Another computer failure breaking my rhythm. I'm not sure when I can get that thing replaced and get back to this project, but a hiatus is no bad thing-- the pop charts are sluggish and still propping up songs I've already covered, so it's not like there's new content I'm scrambling to keep up with.
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How they managed to cram five writers into the credits is anyone's guess (but I'll bet they went through a lot of Crayons)
Bruno Mars
Just the Way You Are Ass Kissing
#33 (HiMid)
Peter Hernandez
Philip Lawrence
Ari Levine
Khalil Walton
Khari Cain
The Smeezingtons
Needlz
Artist: Play:
Style:
Billboard:
Writer(s):
Producer(s):
This whole project
was conceived because I was going to rectify my ignorance of popular
music, not for me to be a hateful dick, but the last song to cross my
desk that wasn't a shriekingly awful piece of cynical fluff was
Ke$ha. In February. And that was cynical commercial fluff, too; it just wasn't
awful.
I never thought I'd
be nostalgic for Ke$ha.
Bruno Mars still
kind of bugs me, and this song is still a Run!, but it has three
things going for it: it's not as bad as “Marry You (Just Say YeahYeah Yeah Yeah Yeah),” it doesn't feature Chris Brown, and it's not
a cover of a Billy Joel song.
I can't even begin
to communicate how glad I am that this isn't Bruno Mars covering a
Billy Joel's 80s hit “Just the Way You Are.” He looks the type, archly glancing from behind his piano with his little hat... I'm sure he's
played "Only the Good Die Young" at a piano bar at least once. But
this is not that. It's only a small reprieve, though, as this is the
next in the seemingly unbreakable string of Run!s that are dominating
this blog.
Oh her eyes, her
eyes
Make the stars look
like they're not
shining
Her hair, her hair
Falls perfectly
without her trying
She's so beautiful
and I tell her
every day
The problem I have
with Mars is most likely what makes him popular in the first place:
mawkishly sap in the lyrics over simple pop chords. “Just the Way
You Are” has the kind of childish lack of romance that could have
been recorded by New Kids on the Block. This is what a little kid
thinks of love when their first kiss is still years away. It's
the kind of thing that should be sequestered on the Disney Channel
until it reaches the legal drinking age, but High School Musical
broke the gates open and these songs are allowed to wander around
unchaperoned.
I'm willing to bet
the only reason this song doesn't have the same fan base as The Ready Set is the picture on the poster. I wonder if that hampers its
sales. “Bruno! Great song! Um, Bob from marketing here-- can we
make you look like a fourteen year old boy with a girl's haircut? We
could really sell this to the tweens.”
Since this is
Bruno's second appearance here, I've got a limited set of songs to
draw from... but since I'd heard the previous song, I somehow felt like I'd
already heard this one: I heard that falsetto coming at 2:38 before
he hit it. It's basically the same part as the “Just say I do”
falsetto bridge in “Marry You.” I was never going to call Bruno
Mars original, but it seems like he's written one song, has a
producer modify it slightly, and is releasing it as a handful of
singles.
First, a quick
wager that this song was originally titled “Who Do You Think You
Are?” but someone decided that “Jar of Hearts” was more unique
(and therefore more memorable.) What they seem to have overlooked is
the inanity of the new title: pulled from the abysmal lyric “Who do
you think you are, running round leaving scars, collecting your Jar
of Hearts, and tearing love apart,” Jar of Hearts is the kind of
phrase only turned by children who protest (too much) their
individuality by dressing anachronistically and writing terrible
poetry that includes phrases like "jar of hearts."
Far from the Taio
Cruz total rhyme failure, “Jar of Hearts” lives in the poetic
playground of cheap, easy rhymes (with a few cheating near-rhymes
thrown in for good measure). It's a sunny place, this playground; in
the center, there's a statue of Lenny Kravitz, and the revelers all
want to fly so high in the sky like a butterfly. Most days,
Christina Perri sadly dances here by herself, wishing she'd missed
the first time you kissed, afraid you'll catch a cold from the ice
inside your soul (and hoping you'll notice). Maybe she should bring him
some hot soup (how over her Lothario can Perri be, anyway, if she's still
concerned he'll catch cold?)
The whole affair
seems awfully naive to me, anyway (see also: “Of Course I Don't
Listen to the Radio. I'm Not a 15-Year-Old Girl.”) I can't balance
all the time it's taken her to get the light back in her eyes after
losing the love she loved most with the icy-souled guy running around
collecting hearts for his heart jar and tearing love apart... Not to
overload my cynic circuits, but this story makes more sense if it's
using the Unreliable Narrator device, and Perri has blown a two day
mini-relationship with a guy out of proportion to near psychotic
levels (“But we kissed! Twice!”) This song was done with more
passion back when it was called “I Will Survive,” and Christina
Perri doesn't offer a single thought that isn't borrowed from a
vastly superior Gloria Gaynor... and Gaynor sounds like she lived
with the guy. If I wanted to listen to someone de-disco Gaynor's
anthem, I'd listen to Cake.
