Superlatives for the songs stuck in my head during 10 days of silent meditation
I thought I had pretty good taste in music, but no amount of deep listening or critical discourse could have saved me from the playlist my subconscious had been developing in case of a 10-day total media consumption blackout. No singing, whistling, humming, and even drumming of any kind meant there was no release valve of any kind, leaving my mind to dredge up tunes from untold depths that would rattle around until they could be replaced by (or mashed up with) an even deeper-seated memory. In many ways, it was a therapeutic experience in its own right, yielding insights that were as embarrassing, delightful, and triggering as those gained through actual meditation. Or at least that’s what I had to tell myself to get through the ordeal. Below are just a few of the more memorable earworms I was fortunate to experience.
Most annoying: Nessun Dorma - as performed by SeokJong Baek
After 8 years of living in New York City, I made my first ever visit to the Met Opera the weekend before entering Vipassana. Having fallen asleep at every opera I’d been subjected to prior to this one, I wouldn’t have called myself a fan. But this time was different. Audiences of previous stagings of Franco Zeferelli’s production of Puccini’s Turandot1 can attest to the glamour, intricacy, and scale of the sets and costumes. But it was SeokJong Baek’s tenor performance that made this into the single most powerful experience of performance art I’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing.
The immense talents of the South Korean playing Calaf were obvious to all in attendance from the very first scene. But it wasn’t until the opening song of the third and final act that he revealed himself to be a star in the making. If you know anything about this opera, you know this aria as the tenor solo to end all tenor solos: Nessun Dorma. (It is one of those songs you’ve definitely heard whether you know it or not.) From the first attack to final release, Baek’s multilayered voice reverberated throughout the theater as if singing multiple parts in perfect harmony. (Only afterwards did I learn that this may be because had only recently made the transition to tenor after a lifetime of training as a baritone.) At the conclusion of the last note, a pregnant silence hung in the air for a mere fraction of a second, before pandemonium broke loose. The spontaneous applause that followed was every bit as loud and energetic as the standing ovation to come for the full cast after the curtains fell. People were whooping, hollering, and shouting their “bravos” as if we were in Madison Square Garden and the Knicks had just won the NBA championship. I seriously considered stopping to put in my earplugs but didn’t because the tears in my eyes compelled me to keep clapping for as long as possible.
So why was this the most annoying song? Simply because I do not speak Italian—and even if I did, I would not be able to discern a single word of what this man is singing without closed captioning. Instead, I was left with a hollow echo of an intense feeling coupled with the words “nessun dorma,” followed by a MIDI ringtone rendition of the melody on repeat for approximately 50% of my waking hours for the entirety of the course.
Creepiest: Butterfly - Weezer
Weezer’s sophomore album Pinkerton was top of mind for me because it was inspired by Madama Butterfly, yet another problematic orientalist Puccini opera that I ended up researching after looking up Turandot. (It was also a bit on the nose because butterflies fluttering across the walking paths were among the most visually stimulating sights the center had to offer.) “Butterfly” is the final track from the album and it’s every bit as tragic as the operatic source material. An unaccompanied Rivers Cuomo strums a simple major chord progression on acoustic guitar as he sings mournfully about accidentally killing a butterfly that he had only been trying to preserve.
What role should intention play when we judge the harms we subject each other to in the course of a shared life? This question has haunted my entire adulthood. The lyrics provide no answers; only excuses and a distinctly rapey vibe: “I'm sorry for what I did | I did what my body told me to | I didn't mean to do you harm | Every time I pin down what I think I want, it slips away.” There’s a split-second of a false ending after the second chorus that threatens to leave us hanging on an incomplete phrase. However, it is immediately followed by a series of repetitive apologies before ending on a magnanimous G major chord, fulfilling the innate human desire for melodic resolution.
Most nostalgic: Wonderwall - Oasis
Most people who’ve known me for a while have heard that I worked at a Boy Scout summer camp as a high school upperclassman. It was my first “real” job that involved filling out tax forms in order to receive a literal paycheck. And it was here that I drank my first six pack, learned to shoplift, and, against all odds, met my first girlfriend. It was also the first and only time I ever sang in front of an audience of hundreds of strangers.
Each weeklong session had three evening campfires and each one would end with an acoustic rendition of an alt-rock classic: The General, High and Dry, Jumper, things of that nature. As a classic rock teen, I harbored a soft spot for Wish You Were Here, but Wonderwall was my personal favorite and is the epitome of the genre.
