Taking Stock - December 3, 2012

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I KNOW a song that will get on your nerves…

All right, so I don’t know a specific song, with the exception of the previously mentioned ditty, but everybody’s got one, haven’t they?

Right now, given I spend a lot of time on Saturdays hanging around football grounds -where popular music tends to be played somewhat repetitively and a somewhat excessive volume at any point a ball isn’t being kicked – I’m particularly loathing the work of a certain Korean rapper.

He’s not alone.

I’ll be the first to admit, when it comes to music, I’m a bit of a snob.

So my bucket of annoying tunes is overflowing with The Macarena, the collected works of the Spice Girls and most of the musical output of the 1980s that didn’t involve Morrissey.

Even some of my musical heroes aren’t exempt from criticism.

Paul McCartney may have been a Beatle, but that doesn’t absolve him of responsibility for The Frog Chorus and Mull of Kintyre.

Alan Partridge’s insistence that Wings are the band The Beatles could have been just isn’t true.

Before you accuse me of being a musical killjoy I’ll admit there are some atrocities I’ve got a little fondness for.

Let’s take Remember You’re a Womble as a starting point (not to forget that seasonal classic A Wombling Merry Christmas).

I’m quite happy for my little ones to enjoy The Birdy Song – there’s a battered seven inch somewhere which proves I did as a child.

It’s school disco season and they can Dance to the Timewarp to their hearts’ content – so long as I don’t hear a single note of Agadoo once they’re in the car.

The problem with these tunes come when they get stuck in your head.

I am, I’m afraid, a bit susceptible to picking up an earworm – one of those tunes you just can’t get out of your head, no matter how hard you try.

That’s fine if the last song you’ve heard in the morning is a classic – although my colleagues who had to sit through a hummed rendition of the entire Magic Mystery Tour album the other week might not agree.

It’s less fun when what pops into your bonce and settles in for the afternoon is something a little more, well, annoying.

In the last few weeks alone I’ve caught myself almost launching into the middle section of Bohemian Rhapsody (all that scaramouche and fandango business), nodding along to my own personal non-stop Abba afternoon and, yes, fighting back the urge to shout ‘Gangnam Style’ – surely proving nobody is immune.

I’d love to be able to choose the songs which stick there.

I’d love to be able to choose from a collection of Beatles, Stones, Bowie or Blur hits. But that’s not how it works.

Even after an evening spent rehearsing with the band, in which I’m a drummer alongside one of my fellow hacks, I’m more likely to spend the morning humming the Lady Gaga tune I heard in the kitchen than a future ‘hit’ I’ve been playing for an hour the night before.

That isn’t, I assure you, a dig at the songwriting skills of my good friend.

I’m sure his earworm time will come.

Maybe what he needs to do is write a song that gets on my nerves – it normally does the trick.