Everyone's dancin' their troubles away...

Are there any songs which invoke such an overpoweringly negative reaction in you that you will literally cross the room to turn off the radio at the sound of the very first note? And what is it about those jarring tunes that make your emotional hackles rise? An actual tonal aversion to the tune itself, or an emotional association or memory which the blameless song innocently evokes? And is it possible to ever feel differently about such a song, once it has been tainted by such a foul association (the 'Gary Glitter Effect'?)

I muse on this because I just idly revisited a song I absolutely loathed when it came out, to test my own emotional response with the passage of time, and to my surprise my blood not only failed to boil, it didn't even gently simmer. When I was twelve the sound of Mac and Katie Kissoon's frankly harmless minor hit 'Like a Butterfly' would have me falling on the radio spitting venom. I would grab the set and run down the garden with it, so that my Mum (who rather liked the little tune) couldn't put turn it on again until I knew the song was safely finished. My Dad cottoned on to this, and in the manner of all Dads he thought it was great sport to physically restrain me with one hand (easily done) while ramping up the volume with the other so that I could be forced to hear the hated song at maximum impact. I once became so genuinely distressed during this aural waterboarding that he had to relent and let me go, screaming and crying, and I can still remember the surprise on his face that anyone could really hate a song so much (which given his own reaction to the Sensational Alex Harvey Band was a bit rich.). But listening to the song just now, it sounded at worst rather weedy and bland - hardly worthy of the murderous rage it once provoked in me. I wonder what it was I was hearing back then?

Easier to connect with are a couple of tunes from early adulthood which still make my bile rise and have me running for the exit. 'Sisters are Doin' it for Themselves' reminds me of every dire Womens' Disco I ever went to in my twenties, where the disapproval of the 'real feminists' for those of us gender traitors who wore makeup and fraternised with the Enemy (men) was made manifest, and where this was the one bloody song you would be physically forced to dance to. And as it's a completely undanceable tune anyway, you were on a hiding to nothing from the word go. Those evenings were among the least 'sisterly' experiences of my life, and as for that song I certainly didn't need a smug bunch of rich international chanteuses who looked like they'd never met before, dancing badly together and reminding me to 'ring on my own bell', thanks. Terrible.

And while I'm picking on Annie Lennox, let me add 'There Must Be an Angel' to the list. Some of my friends actively adore this song, and find it playful and whimsical. Yet my hand is reaching for the off-switch of the radio at its very mention, and it's not even playing. From the first time I heard it, that painful yodelling intro embodied the sound of a crazy old lady being taken away in an ambulance under a Sectioning Order, warbling desperately in an effort to self-soothe, as the orderlies tightened the straps around her arms (yes, that literal.). And the bit where she goes "... and it's playing with my heart, YEAH" is one of the most horribly delivered lines ever committed to song. If it turns out there's actually a hell, and I've done enough bad deeds to get sent there, I just bet I'll be spending eternity plugged into a device that pipes this unforgivable noise around my brain.

It's also possible that my real musical bete noir might just be Duran Duran's 'The Reflex'. A vacuous piece of jarring self-aggandisement, devoid of melody or wit, this is cocaine set to music. And accordingly, it's as ugly as the era that spawned it. You play this near me at your own physical peril.

At least I've warned you. Which is more than my poor boyfriend of the time was able to do back on that night in 1983, when he came into his kitchen where I was sitting, and 'All Night Long' by Lionel Ritchie came on the radio. A generally benign and laid back individual, he surprised me by calmly opening a cupboard, taking out a claw-hammer, and smashing the radio to bits. As the hammer rose and fell, he kept muttering "fucking fiesta, eh? Fucking fiesta...", until Lionel yielded to silence. It turned out that this was the first song he'd heard after leaving the hospital where his mother had just died. And as she had only been dead a fortnight when the assault on Lionel took place, his Manchurian Candidate reaction does at least have a context. I don't imagine he'll ever be neutral to 'All Night Long', but I do hope he just turns off the radio and tuts if he hears it now.






©Ishouldbeworking 2011