Earworms

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Postby brainpanhandler » Fri Dec 09, 2011 1:27 pm

I can't help it. My atmosphere is infested with it.

"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity." - Martin Luther King Jr.
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Re: Earworms

Postby justdrew » Fri Dec 09, 2011 4:53 pm

here's one....




(not sure why they attribute that quote to Twain :shrug: )
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Re: Earworms

Postby Pierre d'Achoppement » Fri Dec 09, 2011 5:25 pm

Jeff: I'm afraid that Earth, a-all of Earth, is nothing but an intergalactic reality-TV show.
Man 2: My God. We're famous! [everyone stands and whoops it up]
- script from "Cancelled" - South Park
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Re: Earworms

Postby brainpanhandler » Tue Dec 27, 2011 12:30 am

A short story by Mark Twain
Punch, Brothers, Punch



Will the reader please to cast his eye over the following lines, and see if he can discover anything harmful in them?

Conductor, when you receive a fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!
A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,
A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,
A pink trip slip for a three-cent fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!

CHORUS

Punch, brothers! punch with care!
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!


I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper, a little while ago, and read them a couple of times. They took instant and entire possession of me. All through breakfast they went waltzing through my brain; and when, at last, I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten anything or not. I had carefully laid out my day's work the day before--thrilling tragedy in the novel which I am writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. I took up my pen, but all I could get it to say was, "Punch in the presence of the passenjare." I fought hard for an hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming, "A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare," and so on and so on, without peace or respite. The day's work was ruined--I could see that plainly enough. I gave up and drifted down-town, and presently discovered that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle. When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to the new step and went on harassing me just as before. I returned home, and suffered all the afternoon; suffered all through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered, and cried, and jingled all through the evening; went to bed and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ever; got up at midnight frantic, and tried to read; but there was nothing visible upon the whirling page except "Punch! punch in the presence of the passenjare." By sunrise I was out of my mind, and everybody marveled and was distressed at the idiotic burden of my ravings--"Punch! oh, punch! punch in the presence of the passenjare!"

Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering wreck, and went forth to fulfil an engagement with a valued friend, the Rev. Mr.------, to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten miles distant. He stared at me, but asked no questions. We started. Mr.------ talked, talked, talked as is his wont. I said nothing; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, Mr.------ said "Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so haggard and worn and absent-minded. Say something, do!"

Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said: "Punch brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!"

My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, they said:

"I do not think I get your drift, Mark. Then does not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said, certainly nothing sad; and yet--maybe it was the way you said the words--I never heard anything that sounded so pathetic. What is--"

But I heard no more. I was already far away with my pitiless, heartbreaking "blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip slip for a three-cent fare; punch in the presence of the passenjare." I do not know what occurred during the other nine miles. However, all of a sudden Mr.------ laid his hand on my shoulder and shouted:

"Oh, wake up! wake up! wake up! Don't sleep all day! Here we are at the Tower, man! I have talked myself deaf and dumb and blind, and never got a response. Just look at this magnificent autumn landscape! Look at it! look at it! Feast your eye on it! You have traveled; you have seen boaster landscapes elsewhere. Come, now, deliver an honest opinion. What do you say to this?"__

I sighed wearily; and murmured:

"A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare."

Rev. Mr. ------ stood there, very grave, full of concern, apparently, and looked long at me; then he said:

"Mark, there is something about this that I cannot understand. Those are about the same words you said before; there does not seem to be anything in them, and yet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch in the--how is it they go?"

I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines.

My friend's face lighted with interest. He said:

"Why, what a captivating jingle it is! It is almost music. It flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then I'll have them, sure."

I said them over. Then Mr. ------ said them. He made one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time and the next he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace descended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing; and I did sing for half an hour, straight along, as we went jogging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech again, and the pent talk of many a weary hour began to gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my friend's hand at parting, I said:

"Haven't we had a royal good time! But now I remember, you haven't said a word for two hours. Come, come, out with something!"

The Rev. Mr.------ turned a lack-luster eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without apparent consciousness:

"Punch, brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!"

A pang shot through me as I said to myself, "Poor fellow, poor fellow! he has got it, now."

