The Origins of Subconscious FM Radio

I have an FM radio station running in my head continuously. It plays what it wants when it wants and it’s almost a beloved pet to me. Where I go, it follows, humming along quietly in the back ground of my psyche, changing tunes according to some quirky emotional logic or algorithm. This morning I am being serenaded by “Gold Finger,” the opening theme from the movie with James Bond. I do not think there is a hidden message in this particular choice, but perhaps the result of an algorithm, not unlike when you hit Shuffle on your Music app.

My first experience with Subconscious FM Radio came when I was in college. I was at the university of Oregon working on a degree in music. This was in the early 80’s, and in order to listen to recorded music we went to the Listening Library. We checked out albums and sat in little cubicles, placed the disk on a record player, and with head phones, listened.

There was no thumb print technology, no mini computers in our pockets holding what the entire Listening Library had to offer plus more, no instant access. You had to make the effort to go somewhere specific, during library hours, know what you wanted to hear by name, and then look it up in a card catalogue. Or at the very least know the composer and be able to hum a bar or two so the librarian, usually a volunteer music major geek, could help you identify and name it. Then back to the card catalogue you went.

This is where I first encountered the 2nd movement of Beethoven’s 7th symphony. I had randomly played it as I was completing another listening assignment. I didn’t move as the first few notes spilled into the next of this haunting dirge, a direct line in to the soul of lamentation and its inherent beauty: you do not mourn what you have not loved.

Musical memory is something acquired over time, as is the intelligence to jot down notes. With the complexity of a symphony and its many themes, and given I had spent the better part of an afternoon listening to many composers, by the time I got home, I could not remember the primary thematic material.

I tried for weeks to recall the melody, and retracing my “steps” at the library was impossible. For one, I didn’t even recall it was Beethoven. Without a composer or a tune, the librarian geek would understandably be annoyed, and I let it go.

Three months later I suddenly awoke from sleep. In the middle of the night, the 2nd movement of Beethoven’s masterpiece began to play in my head. Subconscious FM Radio had recorded it all and found a moment to play it back to me. By morning I still had it, and between the audiophiles at the school of music and my whistling skills, I was able to identify it.

Later when I began to practice yoga I realized I had a level in my consciousness where music always was. All I had to do was listen and something was playing. It wasn’t until later that Subconscious FM Radio took on a quirky, commentator role in my life, spontaneously supplying sound tracks in my head to events as they played out.

It’s worth noting that Ear Worms, besides being a disgusting term for an annoying phenomenon, are likely related to Subconscious FM Radio Station, but are not the same; the radio in my head is not invasive. I have no understanding what creates the random Ear Worm conundrum but have been told that if you sing whatever snippet of a song you have stuck in your head in it’s entirety, the song the Ear Worm is tormenting you with will go away. Perhaps this idea is based on the skipping record idea, and if you just push the needle past the scratch or aberration in the vinyl the music will continue on its merry way and go to the next cut. Its clear someone over 60 came up with this theory.

Sandy and I watched Hamilton for the first time a few weeks ago. I was immediately taken with the King and his hilarious refrain from “You’ll Be Back,” of da-da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-doi-da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da (don’t hold me to it.) I sang it all night long while brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed.

The next morning Sandy turned to me and said, I bet you don’t remember that tune. I was surprised to find he was right. It had popped out of my head, and it had also disappeared from his.

Two nights later I woke up with the King singing in my head. I proudly sang the refrain to Sandy the next morning and relayed it had bounced into my head in the middle of the night. He looked at me and started laughing, replying “same here!”

©Theresa Elliott, All Rights Reserved