Why "The Little Drummer Boy" Is So Annoying
That’s the subtitle, amusingly similar to a complaint I recently made to an innocent conference worker at the Chicago Hilton, of a fun, light read by Daniel J. Levitin in The Wall Street Journal, which begins:
Do You Hear What I Hear?
December. Joy, goodwill toward men, long lines, the unwanted wet kiss from a drunk co-worker at the office party. Along with the candy canes and mistletoe, music will be there in the background wherever we go this month, as sonic wallpaper, to put us in the right festive mood. No holiday music is more annoying than the piped-in variety at shopping malls and department stores. Can science explain why the same song we enjoy singing with relatives or congregants drives us to visions of sugar-plum homicide when it blares across the public-address system Chez Target?
Our drive to surround ourselves with familiar music during life cycle events and annual celebrations is ancient in origin. Throughout most of our history as a species, music was a shared cultural experience. Early Homo sapiens coupled music with ritual to infuse special days with majesty and meaning. Before there was commerce, before there was anything to buy, our hunter-gatherer ancestors sat around campfire circles crafting pottery, jewelry and baskets, and they sang. Early humans didn’t sit and listen to music by themselves — music formed an inseparable part of community life. So much so, that when we sing together even today, our brains release oxytocin, a hormone that increases feelings of trust and social bonding.
Part of what makes this social bonding “stick” is the fact that music literally sticks in our ears. The Germans, Levitan happily tells us, have a name for the phenomenon of having a piece of music stuck in your head: Ohrwurms (ear worms). And, as Levitan also observes, it’s just a short sleigh ride over the river and through the woods to Madison Avenue, where decades have been spent perfecting the art and science of ear worm exploitation. Did you know that classical music makes people buy more wine, and order more food?
But as smart as those Mad Men are, many of us tire quickly of the wall-to-wall a-wassailing. Muzak in the mall is bad enough, and I imagine a special circle of Hell for those who make this stuff even catchier by turning it into a commercial. Levitan tells us it’s not just the ubiquity. It’s that holiday music is too simple to sustain constant repetition. Especially when the song itself features such relentless droning as “The Little Drummer Boy.” This is why classical music works so well — it’s complex. And well-known classical works, by their very familiarity, often provide exactly the balance of novelty and universality that marketers are looking for.
He also speculates on the effect of today’s de-socialization of music in the age of personal listening devices like the iPod. The communal aspect of music sharing is still there, but it takes place online, not face to face. For the iPod generation, I imagine the subtle, ritualistic pressure of holiday music might have a special annoyance — in its subliminal admonition to take of the ear buds and join the party.
Guest Blogger "Charley in the Box" Unveils the "Island of Misfit Scores"
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A preliminary note from Mr. Gibbons: Recently, when reluctantly co-opted for a search for a runaway reindeer, an eccentric prospecter, and a renegade elf, I had the, let’s say, interesting experience of being marooned on a most quaint little island, to wit, the “island of misfit toys”…I didn’t have a chance to meet the big man on campus, some insufferably pompous flying lion gradiosely appelated “King Moonracer”, but I did while away considerable time jawing with the moody and sentimental sentry (not to put too fine a point on it), Mr. Charley-In-The-Box, hereafter referred to as Chasbo. (With his indulgent permission!)… Well, the upshot of the deal was that, given Chasbo’s deep knowledge of classical music, I invited him to do today’s column, his choices for works deserving to be marooned on their own “island of misfit scores”. These are his choices, not mine. I love to death all the works he derides. If you have a complaint, don’t come to Holdekunst! Send a letter to: “Sentry Charley-In-The-Box”, C/O King Moonracer, the Isle of the Misfit Toys, Vicinity of the North Pole”-I’m sure that’ll get there just fine. With no further ado, I yield the rest of the post to Chasbo, with the stipulation that the works he chooses have to be either important, popular, or at least substantial. It’s just too easy to send some symphony by Dittersdorf or some Vivaldi concerto to the island. I’ll see you at the end for a postscript.
We so-called “unwanted toys” may not delight boys and girls as we would like, but we solace ourselves by looking at the majestic lights of the North, the Aurora Borealis. But how many bores can you fit in Borealis? Boring works should go to the Island of Misfit Scores!
I hereby nominate Faure’s dud of a Requiem, Mendelssohn’s dud of a second symphony, and that pseudo-mystical dud of alltimes, Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time. There’s limits to the patience even of misfit toys!
We have our own “Moon” deal going here, in the August Person of our Beloved Comrade and Leader, the inestimable King Moonracer. We need no dissertations on the moon. To the Island of Misfit Scores with you, Pierrot Lunaire! (that doesn’t go for you, Dvorak’s Rusalka, you can come by, anytime… )
My friend, the “boomerang who doesn’t come back” (he merely plops and stays) begged me to include a piece that once heard, you want to banish forever, with no hope of its obnoxious notes ever returning to sender: Mr. Orff! Tear down this Carmina Piranha! And take itto the Island of Misfit Scores!
Sacrificing a maiden to death? Are you kidding? We don’t even consider doing that to the most misfitted of our misfit dollies. I had to close young Rudolph’s ears. Get thee hence, Sacre du Printemps!
“A scooter for Jimmy, a dolly for Sue, the kind that will even say, ‘how do you do’”… How Do You Do! Our misfit doll says it, and that’s respect, if you like, but there’s precious little respect in today’s world, we misfits have occasion to know this really personally! (editor’s note: Here Chasbo sobs uncontrollably. Itold you he was sentimental! But I don’t know what impolite score he had in mind….Oh, now he’scomposed himself)…Varese’s Ameriques! It’s just noise, how rude can you get? And Gershwin, Rhapsody in Blue! It’s rude to insult our intelligence with such potboiling potpourris! To the Island of Misfit Scores, if you’d be so polite as to acommodate us in this regard, Sir, we would certainly greatly appreciate it, if it’s not too much trouble.
Herme wants to be a dentist, and that’s cool with us misfits, but for the island of misfit scores, he needs a dentist that has gone bad. I can only think of one, in Willaim Bolcom’s McTeague. This may not seem fair, but life isn’t fair; who knows this better than us? Welcome to the Island of Misfit Scores!
Did you know there was a great pianist who was a misfit like us? Yep, Glenn Gould. And he said, and I quote, “Beethoven’s Violin Concerto gets by on guts and one good tune.” In a gesture of solidarity with a fellow misfit, to the Island of Misfit Scores! (and you’re too long, anyway.)
Well, that’s ten misfit scores, a conventional number for lists such as this. Now I’m going to close the lid of my box and dream of being rescued and placed in the hands of a loving child. Merry Christmas!
Guest Editor’s note: This is Burl Ives, the Talking Snowman. Mr. Gibbons says he’s “indisposed” so I’m nominated to do the postscript. I think I have a pretty good idea why our friend is indisposed- I don’t think he liked ol’ Charlie’s list. Fact of the matter is, I heard him grumble something about “Charlie’sbeen in that box too long”…Our friend Yukon complained that Herme gotdentist score and he didn’t get a prospecter score. I can only think of one score with prospecters, however, “La Faniciulla del West” maybe we’ll run that by our tempermental friend!