustain a sound without feedback, Les experimented with a two-foot piece of discarded rail and two spikes he got from the railway across the street from his house.
“I took a guitar string and fastened it at each end of the steel rail, using the spikes like a bridge and nut to raise the string so it could be plucked. Then I took a telephone microphone, wired it into Mom’s radio for amplification, and placed it on the rail under the string.… The tremendous solidity of the rail allowed the string’s vibration to sustain for a longer time, and there was no feedback.”
Though usually very encouraging to Les, his mother pointed out the Rail was not a practical guitar.
In 1931, he got a Dobro guitar that had a metal resonator. A few years later, he purchased a Gibson L5, dubbed the cheapie, which became his favorite guitar when performing around the country.
While in Chicago he expanded on what he learned from his plaster of Paris experiment. He had a guitar built with a half-inch solid top to which he added his homemade pickup. When that proved too heavy, he had a thinner version made.
Around 1935, Les customized a Bell & Howell speaker designed for 16 mm film to create his first guitar amplifier that wasn’t a converted radio. He was constantly experimenting with his guitars, searching for a better sound.
“I kept tearing up guitars experimenting with my electric sound, but I always used my Gibson cheapie when I played electric with [Fred] Waring, and it drove
Les Paul’s first guitar at age 11 was a Troubadour like this one in the Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalog. One of Les Paul’s experiments to deaden his guitar’s vibration and stop feedback included pouring the hollow sound box full of plaster of Paris. Les Paul also wound a guitar string onto a piece of steel rail and train spikes, adding a telephone microphone and a radio for amplification, to create a vibration that lasted a long time without feedback.
While his Log instrument had the sound Les Paul wanted, it didn’t look like a traditional guitar and met with a lukewarm response until he added nonfunctioning guitar wings to the center base.
the Gibson guys nuts. They tried everything to get me to change, but my little guitar had the sound that became my identity on the radio, and I stayed with it until my family of klunkers [three Epiphone guitars] came along.
“I was looking for volume, tone, and sustain that could be controlled, still chasing the idea that started with stretching a guitar string over a section of railroad rail. I took a length of 4x4 pine, put an Epiphone neck on it, wound a couple of homemade pickups, and mounted them on the wood. Then I added a bridge and a Vibrola tailpiece, strung it up, and I had the Log. It was crude, but when I plugged it into an amp, it worked.” (Pickups are magnets wrapped in wire that convert the vibrations of the guitar strings into electrical signals that can be amplified.)
When Les played the Log at a club, the response was lukewarm. “I went back to the Epiphone factory, took the sound box of an old Epiphone archtop, and sawed it in half right down the middle. Then I braced up the halves so they could be attached to the sides.”
When he played his Log with the wings, a shape that looked more like a guitar, he got an enthusiastic response. Les concluded, “People hear with their eyes.”
In 1941, Les took the Log to Gibson and tried to convince them that solid body electric guitars were the future. The response was laughter.
Typical for him, Les kept going back to Gibson. It took almost 10 years before Gibson would build Les Paul’s design for a solid body electric guitar and even then, they hesitated to put the company’s name on it.
Les told them, “Put my name on it,” and that is how a boy who wanted his guitar to be heard created the solid body electric guitar of rock stars.
He applied that same persistence as he searched to improve hearing aids. He moved past his initial devastation at losing his hearing and focused on how to improve hearing aids until the end of his life. Les Paul, whose birthday was June 9, 1915, passed away in 2009, three years after the publication of his autobiography.
The Les Paul Foundation continues to support one of his primary goals of eradicating hearing loss, with a current focus on research toward a cure for tinnitus.
“Les was a great innovator and experimenter,” said Paul McCartney, shown in this photo from May 1988.
Sue Baker (shown with Les Paul above) is the program director for the Les Paul Foundation. Hearing Health Foundation is grateful for their support of tinnitus research through HHF’s Emerging Research Grants program. For more, see lespaulfoundation.org and hhf.org/erg.
