On Wings Of Song
When a song gets stuck in your head and you can’t shift it, it’s no joke!
THE trouble with a concert with lots of music in it, Lizzie reflected, was that you found yourself singing bits over and over again for at least a week. Fragments of tunes got lodged in your head and kept on repeating themselves, whether you liked it or not.
And the trouble with being an alto was that the melody wasn’t what you thought of first, and what you found yourself singing was the harmony.
It was fine for Lizzie, because she could hear all the other parts in her head, but her family was not so fortunate.
“Mum,” Adam said on Monday tea time, as he set the table in the kitchen, “that sounds terrible. Can’t you at least sing the tune?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s kind of automatic. I should shut up, really.”
“I didn’t mean –” “No, I know, son. It’s just that when a song gets into my head, I can’t not sing it. And not everyone wants to hear it, do they?”
“They call that an ear worm.”
Lizzie blinked. Adam put down four spoons, hoping for a pudding, and carried on.
“When a tune gets stuck in your head for days on end and you can’t get rid of it? That’s called an ear worm.”
“Who told you that?” “Everyone knows it. It happens with pop music, too.”
“Well, I have to say it’s a very good description.”
Lizzie turned back to the cooker, and within half a minute was back to the alto line of “Singin’ In The Rain”.
On Tuesday in the Inland Revenue office in Kildartie Square, Derek Duff was humming to himself, though he did manage not to sing out loud.
Madge Mackintosh sat at her desk in the same office, and looked up now and again as he hummed the same song over and over.
“Have you had any reaction to the concert, Derek? Anyone said how brilliant we were? Or not?”
Derek sang bass in the Singers, and by dint of sitting next to Charles Reid he made very few mistakes.
“Everyone that I sold a ticket to was very complimentary,” he said, “but they could just have been being tactful.”
“No, I think Rodney was quite pleased with us. And he wouldn’t have considered entering us for the Sillowburn Festival if he thought we were rubbish.
“We could sing ‘Oh, What A Beautiful Morning’ at that, couldn’t we? We could certainly sing it at the Kildartie Gala. Provided it’s not tipping rain, of course.”
“Funny you should say that.” Derek raised his eyebrows. “I can’t get that tune out of my head.” Madge smiled.
“You do surprise me.” Derek looked stricken. “Was I singing out loud?” Madge shook her head. “It’s been a pleasant murmur, and at least you were singing the tune. The basses get the tune a lot of the time in that piece.”
“Yes, we do. I fair enjoy that, I must say.”
“Well, carry on humming, if it’s not driving you mad. There’s nothing worse than a tune you can’t get rid of.”
Hannah Martin attended Wednesday’s rehearsal of “The Pirates Of Penzance” in the school hall, along with the chorus of maidens singing in bright, high voices.
“That sounds nice, girls,” Mr Taylor said. “Is everyone secure on their moves? Time is marching on.”
He looked round for Hannah, who was singing the part of Mabel. “Ready for another go?” “Yes, Mr Taylor.” She sighed.
“What’s the problem, Hannah?” he asked briskly. He didn’t want any prima donnas in his school show.
“It’s my solo. ‘Poor Wandering One’. I mean, I really like the song, but I’ve been singing it in my head for days and days.”
“Ah.” Rodney nodded. “You need another tune to try to blot it out. Mozart’s very good for that.” Hannah was surprised. “Is he?”
“Yep. But I appreciate he’s not the first person you would think of.”
He looked round to make sure everyone was ready.
“If it’s still in your head after this rehearsal, try to think of something completely different that will chase it away. Something out of the charts, maybe.” Hannah nodded.
“I’ll try, Mr Taylor.”
It was later that Rodney remarked to his wife, Elaine, that, in spite of hearing nothing but Gilbert and Sullivan all evening, he appeared to be stuck with a different ear worm entirely.
He couldn’t get rid of “Singing’ In The Rain”.
More next week.