'An auditory experiment to test the limits of my OCD' and all the other ways I have justified the insane delight I took in wasting an entire year listening to one single band.
Music is the most effective mood stabilizer I’ve tried. It calms my heart rate during my frequent panic attacks, faster than Xanax can kick in, and puts more bounce in my step than any of the anti-depressants I’ve been prescribed. While SSRIs might take weeks to raise serotonin levels in my brain, the first chord of Phoebe Bridger’s Motion Sickness sends out an instant shot of the stuff.
Most of the time, I use music to quiet the intrusive thoughts buzzing around my head, but others it is the music itself that I can’t shut off. According to the NIH, 98% of the Western population experience Song Stuck Syndrome (SSS)- getting a song stuck in your head or earworms (the phenomenon has even been documented in those with hearing impairment- which sounds like some type of fresh hell). Most of the Western 98, I assume, experience earworms as little more than an annoyance, but when I get stuck on a song the discomfort grows into far more than a pest. Earworms, for me, can become fuel for my OCD, a compulsion to keep listening to the song for extended periods of time.
While I do think OCD has become an overly utilized term, (even once you factor in the growth in awareness of mental health issues we’ve seen in recent years) I use it here because multiple psychiatrists and psychologists have diagnosed me with this condition and its symptoms align most accurately with my experience. There is more to my experience with OCD than just listening to music on repeat; obsessions and compulsive behaviors that have disrupted my life far more than I care to share here, but I should not need to justify my own experience. The trickle-down effects of even the most benign compulsions can become floods under the right circumstances, but luckily that is not the case for the way I consume music.
The connection between earworms and OCD made a lot of sense to me logically when I first began researching OCD and music for this piece, but as I started looking further in to the relationship between the two I found other music lovers whose experiences also went beyond having a song in their head. The author of one blog post from the International OCD Foundation, Grant Brecheisen (a musician) would spend hours skipping through shuffle to find a particular song, “music fuels my OCD. It is fueled by certain moments in songs, certain riffs, certain chords.”
Fixation, for me, can be extremely meditative. On good days, it can focus my sightline; minimize the countless tabs open inside my internet-browser-brain. On others, my brain gets stuck on the loop. The song will play in my head all day; in the background of every conversation, blinking ‘play me’ lights until I do so.
Since I can remember I have been a repeat listener. My sister, Harper, often berates me for listening to Smooth by Santana or Bubbly (Colbie Calliat, a song I would later realize is all about orgasms) on repeat for days at a time. Once, I flew to Maui aggressively hungover and listening to Declan McKenna’s Brazil the entire way. Balance itself is a concept I have struggled with in many areas of my life. Cold turkey, for the most part, works for me. Once I get an idea in my head it is very difficult to stop me, which was exactly what happened when I decided to listen to just The 1975 for a whole year straight. I suppose I'd already been considering the connection between my struggles with OCD and the way I consume music when I committed to my year of 1975, but it wasn't until completion that I'd realize what a whimsical little exercise in exposure therapy it had been.
Almost anyone who knows me know I love The 1975. Even those that don’t know about my peculiar listening habits at least know of my obsession with this band. Harper likes to remind me that listening to a single band for an entire year is exactly the kind of behavior that gets fans slapped with restraining orders. I’m sure in some regard I fall on the insanity scale, but Matty Healy can rest soundly knowing my obsession does not pose a threat to any part of the band. In all honesty, I’m kind of a bad fan when it comes to doing anything beyond listening to their music. I use Spotify (essay on the bogus $128 my near constant listening earned the band forthcoming). I don’t own any merchandise, a record (though I’d like to- edit, my very cool cousin bought me one), and I have never seen them in concert (perhaps this December- edit now, I have), but I will listen to their creations for hours on end. And, after an entire year of doing just that I am still not sick of them.
