The Loudness Wars: Why the Volume at Events Needs to Come Down
When Events Are Too Loud, Connection Breaks Down
Editor’s note: This essay is part of the Beyond Quiet Rooms series, which examines why single-solution approaches to sensory inclusion fall short and what systems-level thinking can offer instead.
Walk into almost any networking event and you’ll notice something strange.
The music is loud enough to energize a dance floor, yet the room is full of people who are supposedly there to talk.
Everyone is leaning in. Everyone is raising their voice. Everyone is working harder than necessary just to connect.
This isn’t accidental. It’s cultural.
“The Loudness Wars” phenomenon began in music production, where louder mixes were perceived as better, more important, more attention-grabbing.
Over time, that logic escaped the studio.
Loud became synonymous with lively, and quiet became synonymous with awkward.
And that bias followed us into public spaces.
NOISE NUISANCE
It’s no secret that humans like music. Completely silent spaces can feel awkward, boring, maybe even sterile. But there is a balance to be found.
I recently began to take sound volume (dB) measurements at events. At many of these events, background music alone sits around 70–80 dB.
Add people (especially 50 or more people), and the Lombard Effect takes over. As voices rise to compete, the room gets louder still.
By the time the space is full, people are effectively trying to connect in conditions similar to having a blender running nearby.
And we act surprised when networking doesn’t work.
THE LUFS DON’T LIE
Last week I facilitated a sensory break space at an event.
I set up sound meters around the venue - both in the main area and in the break space. I wanted people to be able to see the difference.
The main space was in that 70-80dB range (it was a very large room with high ceilings which helped).
The sensory break room was 30-40dB when empty, and 40-60dB with some people in it.
You don’t need to be a math whiz to see the difference. The quiet space operates at a dramatically lower intensity.
Even if you add some soft (low volume) music to the quiet space, the volume might creep up 10dB with peaks hitting 75. That’s not going to raise your blood pressure - it’s more likely to LOWER it.
Meanwhile in the main room:
Most people aren’t taught to think in decibels. But once sound crosses certain thresholds, the body responds whether we understand the numbers or not.
BALANCE THE VOLUME: BOOST THE CQ (Connection Quotient)
One of the attendees from the event those samples were taken at had this to say:
“I’ve been noticing how much noise and cross-talking affect my ability to process information and become very overwhelming to me. I appreciate you thinking and creating these spaces to take a break from all the commotion. Even if we just need a break to catch our breath.”
This is another aspect of it. Even if you are capable of raising your voice to talk over loud music, you’re going to be wearing down energy and concentration wise. You won’t be able to think as clearly or remember things as well.
The growing popularity of sensory break spaces tells us something important.
Not that people are fragile.
But that our main spaces are being designed beyond sustainable sensory limits.
Quiet rooms exist because loudness has been allowed to escalate unchecked elsewhere.
The easiest way to balance things out better is to turn down the music a bit. I’m not saying turn it completely off, but turning it down by even 10dB at baseline will keep those peaks out of the danger zone. And people won’t have to yell as much.
Of course there are other solutions as well - some simple and free, some that are more impactful but require some investment.
Turning the music down helps, but loudness is only one layer.
Sound interacts with lighting, crowd density, temperature, layout, and duration. When those factors stack, people burn through sensory capacity faster than they realize.
That’s why single-sense fixes rarely hold.
Loudness has become a systems problem hiding in plain sight. Quiet rooms are a response. Recalibration is the solution.
Lacey Artemis (she/they) is a neurodivergent researcher, speaker, and consultant focused on systems-level sensory inclusion and design. She is the founder of Neuromix Consulting, where her applied research and advisory work supports more comfortable, accessible public spaces.
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