Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Tuning Out

Considering I am a highly critical analytical person, this is probably just the first in a series of posts crafted to call your attention to the lazy songwriting that America has allowed to slip through its discretionary cracks into mainstream culture.

What has our world become, when Rush Limbaugh can’t call women whores and demand that they have sex for his viewing pleasure, yet we allow lyrics like this to rise to the top of the Top 40 Billboard charts, without consequence?

Song: Jesse’s Girl
Artist: Rick Springfield

You know, I feel so dirty when they start talking cute.
l wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot.

Hmmmmm. Let’s write down all the words that rhyme with “cute.”  I find it very hard to believe that none of your options were better than “moot” but in any case, that’s certainly a list I’d like to see.  I’d also like to take bets on how many hours you spent brainstorming until you broke down and asked your grandmother for help.

Song: All My Life
Artist: K-Ci and JoJo

Close to me you’re like my mother,
Close to me you’re like my father,
Close to me you’re like my sister,
Close to me you’re like my brother.

Alright, alright, alright. Cousin, stepson, drunk Uncle Bobby. We’re close. I get it.

Song: Ni**as in Paris
Artist: Jay-Z & Kanye West

She said, “Ye, can we get married at the mall?”
I said, “Look, you need to crawl before you ball.”

Please give me the name of any one person who considers getting married at the mall “ballin’.” Maybe it’s just me, but the thought of getting married at the mall conjures up some negative imagery. Namely, a wedding dress tarnished by unfortunate brown skid marks left by a rogue piece of burbon chicken from China Wok.

Song: Shut It Down
Artist: Drake

Yeah, baby, you finer than your fine cousin,
And your cousin fine, but she don’t have my heart beatin’ in double time.

WHOA. Whoa. WAY too many words. Your crowded sentence structure lost me completely, so I couldn’t follow your thought process. Also, why don’t you try not mention how hot another girl is, let alone my family member, while you’re trying to pick me up. Major turn-off.  Yes, you’re right, I do Shut It Down, if “It” is you. Date request denied.

Song: Birthday Cake
Artist: Rihanna featuring Chris Brown

Really, the whole song should be destroyed, based solely on the fact that you say cake 90 times. I counted. 90 times. It was excessive around mention #7.

Your obsessive compulsive tendencies aside, my chief concern is the verse:

Oo baby I like it, you’re so excited, don’t try to hide it, ima make you my bitch.
Cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake.
I know you wana bite this, it’s so enticin, nothing else like It, ima make you my bitch.
And it’s not even my birthday.
Bethcha wana put ya name on it,
And it’s not even my birthday .
And he tryna put his name on it.

That doesn’t even make any sense. Listen, I get excited when I see cake, too. There are meetings for that. Or try Weight Watchers – you can eat absolutely anything you want as long as you manage the rest of your day accordingly. But I can assure you that neither OA or WW endorse you making anyone your “bitch” just because they like a little sugar every now and again.

Furthermore, why is he trying to put his name on your cake? Oh, it’s not even your birthday? Well, it’s still not right. It’s your cake. Tell him to get his own cake! Carvel puts names on cakes for free and they don’t check IDs to verify your birth date. Let him know.

At the end of the day, Chris & RiRi, society is going to get tired of the two of you and your endless problems. You’ve gotta walk away now, Rihanna. How much more can one girl take? Let it stop at pre-Grammy beatings and cake thievery.

It’s time to take back the airwaves, America. It’s time for a music revolution! It’s time to storm into DJ booths across the country, and demand Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and U2 (pre-1992) – for the sake of your children, and your children’s children.

It’s time to decide – Are we human? Or are we dancers?

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