Earworm

January 10, 2022

I’m glad Christmas is over. Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not the religious holiday I’m talking about. It’s the music. But it’s not only the music. For example, I love “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” and the way good old Bing Crosby does it. But must I hear the song at my local hardware store even before I’ve sat down for Thanksgiving turkey? And, having hardly digested the bird, must I suffer the onslaught of Christmas music for weeks to come? 

OK, some of the songs I like, some I don’t. “The Little Drummer Boy”—sweet. “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire”—I love that one. “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”—what a silly song, although I have to admit I loved it as a kid. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”—ugh. But it doesn’t really matter what I think. There’s just no choosing the music: when you’re at the baker, the laundromat, or the grocery store checkout counter, Christmas songs come at you willy-nilly and, what’s worse, over and over again. Added to my Yuletide unhappiness, they lodge in the head like unwanted guests who refuse to leave. The Germans in their language aptly call the condition Ohrwurm—earworm. 

As last Christmas approached, I heard music wafting through the air while I was at the bank. Oh no, I thought, not that song again. I must have already heard “Winter Wonderland” half a dozen times in the last few days, with Christmas still a week away.

I probably enjoyed “Winter Wonderland” when I first heard it years ago. The song is warmhearted and lively, but it has since worn thin with repetition. Waiting in the bank-teller line, I was a captive audience forced to listen to a crooner sing the first bars:

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight
We’re happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland 

And then the very same, not-so-inspired tune once again:

Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song
As we go along
Walking in a winter wonderland

But now came Section B with at least something of interest—two surprising harmonic shifts:

In the meadow we can build a snowman
And pretend that he is Parson Brown.
He’ll say, Are you married?
We’ll say, No man
You can do the job while you’re in town

What dumb lyrics, and who the hell was Parson Brown anyway? But never mind, the teller’s line was getting shorter and Section A, in the home key, had returned:

Later on, we’ll conspire
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid
The plans that we’ve made
Walking in a winter wonderland

I left the bank hoping for at least a short respite from “Winter Wonderland” as Christmas neared, but, sadly, it was not to be. The song, now a malevolent earworm, had begun all over again in my head.

I’ve noticed something odd about earworms. You’d think the mind would allow only the most beautiful, the most substance-filled music to enter its lofty home. But no, sometimes laughably inane, vacuous tunes force entry, as if the brain against its better judgment has reluctantly let them in for further examination.

It would be unfair to put “Winter Wonderland” in the latter category. The song’s good cheer and upbeat nature have been enjoyed Christmas after Christmas. But at that moment there was nothing upbeat about the worm plaguing my inner ear, and to make matters worse, I had inexplicably begun “Winter Wonderland” in one key and then finished in another. 

This was bad, very bad. What if word got around that I couldn’t end a simple Christmas song in the right key? For God’s sake, I’m a professional musician. I’d be ruined. They’d start calling me “Wrong Key Steinhardt”.

One thing was certain. I had to get to the bottom of this, and quickly. After all, why would any one hire me to perform, say, the Beethoven Violin Concerto that begins in the key of D, if I was in danger of ending in the key of F? It would be a scandal.

I decided to approach “Winter Wonderland” as if I were an auto mechanic trying to figure out whether the engine, the transmission, or the exhaust was the problem. Looking under the hood, so to speak, the first section of the song seemed to stay in the right key, but I soon discovered where I’d gone wrong. Moving into the middle section, I had mistakenly continued the melody up a whole step—wrong, but sounding perfectly fine—instead of correctly lowering it a half step. As a result, horror of horrors, I wound up in the wrong key.

Hurrah, problem solved. “Winter Wonderland” was now back in tip-top shape for me, but also for my—what should I call him—my willful pal, my irritating nemesis, the earworm. Not only that, no one will ever have to call me “Wrong Key Steinhardt”. That is, if you readers can keep a secret.

Photo © Dorothea von Haeften.

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