There is Shame in this Game.
Right, so, if you don’t follow me on Twitter (@TheMistler) or your name is not Matt, Chandler, Rob or Dan, this is a random post. Also, my longest since the diatribe about platonic love and sex. Our mission, which we did indeed choose to accept, was to create a playlist of songs we are ashamed to like.* Some of the songs below are, to my ears and maybe to yours, quite good. Others are deplorably bad. All are enjoyed by me, for varying reasons. All are also linked to YouTube videos.
*Yes, I just made a Mission: Impossible reference, and no, I am not proud of myself. But that is in keeping with the spirit of this post.
I think the name of the song, and the “pussy, pussy, pussy, marijuana” chorus, more or less cover it.
NEVERTHELESS, Brazilian Girls are awesome (heh.), and this is also a good introduction to them, on the off chance you don’t know of them already. Also, I can take this as an opportunity to mention the New York club in which they formed, Nublu. My former brother-in-law does a lot of art for them, and I feel oh so exclusive when I go. Another band that formed via Nublu (and has collaborated with Brazilian Girls) is
Forro in the Dark, and I cannot recommend them highly enough.
Incidentally, I have a massive crush on Sabina Sciubba.
Does anyone else still occasionally cringe at “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding?” It is a great song, and Elvis Costello is deservedly an icon. Nevertheless, and despite Nick Lowe’s actual lyrics, the title is unbearably saccharine and naive.
This song - name AND lyrics - takes that feeling and brings it all the way up to 11.
I really like the way he screams “cut away.”
My high school once played “Send Me On My Way” over the loudspeakers at the end of the last day of school for graduating Seniors. I can’t figure out which is more sad - that or the fact they played Creed at the prom. And yet, I like this song.
There is no rhyme or reason to the times I choose to overlook the utter lack of authenticity of musicians. Except I will never, ever overlook the inauthenticity or total shittiness of OAR.
I like Lady Gaga. Shit, The Fame Monster is actually the last album I bought a CD of. (My girlfriend at the time and I went to Target together and bought matching copies, and I’m not even sure how many times we listened to Alejandro while laying in bed together. I KNOW, RIGHT? Please kill me now.)
But even during that no-regrets phase, I would reiterate the trope that Lady Gaga is a modern Madonna. Problem being that, while I have ample respect for Madonna in the same way I now have ample respect for Justin Timberlake, the music is rarely something I’d buy or listen to repeatedly. (See exception below.)
This is a type of pop that I would generally describe myself as not liking, though Lady Gaga has consistently gotten me with her antics and songs that I undeniably enjoy. Six months later, however, I’ll forget almost all of those songs, and rarely if ever listen to them again. A few years later I’ll be surprised to find them in my music folder. Poker Face is an exception, and there are others by her, but they remind me of the songs I’ve forgotten and, worse, remind me that I don’t give a rat’s ass about forgetting them. Hence the shame.
The video is fucking amazing. And brunette Madonna is hotter than blonde Madonna.
I feel like my shame could be more the fault of this being hugely catchy and popular than with the band or the lyrics. Although, now that I think about it, while the lyrics are dark, they cover terrain that was better mapped by Jeremy.
Also, when he sings, “All the other kids with the pumped up kicks,” for some reason my brain occasionally replaces that line with, “All the little chicks with the crimson lips.” You know, from the Drew Carey show theme song, Cleveland Rocks. So, that’s embarrassing. (It also totally works, however. Try it. It will probably stick with you forever, or for as long as this song remains a part of the public consciousness.)
Pretty much anything that involves Robyn is a-okay in my book. I could do without Rye Rye’s “That’s right, that’s right, that’s right.” I think that’s (that’s right) my only quibble with this song, but for some reason I do find it really annoying. (Possibly because it steps on Robyn’s vocals a bit.)
Granted, I’ve never actually looked up the lyrics to this song, but they seem easy enough to decipher. A woman is tired of just making out with whatever dude she’s addressing and wants his dick. I mean, don’t get me wrong, FUCK. AND. YES. and all that. But… it involves the lyrics “I wanna ride it, ride it.” (This general style of techno also gives me some pause, but much less than that lyric.)
Do you like how I began with “Granted…” as if I wasn’t being inane and was somehow carrying on a Kudu-focused conversation? I just have so many of those, I guess.
IT BEGINS WITH GONGS AND IT ONLY GETS BETTER.
An absurdly perfect pop song, danceable with lyrics that everyone can identify with while nevertheless thinking them (and themselves) substantial as a result. I mean, she’s totally singing about me, and this woman I loved, and our ill-fated but passionate affair.
Credit to Holly for making me watch the video. Rihanna’s inexplicable faux-British accented monologue? GRAVITAS, bitches.
The song was written by Neil Diamond. Who in God’s name ever said, “The boy’s no good,” as an ethical judgement, about Neil fucking Diamond?
Most songs on this list I actually enjoy. This is not one of them. Everyone has a few songs that they intellectually know are horrible no good pieces of musical shit, but nevertheless the songs are associated with some amazing periods in the people’s lives and pleasant nostalgia overwhelms all sense of reason. Right? Right.
The summer this song came out was fucking great for me. The song itself is fucking horrible.
If you aren’t familiar with the namesake of this song, and why it is perfect fodder for a mindlessly fun ode, then I have a difficult time understanding how I know you or why you are reading my blog. This is the height of stupidity, but it doesn’t claim to be anything more than that.
Oh, this reminds me. Beirut is a much better name than Beer Pong. Also a better musician than Toby Keith.
