The origin of my predicament is somewhat elusive, but I can pinpoint it to a cozy coffee shop I visited around two weeks ago. It was the type of establishment that plays a laid-back mix of songs, designed to create a relaxed atmosphere for patrons. You know the type—soft rock classics from yesteryears, nothing avant-garde or outlandish. Just straightforward adult-oriented rock, bland and unassuming, meant to accompany the routine of ordering and enjoying coffee.
As I pay for my drink, a familiar tune wafts through the air. It’s a song I recognize but haven’t heard in ages. I step outside, coffee in hand, and suddenly recall that it’s Brenda Russell’s 1988 soul-rock gem, “Piano in the Dark.” And thus, the torment begins.
Day 1
The intrusion is subtle at first. While loading the washing machine, the slick intro of the song plays in my mind. This 1980s soundscape sets the stage for the song’s enigmatic narrative: a woman questions whether her relationship has lost its spark. Just when it seems all hope is gone, she hears her partner’s piano playing in the dark, drawing her back into his mysterious allure. I find myself enjoying this unexpected revival of a song I adore and even start to hum along.
Day 2
Since it’s been stuck in my head all day, I decide to watch the “Piano in the Dark” music video on YouTube. This turns out to be a grave mistake, as it solidifies every note in my memory and tightens its grip on my thoughts. The video itself is perplexing. Brenda brews herbal tea in what seems like real time, tosses playing cards at a hat, and while there is indeed a piano, a massive harp steals the spotlight. Why doesn’t she ever mention the harp? “Greg, you always play the piano, but what about the harp? Can’t we try something new?”
Day 3
I begin to question the mental state of the song’s characters. Perhaps “his” piano playing is a cacophony of chaos. What if he’s sitting in the dark, banging out dissonant notes and howling like a wild animal? I resonate with that feeling. After 72 hours, I find myself becoming increasingly agitated. My subconscious, equally weary of the song, injects crude phrases into the lyrics; now, somewhere in my mind, he’s performing “Piano up his Ass.” I chuckle at this absurdity, only to realize I’m laughing alone in an empty room, much like the narrator. Oh dear.
Day 4
I wake up to blissful silence. The bright winter sun fills the room, offering a sense of reassurance for the day ahead. There was something I needed to recall, or perhaps forget? It’s unimportant. I breathe in and out, enjoying the peacefulness interrupted only by chirping birds. But just as I step through the doorway, the haunting lyrics invade my consciousness once again.
Day 5
I feel like Job, tormented by an unseen force without understanding why. I bet even the session musicians who worked on “Piano in the Dark” didn’t dwell on it as much as I have over these past several days. The worst part is that I can’t confide in anyone; I fear my obsession might spread to them. So, I go through my daily motions, smiling and nodding while in my mind, it remains perpetually 1988, with Brenda Russell tossing her big hair and pondering if her relationship still has that vital spark, which is slowly fading from my existence thanks to this cursed song.
Day 6
I start to ponder whether this song holds some profound meaning. It references a “riddle.” Perhaps solving it is the key to reclaiming my sanity. Who is “he” who plays piano in the dark? In the video, he appears somewhat like David Lee Roth, hinting at a deeper mystery.
Day 7
I finally discern who “he” is. The Piano Player—the one who drives people to madness. He’s either Satan or perhaps Cthulhu, a timeless entity lurking over an ominous piano made from human bones. He will play for eternity to an audience of lost souls like me, who innocently thought, “Oh, I know that song!” and became ensnared forever. In an interesting twist, I learn that Brenda Russell received two Grammy nominations for “Piano in the Dark.” This conspiracy runs deeper than I ever imagined.
Day 8
Despair sets in; I feel like a mere shell of my former self, destined to be haunted by this song, repeating every four minutes and 28 seconds. I wonder which part of my mind will crack first. I meet a friend for lunch, but I can barely focus on his words. I’m not really present; I’ve become a human iPod stuck on repeat. As he talks, I nod along, and in a moment of desperation, I casually ask if he’s ever had a song stuck in his head and what he does to shake it off.
“Oh sure,” he replies. “I usually just sing ‘Kumbaya.’”
“‘Kumbaya’? The campfire song?” I inquire, intrigued.
“Yeah, it’s like an eraser. It completely clears any song stuck in your head. Even ‘Kumbaya’ itself doesn’t linger afterward.”
I’m left speechless. Lunchtime concludes, and my friend departs, but I remain seated, feeling the weight of Brenda Russell’s melody encroaching.
Day 9
Salvation arrives. It works! Every time the song tries to invade my thoughts, I simply sing “Kumbaya.” In moments of idle reflection, when the intro begins to surface, I switch to “Kumbaya,” and the tune dissipates like morning mist.
I check “Kumbaya” on Wikipedia, discovering it originated as a sincere plea for divine assistance. Amen to that. Gradually, the incessant tune fades. Two days pass without any interruptions from Brenda Russell, and my friend was right; “Kumbaya” simply does its job and leaves. I am free. My nine-day companion has returned to 1988, and perhaps, just maybe, I miss it a little. Or to phrase it differently, I cry just a little / when I think of letting go…
In conclusion, the grip of an earworm can be an unsettling experience that impacts daily life. However, with creativity and resourcefulness, one can find relief and reclaim mental space for more pressing matters.