I have a healthier-than-average tolerance for bad music.
Even as a little kid, I would play god-awful songs like “Run Joey Run” (“Daddy please don’t – we’re gonna get MAR–ried … [singer dies; angelic “aaaahs” begin]”) and “Rocky” (“Rocky, I’ve never had a baby before, don’t know if I can do it”). In my defense, I was 6 when those songs came out. That excuse, however, can’t explain why I liked “Rock Me Amadeus” by Falco and “Die Another Day” by Madonna.
But I’ve realized that the songs I hate the most aren’t, technically, bad. I wouldn’t be surprised to see that “God Bless the U.S.A.” tops someone’s favorites list, and I can begrudgingly give Lee Greenwood a nod for noble patriotic intentions (even if he did turn around and rewrite it to create the track “God Bless Canada”) … but I can’t stand it.
I’m sure there’s plenty of other music out there I’d hate, too — homophobic hip-hop tracks, deathcore metal — but it doesn’t intersect with my life enough to influence me. It may be more odious, but it’s also more obscure. My least-favorite songs may inspire me to change the station, but are also popular enough that they’ve made it on the radio to start with.
Back in 2009, in fact, I named five artists whose songs pretty much always made me change the dial. Based off that list, I’d pick “Like a Rock” by Bob Seger and “Movin’ Out” by Billy Joel as my two most-hated songs. I hate Seger’s oversinging, and the way Joel pronounces everything from “bartender” to “Cacciatore’s.” They’ve become millionaires off those songs, so I’m sure they could care less. But I hate them so much, I’m not even providing links to either one. I’m not helping you listen to them.
|WHAT SAM WORE: 2-11-11|
|The shirt: Dark blue plaid Gothics Mountain flannel button-down,
on clearance for $19 at Abercrombie & Fitch.
|The pants: Boot-cut khakis, on sale at Banana Republic.|
|The shoes: Jack Purcell sneakers by John Varvatos for Converse, from Nordstrom Rack.|