Musically, this song is a turgid mope through remedial piano and syrupy, Hallmark strings... and while I appreciate producers trusting a sad song to captivate an audience without a dance beat, but there has to be something here to do the captivating. A set of lyrics Perri will be embarrassed by in a few years married to clunking piano won't get it done... and it can be done. Take Nellie McKay, for example: there's a girl (younger than Perri at the time of the taping) at a piano venting some disappointment, frustration, and rage with some real cleverness in the words and some talent with the keys... and doing it live, without all the vocal overdubs and sappy production on Perri's track (Christina Perri can be heard live here, and, on an unrelated note, did I mention Nellie McKay can actually sing? Dunno why that just popped into my head.)
There's a little
bit of ironic fun to be had with T-Pain. I hate autotune as much as
the next snarky critic, but there's something about the egregious,
inhuman, completely over-the-top way that T-Pain does it. If all the
R&B vocals on the radio have been autotuned into an almost
comical stereotype, T-Pain usually sounds like he's recording a
caricature of everyone else. If Homer Simpson were to set up his own
recording studio, his output would sound like T-Pain.
That said, I'm
starting to feel self-conscious about logging this many Run!s in a
row-- seriously? Another awful, awful song? I knew it was going to
be bad as soon as I saw Chris Brown's name attached (why can't I
shake that guy?), but this continuous flow of thuddingly bad is
making me nostalgic for Ke$ha...
“Best Love Song”
isn't lacking in self-awareness as much as it's lacking in awareness
altogether. I was focused on the self-aware part initially: lines
like “And if I'm gonna take her home, it's got to be better than
what they play on the radio” while the song isn't just like what
they play on the radio, it actually is what they play on the
radio... that kind of writing is so ignorant of itself, of what the
song is, that it probably ought to appear in the next Tommy Wiseau
picture.
Similarly, if the
song is to work, “It's gotta be the crunkest, gotta be the loudest.
It's gotta be the best love song she ever heard in her life.”
Again, the song doesn't seem to understand that not only is it not
the crunkest, it's not crunky in the least (there is a significant
lack of crunk here. It is crunkless), and it won't be the loudest
because stereo systems and club PAs have volume knobs which can make
any one song louder than another. Finally, the song doesn't seem to
realize that it's not the best love song anyone's ever heard.
Blinded by how the
song isn't aware of what it is in the first place, I almost missed
the fact that these guys just don't get it. If they're trying
to write the best love song anyone's ever heard, why would they want
it to be the crunkest? Even if their crunk-failure levels are epic,
did they start writing with Crunchy Black in mind, assuming that was
the key to the greatest love song ever? Or loudness? Did they
believe that in order for their love song to be the best, it would
have to be deafeningly loud, because nothing says romance like jet
engine volume levels?
The more I think
about it, the more I'm sure T-Pain and Chris Brown don't even know
what these words mean. The lyrics could be “It's gotta be the most
grindcore, gotta be the most klezmer” and they wouldn't make any
less sense. It's not like loudness and crunk have anything to do
with the junior prom slow dance number they're actually singing.
Turn on the lights (lights! lights!)
give me a mic
(give me a mic)
I'm about to sing
and do it just as she likes (la-likes)
Jump off the stage
crowd surfin all the way (cowabunga)
T-Pain's lyrics are
generally about the song he's singing, which doesn't seem to have
much to do with a love song. Chris Brown, of course, spends his
verse preening; it's annoying that he spends so much time reminding
us he's god's gift to womankind when there's so much contrary
evidence out there. Amidst all the autotuned non-singing, there's a
computerized background chorus backing up everything Brown has to say
(including “Cowabunga,” which stands alone as the stupidest lyric
in a song filled with stupid lyrics). He does promise to sing to you
just how you like, and provides some instructions as to what you have
to do if you want to get with him. Such a wonderful guy-- you should
do what he says.
Musicially, this is
just a Prom song. It's too wimpy and lifeless for clubs, and I can't
imagine it flourishing anywhere but teenage dances and pop radio...
which wouldn't be the case if it were actually the crunkest (or most
klezmer) song someone's ever heard.
For unintentional comedic value, the actual song is a cross between Tenacious D's "Tribute" (a song about the best song in the world that isn't actually the best song in the world) and "I Just Had Sex" (a slightly less subtle parody of Prom songs than "Best Love Song," but not by much). On its own merits, this song is pretty ridiculous, but viewed through the lens of all the comedy that came before it, you could view a pathetic slow-dance prom song demanding it be The Loudest and The Crunkest as the height of satire.
