I am a real born victim when it comes to getting tunes wedged in my head. Usually it’s ones that are my current favourites (which change frequently), but nearly as often it will be something that I either hate, or at least pretend to hate.
Recent infections include:
Good:
Music for a Found Harmonium - Patrick Street version
Good Ship Kangaroo - Planxty
(Planxty) Hewlett - Liam Og O’Flynn/Planxty
Calling Card - Rory Gallagher
Hoist That Rag - Tom waits
Bad (or that I secretly like while condemning as "bad):
Grace Kelly - Mika
That bloody squeaky hit of Daniel Bedingfield’s
Two recent Take That singles
Macarena - Los del Río
And finally, a mandolin/vocal solo version of Red Cadillac and a Black Moustache as performed by our bass player the other day, despite attempt to wrestle the instrument from him. It keeps replaying in me head. Oy vey.
Yes, Hewlett hangs around in my head, as does most dance music. It’s De’il Tak’ the Warr at the moment, and Delia, for some unknown reason, as I haven’t heard it. played it or danced to it for years! Most odd.
That opening of Pictures at an Exhibition is certainly catchy. I hadn’t thought of that lovely piece of music in years, and now it won’t go away. Thanks.
Usually whatever’s on the clock-radio when the alarm comes on in the morning. This absolves me from knowing the names of most tunes, the lyrics, or the names of the bands that perform them.
The bane of my existence throughout the holiday season: music from Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker”.
Argh. Having played orchestral brass instruments into my mid-twenties, I’d find myself hired frequently during this busy season to play in ballet pits, at holiday parties, with small local orchestras, at malls. And it was always the damned “Nutcracker”. I loved the music growing up, but now when I hear it I feel like I’m sucking on too-sweet candy while also nursing a toothache. Yowch.
And it’s everywhere now, piped into stores, on the radio, on TV . . . It won’t leave my head.
I happen to be currently infected with the Subway $5 footlong ditty. It’s drivin’ me crazy. However, I can look forward to a cheezy rendition of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time” to blot it out. It plays on the electronic carrilon here in the retirement village nearby my office along with Frosty and other secular faves. This is the worst time of year for earworms.
