I haven’t been to Dodger Stadium since the early 70’s, and think that might have been the only time. My wife has never been there. We live only a couple hills over too, for decades now, and while these days the local urban forest blocks most of the view, the fireworks resonate incredibly here, echoing off the walls. Much louder in the back yard–sometimes with a distinctly metallic ring–than out front. Like a distant bombardment. It’s said that during the Great War, when the wind was blowing just so, you could hear the sounds of massed guns in Flanders across the Channel, and people would stand atop the white cliffs of Dover and wonder about their sons. I thought of that, oddly enough, when the Bee Gees played Dodger Stadium a decade ago and the atmospherics were such that there was an immense disco bass throb in the neighborhood. It was so loud I assumed there was a helluva rave going on down the street. We stood out of the sundeck in the warm night air and listened. When the cheers washed over us and I remembered the Bee Gees were at Dodger Stadium. The bass throb started up again as they encored, but I couldn’t make out the tune. Could have been Stayin’ Alive, could have been anything. I hate the Bee Gees my wife said. Yeah, I said, but the acoustics are cool. She shrugged and went inside. The bass throb ended and the cheering washed over us again, distant but immense. Fifty thousand voices condensed into a faraway roar. It was the strangest thing, this disembodied mass of human sound. I thought of the guns again, wafting on a cross channel breeze. After a few minutes the cheering ebbed and all was silent once more. For a big city, L.A. can have moments of near silence, and you can pretend you’re a million miles from anywhere.