Office playlist leads only to disharmony

One of the funniest e-mails I've ever received was written by a friend stuck on hold. The music blaring through his phone, he told me, was miserable. "It ain't magic! It's anti-magic!" he complained, playing with the radio station's catchphrase. And he proceeded to list all of the songs that were tormenting him -- a Rod Stewart ballad, a Kenny G instrumental. "This station keeps saying it's playing the music I want to hear at work! I don't want to hear any of these songs!"

Music in the workplace is a bigger issue than many of us think. It's not just about the volume, and disturbing the guy in the next cube when you absently sing along with Whitney Houston without her vocal range. The style of music is enough to put colleagues on edge.

Like my friend, the "office stations" drive me nuts. For me, the "no repeat" playlists are meaningless, since all the songs sound the same . So for years, I was grateful to have my own office, where I could listen to the Talking Heads to my heart's content and not worry about bothering other people. Working to music makes me more productive and a happier employee.

Then, without explanation, our management declared the office a radio-free zone. We were no longer allowed to have any music-playing devices at our desks. Rules also forbade any iPods and since much of the office did not have Internet access, streaming from the web wasn't possible. Popping a CD into your desktop computer was frowned upon.

As a consolation, the boss agreed to play music over the company's phone system -- music you would hear when on hold -- and we could listen over those little speakers on our phone-sets. Every morning, the boss agreed to play five CDs and staff members were invited to bring in selections, with certain guidelines in place (no swearing, nothing too outrageous, nothing inflammatory).

The sound quality was awful. It sounded like the little transistor radio I had when I was 6. The dinky speaker -- only one per desk -- didn't play music recorded in stereo. Sometimes you'd only get the vocal portion of a song; sometimes the instrumental. The office was often filled with a range of sound; some would crank the volume up. But always the air seemed filled with this distinct fuzzy sound, and you had a sense the music you maybe were hearing wasn't quite complete.

The new rules were not popular. During one lunchtime conversation about Lent, a co-worker quipped, "I'm giving up listening to the radio at work."

I was especially glum. Most of the music played was not my cup of tea. Looking over my CD collection at home, nothing seemed appropriate for the playlist. Certain song titles like Camper Van Beethoven's "Take the Skinheads Bowling" or the Clash's "I'm So Bored with the U.S.A." could be a little off-putting, I supposed. I made my own compilation CD, but it sat in the drawer untouched. Perhaps I shouldn't have named it "Punk and New Wave Selections for the Office."

But there were some bright spots. To my great relief, we did have a number of Beatles CDs. I could plan my next hour or two based on when certain songs came up. For example, I don't care so much for "Hello, Goodbye," so that was always a good time to make a phone call. And I knew that the "na na na na" bit at the end of "Hey Jude" went on for several minutes, making it a good time for a trip to the supply room.

What we often lost sight of, however, was that the music was still the hold music. With music, we were showing a public face. Our callers were often elderly pensioners. So at times, choices were questioned. When a particularly hard-edged Rolling Stones CD was proposed one day, one of our managers remarked, "Think of family members calling to report a death. Should we really be playing 'Sympathy for the Devil'?"

Yet I was surprised to hear songs that made the cut. The Knack's "My Sharona" was one. On a peppy "best of the '70s" CD, it probably seemed innocuous. But I wondered if anyone in power had actually listened to it before. Our callers were a captive audience to its suggestive lyrics. Nobody complained though. Maybe, like others, they just weren't paying attention.

We also tended to forget that the music played was somebody's favorite. Occasionally, when the boss was out, I was asked to program the music for the day. As much as I love music, I hated this task. I tried to maintain variety. But of course you can't please all of the people all of the time.

"Oh, I hate classical" someone would say. "Can't we change it?"

"We wanna hear this," a co-worker said once, shoving a disco CD at me. "We're tired of the stuff that's playing now. It's too slow and boring. We need to liven things up."

I feel your pain, I thought. I don't like today's music either. But someone is enjoying it. So if Barry Manilow's "Mandy" is making us cringe, it's likely making someone else more productive, or nicer to people on the phone. And if we really hate what's playing, we can always silence the music feature on our phones. Besides, if I put disco on, someone else is sure to balk.

Management experimented with solutions -- playing songs at random rather than one full CD after another, changing the CDs at lunchtime. Yet nobody was ever happy.

If it had been my decision to make, I would have yanked out the system once and for all. I'm an ardent advocate for music in the workplace, but constant complaints and interruptions over it just don't make the system worthwhile.

Now, happily, I work at home, where I can stream my favorite Beatles show on the web. And yesterday, the 15-year-old student I was tutoring sang parts of "Rock Lobster," a quirky 1979 release by the B-52's that I've never heard on a work station.

"Ever hear that song?" he asked me.

"Yes." I grinned. Sing away, I thought to myself. This was work, after all.

If you want to write about the view from your cube, send e-mail to cube@globe.com.