A Quirky Trigger

We all have our quirks... well, at least that’s what I’ve told Cupcake. It‘s been said everyone is normal until you get to know them and Cupcake knows me quite well. She says I’ve always been “blessed” with my quota of quirks, plus a few extra eccentricities thrown in for being an early adopter. One particular peculiarity of mine, though innocuous enough, drives me crazy. I know many think my journey to join the barmy army is a short drive indeed; walking distance, really, but I wondered if it’s just me or if it’s one of those strange characteristics everyone does but nobody ever talks about, like stop light nostril exploration.

The aberration works like this; something in my surroundings will make a random noise and my subconscious mind processes it instantaneously (Cupcake disagrees with the speed she feels my thought processes occur at but that’s not important right now.) The memory sorter-outer part of my brain (That’s what we amateur brain experts call it) compares it with all previously heard noises to see if it is recognizable. When a possible match is found, it’s kicked upstairs to my consciousness for assessment, sort of like E-harmony without the dating. Invariably, the random noise; a persistent tapping or a chime or a squeak or really anything, reminds me of a song or a melody or often a few bars of some long forgotten tune.

Here’s an example. When I play FreeCell on my computer (instead of knuckling down to write the article you’re currently reading) there is a synthesized electronic organ note that is produced every time a card is added to the “home cells” in the upper right. At each occurrence... like 52 times a game, I am reminded of Boney M’s version of the Christmas song “When a Child is Born” as the first chord is quite similar to the annoying electronic note noise. It got so bad I shut my sound off on my speakers when I play FreeCell, although it still plays in my head every time a card moves up just like Pavlov’s stupid mutt drooling over doorbells.

I’ve had something as simple as a randomly plucked  string evoke music ranging from Beatle hits to the theme to “The Jackie Gleason Show”. Just the other day I ended up with the world famous one hit wonder from the early 70’s; Mouth and McNeil’s immortal “How Do You Do?” from listening to a passing road grader. Some sound in thrum of the motor or clank of the machinery conjured up that mouldy oldie and I’ll never know what. I can’t count how often the sound of something rubbing rhythmically on wood brings to mind CCR’s “Looking Out My Back Door”.

I will admit being reminded of these dusty ditties is kind of cool sometimes. An errant sound triggering a pleasant musical memory is a good thing. The problem lies with the fact that it isn’t just a fleeting thought. The song stays with me, sometimes for days. The worst part is that occasionally, I only know a snippet of the song and that wee snippet will play over and over again. If it’s an instrumental, it’s even more frustrating since the only way I know to rid myself of a stuck song is to locate it on the ‘net and play it over and over. Unfortunately, finding the name of a snippet of music is tough to locate when all you know is “la de do de da do da da da da de de de” plucked out pizzicato-style on a violin. So it plays over and over like a Meatloaf 8-track tape at a ‘70’s stoner party, only much shorter.

Part of the problem for me, is since I was a teenager, some of my siblings and I would play “radio race” constantly. When a song came on the airwaves, first one to name the band got a point. The points never added up really but were more of a point of honour. Thus, it became imperative for me, in my formative years, to be acutely aware of the opening strains of any song I happen to hear. The urge to yell out the artist from somebody else’s music is strong and it takes all my strength of will not to look like a dork. I believe this caused my affliction. It neatly explains why, when I hear a faint whistle of brakes just starting to go, I am reminded of the first high pitched whistled notes of Manfred Mann’s 1967 hit “Mighty Quinn”. (It always makes me wonder why “When Quinn the Eskimo gets here, everybody’s gonna jump for joy”. Can he catch a Ricky Ray pass?)

I’ve asked a few people whether this phenomenon has happened to them and there was a mix of responses from my admittedly tiny polling group. There were those that looked at me pityingly as if I’d just divulged I had begun to use Depends. Then there were those that would shake their head and snicker “You are a weird one, McKerracher... but then we knew that.”

But there was also a small group; they would lower their voice and look furtively about before blurting out their shame. There weren’t many of them but I was still relieved.

It’s not just me.