Right, from the off I need to say I don’t believe in ghosts or the paranormal, aliens or The Crow. Ancient Indian burial grounds are nothing more than cheap real estate and a macabre but interesting place to dig a hole, and that fortune teller guessed things about you because, fashion-wise, you wear your lifestyle like a day-glo sandwich board. I watched the X-Files pretty religiously as a wee slip, not because it spoke to me and my spooky beliefs but because it was exciting and scary and for some reason Gillian Anderson made my teenage willy twitch. Some conspiracy theorists latched on to the X-Files as a fictional outlet for their actual beliefs; ‘I can’t be that bat-shit crazy believing in sabre-toothed pixie nymphs because Mulder just bitch-slapped one and he’s cool’. Yes he is, but you are not and you are also delusional so please respect the conditions of the restraining order I am about to file against you as soon as you politely fuck off.
However, I have to say my ipod scares the holy bejesus out of me. I have a job that, while not detested, is still a decidedly dull way to wile away half of my waking hours. This is probably the case for most people. I have to get up before my circadian rhythm suggests I should, around two hours prior to the start of work, simply to get there on time and these two hours are unpaid and in my opinion a thankless Sisyphean chore and a waste of my time.
I stick my ipod on when I get up, usually to escape the sporadically amusing Chris Moyles whose show is unfortunately accompanied by the worst music in this universe and every parallel one, including the dystopian universe where Mr. Methane is curator and creator of all modern popular culture. Terry Wogan's dulcet emerald swoon is likely to send me back to a restful slumber so he’s a no, and Liverpool Radio City is the only other station I can get in my flat and that’s just everything that’s bad about Radio 1 but with irritating adverts to add a bit of piss to your already razorblade-ridden Frosties.
So ipod it is. I love shuffle. It’s such a simple concept that it seems like it’s been around for ever, but the thing that the little twats of today will never understand that before the mid nineties we didn’t have this ‘internet’, these ‘mobile telemophones’ and them ‘mp free players’, and we all powered cars with bare feet and fashioned crude prophylactics from pig’s bladders and thicket twine. Shuffle has a habit of taking you completely by surprise, for good or ill, on a regular basis. Thanks to the digital revolution I’m more of an mp3 hoarder than a music collector (yes I know that’s frowned upon) and songs pop up that I’ve never even heard before. My ipod is quite old though, and like a symbiotic Skynet I think over time it has become self aware because I swear to God it knows what I’m doing. The ipod tends to play songs that either reflect or change my mood depending on my circumstances, and in effect subtlety influences my actions.
I’ve had a general feeling that this is the case for a while but come Monday morning, generally the worst day to be a human who is alive, I set out to either prove or refute my hair-brained theory and have a full blown barrel-chested Theorem on my hands. What follows are abridged notes of my working day, leaving out ipod-less hours and instances where my theory was irritatingly wrong, because damn it I’m trying to prove a pretty tenuous point here and some ‘creative editing’ was definitely needed. Anyway, it’s 7.10am and my alarm’s going off….
1 - WOKE UP, SHUFFLED INTO KITCHEN IN SEARCH OF FROSTIES AND TEA – Not the Doctor by Alanis Morisette and Two Princes by the Spin Doctors
Gentle and jaunty acoustic riff perfect for when my eyes were still stuck together, witty lyrics getting the cogs in the brain turning and the quiet/loud verse/chorus jolts me out of my sleepwalk. Frosties scoffed and tea made by the time 'Two Princes' comes on. This makes me smile because for some reason every time I hear this song it reminds me of being a kid eating Shreddies in Castleton where I used to live. Honestly, I’m not making this up.
2- WALKING TO BUS STOP, A SUNNY LIVERPOOL MORN – A Punk by Vampire Weekend
Comes on as I walk out of the door and ends just as the bus comes. Weird. Always cheers me up with the ‘Eh! Eh! Eh! Eh!’ bit with its lumpy bassline and monkey-with-a-miniature-cymbal drums and adds a spring to my step. Had I lacked this spring, thus walking more slowly, I would have missed the bus. Kudos indeed, ipod. Kudos.
