Everyone, except the teetotal, will know the feeling. A pounding head, submitting to the fact that you have to get up and face the world, but finding a soundtrack seems impossible. This is a dilemma I am sure every person with a hangover has had to overcome – if not, please continue reading for a more detailed analysis of my thinking processes. Now I write this because of the brutish bastard I had behind the eyes this fair morn. He was about 6 ft, made of solid amber and kicked like a full grown Jager, he was a true bastard.
When one awakes from a drunken slumber (or half slumber in my case last night) you feel energised and strangely, the world doesn’t seem such a terrible place. However, don’t let this fool you for a second – it’s the booze delivering its swan song, its last hoorah if you like. Once showered, cleaner and fed the dark haze will start to set in. Then you have to go outside and face the day. Selecting the right choice of music on the drive to work is critical most days, but even more so when the wine-demons have you in their claws. DO NOT FUCK THIS UP; your day is at stake.
Generally I opt for something lively, something with a big old’ pair of shiny bollocks. This morning I opted for some Wipers because I firmly believe they are the most underappreciated and perpetually neglected punk band, ever. Greg Sage wrote music fuelled by more angst than Kurt Cobain needed to pull the trigger in his bathtub or wherever it was that he decided to save music.
Once at your desk / cubicle / office the real battle begins. I contemplated a couple of things before deciding, no, wait, I’m pulling the wool over your eyes here... I knew before I got there, I needed Slayer. I needed it badly and I needed it loudly. Slayer went down an absolute treat, but then the aggression and third cup of coffee’s effects begin to subside and alternate measures were needed.
I decided to dabble in some My Bloody Valentine, but it strangely doesn’t cut the mustard. (At which point I make a mental note to have a boerie roll for lunch later) Then the hunt begins, I need something smooth, something melodic, something classic. I scroll up and down through iTunes and then he jumps out at me like Ziggy Stardust’s spiders from Mars, of course, it makes so much sense, Lou Reed. “Yes!” I think to myself.
Then comes the lunch break, what you do during lunch is also critical, don’t eat healthy, don’t starve yourself, head for the greasiest and fattiest meal you can conceive. It will help. Bacon has been proven to be a great hangover cure, so find yourself an all-day breakfast joint and tuck in, you’ll be glad you did.
After lunch you will feel a lull in your energy levels, this means you need something that will motivate you, something to help you over this stupid self-inflicted hump. The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster playlist almost starts glowing at this point, there is only one way out now, there is only one thing to do. From the top I go. Turn of shuffle, select “Celebrate your Mother” and we’re off.
This band never stops amazing me and how they aren’t a household name in alternative music circles is beyond me. They are everything that an alternative band should be, they even used to tour in a hearse, with flames painted on its side. If that doesn’t scream rock & roll, nothing ever will.
Then the work day is over and it’s time for the quick drive home and the writing of this blog post. Lou Reed’s Hanging Round (the acoustic version) spurs me over De Waal drive, I shout at no one, there is no traffic and suddenly the day doesn’t seem so bad. Although I am exhausted, the day was a success, my soundtrack was solid and I think that is why the bastard behind my eyes couldn’t get the better of me. Not today buddy, not today.