Earworms and Walk Up Songs

Brandon Flowers, bloody rock god

This morning I woke up with an unfortunate, but all too common, affliction. While I slept, unbeknownst to my waking brain, my sleeping brain had planted an earworm. Shaking the tired from my eyes, I sat up and planted my feet on the floor. The earworm began its assault. Come on shake your body, baby, do the conga. I know you can’t control yourself any longer. I groaned and shook my head, hoping to dislodge it from my brain. Come on shake your body, baby, do the conga. I shook it again. I know you can’t control yourself any longer. Damn. This thing was persistent today. I busied myself with the chores of the morning, hoping against all hopes it would dissipate.

I know there are people who love that song. There are people who would be thrilled waking up with that melody and those lyrics churning in their brain. I am not one of those people. While I don’t consider it one of the worst songs I have ever heard (Muskrat Love, Total Eclipse of the Heart, and The Verve’s Bittersweet Symphony top my list in that category), I could really do without the conga at 7:30 am on a Tuesday. It was a bit too much before coffee.

Alexa, play Mr. Brightside by The Killers,” I commanded.

The song, however, would not relent. I have so much to do today, though, and I don’t want to do it with that song stuck in my head. I could not wait for it to get bored with itself and fall asleep. Dire and immediate action had to be undertaken. I went straight for the big guns.

“Alexa, play Mr. Brightside by The Killers,” I commanded.

“Playing Mr. Brightside by The Killers on Apple Music,” Alexa complied.

The familiar intro to my favorite song of 2004 began. I closed my eyes, and let it consume me. The battle for supremacy in my brain began. Could Gloria Estefan take out Brandon Flowers? I doubted it. I trust my boy Brandon. He has never failed me in these clutch situations.

I’m coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine. Gotta, gotta be down because I want it all.

I hit the volume plus button (my sons learned early there is only one acceptable volume level for Mr. Brightside and it is MAX) and let the song envelop me. Brandon took control and knocked Gloria and her shaking conga butt back with every beat I nailed on my air drums. I danced around our kitchen, my head bobbing in time, my positive view of the rest of my day expanding. Goodbye, conga! The morning’s unwanted earworm broke apart, replaced by superior matter.

Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes ’cause I’m Mr. Brightside.

Mr. Brightside is my walk up song. If I’m heading up to bat, bases loaded and everyone depending on me to bring my A game, I want that song playing, flowing through my bloodstream, hyping me up and giving me inner strength. Mr. Brightside makes everything better. It just does.

Do yourself a favor today and queue up your walk up song. Play it a few times or a few dozen times on repeat. Dance around with it with reckless abandon or do whatever counts as dancing in your world. Sing the lyrics as loud as you can and don’t worry about how you sound or who can hear you. Enter wholly into the music and let it increase the seratonin levels in your brain. Fully energized, walk up to the next challenge you have to face today, no matter how small, and knock it out of the park. Then run the bases with gusto while the crowd cheers only for you. You are a badass. Don’t forget it.

The Killers raising seratonin levels in Denver


  1. I love this! As a baseball fan, one of my favorite parts of the game is when a batter goes to hit and his walk up song comes on. I’ve actually thought this at times…what would my walk up song be if I was a pro? I’ve answered that in different ways over the years, but I think I’ll play mine as I “walk up to bat” today. Thanks for the inspiration 🙂

    1. My walk up song changes sometimes too. It’s nice to have the flexibility to switch up when what moves your soul changes. It’s probably more of a production when a MLB player wants to change his song. Thanks for reading and reaching out!

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