Let’s put it this way: 99 per cent of all pop lyrics suck. They mostly rotate around the crotch area, with the word ‘baby’ inserted all over the place. We’re told about sleepless nights, caused apparently by thinking about a love interest, and the ecstasy of seeing some unremarkable bird or bloke, and the world ending if the mating calls are not answered. It’s all basically about erections and moist vaginas, suppressed or given the green light, wrapped in thick layers of stupidity and sentimentalism.
And it’s not just the youngsters who are at it, rubbing their genitals and getting inspiration to write shitty lyrics. The big boys of pop, including the living legends, are at it as well. Pop stars over 60, who should be thinking about their soul and the meaning of life, are belting out songs that tell about their feelings for some ‘baby’, or ‘babe’, if they feel particularly inspired, and how they spend sleepless nights, thinking about a shag the night before or one that’s coming up. They are pensioners already, some with knighthoods and dozens of grandchildren, yet they keep banging on about intercourse, as if it’s the only thing on their tiny minds.
For fifty odd years or so we’ve had generations of pop stars producing some of the most astonishing drivel imaginable, not even bothering to come up with something witty or even remotely amusing. Even though that pop music was supposedly rebellious at times and even went against the establishment. How did that work then? How did singing about shagging and loving dope to bits bother the establishment exactly? Not to mention that most of the pop stars became part of the establishment themselves, the moment they got the chance.
In the last five decades, while pop music was supposedly reflecting the views of the young, the world was being torn apart by corrupt politicians and greedy businessmen and bankers, waging wars to get even richer, and yet pop stars were ‘babying’ their way around, screaming about they horny antics and supposed suffering just because they were rejected by some chick who had more dicks pass through her than trains through Grand Central.
And it’s been like that ever since pop music came to prominence, be it called rock or hard rock or RnB, or rap or punk or whatever else. Meaningless lyrics are packaged with primitive tunes, to satisfy the easily excitables. Blah-blah-blah, baby-baby. And so on.
I’ll tell you this: nothing wipes out a budding erection more quickly than some pop diva, screaming as if her privates were on fire, overburdening her lyrics with the word ‘baby’. And nothing is more depressing than to hear an ageing pop star banging on about some chick who causes him sleepless nights.
Mind you, it will get worse with the new manufactured bands popping up all over the place. Brace yourselves for songs with lyrics containing only one word: ‘baby’. They’re coming, I tell you, they are coming.