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.