Monday, July 11, 2005 Hatez
When it comes to writing about music, I hesitate, because I'm an ignoramus. My parents preferred classical music or Prairie Home Companion style sing-along folk. When I started school in middle school, I realized that this was one more giant blind spot, so I approached it with the same terrified dedication I applied to my studies. The girls in the class listened to Q-94, and the boys listened to Q-94 or XL102, so after I got home every day, I would turn on Q-94 and concentrate.
Learning every word to every song the played on Q-94 was easy enough, because they played maybe twelve songs a night, over and over. There were the six or eight most popular, and then the obscure hits that tweens in the know would call and request over and over. When the DJs finally played these, it seemed like victory.
I got sick of it before I ever fit in, and over the years since middle school, my tolerance for an onslaught of popular hits has wilted lower and lower. I don't hate pop. Give me Lohan, or give me death. Viva Avril. The thing is, the top 40 station that they often play in my workplace makes me feel like they're doing me like they done Noriega.
Some songs play so much that I'm able to know them intimately. I can look close enough to see their pores. They affect me in such a way that I sit in tranquil moments and think of more reasons that they bother me.
For example, one time, when the song was big, somebody pointed out to me that you could sing any words to Lisa Loeb's "Stay." I don't remember if I heard the routine from a friend or from a professional comedian, but it was hilarious. You could plug in any old dumb crap to the non-tune, and make your voice whiny and girlish, and you sounded just like her. Instant pop hit.
"Somebody told me" by the Killers works the exact same way. I'm not going to type out some sort of humorous parody of those lyrics, because I have honor, but my God. You, the internet, of all people, know how much I love repetition, but repetition and monotony are not the same!
"1985" by Bowling for Soup is the same, the same, the same, but it's worse. Not only can you plug any stupid-ass lyrics you want to into that jock jam for soccer moms, but the band is a step ahead of you, and they've decided to roll with the stupidest, most annoying words they can muster. I'd rather listen to a crying baby. I'd rather listen to a car alarm. Laura Ingalls Wilder never had to contend with this. I'd rather face malaria and sunbonnets.
P.S.: I'm so worried that I'm not going to be able to post tomorrow, because tonight is my first night of invasive sleep study challenge. I head towards the hospital in a few minutes, and then I don't get out 'til early tomorrow morning. I work all day to make Baltimore more beautiful, and then it's back to the tubes and wires. I may have to really squeeze that MTA for all it's worth to get back in time to post that cute story about pets that's been burning a hole in my pocket. posted by Frenz | 7/11/2005 05:40:00 PM
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