The men wore gim'me-caps backwards, and their music was the kind of music one feels, music that rattles your teeth. They seemed to like their music, but not enjoy it. There were no tapping toes, no one mouthed the words or seemed to be rhythmically moved to dance. It was like elevator music, merely something in the background to cover the shuffle of feet in a dreary beer joint. Most sounds systems in movies, concerts, and clubs are too loud for undamaged ears.
Many backpackers find wearing earplugs is the only way to get a good night's sleep.
Earplugs muffle the snores of other hikers, the rustling of field mice as they move from pack to pack in search of food. If you didn't hang your food bag with the same preparation as you use for bears, you will find that the shelter mice have gnawed a hole through your pack and nested into your food bag for a happy noisy night of gulping gorp and oatmeal. The loud music limited the conversation around the pool table to a few shouted words. The balls crashed and scattered. The relief is always just out of reach.