Had I known then what I know now, the DJ calling the shots at this dance would not have heard this request despite how much I loved the song in question. It comes down to the fact that context matters, as do the hidden rules of the social situations in which we find ourselves. These realities often eluded me at that point in my life as an autistic individual who didn’t know it yet.
Sam Farmer
I could not believe my eyes when I walked up to him and noticed that he had the album on hand and in plain sight. And I could not believe my ears when he actually decided to honor my request for a song off that album. I felt listened to, that what I had to say mattered, and overjoyed so much so that I ran out onto the dance floor with my quirky, less than stellar dance moves on display the instant I heard it. Unfortunately, I was out there dancing alone, not only with respect to not having a partner but alone, on the floor, surrounded by classmates, faculty members, and whoever else, standing on the sidelines while staring at me, thinking God only knows what, until the DJ saw what was going on, stopped the song after maybe 10 seconds in and abruptly moved on to something else.
Back in the ’80s, when I was in high school, the expectation at school dances was to hear Top 40-esque Pop/Rock hits of that era, which had a rhythm and a beat that could easily be danced to. A Jazz vocal group, not so much. Imagine songs by the likes of Phil Collins, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Tears for Fears, Journey, and Frankie Goes to Hollywood being complimented with one performed by The Manhattan Transfer.
Oops! Not the best choice for this particular circumstance. It didn’t matter that the song I requested, Another Night in Tunisia off The Manhattan Transfer’s critically acclaimed album Vocalese (1985), features a multi-Grammy Award-winning vocal ensemble joined by the iconic Jazz singer Bobby McFerrin, a multi-Grammy Award winner in his own right. Or that it embodies all the ingredients of a true musical masterpiece. What did matter is that context is paramount.
As a Jazz pianist, the Dizzy Gillespie classic A Night in Tunisia (of which Another Night in Tunisia is a vocal ensemble arrangement) was a favorite of mine to play. A revolutionary composition for its time, it helped fuel the nascent Bebop movement in Jazz and the beginnings of the Modern Jazz era. I immersed myself in this music from the start, and it wouldn’t take long for it to become core to my identity as a musician.
One day, my older brother, also a Jazz musician at the time, brought Vocalese home and played Another Night in Tunisia while I was hanging around. I was immediately swept away by the adaptation, having never imagined that A Night in Tunisia could sound anything quite like this. The Manhattan Transfer was now on my radar, and seeing Vocalese at the dance provided the bait that I simply could not resist.
And then humiliation set in, although thankfully only briefly because the song didn’t play for long, and nobody gave me a hard time. My classmates and teachers knew me pretty well, including my social idiosyncrasies and worse crimes have been committed, so luckily, this turn of events fell short of being traumatic in any way.
Unidentified autistic individuals are particularly vulnerable to trauma, largely because of stigma, pronounced sensory and emotional sensitivities, and the fact that many of our behaviors, for which there are no explanations in the absence of a diagnosis, are at odds with societal expectations. In retrospect, I was most fortunate that night, having been able to move on from this incident mostly unscathed.
In many respects, my unusual song request made perfect sense. The hidden rules of social situations were all but non-existent to me back then, largely due to a strong preference common among autistics for that which is explicit, factual, apparent, and does not need to be read “between the lines.” As such, I often depended on visual cues to help guide my decision-making, and it was not as if there were signs posted at the dance which said, “No requests for Jazz.” The visual cue I did encounter was the one that ultimately led to embarrassment: the Vocalese album cover, sitting there next to the DJ, waiting to be picked up, even at a high school dance governed by opposing expectations.
All in all, I found myself in the middle of a perfect storm within which I couldn’t help but do something impulsive and off-the-wall. On the plus side, I did manage to imbue the evening with a touch of the unexpected, of true artistry, albeit for just a few seconds. No harm done!
Sam Farmer is a neurodiversity community self-advocate, writer, author, and public speaker. Identified later in life as autistic, Sam shares stories of lived experiences as well as ideas and insights as to how one can achieve greater happiness and success in the face of challenge and adversity. A Long Walk Down a Winding Road – Small Steps, Challenges, & Triumphs Through an Autistic Lens is his first book. Visit samfarmerauthor.com to learn more.
