All the Rage #3

Have you ever been attacked by a song?

Oh, I'm sure you have. It's just that perhaps you didn't know quite what was happening at the time. You're driving along, or jogging, or doing homework in your room. You have the radio on; it could be background music, or you could be listening for something in particular. There's lots of ways for the song to approach, but the scenario is always the same. It's completely unexpected, perhaps even unwanted. You're emotionally drawn against your will into this pithy fleck of pop coursing its way through the airwaves and into your brain. Sometimes you're even left with the annoying side effects of humming, foot-tapping, and even full-on depression, depending on the song. The tune itself could be a masterpiece or utter shit; the emotional effects are always devastating.

The last pop sneak assault to which I was a victim happened a few nights ago, over my Thanksgiving break. I was back in my hometown, driving the family car to a friend's house for a night of whatever. A thick fog hugged the ground tightly, making driving slightly difficult but not impossible. The night was definitely hiding something, but I couldn't figure out just what it was until the local rock alternative/teeny-bopper top forty station played "Brick" by Ben Folds Five. For those unfamiliar with the tune, it's the gutwrenching story of a relationship torn to tatters by an abortion. A very beautiful, sad song, and not exactly what you're going to want pumping in your car stereo as you get psyched for an evening of fun with your pals. But there I was, trapped in the fog and the music, drawn inexorably into the emotional turmoil of decaying love which Ben Folds so effectively portrays in the song. Suddenly the fog wasn't just an annoying obstacle to driving; it was part of the mood, almost as if the weather and the DJ had collaborated earlier to double-team me at 119th and Kedzie on the south side of Chicago. The song ended, and I shut off the radio slowly, spent and defeated.

The worst part of the pop sneak attack is that you really can't shut the radio off. If you can shut off the radio when you hear a song you know and weren't expecting, then the attack has failed. Pop sneak attacks work best when they draw out of you an emotional response that you didn't even know you were capable of at that moment, or even at all. Sure, you may WANT to turn off the radio, but the song takes control, and you listen. As you listen, your emotions start to make sense, and you realize you've been hiding something from yourself. In my case, "Brick" drew out a sadness that had been lurking at the edges of my heart for days. I recovered after listening, but I may never have discovered the sadness if Ben Folds hadn't come along and dragged it out of me.

It doesn't even have to be a sad or depressing song. You could be drifting along the expressway in a funk, pissed at yourself and the world, when Springsteen's "Born to Run" starts up on the local classic rock station. Of course you crank the volume and sing along like a fool. Why wouldn't you? After all, the world has just improved a thousand percent, and life really is going pretty great, and that guy you work with sure is cute, and he sure does seem to want you...and so on. The emotions differ, but in each case the song takes control and guides you against your will along an emotional path. You don't give the song meaning or significance; it throws meaning back at you, rams it down your throat.

I suppose I could just be an emotional weakling who's very susceptible to the adverse effects of pop music in extreme doses. Hey, you can think that if you want. But then someday soon you'll be driving along in your car, and "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler will come on the radio. It'll be a full-on pop sneak attack, and you'll be hit hard. Then maybe you'll understand. You'll shut off the radio slowly, spent and defeated. The song will disappear again, gearing up for the next time it can approach someone under cover of radio and do its worst.