7 Songs You Should Never Take Advice From
We'd like to think we live in a world where highly-paid artists (using the term loosely) would use their fame and attention for the greater good. But we'd also like to think we live in a world where Jerry Springer is not the wisest man on TV and Hugh Laurie has a British accent, but we don't. Here are some cautionary tales from the world of music.....don't say we didn't warn you.
Hayden Panettiere: Wake Up Call
Yet another bubble baby from the Disney womb, Hayden Panettiere was in Heroes and now she’s a singer. Woot, really. This is essentially pop-by- numbers bar one nefarious quality; the lyrics of the song outrightly (albeit cheerily) suggest, nay, endorse infidelity and general hootchie-like behaviour. The song is supposed to be one of those “you go, girl” anthems aimed at a generation of women seemingly perpetually done wrong by menfolk, but, instead, under all the filtered vocals and disguised sexual subtext:“I think I’m gonna have to cheat to keep your eyes on me, but maybe if I make you jealous you'll finally start to wake up”. Because, remember, girls; if your man ain’t treatin’ you like a princess, you sexy and sassy enough to head to the club and find yo’ self a real man, dig? You’re not stupid and shallow, you’re just an independent women livin’ in the now, ya’ll!
Jimmy Buffett: Let’s Get Drunk and Screw
“Why don't we get drunk and screw, I just bought a waterbed, it’s filled up for me and you”. Yee- haw. You don’t even need to behold the white- trash ungodliness that is Jimmy Buffett; hearing this ode to inebriated boot-knocking is enough to send a sobering shiver down your spine. It’s a bit rapey. I suppose the jingly-jangly guitars somewhat alleviate those malenky hairs on the back of your neck, but...no, it’s creepier than Second- Uncle Dave after six Shandies on Christmas.
Nirvana: Rape Me
Considering our beloved Kurt’s current situation, I wouldn’t go about taking too much of his past advice, especially this gem. The lyrics are fairly succinct; “Rape me!” over and over, you get the idea. It’s no secret Kurt was severely emotionally disturbed, and it was a tough decision finding one song of which to pose a warning. Kurt Cobain, although prolific in the world’s memory, is no doubt one of music most pessimistic and self-indulgent songwriters this side of Morrissey.
The Wombats: Let’s Dance to Joy Division
Don’t. If there’s one thing those purist, brooding Joy Divisions fans hate, its people being far too jovial in the presence of their heroes. Ian Curtis would cause a tsunami from all the spinning in his grave if he saw you bopping away Britney-style to his moody tunes. It’s not the “so happy” part that gets the goat of the collective masses. My own bias of the Wombats aside (overrated overrated overrated trendy trendy trendy annoying), JD enthusiasts- let’s be realistic, worshippers- hated the neon-painted indie kids for their sacrament on the band’s memory; “"Let's dance to Joy Division, and celebrate the irony, everything is going wrong, but we're so happy". How do you even dance to Joy Division anyway? Is it that swaying thing the teen festival- goers on that episode of the Simpsons do?
Disturbed: Down With The Sickness
What Disturbed describe as getting “down with the sickness” sounds more like a quiet night in at Roman Polanski’s house circa 1969. “Open up your hate, and let it flow into me” growls frontman David Draiman between metal clichés. “Drowning deep in my sea of loathing” the song begins. Cheer up, Charlie, the sun is out and you’re a rich effing rock star! “It seems that all that was good has died and is decaying in me”. Bit of an exaggeration, I mean...puppies are good. Chicken satay is quite good too. And I’m pretty sure the middle- class comfortable homes and Nintendo Wiis of Disturbed’s primary audience are pretty good also. The song ends with a rather disconcerting angry spiel including, but not limited to; “No mommy, don't do it again”, “I'll be a good boy, I promise” and the positively charming; “Never stick your hand in my face again bitch. FUCK YOU, I don't need this shit. You stupid sadistic abusive fucking whore. How would you like to see how it feels mommy? Here it comes, get ready to die”. Morbid much?
The Pussycat Dolls: When I Grow Up
Ready, kids? O-kay! Today’s life lesson is about Fame. Because, as you know, there is nothing worse than being a nobody, right?! Forget about school, that’s for nerds and losers! Wag school and buy clothes! Expensive ones, like the ones those Pussycat Dolls wear! Because, as you know by now, boys don’t pay attention to mousy no-names! The polluted notions of the Pussycat Dolls ring thusly; “When I was young I wanted attention, and I promised myself that I’d do anything...anything at all for the boys to notice me” and “We all wanna be famous, so go ahead and say what you wanna say. You know what it's like to be nameless, want them to know what your name is...” If that’s not something you want your tweens to steer clear of like the plague, I don’t know what is. Because if you’re not teaching your kids not to be an airheaded bimbo, acts like the Pussycat Dolls are teaching them otherwise.
Dr. Dre feat. Snoop Dogg: Bitches Ain’t Shit
Microsoft Word does not like it when I write about hip-hop. Those squiggly lines are everywhere because rappers never seem to enjoy spelling things correctly. Spelling and syntax aside, this 5-minute-odd rupture of misogyny and profanities sounds more like a homosexual cry for help than a rap song (hey, they appear to have nothing but contempt for the ladies...) and I can’t imagine how young men raised on the likes of Snoop and Co have managed to lead normal lives (if they have) sans raping and shooting all in their path. The chorus itself, in all four lines of its crude glory, essentially surmises the point of the track; “Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks. Lick on these nuts and suck the dick. Get's the fuck out after you're done and I hops in my ride to make a quick run...”. Yeah. Alright. The most interesting lyrics are at the beginning of the song, when Dre, before moaning about “hoes” who fuck everyone ad nauseum, states; “I used to know a bitch named Eric Wright, We used to roll around and fuck the hoes at night...”. So remember, all you prospective hootchies: Men can slut around, women cannot. Got it? Another generic rapper inserts some gold between verses; “We flip flop and serve hoes like flap jacks”. Flap jacks? So, you like to do women while covering them with maple syrup and raspberry coulis? Don’t listen to this tripe; go and read something so you don’t get progressively stupider and less tolerant with each mindless, common beat.
And, if music hasn’t gotten through to you by now, allow these immortal words to sink into your lobes: "We don't like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out."
Yep, that’s the folks at Decca rejecting the Beatles in 1962. Think for yourself.