If anyone has information about T-Pain being a comic genius instead of a happenstance pop star, please let me know.
Oh, the Prom song.
These things are as sappy as Hallmark tunes, but they're walking a
fine line between true love and getting naked as quickly as possible
(usually promising one to get to the other). Generally set up as
slow dance fodder, Prom songs are mawkishly sentimental to the point
that they probably shouldn't work on anyone who's ever been in an
adult relationship... but, hey, that's not their audience.
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Um... what's hot right now? Do those wacky kids still like 80's retro?
Black Eyed Peas
The Time (Dirty Bit) Club Anthem
#66 (LoMid)
William Adams
Allan Pineda
Damien LeRoy
Franke Previte
John DeNicola
Donald Markowitz
Will.i.am
DJ Ammo
Artist: Play:
Style:
Billboard:
Writer(s):
Producer(s):
I've heard Black Eyed Peas used as a punchline more than I've heard their music: I know the names Fergie (from random publicity) and Will.i.am (from appearing in a godawful comic book adaptation). No one talks about Black Eyed Peas without calling them out for being tin eared, cheesy, and possibly aiming for “so bad its good” guilty pleasure music and missing the mark. From what I've read, they're regarded in the same way as Two & a Half Men: everyone knows it sucks, but it is wildly popular and profitable.
Comparatively, I actually kinda like the only Black Eyed Peas song I know-- “Let's Get It Started” isn't a great song or anything, but I think it's a fun Party Anthem, and it's good at what it does. I never could marry the one song I know by them to the pervasive hate for the group. From where I was standing, they were one for one.
And then I heard “The Time (Dirty Bit)” and every snippit of internet snark ever launched in the Black Eyed Peas' direction came flooding back into my brain. Suddenly, it makes sense that there's a collective groan every time these guys drop a single, that each new song is treated like it deserves a human rights tribunal. If “The Time (Dirty Bit)” is any indication of their other output, I'd rather not hear it.
While the production is sharp and shiny (the bass punches, the synths swirl), the music itself is the worst of amateur half-assedness. My first instinct is to compare it to the songs made with the BuzzTracker freeware in the early 90s, but it would be too disrespectful to tracker musicians as a whole-- even the bedroom keyboard junkies aren't obsessed with sample retriggers and trance-gates to the point of butchering this song's last chorus into stuttery, choppy word salad.
The nonsensical and ill-timed cuts are predicted by the lead in to the first verse: after the intro, the word “you” is clipped and repeated in traditional rave-up form. I have nothing against that (I've used it myself), but it's just so badly implemented here-- instead of building excitement and anticipation of the next beat dropping, it's overlong and annoying. These are symptoms of somebody toying with their very first sampler... how does this kind of tin-eared obnoxiousness show up in the product of megastars and hit makers?
All of this reflects how annoying the song is without addressing the quality of the songwriting or the lyrics. We could end now, call this a Run!, and still wouldn't have addressed the fact that about a quarter of the run time of the song is actually a cover of The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing... but where's the fun in that? Seriously, if you want to hear someone autotune their way through the chorus of a soundtrack tie-in hit from the mid 80's, this is your song.
(I just re-read that last paragraph. It gets more ridiculous the longer I think about it.)
No one's going to be surprised to discover that the lyrics are pretty stupid. I find it baffling that people tried to make a laughingstock of Rebecca Black for the awful lyrics in Friday, but somehow the Black Eyed Peas can toss out gems like “I was born to get wild, that's my style. If you didn't know that, well, baby, now you know now” with impunity. There's an implied rhyme between “style” and “now,” too-- if you want to mock idiots singing a bad song, leave the thirteen year old girl alone and turn your attention to the Black Eyed Peas: these are adults, and they weren't handed these words by some mercenary company. They actually wrote these lyrics.
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Britney's next single: "Did It Hurt (When You Fell from Heaven)?"
Britney Spears
Hold it Against Me Club Anthem
#11 (High)
Feb 24, 2011
Max Martin
Lukasz Gottwald
Bonnie McKee
Mathieu Jomphe
Dr. Luke
Max Martin
Billoard
I suppose it was
inevitable. I didn't know it when I started this, but Britney
Spears has yet to go away... so, of course, she still shows up on the
charts. I consider her the archetypal Pop Tart: the Prime Pop Tart
from which all the teen girl pop stars have been generated for over
ten years now. I'm not entirely sure why, but Brittney's a
legend, in her own way: not even my media blackout could miss her
legacy. She's been more headline than music for a long, long time, but with Lindsey Lohan (and more recently, Charlie Sheen)
occupying the Celebrity Flame Out division of watercooler gossip, I'd
foolishly assumed there was no more Britney Spears.
