The YoYo effect

Yo Yo! Stretch Strung Up.

Seem to be neither hither nor thither at the moment. Musically, this munki is one minute sitting tearfully listening to Cinematic Orchestra’s “To build a home,” then it’s jumping around to the Cramps “Bikini Girls with Machine Guns,” driving around screaming The Misfits “I want your Skull” and then “Twinkle, twinkle little star” on one of Squishy’s many many head destroying devices. Up, down, around and around. Can’t get no consistency no mo.

Recently I heard a “Music Scientist” from Glasgow University talking about the way music is used these days by people as a mood enhancer. Whereas in the past, music was a pastime, a side-stage in life, the act of pulling a record from its sleeve or winding up a gramophone was on the whole something you had to create time for. Nowadays, of course, we are plugged in to sources blasting out “the soundtrack to our lives.” This munki will be driving to work and put Motorhead on to gear up for a hectic day. The dual effect of making me pumped up and also completely deaf is a useful tool. Upskilling I believe it’s called. Upskilling is like guesstimate, Wanker-English. The type of words that make Douglas Coupland spit out his cornflakes in delirium.


Not exactly Cheers


Anyway, if this constant soundtrack is being used as a way to help you through your days, whether you are experiencing problems at work, relationship deterioration, family issues, birthdays, deaths or even potential relationships, is there a possibility that the flip side is that people are now being overcome by music. When I was a young Stretch, I used to have the occasional superstition, well two superstitions. The first was that magpie numeracy was a factor in how life turned out. When I was sixteen, this ended after one of the fuckers shat on me, as another looked on. The other kinda superstition related to spending every second night in my local pub, drinking with vigour to forget where I was and to aiding my lust toward a girl working behind the bar. Before, I went to the pub, I would put a Pavement album on. At the time, the choices were Slanted and Enchanted, Westing (By Musket and Sextant) and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. For some reason, this little ritual would mean that I would have a great night, and shite nights would occur without this new device.

This continued into my early 20s, but ended due to my high usage of various chemical substances. Well, I forgot to listen to Pavement in that way anymore, although I did use the CD box to cut up speed. The girl had changed and so had I, and part of my littul munki head realised how arresting this was to my development. So, a folly of the young. Oh hawhawblahblah. BUT, these days I notice the way certain music makes me think. Especially with a shuffle device and having 80gbs of music with me at all times, certain songs might turn up in my earphones or on the car stereo, any my perspective changes completely. I noticed that The XX’s music tends to put me in a dreamlike state where I think about a particular thing which is bothering me, coz their music reminds me of that thing.

So, yeah, what the fuck, who cares? I know, but when you are in the Dubalin town and walking, scurrying about the environs, you watch people. Most of them have headphones on, and most of them have huge problems/issues in their lives. Who doesn’t? Well there are people who don’t, but no one likes them. So, say a guy is walking along to his bus and a song comes on that he


This is kinda like the one I drove through, but y'know completely different


heard this girl that he fancies say she liked. He’ll immediately think of her and maybe it can help some kind of proactive situation occur, unless it’s Slayer’s South of Heaven, which will be hard to dance to at their wedding. Or, as happened me the other day, a song came on in the car, and a phrase from the song BANG, put me right back in my mother’s hospital room the morning she died. My soul lurched, I drove straight on to a roundabout narrowly missing a stupid SUV. He blew his horn angrily. I felt ashamed until I remembered it was an SUV, where my guilt left me. Stupid SUVs

Maybe it’s just me…What’s my point? Well, be careful when listening to music and driving while tired. Never believe a magpie has any cosmic relevance; they don’t unless you are smaller than one and live in a nest. Never believe the girl working behind the bar who hasn’t been drinking all night will find you attractive and highly amusing after five hours in the premises. Never believe elves are that big Mr Peter Jackson. Don’t live your life with thousands of songs rolling around your head, telling you what way to act or feel or live, or you’ll end up like me.

and that can’t happen. Get away from me BURD.

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