Supposedly smell is the one sense tied most to memory. You catch a whiff of mustard and you're instantly whisked away to the time your dad scored bleacher seats at Wrigley and some drunk dork from Champaign puked all over your hotdog. Who cares? You caught an Andre Dawson homerun ball.
It's true, the smell of Tide detergent transports me to some bygone utopia, but more often than not my memories are tied to songs and sounds. This may be the underlying cause of my affinty for Wes Anderson movies, either way I'm constantly listening for the soundtrack to my daily existence.
Thereby, it would come as a shock to most folks akin to my musical tastes to discover that I can't get enough of Sweet's "Fox on the Run." The pop-ready, synth-heavy, glam anthem straight out of 1975 tries to masquerade as edgy and in-your-face but in fact is so sing-along-able I can see my Mom and toddler nephews bopping to the chorus of "Fox on the run/ you scream and everybody comes a'runnin'/ take a run and hide yourself away/ Fox-y ON THE RUN!"
My affection for this jilted rock-out is firmly rooted in the two years I spent working in the soul-crushing cul-de-sac of a bank lobby. I couldn't have lasted much longer than two weeks without my coworker Barb's insistance on listening to the oldies station that inevitably piped "Fox on the Run" at least once a day. It wasn't the only song I fell in love with - in fact, I would drop any customer like a sack of potatoes to crank Elvis' "Burning Love"- but "Fox on the Run" was antithetical to so many things (myself, good music, bank lobbies) that who couldn't help but love it?
I don't care who you are, you're gonna rock along to anything that touts, "You think you got a pretty face/ But the rest of you is out of place/ You looked alright before (oh - ORE!)" From that point, this three and a half minute opus is all gravy.
And I defy anyone to contradict my assertion that the "Fox on the run/ you scream and everybody runs" melody is the secondary music used on Comedy Central's The Daily Show. We all know the main title song is "Dog on Fire" by Bob Mould, but it seems the music used to carry the show into and out of commercial breaks in each episode bears a shocking resemblance to this post's focus.
It's a succulent auditory adventure, and I'm not a bit ashamed to admit I revel in its simplicity and rockability. And as if you needed any context to the packaged, pander to the masses land this emerged from, have a look below.
The googly-eyed shenanigans of that guitar player will no doubt insure "everybody comes a'runnin." Fuh-Foxy!
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