Seeing as this is
coming after the gratingly talentless Taio Cruz, it actually sounds
pretty good-- the complaints I have against Cruz's generic, limp
backing tracks are thrown into sharp contrast by a grinding,
propulsive rhythm and a lot of energy... which makes plenty of sense:
the Spears product has always been backed by world-class pop
producers and writers. It'd be more surprising if the song didn't
sound pretty good. Pop stars of this pedigree usually have their
singles arrive platinum dipped and diamond sparkling, and “Hold It
Against Me” is custom tooled for maximum wow factor.
Until the chorus.
Oh... that chorus.
Let's sidestep the obvious for a second and concentrate on the music:
after building a driving track that demands attention, the chorus
makes all of that interest disappear in a puff of smoke...
energyless, bland smoke. In club music, this kind of sound (washes
of spacey synths, pulling back the beat) is done for a short breath
before the rhythm hits again-- it's usually dramatic and makes a
dancefloor explode. Here, it stays too quiet too long; the whole
chorus is a really ho-hum affair, which is even worse in a pop song
where this part was supposed to be the hook.
If I said my heart was beating loud
If we could escape the crowd somehow
If I said I want your body now
Would you hold it against me
Cause you feel like paradise
And I need a vacation tonight
So if I said I want your body now
Would you hold it against me
The chorus,
unfortunately is “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you
hold it against me?” No, really. That is the song,
essentially-- she has to make a rhyme of it, so the actual chorus is
“If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me,”
but she actually recites the joke, direct from 101 Cheesy Pick-Up
Lines, in the middle break, doing her best breathy sex-kitten
voice.
Besides being one
of the stupidest lyrics ever written, it's just... so... childish.
There's nothing actually sexy about the stock pop “I want
your body.” Britney's image has become more than a little trashy:
now that the tabloids and the internet have made headlines of her
being a dirty, dirty girl, her lyrics (no matter how hard they try
not to be) sound like awkward come-ons from the fumbling and
inexperienced. The irony here is that she was catapulted to stardom
as a virginal Disney princess, preaching purity while wearing an
outfit that had more in common with an
adult costume store than a Catholic school.
The whole thing
just sort of crumbles under its own weight: the music shoots itself
in the foot every time the chorus comes up, and the lyrics achieve a
level of stupidity few bad songs ever approach. And, seriously,
after so many years, who would have thought Britney Spears, the
Prime Pop Tart, would be so bad at being sexy?
Taio Cruz is a
fantastic example of my finger not being on the pulse of tastes in
popular music. “Dynamite” has been my example of moronic writing
combined with music that represents the least possible effort since
it originally popped up on this site-- my first taste of Cruz begged
the question “How is this song on the radio?” Having him pop up
again is a little shocking, and has me asking “How does this guy
have a career?”
To be fair,
“Higher” isn't nearly as bad as “Dynamite.” It's a bad song,
sure, but it's not going to be my standard reference point for
terrible writing. Hell, it even name-drops Breakin'
characters in the first verse (technically Breakin' 2: Electric
Boogaloo, but the characters are the same), which flirts with
actual cleverness... but it's also the contribution of Travie McCoy,
not the kind of lyrics Cruz can take credit for.
I do this just for
kicks just for the thrill
I got this high
without taking a pill
This groove has got
me way over the sun
I'm dancin like I
am the only one
Taio Cruz is still
one of the worst lyricists this side of Creed, but in a shocking
improvement over “Dynamite,” the words actually rhyme. Sure,
they sound like they were written by a twelve-year-old, and for some
reason he dramatically repeats the last word of every line (“I got
this high without taking a pill. Pill!”), but “thrill” and
“pill” actually do rhyme. It's awful, but it's still a
measurable improvement.
Musically... what
could I expect? It's another stock backing track that sounds like it
was taken directly from those “Everything you need to start making
techno! Now!” CDs from the early 90's, and the song itself actually
feels more dated than that... there's a distinctly 80's bubblegum
feel to it. I know, I know... there was no house influence in 80's
pop, but it still conjures that vibe.
Taio Cruz is still
an amalgamation of dance track clichés, bad lyrics, and
generic-sounding backing tracks: all things I've derided ad nauseum
(and derided him specifically for them), so there's almost nothing
more to write. I'm still baffled by his success and annoyed when I
have to hear him.
It is nice that
he's not still trying to rhyme “dance” with “plans,” though.
Music like this
makes me break out my Old Man Voice. “That stuff ain't a bit of
good. Don't you dummies ever understand anything?” I feel like the
outtakes on a DRI album.
Unlike the blast I
just leveled at Jessie J for laziness and hypocrisy, Fabolous is just
sort of bad. You know, in a general way. Maybe this song's going
for a retro-feel, but every piece of this song feels like it has
between 10 and 30 years of dust on it. Synth bass from the 80s,
break loop from the 90s... it doesn't really inspire any kind of
retro nostalgia in me (if that's even the point), it just sounds
tired.