I did not see Mr.------ for two or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, worn; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face and said:

"Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a nightmare, day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment. Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost. Saturday evening I had a sudden call, by telegraph, and took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a valued old friend who had requested that I should preach his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cars and set myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond the opening paragraph; for then the train started and the car-wheels began their 'clack, clack-clack-clack-clack! clack-clack! --clack-clack-clack!' and right away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an hour I sat there and set a syllable of those rhymes to every separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I was as fagged out, then, as if I had been chopping wood all day. My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer; so I undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my berth, and--well, you know what the result was. The thing went right along, just the same. 'Clack-clack clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight cent fare; clack-clack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, and so on punch in the presence of the passenjare!' Sleep? Not a single wink! I was almost a lunatic when I got to Boston. Don't ask me about the funeral. I did the best I could, but every solemn individual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and out with 'Punch, brothers, punch with care, punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing was that my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and I could actually catch absent-minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but before I got through the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the anteroom in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and said:

"'Oh, oh, he is gone, he is gone, and I didn't see him before he died!'

"'Yes!' I said, 'he is gone, he is gone, he is gone--oh, will this suffering never cease!'

"'You loved him, then! Oh, you too loved him!'

"'Loved him! Loved who?'

"'Why, my poor George! my poor nephew!'

"'Oh--him! Yes--oh, yes, yes. Certainly--certainly. Punch--punch--oh, this misery will kill me!'

"'Bless you! bless you, sir, for these sweet words! I, too, suffer in this dear loss. Were you present during his last moments?'

"'Yes. I--whose last moments?'

"'His. The dear departed's.'

"'Yes! Oh, yes--yes--yes! I suppose so, I think so, I don't know! Oh, certainly--I was there I was there!'

"'Oh, what a privilege! what a precious privilege! And his last words- -oh, tell me, tell me his last words! What did he say?'

"'He said--he said--oh, my head, my head, my head! He said--he said--he never said anything but Punch, punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare! Oh, leave me, madam! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to my madness, my misery, my despair!--a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare--endu--rance can no fur--ther go!--PUNCH in the presence of the passenjare!"

My friend's hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant minute, and then he said impressively:

"Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me any hope. But, ah me, it is just as well--it is just as well. You could not do me any good. The time has long gone by when words could comfort me. Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to wag forever to the jigger of that remorseless jingle. There--there it is coming on me again: a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a--"

Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite.

How did I finally save him from an asylum? I took him to a neighboring university and made him discharge the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them, now? The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write this article? It was for a worthy, even a noble, purpose. It was to warn you, reader, if you should came across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them--avoid them as you would a pestilence.

-THE END-
"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity." - Martin Luther King Jr.
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Re: Earworms

Postby Allegro » Thu Feb 02, 2012 12:11 pm

.
Three days going, now.
No stop :lol: in sight.

Art will be the last bastion when all else fades away.
~ Timothy White (b 1952), American rock music journalist
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Re: Earworms

Postby crikkett » Wed Feb 22, 2012 6:17 pm



Windmills of your mind (Muppet version)
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Re: Earworms

Postby brainpanhandler » Fri Apr 20, 2012 11:43 am

Elton John and Bernie Taupin's Levon has been stuck in my head since well before Levon Helm's recent death. It's the strings.

B-side to the single release was Goodbye.
Image



Like many of B.Taupin lyrics, there are double, triple, and quadruple enterdre's associated. His lyrics in his own words are an "amalgam of several subject's of feeling's cut and pasted …surrounded with several props to set a theme."

What most miss in the song "Levon" is what's not there, that being the times in which this song was penned, the late 60's. It was then many Vietnam-vets (Hence "Daniel") came home with heroin habits. Heroin dealers were known as "Balloons," and common street slang for heroin was "Sweet-Jesus." Additionally, "Cartoons," is most likely a reference of heroin's pseudo reality of have altered states of consciousness. Further, the 60's where embodied by several conscious efforts for social change one being the Jesus movement, and another a time of trinomial-marriage to peace, sex, and drugs.

So with this in mind, Alvin is Levon the drug dealer. Jesus is the habit. The 3 represent a unholy trinity. Additionally, Alvin Tostig is not a real person as he is the embodiment of a way of life, not to be confused with "The Way, the truth and the of life" the real Jesus movement.

Further, Levon's habit Jesus, was born on "a" or his Christmas day, not the traditional Dec 25th. Levon considers his bondage to dealing as a monarchal "Crown," and is something that cripples his normalcy as a king and creator of drug dealers. This is his "war/drug wound."

