As the year is drawing to a close, I thought it appropriate to look back at the songs which have been terrorising our charts and due to unimaginative radio stations everywhere, have been shoved down our throats and into our guts creating mass musical constipation. I don't even think my bowel related metaphor does this year's music justice.
Starships - Nicki Minaj
The only thing stranger than Nicki Minaj's body proportions and schizophrenic smile is her understanding of the English language. Not only has she come up with her own British and 'gangsta' hybrid of an accent, but in the distance, if you block out the sound of the soul destroying dance break, you can hear the sound of every literary figure's corpses doing cartwheels in their graves. Are starships meant to fly? I just don't know Nicki, and you know what annoys me? After three minutes of water boarding my ears to your song, I am in no way closer to finding out the answer. If anything I am more curious as to 'they say, what they gonna say?' WHAT THEY GON SAY, NICKI? WHAT?
Anything Adele. Or as she says, Adeh-w.
I am so bored with people drooling all over Adele's musical chick flicks. I admit, Skyfall was good, because for once, she kept her angsty oestrogen at a safe distance from the lyrics. Everything else, however, is just one dementia patient away from a Nicholas Sparks novel. She just has to shut up and sort her man problems out. Here's a thought, Adele: maybe you're the problem. Sing about that.
What Makes You Beautiful - One Direction
There are several reasons why this song is the musical reincarnation of the devil. It is essentially recycling the 'Summer Loving' tune from Grease. And even in that case, the only redeeming quality is the theme of teen rebellion and Danny Zuko in skinny jeans. But out pops these four gangly teens in a rainbow assortment of Topman chinos singing about anything but teen rebellion. They're also very frugal with their lyric count (unlike Nicki), evidenced by the fact they use three syllables to say the word 'eyes'; “I look into your ey-ey-eyes". If they were Mexican/ Speedy Gonzales, sure, that would make sense. Then a good year of our lives is shaved off while we wait for the end of the 'Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na [x2]'. What poetry.
I have it on good authority to believe that we are devolving and soon we will be swinging with the simians singing 'Call Me Maybe'- or if you don't believe in evolution, let's just say that 2012 is to music what Scientology is to religion.
