That’s right – it’s a full fortnight before Halloween and No Taste are already churning out the spooky content! Aren’t we shameless!
Today, in celebration of all things Halloween – that is, binge drinking and wigs – we’ve compiled our Most Haunted Tracks in the Universe. Before we begin, you should know that in this instance, ‘haunted’ does not necessarily mean ‘plagued by a bogeyman’. Nor does it mean that a track has its origins in some macabre voodoo ritual, or that when spun backwards it plays a shrill satanic verse telling you to vote Tory.
Rest assured however: these tracks are evil. Twisted, boiling evil. Below, three members of No Taste talk us through their most ghastly tracks.
Radio Ladio by Metronomy
After an enjoyably debauched house party when I was sixteen, I and two friends stumbled out into the cold night air and decided we were too drunk and tired to walk all the way home. Luckily, one of us had anticipated this and had the foresight to bring a tent. We put the tent up in the only spare patch of grass we could find: a roundabout, immediately outside the house we’d just left. Exhausted, we climbed inside and zipped it up, only then realising we had no sleeping bags or pillows or anything at all beyond the clothes we were wearing and a multipack bag of crisps one of us had pinched.
With a packet of Walkers each for a pillow, the three of us laid down on the frozen earth and shivered until dawn’s first light. This would have been bad enough, but we’d brought a speaker along with us and fell asleep with it still blasting on full volume. And this would have been bad enough, but the speaker had malfunctioned and for the next six bastard hours played Metronomy’s Radio Ladio on repeat. Have you heard it? Have you heard Radio Ladio? It’s hard enough to listen to it through just the once. That wintry evening, lying on my back in a tent pitched on a roundabout, half-asleep, pissed as a rat, teeth a-chatter, wedged between the snoring bodies of my two passed-out friends, I heard Radio Ladio one hundred thousand times.
Fuck this song. FUCK IT TO HELL.
Lark on my Go Kart, by Asher Roth
Alright, I’ll admit Lark on my Go Kart is a nice track. Whack it on at any pre-drinks, on any road trip, and watch the vibe lift. The song is haunted for me, however, because I once took it upon myself to perform it at karaoke. I spent half a day learning to rap the lyrics, then took to the stage in Hawaiian shorts and a pair of knock-off Ray Bans, fragrant with confidence.
Unfortunately I forgot the lyrics immediately, and attempted to mask this by simply shrieking ‘woohoo!’ into the microphone during the long portions of verse I’d forgotten. I was pelted with half-finished cans and booed offstage before I’d reached the second verse. Alas.
Payphone by Maroon 5
Aside from being absolutely shite, Payphone by Maroon 5 is cursed because Capital FM in Newcastle upon Tyne thought it appropriate to play it approximately eighty times per hour during their evening show. Now, I do not make a habit of tuning into Capital FM. However, in 2014 – when Payphone had already been out for two! Whole! Years! – I signed up for the university swimming pool because all the Lambrini I was chugging was making my tits droop.
It was during these reluctant swim sessions that Capital FM was piped into the hall through a tinny speaker, barraging me with countless hours of Adam Levine’s warbling falsetto while I heaved my doughy torso up and down the slow lane.
In the Summertime
This song is haunted because I tried to grow a moustache once and somebody told me I looked like I was out of Mungo Jerry.
Penny Lane by The Beatles
Now undeniably, I love 99% of the Beatles songs, and this is very much one of them. However, this song haunts me, really haunts me. When in Primary School, we performed a Beatles play which was made up of a fair chunk of the Beatles catalogue, the play fittingly titled Penny Lane. I somehow ended up with the main villain role, Mr Mustard. True to the name the costume I had to wear was made up of a shocking mustard bowler hat, an off yellow corduroy shirt from the local charity shop and a pair of my grandads old yellow jogging bottoms (Who the hell has/had yellow joggers!?!?). Needless to say I looked like someones thrown up night out. 4 nights in a row I had to stand there like a lemon, pretty literally, and belt out some of the greatest hits to grace the planet.
