Shut Up And Listen 243

"Helter Skelter" by the Beatles has irrevocably changed my life in a deep and profound way. I didn't really like it that much at first, but now I find myself listening to The Beatles's second disc just so I can stick track six on repeat. Which I just got up and did. Just now. Because it would have been wrong to not listen to the song at this moment, wouldn't it?

(Apparently this is the song that Charles Manson thought was all about a race war or something and that just shows how fucking nuts that guy was. It's about a playground slide. Seriously. And it rocks harder than any song written about a slide since the history of time. "From The Marcy Playground" by Marcy Playground is technically a better song, but it's a mellow, slow kind of song with an emotional climax where it just gets a little louder and more forceful, but doesn't really rock that hard, so, while, in a way, about the same sort of thing, "Helter Skelter" does indeed rock harder despite not being as good.)

I can't tell you how this song has changed my life. Within a week, it shot up to be the most played song on my iTunes at work with over fifty listens (the next most-played song is a tie between "Ziggy Stardust" by David Bowie and "Magnolia Mountain" by Ryan Adams & The Cardinals with around thirty or so listens each over the course of three months). Yazer, who sits at the desk behind me, kinda, is sick of the song and hates me for playing it so much despite the fact that early on in the playing he felt the need to yell at me, "I've got blisters on my fingers!"

The other night (Thursday), I played the most intense games of connect four ever while this song was on repeat, while avoiding writing an essay on Twelfth Night and Much Ado About Nothing. Paul McCartney was screaming as the computer beat my ass in that one game and I wanted to pick up my laptop and toss it through the window. I didn't, but I wanted to. In the end, I came back and beat the computer five games to four before returning to the essay, but not before lip-synching to the song in triumph and mentally trash-talking that computer loser who got killed in connect four by yours truly.

Riding the bus is, like, better now because of this song. Yesterday (Friday), I got up at 7:30 and showered and then sat on my bed, in just my boxers and finished that fucking essay. I don't know why, but the two or three times I've written essays early in the morning, I'm unusually focussed and get the work done with a minimal number of breaks. I only had around a thousand words left to write, which actually was a sizeable chunk since the essay was two thousand, five hundred words. I discussed how the trickery scenes at the end of the second act (and beginning of the third in the case of Much Ado About Nothing) of each play displayed either respect for the individual's right to assert its desire (Twelfth Night) or the society's right to asset its desire (Much Ado About Nothing). Finished it in around an hour, so I got dressed, printed it off and left, "The White Album" disc two in my discman. I let it play until it hit "Helter Skelter," at which point, I hit the "repeat" button. It was sunny out, so I had sunglasses on and the bus seemed to go in time with the song. Turn the corner, look out, suns hits you in the face, see a pretty girl walking, music just makes the whole thing slow down and seem like a film. Fades in and out at the end as you wait for a light to turn, it just seems to keep going and going and going. Speeds up at that break at the beginning of the song, so it can hit that light that just turned yellow and it turns the corner so fast you think the bus is going to tip over and you realise you wish you were standing as that would that physical sensation that makes the whole experience worthwhile.

Later that day, you're going home after buying comics and you're waiting for the bus. It's gotten colder and the sun isn't out anymore, so you're not wearing your sunglasses, just the regular glasses. It's also snowed since this morning, but you love winter and snow and the cold, so you're happy with the world. You've got a bottle of vanilla coke and you're checking out that girl who's you age, holding one of those black plastic art tubes. She's kind of pale, but you like pale, and she's cute, but not in the way the world seems to define cute, but in your own personal cute, and she looks nervous for some reason. It's like she can read your mind and you get a little nervous and wonder can she read your mind? And she looks at you briefly and her eyes seem to say, "Yes, I can read your mind and you, sir, are one sick person." You take a swig of the pop and you like it, but you don't know why as it doesn't taste that good, but it's also a fantastic drink that you love. The cute art girl is on your right, and on your left is a woman with a kid in a stroller. She doesn't look much older than you and over McCartney's screams, you can hear her swearing about losing her purse somewhere and despite the fact that you don't care about swearing, you wonder if she should be talking like that in front of the kid. But she definitely looks like someone who would not like it if you said something to that effect, so you study the ad in the store's window for phone cards. Ten bucks for two thousand minutes in Canada? That's a good price, you think, because it is a good price. The bus comes and you get on, flashing your student bus pass. You sit right across from the door in the middle of the bus, because the back looks a little full. You normally like to sit in the back, but whatever. You turn the music up a little because of the bus noise and wonder if anyone can hear your music, not that you care. Especially since the asshole who sits down next to you (well, with a sit between you two) has music on that you can hear faintly when yours is playing. Fucking prick. It's hip hop and you wonder why you never overhear good music coming out of people's headphones. Even if people can hear your music, will they recognise it for "Helter Skelter" or will they just hear the drums and write it off as crap? The cute art girl sits at the back, which is raised up in these buses and you look at her and she at you and you look away, because, fuck, you don't make eye contact with people in public, it makes you nervous. The mom and kid sit at the front because of the stroller. And the bus starts moving. Part of the way through the bus trip, something happens that makes your day. It's something so small and insignificant that it shouldn't make your day, but it does.

You're in, oh let's say, you're third run of the song since you got on the bus. You look at the front and the mom is on her cellphone, crying into it, trying desperately to find out where her purse is. The little boy is next to her on the seat, playing with a little yellow truck. Then he drops it. It falls under the seat and the person in the seat behind them (really, to the left of them, but buses are weird like that, so you have to work with me here, people) can't see it. When she does, the bus moves and it rolls towards the back of the bus. The people in the other seats try to grab it, but can't see it and it finally comes to a stop right across from you, right near the door. You know that that little boy loves that truck as much as you love the song playing right then and there and if you don't pick it up, some asshole is going to want off the bus right then and accidentally knock it out of the bus and that little boy will lose his beloved truck. So, you stand up, walk over to the door, bend over, pick up the truck and return it to the little boy. He's looking at the floor, not knowing that his truck is in your hand, so you place it just in his line of sight and he looks up at you and takes it from you, looking so grateful. You return to your seat and when you sit down, the little boy is pointing at you and grinning and your day is made. And so is his. And so is his mom's because a few minutes later, you overhear that she's found where her purse is. And you look up at the cute girl and you know getting that little boy's truck had to impress her a little, but you'll never know because eventually, it's your stop and you get off the bus and go home.

What makes it even cooler is the fact that the song that is now the soundtrack to that lovely little memory is the song that much of the world associates with some crazy guy who killed a bunch of people. And for the next while, it will remain the Best Song in the World, until another song comes by and replaces it and irrevocably changes my life in a deep and profound way forever and becomes the soundtrack to some cool moment. Maybe there's a message in this column, but probably not. I just liked writing about something totally stupid and mundane in a way where it seemed to be all meaningful.