I have been listening to David Bowie a lot recently. As have many. The tenth anniversary of his death was a trigger for this, of course. I went back through his albums and was reminded of one song in particular. From Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps). Personally my favourite of his albums, today at least. Tomorrow it will be something else. The opening track, though, re-grabbed my attention. It’s No Game (Part 1). The reason? It seems to me to almost reflect the rhythm of a day in the thrall of MS. Bear with me!
Some Background
Before going into the song itself it is important to give context. I bought a lot of CDs when David Bowie passed away, being an old-fashioned type who likes owning something physical. One of the additions to my collection was Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps). I knew the title song well enough and liked it. Ashes to Ashes as well. Bizarrely, I remembered the videos of the latter song and Fashion were quite scary to a five-year-old who was not very au fait with the New Romantic scene in London. Now it was a forty-one-year-old listening. One who had been diagnosed with MS for around two-and-a-half years at that point. Who was also dealing with the strange rhythm of a day with MS.
The Chaos in My Mind
My symptoms at this stage were relatively mild. Physically I was very fit. In early 2016 I was in training for a cycle climb of Mont Ventoux for Climb Against MS. I had received verification that I was fit enough to undertake such a ride and was training hard for it. Not many slopes in the Netherlands so I resorted to riding into wind a lot. In all weathers. Stinging hailstorms. Fit and also quite insane.
In my mind, though, the cognitive impacts were hitting. I had an excellent occupational therapist then, a German. He explained what I was experiencing. Effectively, the door to my senses was smaller. And more was trying to get in. Broken filters. Like an amazing nightclub that everyone wanted to go to. The bouncers had just gone on strike, though. A crush at the door was the result.
Back then I was not so good at self-regulation as I am now. Small tricks like going to a supermarket early in the morning or travelling outside of rush hour. Or sealing myself off with calming music. I was not quite so adept at these things. And how on earth could I explain how such a day feels to someone else? Well, I could just let David Bowie do it for me.
The Song (and How I Hear It)
When I heard It’s No Game (Part 1) it made a strange kind of sense to me. I hasten to add that I did not listen to the words. There is no meaning in these for me. Rather, it is how those words are sung. Or screamed. Howled. And the screeching guitar. And the Japanese monologue. All at once. All competing with each other for attention. In the background, offsetting the manic voices and guitars, a slow yet persistent bass and drum. Gently mugging the ears and offsetting the frenetic energy of just about every other element of the song. Normal life, chugging along in the background despite the sensory overload I was experiencing. The packed train station. The crowded supermarket. Normal. Yet deafening.
At the end of this chaos, Bowie is screaming ‘shut up!’ in an anguished voice. The overload getting too much, too much coming through the doors. Please stop. Give me some rest. Please.
It’s No Game…
It’s No Game (Part 1) is certainly not my favourite Bowie song and I won’t pretend the lyrics make sense to me. Especially the Japanese. I never learnt Japanese. But I recognise in its tortured progress some sort of reflection of how a bad day goes. A day of sensory overload. I get this less now as I am better at monitoring my environment and taking appropriate actions, as mentioned above. Even something as intense as a concert is manageable. There is only one source of noise and I can focus on that, although it is noticeable if someone talks. No matter how loud the music, I can still hear them. Drives me mad. And then all the lights, the flashing strobes. Well, stepping out of the concert hall for a couple of minutes does no harm.
I am no musician, despite my best efforts. But music is still something so important to me. Helps me keep things in perspective. In the case of It’s No Game (Part 1) it can perhaps shed a little light on experiences that are difficult to put into words. Helps me to explain to others just what a bad day with MS can feel like. Rather, how I sense it. Overwhelming. Undermining. Not in words, but in rhythm. In noise. When I built a playlist reflecting on those early days of diagnosis, It’s No Game (Part 1) was the first song on there. The others perhaps reflected feelings or just happened to be on the radio a lot at this time. In contrast, It’s No Game (Part 1) is a day with MS in music. When the cognitive overload gets too much. A jarring, inconsistent soundtrack representing one of the challenges of MS. Something that, in those early days of diagnosis, helped me make sense of what I was experiencing.