Fireflies by Owl City
Now, this song has haunted me for many many years, so long ago I can’t remember how it even came about. It’s one of the most awful creations known in the world of music and for some very unknown reason, my mates have found it funny to constantly play at me claiming it’s my favourite song!?
Now this long running joke is one thing, which I find wholeheartedly not funny to their amusement. The main reason this song will haunt me for life, if that wasn’t enough, was following an unhealthy number of lagers at a curry night we decided to organise, we stumbled over the road to the pub opposite, low and behold it was karaoke night, obviously… So we decided it would be funny to put each other’s names down for a song of our choice. 5 minutes later the overly-enthusiastic karaoke host belts out ‘Next up we have Tom Tetlow with Fireflies’, I don’t think I need to describe my reaction upon hearing this dreadful announcement, but I stepped up like any pissed up pal would and delivered a performance that only a mother could love…
She’s Electric by Oasis
Again, another absolute classic. However, I woke up with my first ever hangover to this blasting at nearly full volume on the Indie MTV channel as a very sorry 14 year old lad. Need I say more….
505 by Arctic Monkeys
Let me tell you about the haunting of 505. (Or SOS, now).
If I were to tell you that I was haunted by the Arctic Monkeys song 505, you’d think it was because I’d spent a solid two weeks pining over a girl and not by the fact I saw them live at Madison Square Garden.
Now, let me set the scene. Earlier that year, it was my 21st. One of my gifts was tickets to see Arctic Monkeys in New York (cool, I know. Thanks, sis).
I’d recently moved out of my parent’s house so naturally, my diet consisted of pizzas, lager and a double pack of custard creams each day. I also had very little money. How does this fit in the story? It doesn’t, but it takes longer for me to delete it than explain that it has no relevance.
So, the day of the concert came. I was a silent, poor, young adult, so my sister took us to the available happy hours so I felt at home. It worked. But this meant we arrived at the show a little hazy.
The bar only served 2 pinters (at least that’s how I remember it being), but I was knocking them back at a regular pint’s pace. We were in the seated area at the side of the stage, but the shape of the stadium meant it was still a great view.
Now, let me tell you something. There’s only so much fizzy lager your body can handle when you have the diet of a crack addict (maybe it did have some relevance) and I was unable to hold my farts in any longer.
But I was smart about it. I’d let out little ‘pops’ as to dissipate the smell and get away with it without offending anyone. I’d been doing this for a large majority of the show with great success.
Maybe I could get away with more? Don’t be silly, Sam, you’re doing just fine.
We’re merrily into the back end of the performance. Alex Turner gives a mumbling spiel and the organ to 505 floods the arena. What a beautiful moment.
… but not for everyone.
I feel a tap on my shoulder from the guy stood behind me. I’m a pretty tall guy so this happens quite a lot. I turn around to apologise for being in the way and explain there’s not much I can do since we’re in the seated area.
However, much my disbelief he screams…
“Stop farting, man. You’re ruining the show!”
Well, FUCK ME. I wanted to die.
A rush of flashbacks hit me harder than my farts have been abusing him for the past hour. The thought of the sheer number of ‘pops’ I thought I’d got away with. And the fact I spaced them out to hide the smell, only meant he was bullied by them continuously throughout the night.
I wanted to apologise, but instead… *sighs*
Instead, I said…
“No, it’s you”
SAM. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, MATE?!
I immediately turned around to face the stage again. I was trapped by rows of seats and people stood dancing. I was trying to explain to my sister that we had to leave, but she was enjoying it too much (clearly too pissed to smell anything either).
Nope, I had to stand there for the remainder of the show, in the exact same position, with the exact same person stood immediately behind me.
I’d compare it to telling your crush that you loved them, to which they respond by slapping you and calling you gross, and then discovering you’re both locked in the same cleaning cupboard.
I was paralyzed in shock, like a raver who’s just realised they’ve dropped their baggy somewhere amongst one thousand two-stepping feet, but my sister was trying to make me dance to the final breakdown of the song.
And that there… is the haunting of 505.