THE EARWORM

My Old Ear's a Dustbin

The word earworm was a 19^th century name for a corn parasite and also an alternative name for earwig and from 1881 a secret counsellor. By 1989, true to its nature, it sneakily transmuted into an annoyingly unforgettable pop song or part of a song.

I first became aware of this phenomenon when we lived near to a small garden which hosted pop groups at a music festival. One evening there was a tribute band to Meatloaf. The band was tolerably good until it became intolerably bad. It did this by playing the performer’s bestselling single - which I dare not even name for fear of wakening the earworm - again and again and again until 3 am.

In the song, Mr Loaf promised to be ‘gone when the morning comes.’ The band finally went, it’s true, but the earworm stayed. And it burrowed into my ear and brain for three months.

I could not shake it loose. It would worm into my consciousness when I was walking, sitting, lying in bed. It defeated conversation, deep thoughts and even my writing. I am not a religious man but in the end I was saved by a spiritual song.

Meatloaf’s song was decidedly Satanic. George Harrison came to my rescue by whispering the words of My Sweet Lord into my ear.

It was a titanic struggle between good and evil, a battle which was waged between my ears. In the end George proved the stronger and I was free. I never sing Meatloaf’s song now and shudder if I happen to hear it. Which is a shame because I actually prefer it to My Sweet Lord.

Of course, one person’s earworm is another’s jaunty little jingle. And maybe it can be both. The first pop song I really loved was My Old Man’s a Dustman written and sung by Lonnie Donegan (thanks for reminding me about this, Clive).

But it soon lost its appeal for me. It became rather like stale chewing gum as he acknowledged in his song Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour (On the Bedpost Overnight?)

Other songs which I loved but then grew disillusioned with were Walking Back to Happiness, Crying in the Rain, The Spirit in the Sky, Lola, Living in the Past, Bridge over Troubled Water. And, most wormoid of all, Sugar Sugar by the fictional group The Archies. It was number one in the UK charts for eight weeks from October to December 1969. Incidentally, although it seared my soul that year, I now think it’s superb.

At 4.00 this morning when I was thinking of this post a vicious earworm assailed me. I thought of a finger. I thought of a finger of … something. I thought of a finger of fudge. A finger of fudge which is just enough to give your kids a treat. It’s very small and neat. Help me, I cried as I sang the whole blasted jingle. Then, naturally enough, I thought of the Milky Bar Kid.

The actors in the 27 years this advert aired was so insipid and rage inducing I could never bear to watch them or eat the chocolate. When John Denver first appeared on television I had the sneaking suspicion that he had been the Milky Bar Kid, probably the one who saved the passengers on the Runaway Train. Sad about his untimely death.

Ah, to my horror, I’ve just discovered that the fudge jingle was written by Mike d'Abo who also wrote Handbags and Gladrags and was the second lead singer of Manfred Mann. Another idol felled by the earworm.

Recently more earworms have assailed me. I didn’t mind Matthew and Son, Hello Goodbye or Starman. But then to my despair I kept singing the theme song to the Goodies. If that wasn’t bad enough, yesterday I fell victim to their chart topping single Funky Gibbon. How cruel can the tyrant earworm get?

Whoops, wrong worm. A Sandworm would play havoc in my ear.