Total turn-off

Maybe you've got "Hotel California," "Devil Went Down to Georgia," "Don't Stop Believin'," and "Total Eclipse of the Heart" on your list of songs you'd like to never hear again. The general public knows these have been played (and sung) far too much.

But for this post, I'd like to share with you songs that much of the general public doesn't mind. For me, though, these are songs that I would love to turn off for the rest of my life, songs that have actually caused me to leave a room. When they get stuck in my head, they absolutely ruin my day. They are the reason I get a little anxious any time I walk into a karaoke bar. Call me melodramatic, neurotic, whatever, but I've given this quite a bit of thought, and though the list is small, it is powerful.

Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd: For some, it's just a feel-good tribute to the South. For me, though, just the thought of this song creates so much stress in my body that I find it difficult to write about. Why? I'll admit, I can't pinpoint my exact repulsion, but I could begin by pointing out that this song consists of three chords, over and over, in case you've never noticed that before. This aids in its earwormability. It's also the musical equivalent to the middle finger, directed at Neil Young by L.S., in response to a couple of his songs that offended these boys. Musical conversations in a historical context can be intriguing, but I feel like Lynyrd Skynyrd (even their name bothers me) adds passive aggression with an extra layer of arrogance. Combine that with just the right amount of ambiguity, which they do, and they've got themselves a lot of listeners misinterpreting the lyrics and missing the point. I think that's just lame songwriting. The song's one redeeming quality: the opening guitar line. I can recognize it within one note and turn it off before it gets stuck in my head.

Margaritaville by Jimmy Buffett: The concept could have been fun. A guy on the beach with his parrot (likely his only friend), singing about taking it easy in a postcard-perfect location. But from the moment Jimmy starts "nibblin' on spongecake," I am completely grossed out. Jimmy Buffett is not someone I would ever want to walk in front of, regardless of whether I'm a tourist "covered with oil" or covered with every piece of clothing I own. I just know he's going to undress me with his drunken eyes one way or another to escape his problems, which, judging by this song, could range from high cholesterol to low standards.

My Way by Frank Sinatra: So this isn't a bad song, per se, but geez! When else is this song appropriate except for at a funeral? I remember the first time I heard it I was about 10 years old. I got a gigantic lump in my throat that I was too embarrassed to release into sobs, though I could have, easily. The thought of Frank dying and of him saying goodbye to the world like this was just too much for me to bear, though it would be two, maybe three decades after recording this song that he actually died. And you know what song was featured on all the tributes? Bingo. And you know who cried? This emotional old soul who, to this day, has never stopped being sad about this song.

We've Only Just Begun by the Carpenters: There's a specific brand of "sad" that exists in music from the 1970s and 80s. I'm pretty sure the piano is the common denominator, as well as any mention of a "theme," usually. Think of The Theme from the Ice Castles, Nadia's Theme, even the theme from Cheers. Then we have The Carpenters. They didn't need a theme - this was simply their style. They nailed this sound with pretty much every ballad. Even their upbeat songs had an air of melancholy to it. "Close to You" is about falling in love, but the piano intro could confuse you into thinking the romance was in the past. But the absolute saddest "song of celebration" from The Carpenters was "We've Only Just Begun." I'm certain this song was played at lots of weddings, not funerals, but every time I hear it, I can only think of the tragedy of dying young. For whatever reason, when I heard about what happened to Karen Carpenter when I was a child, it really bothered me. She was beautiful, her alto voice was comforting to so many, she had "so much of life ahead," but she died from complications of anorexia. Cue the seriously sad piano and clarinet intro: she'd only just begun. For my tender heart's sake, please spare me this irony.

The Joker by the Steve Miller Band: I actually do like Steve Miller's voice. And I might have liked this song if I hadn't first heard it in junior high, when the guys in my class were starting to really appreciate the line, "Really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree." Oh man, they loved it. They repeated that line and then would follow it up by vocalizing the guitar's wolf whistle gimmick. That bothered me, too, because that's not even how the song goes (the whistle occurs one line later in the song). Now whenever I hear that catchy bass line, I can still hear some of their raspy voices singing it in history class. Maybe the only reason I detest this song is because it reminds me of the year my romantic notions about nice boys, like the ones I read about in Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, began to change. Do the Gilbert Blythe types actually exist? I wondered. Not in 8th grade, it turned out. In my eyes, they had already become perverts at the precious age 14.

Perhaps you detect a theme here. Songs that make me think of death or dirty old men are indeed the bane of my music listening experience. I'm sure there are more. In the last few weeks I've remembered to avoid "Santa Baby" at all costs.

Lest you think I'm a music snob, be assured that there are a number of overplayed songs that I really do love. Even Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" is up there. And despite the resurgence in popularity of Hall & Oates and the overuse of "You Make My Dreams Come True" in movie previews, I'm still happily singing along to it.