Or, more
accurately, this song sounds like a C lister from years back-- this
song could have been a minor hit when I was a kid (when that crazy
rap music on the mTv was still kind of novel). I remember those
videos well-- the companies didn't know their new find was a bad
rapper, they just thought he had a look they could sell, and so this
goofily awful song is shoehorned into a video. This is the kind of
song that sounds like it was pulled out of a cut out bin. On a
cassingle.
Just watching
my cutiepie get beautified
Make me want better jewels, a newer
ride
Louis Vuitton shoes, she got too much pride
Her feet are
killing her, I call it shoe-icide
I can handle
repetitive or uninteresting music if the vocal is awesome... but, as
you can guess by the spelling of his name, Fabolous is not a great
wordsmith. His flow is kind of sluggish and lags behind the beat (I
hate that) and he “sings” the chorus (there is a kind of melody
there) so painfully flat I can't believe he thought it was a good
idea. Then again, he just coined the term “shoe-icide,” so what
Fabolous considers a good idea will always be a mystery.
He might be a foot
fetishist, too, because his worship of the shoes as backed up by a
mention of “well trimmed toes,” which must mean the girl's
pedicure... otherwise... well... is amputation becoming fashionable?
Trimming a toe or two for sandal season?
Singing the chorus
is almost as annoying as the words in the chorus themselves. I know
colloquialism and slang are the norm in hiphop, but there is no way
to make the phrase “you be killin em” not sound moronic... and
saying it over and over (and over and over) just draws attention to
the fact that your average 8-year-old can communicate more
intelligently than this guy.
It starts like an
eye-roller, the kind of tepid radio pop designed for stuffy offices
and commutes to grocery stores, but half way through the first verse,
something stuck me and wouldn't let me go. As I started to sing
along with “Her name is Yoshimi...” I realized that, hey-- this
is actually a Flaming Lips song.
I've got a pretty
good ear for that sort of thing, and “Price Tag” isn't just using
the same chords as “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots,” but the
same rhythm feel and beat, too. “Price Tag” even borrows the
tape slow-down effect.
I never do this,
but to prove a point, I've mashed up these two songs (mashed these two songs up?) here. Actually,
calling it a mash-up is disrespectful to everyone who makes
interesting music this way: I just played the two songs together,
because Jessie J is borrowing tracks from 2002.
Well, sort of-- I'm
not a huge Flaming Lips fan (Yoshimi is the only record I have of
theirs), but they are awfully creative, sonically. Jessie J is not (or,
her songwriters and producer aren't): I'm sure she's never heard the
song she's ripping off; I'm sure the production team thought no one
would notice. It's a borrowed track, but it's also as flat and
lifeless as any radio fluff you'll find. It's a couple snatches of
guitar put into a sampler and looped endlessly, a tepid sounding beat
(yes, Jessie, the original version of the beat you're using is
crunchier and actually has more stomp. You've been out-funked
by The Flaming Lips), and Standard Pop Bass Sound #3.
And then there's
the message: while I'm down with anti-consumerist themes, it's a
little hard to stomach a pop star's declaration that “It's not all
about the money” when her concert tickets sell for well over $100 (do the conversion from pounds to dollars if you want more context)... and that's middle-of-the-pack between general admission in front of the stage and nosebleed (cheap seats start at £49.50).
Jessie J's idea of not being money obsessed is deriding people who
wear sunglasses and high heels in clubs. Wow. Preach it.
Why is everybody so obsessed
Money can't buy us happiness
Can we all slow down and enjoy right now
Guarantee we'll be feeling all right.
It's not about the money
We don't need your money
We just wanna make the world dance
Forget about the Price Tag
Ain't about the cha-ching cha-ching
Aint about the ba-bling ba-bling
Wanna make the world dance
Forget about the Price Tag
Ian McKaye and Ani
DiFranco can sing about not obsessing over money (and their lyrics
will invariably trump “It's not about the ba-bling, ba-bling”)
because they're the musical equivalent of sustainable growers.
If we want to keep the farming metaphor, Jessie J (a Universal product) is subsidized by the corn industry, selling
high-fructose infused junk food that (lucky you!) has a coupon for
more of the same on the wrapper.
I wouldn't even
mind that so much if the song really was about what it pretended to
be about... it has designs on an “All You Need Is Love” kind of
sentiment, but ends up more like a sales pitch: sure, tickets to her
show are expensive, but don't worry about the price tag, because once
you're in the door it'll be worth it (with all the love and
camaraderie and whatnot in the room). What's a couple hundred bucks for a starlet who's first record has yet to be released? Don't worry about the price tag, give your money to the singer who sings about not needing your money.
