It’s the same song, the Ohrwurm of a hundred bored days and every
sleepless night. Danced to it at discos, set it as your ringtone, he played it
at his wedding and she put it on every compilation tape and mix CD she made for
the best part of five years. Fell in and out of love to it, with it.
Every strained lyric, every compressed handclap, every
plosive breath and derivative lead guitar riff, they’re all so familiar, too
familiar. I contend: familiarity breeds nostalgia and apathy. Viscerality and
vitality is replaced by comfort and conditioning, it’s all learned reactions
and automatic programmed emotions.
But: on different speakers, different headphones, in someone’s
car, you hear, she hears a backing vocal, a bass-line, a phased melody, pushed
to the forefront by bad wiring, poor equalisation, and suspect speaker
placement.
It is a new calling sound amongst time-wearied notes of remembrance
and recognition. It is a long-lost half-sibling, an accidental chance body of
happenstance that inspects and dissects everything that was once so beloved. It's hearlumination. It's hearluminating. And it sings and it shines and it makes you so
very happy and in love all over again.
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Neologism and story inspired by the following tweet:
There should be a name for suddenly hearing a detail in a song you've listened to thousands of times.
— Mic Wright (@brokenbottleboy) August 28, 2012
Thanks Mic.
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