Good lordy, I am getting old and cranky. Old in the sense that I still frequently tune in to terrestrial radio, and cranky in the sense that when I do, I am often inspired to rant about it endlessly for days (i.e., this article). Sometimes I also cough up blood, like all old and cranky people do. But for the purposes of this column, we are going to stick to being angry at the radio.
Having the song of the summer is kind of a tricky deal. On the one hand, you have a hugely successful, unforgettable record that perfectly captures a moment in time that will be remembered for all posterity. But at the same time, by summer’s end, most rational people are willing to take a power drill to their skull to get your goddamn song out of their head.
At first you’re all like, “Oh yeah, party rockers in the house, y’all,” but a few months later you realize that song was actually just glamorizing freebase–only it’s too late, you’ve already turned into a toothless crackwhore begging on the corner for drug money and teeth. The curse of the Song of the Summer has struck again.
Due to the ubiquity of our putrid and grotesque monoculture, the Song of the Summer is always doomed to become overexposed, to loose its charm, and become hated on. It is an unavoidable fact. You go from jamming to the Song of the Summer with your friends in the shade, to just throwing shade at it when you hear it played for the 10,000th time in late August (while waiting in line at the pharmacy where you pick up your VD medicine after that reckless night partying on the Jersey Shore).
And so now I shall present to you the vile confections which the Music Industry hath cooked up for us this summer, like a bad batch of crystal meth manufactured in a Guatemalan prison toilet. I am warning you, this year’s crop will make you long nostalgically for the heady, carefree days of past summer hits such as “Call Me Maybe” by artist/risk-taker Carly Rae Jepsen, or even “Good Time,” by seminal elder statesmen of rock, Owl City, featuring artist/risk-taker Carley Rae Jepsen.
#1. “COME AND GET IT” by Selena Gomez.
Blah. Blech! BARF. This sounds like a Rihanna reject, except this song’s producers couldn’t get RiRi to agree to record this doozy even if they got her as high as a kite, and believe me, they probably tried repeatedly. This sounds like a 4 year old tried to make their own dubstep track, but did not become a successful producer, like so many of their 4 year old contemporaries. Lyrics like “You ain’t gotta worry it’s an open invitation/I’ll be sittin’ right here real patient” sound like they were destined to be quoted on sleazy M4M craigslist ads. I wish Justin Bieber’s monkey had eaten Selena Gomez’s face off when he had the chance. Only because it would have prevented this travesty, and Biebs totally has enough money to buy Selena Gomez a brand new face. So no harm, no foul.
#2″CRUISE” by Florida Georgia Line feat. Nelly
Nelly, former King of the Summer Hit (see “Shake Ya Tailfeather,” “Hot in Herrre” and “Ride wit Me”) is so desperate to reclaim that past feeling of totally pwning everybody’s summer, that he was even willing to collaborate with rednecks in a desperate attempt an re-achieving relevancy. AND YOU ARE TELLING ME IT FUCKING WORKED? Jesus, what is wrong with this country? While twang is certainly fun to appreciate via AutoTune, this song makes me want to pour Jim Beam in my eyes and then crash my tractor into a barn full of St. Lunatics.
#3 “GET LUCKY” by Daft Punk feat. Pharrell / “MIRRORS” by Justin Timberlake / “BLURRED LINES” by Robin Thicke feat. T.I. and Pharrell
I actually really dig all three of these songs and respect their funked out, 70s vibe. They make me feel like a suave pimp without having to commit to any of the messy work of velour suit shopping or being friends with meth-ed out prostitutes. But they are all three contenders for Song of the Summer, and thus all in grave and imminent danger of total overexposure. I swear to god, I heard “Get Lucky” on a spanish-language station at the taqueria the other day. Before you ask, THERE IS NO SPANISH VERSION. So stop whatever you are doing right now, and listen to all three of these songs one last time, and then switch off the radio and never go outside so you can hunker down while these songs are utterly bled dry by an industry starved for anything bearing the slightest resemblance to creative pop artistry. You can listen to them again in 2014 (if there is a 2014).
#4 “#BEAUTIFUL” by Mariah Carey feat. Miguel
You guys, there is a hashtag in this song title. Which I suppose makes sense–if I was over 40 and trying to stay relevant with the fickle youth market, I would probably add a hashtag to my song and pick fights with Nicki Minaj too. And when you listen to the song, it makes sense that there is a hashtag in the title, because that is basically the only way to get people to talk about this song. This song is so goddamn boring, it sounds like the drum beat is trying to escape from the track. The beat is literally phoning it in. Oh, and to top it off, the song is basically anchored by Miguel’s guest spot on the record. You know Miguel, the guy who accidentally invented fanstomping that time he went skullwalking on top of a live audience on national TV? I only wish Miguel would kick me in the head, repeatedly, when I listen to this song.
#5 “WE CAN’T STOP” by Miley Cyrus
It’s hard to say why Miley Cyrus’ parents decided to end their marriage of 19 years–was it because of this dreadful song, or because of the video that surfaced of her twerking at a Juicy J concert? In “We Can’t Stop,” Miley sings about drugs and parties and reckless behavior and living while we’re young and undeserved entitlement and blah blah blah every single thing in every song released over the last couple of years by every pop star under 30 (and also in songs by fun.). I wish that instead of releasing yet another song bragging about how awesome it must be to have the money to actually go out and party, Miley had done something groundbreaking again. Maybe an “Achey Breaky Heart Part II” instead of a “Party in the USA Part II?” Or maybe she could have explained to us why her birth name is Destiny Hope Cyrus, and yet she prefers to go by Miley? Wtf is that?
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