Music is often a very emotional, soulful experience for people. It’s hard to listen to some Beethoven without feeling a little bit moved, or to listen to Nickelback without feeling a little bit queasy. And then there are songs that were made delightfully soulless and may have been targeted to people Rick Santorum thinks are slightly square. For you Wonderbread types, here’s some of the best of the brand.
Safety Dance by Men without Hats
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody look at your hands
Analysis: The song actually mentions safety at no time other than when the name gets dropped, but it’s safe insofar as where other dances may get people sexually aroused, this song is as safe as a eunuch in a condom factory. It has the sensual rhythm of a clown falling down a flight of stairs and the video features midgets and a long haired Australian in a tunic. Clay Aiken once accused the video of being a little nancy-ish.
Why are we looking at our hands in that sample lyric? It’s because prolonged exposure to the Safety Dance may make you want to choke yourself into unconsciousness. This song would never have been written in Detroit and, curiously, when Isaac Hayes recorded a cover version it just came out as the Shaft theme again. Science has no explanation.
Two Princes by Spin Doctors
If you want to buy me flowers
(Just go ahead, now)
And if you’d like to talk for hours
(Just go ahead, now)
Analysis: The Spin Doctors was a band made up of homeless albinos who had a penchant for knit caps. The song in question is about how some girl who probably smells like patchouli and doesn’t shave her armpits has to make a choice between two men, one who is employed, stable and likeable and the other who is a Spin Doctor.
Although the “white people problems” meme wasn’t born until years after this song, the debate between these two princes and whether or not you’d like to buy flowers and/or talk for hours pretty much exemplifies the most Starbucks steamed milk problem anyone has ever put to music.
Summer of 69 by Bryan Adams
Jody got married
Bryan Adams can only be viewed through a pinhole camera or a welder’s mask. You can tell this is true by all the pock marks on his faced caused by him blindly stabbing himself with forks when he eats due to his own insurmountable illumination. This song was his opus.
Others have pointed out how Adams would have been 10 in 1969, but the more noteworthy is that line up there about Jody. You ever hear Barry White sing about a dude he knows named Jody? Did the Godfather of Soul ever have songs about a man named Jody? No sir. Not at all.
Physical by Olivia Newton John
I took you to an intimate restaurant, then to a suggestive movie
There’s nothin’ left to talk about, unless it’s horizontally
First; Olivia, you saucy little harlot, you. Second; take lessons in harlotry. Now by today’s standards this song is about as tame as Rick Santorum eating cucumber sandwiches, but even back in 1981 porno existed so there’s no good excuse for this song to not mention at least handjobs. Most songs these days are about handjobs, yes? I don’t listen to the radio.
After Ginuwine’s opus “Pony” any song that dares to refer to sex simply as being horizontal loses all credibility and potential sensuality and is instead relegated to the status as being about as hot as melba toast. Have you had melba toast? Yeah.
More than Words by Extreme
More than words Is all you have to do to make it real
The egregious crime of this song is not that it’s arguably the pussiest of the pussy rock songs any half assed, lazy band ever shat onto vinyl, it’s that it’s precisely that, plus it barely makes sense and has all the passion of a guy masturbating while he cries on the toilet. If you have the stomach to read the full lyrics to this song you’ll realize it only borders on making sense at every turn and reads like the misguided poetry of an English as a Second Language emo kid after a night of drinking schnapps.
This song is to romance what sandpaper is to wiping your ass.
Tubthumping by Chumbawumba
He drinks a lager drink He drinks a cider drink
Chumbawumba claimed to be anarchists and you couldn’t care less because the only song you’ve ever heard of by them, this crappy opus to drunkenness, is an icon of everything that sucked about the 1990s. This song is so ultra lily white you could show a movie on it and the movie would suck about as much as the song, possibly worse as you’d have to look at this for the duration;
That guy on the left there, that guy is the guy Casper the ghost hangs out with when he wants to look tan.