unhinging occurs slowly
for the past two weeks or so, I have been hearing music following me around, hovering just on the cusp of audibility, like an itch one cannot place. seriously. at first I ascribed it to my accursed mobile phone, which rings to the tune of Bach's Air in G string, but so inaudibly that I've become accustomed to straining to hear it whine plaintively from the depths of my handbag.
(if you have ever seen a squirrel quiver to a halt, mid-scamper, and freeze, rigid, listening for danger, you will know what I look like when I think I hear my phone ringing).
alas, it's not just Bach's Air in G String. a couple of days ago the soundtrack from Hunchback of Notre Dame welled in my ears. Last week it was Debussy. just now in the shower I was plagued by the unmistakable tune of Ben King's 'Stand by Me', hollowed out and beaten to tincan thinness, as though someone in the next room were playing it through the plumbing. also, there's the fact that I am perpetually convinced that my phone is ringing. I may be going mad. think I need help, or for someone to confiscate my phone.
or. it might be because the past two weeks have been inordinately saturated with live music concerts. shostakovich's fourth symphony, bach's cello suites, rachmaninov's piano sonata no.2 (divine, incidentally), brad mehldau jazz trio, grieg and couperin lunchtime concerts. like radios, our brains tune into certain frequencies, depending on inundation. pregnant women will see pregnant women everywhere; someone who reads three reviews of the same book will suddenly see that book everywhere; for those in love, every song on radio is about you; for those out of love, every song on radio is also about you. a brain saturated with music eventually expects to hear it everywhere, or generates some by itself. QED.
either that, or it's time to call the men in white coats.