Better than knuckle-cracking

As I pondered what to write about this week, I realized that I had been whistling. And then I realized that the habit of whistling is not as common as it once was. In the same way, you don’t hear much about recreational knuckle- cracking either. At least, that’s my observation: someone has probably already written a doctoral thesis coming to the opposite conclusion.

When I refer to whistling, I’m talking about the almost absent-minded habit of puckering up and whistling something resembling a tune—not the sharp whistle of command and messaging, or the leering wolf whistle, or the practised art of whistling. (Mind you, it would be nice to pick up that latter thread. Roger Whittaker made a musical career out of his whistling prowess; the other Roger Whittaker, not the one resident at Wellington on the Lake.)

Whistling is said to be good for you. You apparently work the lungs and heart when you whistle. But there’s more to it than that.

The classical image of whistling is that of the tradesperson—say the mailman, or the carpenter—going about his business in a state of relaxed but focused apparent contentment. There may actually be a little science behind this. One study said people concentrate too hard on big events like the penalty kick in soccer or the short winning putt in golf, with the result that they often blow it spectacularly. Approaching the act in a casual manner can help avoid this, and whistling is one technique you can use to help you calm your nerves. I find it interesting that of the whistlers I know, many of them don’t realize they whistle. This does suggest that the unconscious mind and the body like to work together to relieve stress and help us focus.

It is also said that the mere act of whistling induces a state of happiness; that it is impossible to make the muscles do the work of whistling and to feel down at the same time. After all, most of the songs that feature whistling are relentlessly upbeat. Examples? Whistle a Happy Tune from The King and I, by Rodgers and Hammerstein; Give a Little Whistle, from Disney’s Pinocchio film; The Fishin’ Hole, the theme song from the old Andy Griffith black and white television show; Colonel Bogey March, used as the theme song from the 1957 movie Bridge on the River Kwai—even set against the horrible backdrop of Japanese death marches, it still comes across as upbeat; and, of course, Sweet Georgia Brown, the recording of which on whistle and bones became the theme song for the Harlem Globetrotters and their goofily nonchalant style of basketball. More recently, we’ve heard Paul Simon’s Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard, Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy, and Otis Redding’s Dock of the Bay. I don’t say that every whistled song is a happy one; just that the ratio of happy to unhappy is much higher in the whistled ones than in the sung or played ones.

But why isn’t whistling as common as it once was? My simple theory is that life is generally more stressful than it used to be, and our mind/body combo hasn’t quite adjusted. In the old days, the mailman went on his appointed rounds and the carpenter measured twice and cut once—and that was it. Now, too many of our tasks are open ended, with no clear measure of what will constitute an adequate job completed. As a result, we worry ourselves to the point where we can’t settle ourselves down with a whistle. That’s the big picture answer. As to the small picture answer, have you ever tried to whistle that catchy rap tune you heard the other day? That’s right: in my books, music is getting much less musical, so there’s less of it to whistle.

So if that doesn’t set you to whistling the Colonel Bogey March or the Andy Griffith theme song—unconsciously or consciously—how about I list some of the great knuckle-cracking tunes? The list is so long, I guess it will have to wait till next time. How about yodelling tunes? The scientific research says they cause headaches, but what does science know?

dsimmonds@wellingtontimes.ca

Ron Hynes

I would like to add my voice to those mourning the passing of Newfoundland singer-songwriter Ron Hynes. He was indeed a national treasure.

I took a songwriting course from Ron a few years ago, and his advice has stayed with me. A song has to have a point of view, he said, and should aim to say one thing and say it as well as your imagination can take it, however unusual the outcome. By way of example, his song A Good Dog is Lost (on YouTube) captures the poignancy of the search for a lost dog. When Ron sings the voice of the dog, he barks —convincingly.