Well, keep the price tag
and take the cash back
Just give me six strings
and a half stack.
And you can keep the cars
Leave me the garage
Yes all I need
are keys and guitars
The less said about
a mainstream rapper telling us all he needs in life is a half stack
and a guitar, the better. Has B.O.B. heard his own music? Has he
heard this song? It's like listening to The Sneaker Pimps compare
an uninspiring life to playing with a click track in a song that was
obviously played to a click track. Some pop songs are effective, some
are fun, some are entertaining, and some are genuinely good... very
seldom do they sound like a guy making time with his Les Paul through a JCM.
Especially in such
a lazy song... so, we'll loop the chorus and then have the singer just sort of "solo" over it (the vocal over the pre-recorded chorus is also noticeably auto-tuned) and just call it done. Kay? Cool. We don't need to do any more work on this one. Remember, though we took the music from elsewhere (shhh... don't tell Wayne Coyne), produced the laziest sounding backing track possible, and made something indistinguishable from every other stamped-out pop product, it's totally not about the money. Pick up your paycheck at the front desk and we'll mail you royalty statements quarterly.
This one is pretty simple: we all know a Feel Good song when we hear it. These are generally songs written to make the listener forget the world, turn off their brain, and have a good time.
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Ke$ha might not be too bright, but her handlers, trainers, and writers probably are.
Ke$ha
Blow Club Anthem
#66 (LoMid)
Feb 10, 2011
Kesha Sebert
Klas Åhlund
Lukasz Gottwald
Allan Grigg
Benjamin Levin
Max Martin
Dr. Luke
Max Martin
Benny Blanco
Kool Kojak
Actually, I'm a little familiar with
Ke$ha: she's the blonde pop star that looks like she came from the
factory that manufactures porn stars. I saw her playing a ridiculous
laser-synth on Saturday Night Live, trying her best to look like she
was having fun (you'd think PornBot Industries would have better
“pretending to enjoy what you're doing” software by now)-- to me,
Ke$ha usually seems like she's trying to remember complex
instructions beyond her understanding, but she's always struggling to
look like she's not
frightened and confused.
Back door cracked
We don't need a key
We get in for free
No VIP sleaze
Drink that Kool-Aid
Follow my lead
Now you're one of us
You're coming with me
Which is fine, I
suppose, because this isn't a half bad club track. Ke$ha's only got
a few lines in the verses (which are moronic, sure, but from what I
can tell, that's sort of her trademark), but the whole thing hinges
on the chorus, which is nothing more than the word “Blow” with a
robotic “This place about to” pasted on top of it. The song
basically makes a synth lead out of her voice: autotuned to
inhumanity, harmonized into a rave chord, and sliced up with a trance
gate to give it some rhythm. It stops being Ke$ha and is a mostly
inoffensive dance song.
I know, I know... I'm just trying to
drive home my "Interchangeable
Porn Bot" theory.
Until she gets her
“rap” verse. I do really hate the valley girl “nya!” sound
that skinny pop stars use to hint at their wild bad-assery. If the
lyric is “make it rain,” why does it have to be said “make it
rayn?” She didn't sound like that for any of the song up til now,
and all of the sudden she just manifested a Paris Hilton whine. This
song is at its best when it leaves Ke$ha's “personality” out of
it.
This is the second
song in a row that begins with a fake laugh, too, and while Chris Brown sounds like he's being a dick, Ke$ha sounds more like an
actress in over her head-- she just can't convey mirth. I can't
quite figure out why they left it in... that laugh goes a long way to
support my theory that she's a mannequin they put up on stage while
dance music plays.
Honestly, if the
pop star doesn't need to write any of the words or music and the
voice can be manipulated by a computer so that singing skills are a
non-issue, why wouldn't a record company order a new robot
from the porn actress factory and use it for videos and album covers?
Make sure it's young and pretty, get a new one every few years, and
use it to sell their product.
It doesn't make for
great music, but it's been a successful business strategy for years.
After plenty of connection and hardware
issues, I fire this thing up to...
Damnit! Chris Brown? Thanks for
nothing.
“I say, Miffy. Thadeus' trousers are
of last year's fashion. We shan't be
inviting him to the party.”
Everything that comes from this guy
makes me like him less than the last time I dealt with him. Of
course, he's not doing himself any favors by opening with “I don't
see how you can hate from outside of the club. You can't even get
in.” Add a laugh that successfully mixes a thirteen-year-old bully
with a hyena and we've established the most smugly infuriating
personality this side of Princess from the Powerpuff Girls. I know
boasts are traditional in hip hop, but why does it sound like Chris
Brown's boasts are mocking the nerdy pledges not cool enough to join
his frat?
