Three in the morning. The witching hour. For insomniacs, it’s a time when anxieties creep in, and the veil between reality and nightmares thins. And just when you thought the quiet of the night was your only companion, a tiny voice pipes up, shattering the silence with lyrics of icy isolation. My five-year-old, not long ago, decided 3:36 am was the perfect time to declare himself a queen in a kingdom of one, courtesy of a certain Disney earworm.
“Let It Go,” the anthem from Disney’s “Frozen,” isn’t just a song in many households – it’s practically a governing philosophy. Like glitter glue and mystery stains, it arrived courtesy of childcare, an unavoidable cultural phenomenon. We, as parents, attempt to curate our children’s cultural diets, building fortresses against fleeting trends. In my home, I armed myself with Kate Bush and 80s synth-pop, confident in a bastion of good taste. But trying to keep “Let It Go” out was like facing a blizzard with a paper umbrella. It seeped in, it took hold, and resistance was futile.
Now, “Let It Go” resonates through our house at least ten times daily, punctuated by countless impromptu performances. Sometimes, it’s just a piercingly enthusiastic “Goooo!” echoing through the rooms. I try to tune it out, but it’s like Oscar-winning tinnitus, a shimmering, icy soundscape permanently etched into the background of parental life. And let’s be honest, it’s addictive. Kids can’t seem to shake its frosty grip.
I’d wager that a significant percentage of parents with young children are slowly succumbing to a gentle form of madness, all thanks to a song celebrating self-isolation and ice palace construction. Don’t get me wrong, Elsa’s architectural achievements are impressive. But Sir Christopher Wren built St. Paul’s Cathedral without driving generations to the brink. Is such sonic saturation truly necessary?
Jennifer Lee, “Frozen”‘s director, has offered a semi-apology for unleashing this potent earworm upon the world. But is it truly her fault? “Let It Go” has simply joined the ranks of those songs we adore to destruction, tunes we initially crave incessantly. We devour them, memorize every lyric, dissect their melodies, and then, inevitably, abandon them to the hinterlands of our playlists. These are often brilliant pop songs, perfectly capturing a moment, a mood, a collective feeling. Think Rihanna’s “Umbrella” (“ella, ella…”). It was the soundtrack to a relentlessly soggy summer, played ad nauseam. Now, hearing it might trigger an involuntary shudder and a desperate search for a raincoat.
Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” suffers a similar fate, a victim of its own anthemic power. It perfectly encapsulates the pain of heartbreak. And since heartbreak is a universal human experience, particularly amplified at karaoke nights, the song became inescapable. “Shaun, this one’s for you, you…!” echoes through pubs worldwide.
Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars,” with its yearning for simple connection and quiet intimacy, resonated so deeply that it too succumbed to radio overplay and eventual listener fatigue. “High rotation” followed by “burn factor” is the lifecycle of many a popular song.
The enduring appeal of “Let It Go,” especially to young children, remains somewhat enigmatic. It’s a song of teenage angst and self-discovery, yet it resonates powerfully with preschoolers. Perhaps it’s evidence that kids are becoming more precocious, embracing dramatic self-expression at an earlier age. Or maybe it’s simply a testament to a catchy tune and compelling visuals. Whatever the reason, “Let It Go” serves as a potent introduction to the capricious world of pop music. A world where adoration can morph into aversion with dizzying speed. Welcome to the music industry, kids, where you are both the creators and destroyers of songs and, sometimes, sanity.
