In defence of the earworm

That strain again… it’s the morning after the concert and one tune is still there, playing in the head upon waking, running around and around on an unbreakable loop over breakfast. I’ve never liked the term ‘earworm’. It suggests an alien parasite, an aural violation, when in fact some part of the musical brain is clearly in love with this scrap of melody, and getting a microgram of a dopamine hit every time it presses ‘repeat’. It’s consensual, even pleasurable. Why fight it? There’s an Arthur C. Clarke story about a scientist obsessed by the finale of Sibelius’s Second Symphony. He invents an algorithm for musical catchiness and promptly starves to death, unable to tear himself away, even for a second, from the world’s most infectious melody.

So consider yourself warned. The melody in question is by the Czech composer Josef Suk and it’s played by the cellos about 50 seconds into his Fantastic Scherzo, Op. 25 — though in this performance by the Hallé Orchestra under Sir Mark Elder, it practically glided into existence.

The orchestra is bright with Slavonic dance rhythms, when suddenly there it is — a lilting minor-key waltz with just enough of a harmonic twist to slide into your memory and fix its hook. Played the way the Hallé played it for Elder — like liquid silk, with the lightest of caresses from Elder to make it melt over the accompanying rhythms — it’s lethal. I don’t know when I’m going to be shot of it; but right now, I feel like it’s been there all week.

This isn’t just Suk’s fault, either. Elder and his orchestra have to be held accountable too, for ensemble playing that sounds as if it’s practically a reflex action.