I suppose we have to give Brown the
tiniest bit of credit, because I usually complain about the laziness
of his tracks along with his toxic persona. This song, while still
excruciatingly awful, is light years from Chris Brown's safe bet,
manufactured plastic. Instead of cookie-cutter dance music, the
sounds here come from early 60's science fiction worthy of Mystery
Science Theater 3000; when the song started, I was immediately
transported to a laboratory where a scientist in horn-rimmed glasses
was using tape driven computers to combat giant, undersea creatures.
She accidentally fall
trip on my dick
Oops, I said
on my dick
I ain't really mean
to say on my dick
but since we talkin
bout my dick
all you haters
say hi to it.
Similarly, Brown's lazy, pop star
singing (autotuned to death) has been replaced with rapping, which
also comes off as lazy... until he double-times it. While that does
hint at a little ambition (he's trying to do something that requires
a skill! Duck!), he can barely pull it off, and after two lines,
just ends up repeating the words “on my dick” because he simply
can't go that fast. On his dick? On his dick.
Did Jason Mewes write this? Was Silent
Bob dancing behind him in the studio for effect?
And then he just gives up and literally
says “I'm done,” and lets Busta Rhymes come in and show him how
make that trick work. Yup, that's right: this is the audio
equivalent of watching a kid fall off his skateboard, followed an
older kid taking his board and upstaging him in front of his friends.
I can't say things get measurably better after Brown decides his own song is too much for him. Sure, Busta Rhymes has a handle on how to do a Brag track without sounding like a moron, thug, or child, but he's bookended by a useless Chris Brown and (here we go again) Lil Wayne, who doesn't seem to have a lot of love for bitches or faggots... which, again, doesn't offend me: I'm not too PC or blushing at someone being inappropriate, I just don't have time for grown men with the collective mental age of a junior high kid.
Yes, there has been a long wait for new content. First, the free wifi around my place grew a password, and this changed my ability to upload and post... not impossible to overcome, but inconvenient.
Then, my netbook died. Truth is: I do most of this work in transit, and I don't actually spend my free time listening to and writing about bad music (and, let's face it, most of this stuff is pretty bad)-- if it ain't done when I'm sitting around waiting, it ain't done. I've done my repairs, but, since I don't upload and post as soon as these pieces are written (see: point 1), all previous entries were lost. Another P!nk song that sounded just like the last P!nk song, but mopier; my first Katy Perry song, which brought new context to the term "pop tart;" and the actually pretty funny "I Just Had Sex." I have no intention of re-writing these things-- one pass is all I'm willing to give those songs.
I've fixed the machine and the netbook is ready to roll once again, so there will be more to come.
The last time I reviewed this song, I wondered if I could get away
with a one line review... and now I'm spilling more (virtual) ink on
the awful thing; it is slightly less awful without Pitbull chanting
“Bon Bon Bon Bon” every couple seconds. It's still a Run, no
question, but it benefits, as most songs do, from the lack of bon bon
bonning.
Aside from that, there's almost nothing to say; it's an old standard
that's been chopped up and had a dance beat added to it. At least when Rednex decided to make a dance-floor anthem out
of “Cotton-Eyed Joe,” they actually recorded a cover version of the folk standard--
adding a simple beat to a1950s novelty tune barely even counts as a remix, no matter how many times
they loop the instrumental sections.
Counting my blessings, the most annoying repetition in the Pitbull
version is lessened here: the bleeping lead line made from a single
horn sample is there, but it's not a constant irritant, quacking away
through the entire song. It also eventually changes (gasp!)
I'm not sure this song is anything but a kick drum thump meant to
keep people dancing. It's barely a song, and there's hardly anything
to say about it, other than I never want to hear it again.
Fairly important: the formatting on this post goes to hell in most feeds, and it will be best read at ericonthecharts.blogspot.com
The cookie cutter may be the same, but at least the cookies taste slightly better
Flo Rida
Club Can't Handle Me Club Anthem
#33 (HiMid)
Jan 13, 2011
Tramar Dillard
Carmen Key
Kasia Livingston
Mike Caren
David Guetta
Frédéric Riesterer
Giorgio Tuinfort
David Guetta
Frédéric Riesterer
I've often complained about the eurodisco/house-derived dance music
being stamped out of a rusty and overused cookie cutter (somebody
clean that thing!), but what always grates is not so much an
adherence to formula as the laziness and lack of ambition. What I
really hate is music that sounds like it was tossed off in 10
minutes (one beat, four chords, modulate for the chorus... okay,
done). There's a place for music assembled by downloading a couple
royalty-free loops and throwing them together in a prescribed
pattern: it's called the internet... where bedroom music amateurs,
pornography, make-up tutorial videos, and crank critics share space.
The thoughtless, thrown-together music backing Taio Cruz and Rihanna
belong on the radio as much as I belong in the New York Times.