Noel’s acoustic guitar part is dead simple, but each chord employs a modification on the standard fingering, lending the progression an ineffable charm that is more felt than heard. His lyrics are relatable enough to evoke familiar feelings in English speakers of any fluency, yet abstract enough for one to find their own meaning in it. But what makes it a timeless hit is Liam singing the absolute shit out of one of the most monotonous vocal arrangements in pop history. You can hear his hands gripping tightly behind his back, opening his chest cavity as he belts his heart in the direction of the recording booth’s vintage microphone.
At the end of the night, after all the skits and repeat-after-me songs had finished, I would channel Liam as I gave whatever remained of my energy to the 300 or so people left sitting in the amphitheater. Regardless of how messy the day or week had gotten, or what the actual song of the evening was, I needed everyone to know: You’re my wonderwall.
Most joyful: Freed From Desire - Gala
If you’re familiar with this song, it needs no explanation in this context. If you’re not, give it a listen, then see the previous sentence.
Setting aside the EDC and Burner scenes, contemporary raves are somewhat serious affairs, attracting Seekers of a Deep and True experience of Electronic Music—approximating the Berghain experience2. For the most part, I am down with this program and my time on those dance floors is the closest I’d come to achieving a deep meditative state prior to Vipassana. That said, there are times where purely ecstatic revelry is not just preferable, but existentially necessary.
From what I’ve pieced together in the comments spread across various Youtube-hosted vinyl rips of the era,3 euphoria was the default vibe during the house-fueled rave scene of the nineties and early aughts. I was far too young at the time and never thought I would experience it for myself, until the Fourth of July 2021, when veteran selector Eris Drew4 and her partner in life and music Octo Octa decided it was time to take us back.
As the sun began setting behind the Knockdown Center’s newly-opened, COVID-restriction-compliant outdoor stage, the DJs began spinning vocal house bangers, one after another, each one adding fuel to their time machine as it prepared to tear a hole through space time. The above track was just one among many in an unimpeachable run.
Sunset turned to dusk, and the fireworks started, signaling the nexus was complete, transporting me and and 2000 of my newest, closest friends out of this pandemic-weary dimension into one where mind and body were one and COVID-19 never happened. I felt like an animal on Noah’s Ark, escaping the rising tides of misery clinging to the coattails of our compassionate prophets.
Technically, the party did eventually stop when the final track ended just after 10:30PM (90+ minutes past scheduled curfew), but a part of me never left. He’s still there, dancing in perpetuity.
Most earnest: I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie
One could argue that this is the most objectively annoying song on this list and I would be unable to refute you. But I also don’t care. In contrast to all other songs on this list, it came to me not while walking or zoning out during a break, but in the middle of meditation. It was around Day 5 or so, in the midst of a truly quiet stretch of the evening group sitting, when an unmistakable acoustic guitar riff began plucking through my head as clearly as if Ben Gibbard himself were sitting on a stool 5 feet from my face. It’s embarrassing to admit, but this ended up being one of the most moving experiences of the entire 10-day course for me. I realized in that moment that I have always loved this song because of how it defines love.
I first observed about a decade ago that most songs we think of as “love songs” are actually written about craving wherein the human subject of the feeling can be substituted 1:1 for a cigarette or similar vice. Go ahead and try it yourself. This song is one of the rare exceptions. Gibbard’s description of love is based on shared experiences, shedding dogma, and supporting one another in facing the impermanence of human existence. It was my favorite expression of the concept when I was a naïve teenager and I’m fortunate to report that it’s only become truer over time.
Apparently this is controversial because it is racist. From what I’ve gathered, some are concerned that audiences might confuse the brutal depiction of Chinese culture as being representative of the actual China in some kind of way, or something like that. Having three wise men named Ping, Pang and Pong reads a bit whacky in 2024, but I would hope that a thinking person is able to separate the silliness of the script from the profundity of the music with minimal effort. If harm was ever done to China’s reputation by this show, it would have been back when it debuted in the 1920s, when most people would not have had easy access to credible information about Chinese history and culture and might genuinely confuse Puccini to be a scholar of Chinese tradition. By that same token, it would shock me if even a single contemporary audience member were to draw any kind of conclusion about China or its people from this production. I am more sympathetic to the argument that this relic is taking up valuable stage time that could be dedicated to works by actual Chinese people. But ultimately, I am of the opinion that we should not toss the baby out with the bath water, especially when the baby is such a certified banger.
Search Engine recently released an excellent episode exploring what Berghain is really all about.