The 1975 is a British alternative, indie-pop band (we’re not a pop band). A childhood friend, Kitt, introduced me to their “breakout hit”, Chocolate, one day in high school while driving off campus to avoid eating lunch. I’m not sure if Beckett knows how impactful that introduction was to my life, but they have been my favorite band since. Their melodies are catchy, nuanced with juicy guitar licks throughout. Their electronic music is playful, experimental, and masterfully pieced together. Their lyrics are quotable, Matty’s voice smooth, and his stage performances intoxicating (I’ve heard- edit, I just thought he was intoxicated). I don’t know enough about music to give you the description their music deserves. But if I did, I do not think I could put into words the pure joy their music brings me. It is just too fucking good. Tapping play on even one of their saddest songs can somehow lighten my mood, something none of my anti-depressants have had the ability to guarantee.
I may not be a crazed fan in the Hard Day’s Night sort of way, but I am a crazed in that I enjoy their music enough to think that I could honestly listen to only their music- for an entire year- and not get sick of them. What started as a silly bet quickly became a daily test for my OCD, and somehow a triumph for my personal-growth. Listening to The 1975 for a year became a personal project in a time when I was struggling, whether I pretended to continue functioning normally or not, to do anything beyond work, walk Basil, and sleep.
Every December, the internet re-realizes that New Year’s resolutions are toxic. I’ve had my share of failed resolutions: set unhealthy weight loss goals, talked about reading more, but like many people- they don't really stick (for better or worse). It seems I do better with lifestyle changes committed to after the 1st of the year, but I do like the idea of of starting something new at the beginning of year. In 2021, I didn’t want not set a resolution just because everyone was saying arguing about whether to or not to, but I also saw understood a lot of the arguments on the side that was anti-Resolution. (Resolutions, like any sort of unrealistic goal or expectation, can be incredibly toxic if taken that direction or to an extreme. A further issue with New Year’s resolutions is how warped the versions we share on social media are and the pressures our society puts on all of us to succeed. They are, like most things, not harmful if handled properly.) Instead, I decided to set a bad resolution, a pointless goal: to listen to only to a single band.
Perhaps, the idea (underneath all my justifications) came from some kind of inner, masochistic urge to sour one of my own favorite things, but once I got the idea I couldn’t help myself from stopping (a common occurrence for me). In conception, the idea itself was just a joke; a challenge to myself to commit to a bit. But deeper in, it probed into something important. My year with The 1975 not only gave me a chance to lean in to one of my less harmful OCD behaviors (without the pang of self-judgement that typically accompanies a failure to resist) but also reformed my sense of self-control.
I could keep myself from giving in to intrusive thoughts (nothing bad happened) and actually could stick to silly annual commitments. In one frame, I was resisting the constant barrage of compulsions to listen to other music, but through another lens I had complete permission to listen to any song by The 1975 for however long I pleased. It was control and catharsis. A stupid self-enforced dare turned mental health experiment.
I couldn’t, and still cannot, stave off all my compulsions with pure intent, but returning that confidence in my abilities feels ground breaking. There were many days where I wanted to play songs that weren’t by The 1975. Rachel definitely let me select a few songs to play while we were together and I’ll admit I enjoyed listening to other friends’ music in their cars too. There were plenty of songs I craved and obsessed over just like I normally would, but throwing on one of my favorites from The 1975 mostly calmed the impulses. Granting myself permission to dive in fully to my obsession made the way I consume music feel fun again when I was beginning to see aspects of my mental health in the way I listened to it. My friends will probably still groan when The 1975 comes on and aux-cords will continue to be handed over with strict stipulations, but this stupid little adventure changed the way I view my own behavior. Though I agree with Grant that music can fuel OCD, I can still enjoy the control music has over my emotions in other ways. I don’t need to feel like a failure for resisting every intrusive thought my brain throws my way, especially not with something that makes me feel so so good, as music does.
There’s no more bet (I wasn't even their #1 listener on Spotify), no reason to continue listening to only The 1975, but I still find myself listening to Happiness (Dance Floor Edit) on repeat for weeks at a time. I enjoy listening to other artists and play whatever song is stuck in my head; usually for days at a time. I feel at peace with the way I behave.
I’m excited for their new album.
Thank you for reading, this piece, will at some point, be accompanied by its counterpart on this site. A deep dive into music-streaming data and The 1975. And for the record, George has always been my favorite.
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