(I'm dying for the ironic comeuppance of that last bit to strike...
from either side)
With all that in mind, “Club Can't Handle Me” isn't half bad--
it's completely a product of it's house-based formula, sure, but some
work went into writing it. There are music breaks in the verses,
including hard stops and a weird, wavetable-sounding freakout in the
bass (check out the crazy synth at 1:01), and there's a chord
suspension that stetches lines in the third verse and actually builds
anticipation. The beat is standard, but at least offers a few
breaks, and the whole thing actually sounds dance-floor ready; it
doesn't sound like sluggish pop written for housecleaning or car
stereo commutes, it is meant to bounce in a club.
Is it just me, or is there a $50 Casio (set to Violin) playing the
base chords to Lennon's “Imagine” in the beginning of this song?
You know I know how
To make em stop and stare as I zone out
The club can't even handle me right now
Watchin you I'm watchin you we go all out
The club can't even handle me right now
Lyrically, there's almost no conversation to have: there's not a
single workable rhyme in the chorus, and the verses are just bouncy
rhythm (Flo Rida claims to be “arrogant, like yeah,”) but I
really don't care that much... nothing in the lyrics strikes me in
any way, neither clever nor irritating. I can always do without “put
your hands up” chanting, but after the horror this genre's
inflicted on me, “Club Can't Handle Me” feels pretty innocuous.
I suppose it's all a matter of perspective: I've heard so much dance
music that can't be played in war zones for fear of violating the
Geneva Convention, I'm disproportionately impressed by a song that
would at least cause a debate within the tribunal. Truth be told,
it's not even a very good song... but it isn't offensively awful, and
it deserves some credit for being better than so many of its peers.
No... okay... it's just Train. I'm not sure it's less painful,
really-- it's always hard to listen to white guys who developed their
idea of “soulful” vocals from years of intense Sublime fandom.
It takes a very special band to marry a song that missed the cut from
a 1996 Jock Rock compilation to Christmas lyrics, I suppose.
Writing Christmas songs, in general, is a bad idea for any modern
musician-- most, like “Shake Up Christmas,” will hit cut-out bins
on December 26th and never be heard from again. In the
rare instance a modern pop star's Christmas song sticks, it's usually
a tragic event for the world of music... I'm pretty sure when George
Carlin said “The wrong two Beatles died first,” he'd just
listened to McCartney's “Wonderful Christmas Time,” a song that
can be counted as a crime against humanity.
It sounds like the band's hedging its bets, too, because there's
almost nothing Christmasy in the lyrics-- the verses mention Santa a
couple times, but the main theme of the song is that little children
wish everything would be nice. That's fine, as far as it goes, but
it's such a dim bulb sentiment, and we have the world's cheesiest
chorus to wash it down.
Shake it up
Shake up the happiness
Wake it up
Wake up the happiness
Come on, ya'll
It's Christmas time
Ho ho ho
Ho ho ho
It's Christmas time
Since the song starts with our narrator saying he's going to tell us
a story that he can't quite remember, the chorus makes sense in
perspective: this guy has no idea what he's talking about. There
were children, once upon a time, who prayed and hoped for... um...
shaking up the happiness? Sure. All over the world.
They pray to Santa, of course... Jesus has no place on secular radio.
I sort of assumed Christmas songs would get the kind of pass that's
universally applied to country music, but if Train doesn't want to
sing about Christ in their Christmas song, so be it. There could be
a whole discussion about how the holiday existed long before
Christians (where'd that pine tree come from?), but that would take
up too much space... what's important is: plenty of non-Christians
are pro-Christmas.
What's more important within the context of this song is:
Train doesn't know any of that (or if they do, they're not trying to
communicate it in this song). This is a thirdhand tale by a guy
who's pretty sure he heard about some little girl wishing that the
world would be full of happiness, and that she'd be on “Santa's
magic list.” Santa's list is magic? Since when? Is that why it
needs to be checked twice?
Another problem I have here: I don't think of myself as racist, but
can we ban white guys from singing “come on, ya'll” ever again?
Also, turning the already weak pop laziness of “oh oh”s into “ho
ho ho”s is a pretty tacky way to Christmasize your maddeningly awful
chorus.
I suppose the mid-90's hey-isn't-this-Sugar-Ray?ness of this
song proves that some things never go out of style. This song isn't
one of them... but Columbia Records doesn't know that, and they're
devoted to proving a moronic song excavated in a time capsule, with a
big enough advertising budget and plenty of payola to radio stations,
can hit #99 on the charts on the week of Christmas. Good job, guys.
PS: Extra nausea factor: I just found out that this song is also a Coke commercial. Trying desperately to find Writer/Producer credits, I kept coming up with business articles about Coca-Cola's marketing strategy.