3 – STARING OUT OF THE BUS WINDOW, IGNORING THE GAGGLE OF SCHOOL KIDS AND MAN WITH ABNORMALLY LARGE FEET SAT NEXT TO ME – Mr E’s Beautiful Blues by The Eels and The Man Who Told Everything by Doves
Come on, are you seriously telling me Mr E’s Beautiful Blues is not the greatest summer driving song ever? It’s even in Road Trip for God’s sake, which ipod must have seen. The sunny morning vistas blur effortlessly past the bus window. Then the tense chords of Doves add a sinister tinge to my journey. Is it because I’m getting closer to work? Is it going to be a bad day? Does having large feet really mean you’ve got a vast knob?
4- FROM BUS STOP TO OFFICE, HAVING A FAG – Something is Squeezing My Skull by Morrissey
Definitely going to be a bad day, ipod’s telling me to cram some nicotine down my neck in anticipation. Mustn’t spend all day writing meandering barely-relevant articles for music-based websites, someone will surely notice and I may be fired.
5– FAG BREAK ONE – It’s Getting Better Man by Oasis
I sure hope it is, ipod. That morning was a shocker. I spend a few minutes contemplating how Be Here Now is actually quite good.
6 – FAG BREAK TWO, AFTER DINNER – Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan
You’re right ipod, I’ve never given Dylan the time he deserves and this song is really rather good. Seems strange that I have to come out onto the main road to smoke and this song’s title has the words ‘highway’ and ‘revisited’ in it. Should I cut down? Or maybe smoke sneakily in the bogs, thus increasing productivity and saving the NHS hundreds of lost man-hours a year? This be a thinker and no mistakin’….
7 – LEAVING WORK AFTER A SHIT DAY – The Man Don’t Give a Fuck by Super Furry Animals Starts ofF nice and quiet this one, then the drums kick in when I get to the car park and by the time I hit the road the chorus is in full swing. This particular chorus happens to be one of the coolest ever recorded and was made for the sole purpose of swaggering to, and swagger I do. I consider ipod’s statement that The Man don’t give a fuck and all work is essentially asinine and pointless unless it is well paid or something you love doing, and curse ipod’s tactlessness in reminding me that neither of these instances applies to me. Still, what a chorus.
8 - BUS RIDE HOME, GLAD MONDAY IS OVER, ONLY FOUR MORE DAYS – Dead End Street by The Kinks and Right Here, Right Now by Fatboy Slim
I feel ipod is being a little heavy-handed with its references to working life but I bloody love The Kinks so I take it on the chin and allow Ray Davies to remind me that my situation could be a whole lot worse. As I near my stop the sampled violins of the intro to Right Here, Right Now chime up and disregarding my fellow passenger’s right to a journey without wasp-in-a-pint-pot annoyance I whack the volume up because this song cannot be enjoyed on the quiet. This cheers me up something stupid and I then decide that I will treat myself and go to the pub to watch Newcastle v Middlesborough tonight as the schadenfreude of seeing a top-flight team relegated will cheer me up even more. God I hate Gareth Southgate. Thanks, ipod.
9 - BUS STOP TO MY DOOR – Milkshake by Kelis
At first I am cursing ipod’s stupidity with this choice but then I get to thinking that there may be women in the pub, and I will be able to look at and perhaps speak to them. Good call, ipod. I’ll have a shower.
And that, in severely edited form, is my working day. I’ve always cursed and verbally abused those who adhere to and glean wisdom from horoscopes as they are completely dependent on each gullible sap’s loose personal associations and can therefore apply to anyone. In a nutshell, they are utter ballbag. However whatever mystery hokum or technological hoodoo that allows my ipod to predict and help influence my future is a force that should be harnessed and used to generate electricity or take over the world. Maybe that’s the plan? Maybe this is all a ploy by the supposedly wholesome but secretly evil Apple conglomerate! They design sylish art-deco appliances by day but come nightfall you can find them dropping Andrex puppies from motorway overpasses and then, in a display of Orwellian chutzpah, sleeping with your sister. World domination is surely the next step for these despicable brutes. Turns out the X-files geeks were right after all.
Despite this, I still have faith in my own ipod though as it has never done me wrong. Does anyone else live their lives to a soundtrack chosen by theirs? If not give it a go, I really think I’m onto something here, like a Dice Man of the 21st century. Beware though, your ipod’s intentions may be hostile...
Posted In Features, May 12 2009.
Words - Luke