‘Your least favourite song’
For someone who loves music, I hate an awful lot of songs.
I hate entire genres. I dismiss them and am trying to stop dismissing them. Central among these is the sort of dance music you might hear issuing from the bass-enhanced stereo of a Vauxhall Corsa with go-faster stripes and lowered suspension. And, you know, some of the songs are probably not that bad in the right situation, but somehow when you hear them they’re always played in such a way that the simple beat is pounding like a sledgehammer into your brain.
I’m not a fan of country and western either. You know the kind of thing. How many country and western singers does it take to change a light bulb? Two. One to change the bulb, and the other to sing about how good the old one was. The woman’s always done him wrong and upped and left. And then the dog’s died too. Or the horse. Depressing stuff with a predictable tune.
But the question says ‘songs’, and as every good teacher knows, you’ve got to answer the question. The Ronseal school of exams: do exactly what it says on the tin.
I’m going to offer 50% extra free here and mention two songs I really, really hate.
One is the Pina Colada song. I think it’s really called ‘Escape’ and I’ve never heard of the singer… one of those one-hit-wonders. It’s just so bloody annoying, that song. So catchy and so cheesy and so trite and so good at making me want to grab the microphone out of the musical nonentity’s hand and ram it back his unimaginative little throat and stop him singing his jaunty little song and telling his cheesy little story. It’s as sweet and cloying as the cliched cocktail of the lyrics and about as clever as an episode of a bad 1970s soap opera. I utterly despise this song and can’t get to the radio fast enough to turn it off or change channel when it comes on.
The other is ‘Nine Million Bicycles’ by Katie Melua. I don’t hate this song so much that I have to turn the radio off when it comes on, but I do hate it so much that it typically reduces me to tears of laughter when I hear it. This is largely because, the first time I heard it, while driving home from work one day about 7 years ago, it almost caused me to drive straight over a hedge and into a field. Because I misheard the lyrics. ‘There are WHAT???’ I asked, out loud, talking to myself in my car. ‘There are… nine million bisexuals in Beijing?’ Honestly? I mean: seriously? God, it must be a busy place…’ Once I worked out what the song was really about, I sighed in despair. It’s the musical equivalent of one of those cappucinos which are more milk than coffee, and a big sugary slab of creamy cake - the sort of stuff which people assume women like to eat to make them feel better about life. All those stupid bloody metaphors. There are nine million bicycles in Beijing, that’s a fact, and I love you and that’s a fact too. Jeez, the guy must either be a bit dim or else distinctly unimpressed. That’s a completely rubbish way of explaining your feelings to anyone, sweetie: and that’s a fact too. I hate how the melody goes all kind of ethnic and its pink girly swirliness: a bit like those faux-Chinese tops and dresses which were all the rage at the time. Let’s not worry about how women are actually *treated* in China, girls: let’s just *dress* like them. Because the dresses are pretty and we girls like pretty things. That’s a fact. It’s like those women who sink into their chairs at lunchtime on Fridays, shattered and addled, and say ‘Ooh, I really need to pamper myself this weekend, I’m just so tired! I need to have, like a pedicure or something. Or get gel nails on or maybe false eyelashes. Oooh, then everything will be ok!’ Fact is, dearies, when you talk about pampering yourselves you’ve just made yourselves ever so slightly ridiculous in the recesses of my mind, as I’ve just envisaged you nesting inside a giant disposable nappy. And listening to cheesy elevator songs with bad lyrics and trite music.
I hate that stupid song about travelling through the desert on a horse with no name too. And that one which tells the story of what happened when someone left the cake out in the rain. Both of those songs make me want to pluck out my own eyes. Out, vile jelly! And off, vile songs! But I think I’ve said enough for now about things I truly hate.
Rant over. Question answered. That feels better. And breathe…
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