The business of selling and shooting up heron to new and old dealers and users, is done out of His garage. Which can be viewed as a physical garage for drug trafficking, and the garage/storage of the human mind. Additionally, all work is done near a motor way, get way. The motor way can be viewed as with all Taupin's lyrics, multiple ways. Motor sensory of the brain cortices (Heron's affect on neurotransmission-reception mimicking of the natural brain chemical serotonin), or a highway to escape police, and of course both.

As you can see, Taupin is a lyrical master at creating multiple associations with asymmetry subjects.

Also, Levon's habit'd desire is to escape by floating away from dealing, and live a life of drugs and sex, hence the Venus Mythological Roman Goddess reference which holds close to his futuristic Ideals for a life separated from his other personas.

Additionally to the 60's, "God is Dead" (Nietzsche), publicly declared by a common news paper sold globally, encapsulates the songs essence that neither Levon the drug dealer and Jesus his habit, are deemed correct; in essence inducing the beginning of the postmodern era which host the charm of relativistic ideals not theism. Atheism, counterintuitive to the American culture in the United States at that time, became prominent during the 60's with the induction of non absolutes, and social relativism as a collective whole for society and further inducing the birth of "pop-culture."

As stated earlier, Taupin is a master at weaving these lyrical fabrics in extremely creative prose's.

Rock on Taupin!- Derek Scott, Romeo, MI

http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=1199
"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity." - Martin Luther King Jr.
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Re: Earworms

Postby Allegro » Fri Apr 20, 2012 6:52 pm

^^^
brainpanhandler, THANK YOU for adding the notes. I would’ve not imagined, ever, what the song Levon was about. There are lots of reasons to love the listening to pop music, and there are lots of reasons why I missed much of its culture, at least consciously until some 17 months ago or so. Thank You. I’ll relate to those notes, as time goes along.

You caught an earworm as sounds of strings in Elton’s piece? Well, I caught the sounds of the voices of the Swingle Singers in a post put over here. I am now making up my own melodies in my head using Swingle’s vocal sounds and parts of their melody lines, and those three ways for music-makings have not found their way away. Yet. They’re kinda nice.
Art will be the last bastion when all else fades away.
~ Timothy White (b 1952), American rock music journalist
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Re: Earworms

Postby brainpanhandler » Mon Apr 23, 2012 11:57 am

Allegro wrote:^^^
brainpanhandler, THANK YOU for adding the notes. I would’ve not imagined, ever, what the song Levon was about. There are lots of reasons to love the listening to pop music, and there are lots of reasons why I missed much of its culture, at least consciously until some 17 months ago or so. Thank You. I’ll relate to those notes, as time goes along.


You're welcome, although I'm not really certain about that murky interpretation. It's strange that I have probably heard Levon hundreds and hundreds of times since I was a kid, maybe thousands, and I had never even heard the lyrics right let alone read them and tried to understand them. Once I read them though I had no better idea what it was about, but it seemed they had to be about something.

What happened 17 months ago?
"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity." - Martin Luther King Jr.
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Re: Earworms

Postby Allegro » Mon Apr 23, 2012 11:39 pm

brainpanhandler wrote:…Once I read them though I had no better idea what it was about, but it seemed they had to be about something.
:lol: Well, you hit the nail on the head with that one!

brainpanhandler wrote:What happened 17 months ago?
An obsession for pop and rock music had begun, and I posted what had been happening over here. Please see me with these :coolshades on.
Art will be the last bastion when all else fades away.
~ Timothy White (b 1952), American rock music journalist
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Jerryz Bonerz

Postby IanEye » Sat May 12, 2012 8:55 pm

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Image



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Re: Earworms

Postby dada » Fri Jun 01, 2012 12:49 am

Pierre d'Achoppement wrote:[gameboy tetris music]


NES Tetris music version C is my personal tetris earworm

Both his words and manner of speech seemed at first totally unfamiliar to me, and yet somehow they stirred memories - as an actor might be stirred by the forgotten lines of some role he had played far away and long ago.
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Re: Earworms

Postby Allegro » Tue Jun 05, 2012 11:01 pm

.
brainpanhandler, thanks to ninakat :P,
I’ve now an earworm. Nice, too, for the moment :).

Art will be the last bastion when all else fades away.
~ Timothy White (b 1952), American rock music journalist
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'cause you believed it, we are the magick...

Postby IanEye » Tue Mar 12, 2013 7:44 am

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weeeee are Believix!

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