New York City. A symphony of sirens, a chorus of car horns, a vibrant melody of millions moving in concert. Or so it usually is. But what happens when the city known for its relentless rhythm falls silent? In the hush of empty streets and closed storefronts, a different kind of New York City Song emerges – a song of quiet contemplation, of eerie stillness, a melody of absence.
It’s a silence that speaks volumes, a stark contrast to the city’s usual cacophony. Imagine the bustling sidewalks of Times Square, suddenly deserted. Picture the roaring traffic of Fifth Avenue, now eerily calm. This unnatural peace, this deceptive tranquility, is a song in itself, a poignant reflection of an unprecedented moment. Yet, within this overarching silence, countless other songs are playing out across the five boroughs.
Consider the tireless healthcare workers in overwhelmed hospitals, their song one of resilience and exhaustion, a powerful anthem of dedication echoing through the sterile corridors. Think of the grocery store clerks, the delivery drivers, the essential workers keeping the city’s pulse faintly beating – their song is a hum of necessity, a quiet but vital rhythm sustaining life amidst the quietude. Then there are the shuttered business owners, the gig workers with empty schedules, the teachers connecting with students through screens – each group with their own unique verse in this evolving New York City song. Even the hopeful cheers erupting at 7 p.m. each evening for essential workers become a communal chorus, a powerful expression of gratitude amidst uncertainty. And underlying it all, the mournful song of loss, the quiet lament of those grieving loved ones, adds a somber harmony to the city’s soundtrack.
My own song in this silent city? It’s the song of the uncanny. It’s the melody of waiting, of observing the unfamiliar quiet. It reminds me of a scene from The Devil’s Advocate. In this film, Keanu Reeves’ character, Kevin Lomax, walks onto a normally jam-packed 57th Street in midday, only to find it completely deserted. No people, no cars – an impossible silence in the heart of Manhattan. This visual silence was profoundly unsettling, powerfully conveying a sense of something deeply amiss. (You can see this scene here.) This cinematic moment captures the essence of the current quietude, amplifying the feeling of the surreal.
This impulse to find a song in the silence is also sparked by art itself. Recently, the opening scene of the Transparent finale, where Sarah sings “Sepulveda Boulevard” in her car, resonated deeply. That song, in its unexpected context, became a powerful expression of feeling. Similarly, what song can encapsulate this moment in New York City?
How do we find the notes to express this shared experience? How do we articulate this blend of public catastrophe and private reflection? What melody can capture this unique chapter in New York City’s story? Perhaps it’s not about grand pronouncements, but rather the small, human moments within the silence. Imagine pulling down a face mask for a moment of fresh air, the careful dance of delivery cyclists navigating near-empty streets, the distant echoes of neighbors joining in a spontaneous chorus from their windows.
These are the fragments of a New York City song being written in real-time, a song not of bustling crowds and bright lights, but of resilience, reflection, and the quiet strength found in an unexpected silence. I may not have the perfect lyrics yet, but the melody of this moment, the unspoken song of New York City, resonates deeply, waiting for the right words to give it voice.
