The Worst "Song"... ever?

Just a day after announcing the best song of 2010, it pains me to focus on the worst. The first time I heard this song, I was certain that I would never have to hear it again. I figured it would get one shot at radio airplay, the DJ would immediately realize it was unfit for aural consumption, and toss the demo in the trash.

"Blowin’ Money Fast" by Rick Ross is not a song. I get so angry just thinking about it that I'm tempted to just let readers listen to it themselves. But since you are already suffering through my blog, I can't be so heartless as to recommend that you endure any further torture.

It is my duty, therefore, to raise awareness of this terrible waste of four minutes so that the powers that be can rip the track from circulation and make sure it is never heard again.

The casualty who heard the noise from my passenger seat may have summed it up best:
“The lyrics are bad. There's no beat. He's basically just talking. There's no singing or rapping. I can't think of any reason why you would want to hear it. It won't pump you up or put you in a good mood. You can't dance to it. It has no redeeming qualities."

The refrain goes as follows:
I think I'm Big Meech Larry Hoover, whipping work, halleluiah,
One nation under god, real n****s getting money from the f***ing start.
I think I'm Big Meech Larry Hoover, whipping work, hallelujah,
One nation under god, real n****s getting money from the f***ing start.

Ross, whose real name is William Leonard Roberts II, faces a ten million dollar lawsuit for stealing the name from convicted felon, “Freeway” Rick Ross. Roberts seems to have a strange obsession with convicts.

Larry Hoover is a convicted murderer serving a 150-200 year sentence in prison, where he has continued to give orders as leader of the Gangster Disciples gang since 1974. Demetrius "Big Meech" Flenory began his rise in crime by selling $50 bags of crack cocaine on the streets of Southwest Detroit and eventually founded the Black Mafia Family drug cartel before his nationwide drug trafficking won him a 30-year prison sentence.

The song’s title, “Blowin’ Money Fast” or “B.M.F.” is likely a nod to the Black Mafia Family. If you search the lyrics to the song online, the first two results yield the following lyrics:
Stunt so hard make them come and night [sic] me
I think im [sic] big miche[sic] look at my time peace[sic].

Despite the fact that one of the lyrics is probably, “make them come indict me” this is a frightening representation of Roberts’ audience. Whoever posted those lyrics should be just as ashamed of their illiteracy as of their taste in music. No wonder these kids have no interest in learning how to spell when their music teaches them to idolize murderers and drug dealers. Now, I’m not about to call Tipper Gore and stir up the Parents Music Resource Center. After all, Tipper has her own problems at the moment.

Every new wave of music is sure to offend hypocritical, out-of-touch parents who swear music of their generation was completely innocent compared to the filth they hear today. For the most part, these claims are bogus. But to be honest, the FCC is pretty lenient with our generation considering that Elvis the pelvis’ dancing was once too suggestive, the Beatles made too many drug references and the Rolling Stones request to spend the night together was once too explicit.

I’m not too big on censorship of any kind. I remember when my Jay-Z Vol. 2… Hard Knock Life was condemned by parents for its explicit content, but I was permitted to keep it with the understanding that those lyrics and lifestyles shouldn’t be emulated. I’m not going to make excuses for Ross’s audience and suggest that other kids might not know any better. All consumers of music should be responsible enough to use discretion when taking in lyrics. But Roberts’ should also be held accountable for his lyrics.

I can’t think of many songs with lines as explicit as, “Cocaine running in my big vain.” The chorus, if that’s what he wants to call it, is both sacrilegious and treasonous. I’m sure this may seem a little hyperbolic. But how can Roberts justify praising god with a “hallelujah” while glorifying drug dealers and murderers? And to what nation is he pledging allegiance when he promotes this anarchy? People like Roberts who promote violence and glorify the gangster lifestyle may not be solely responsible for the decay of our cities, but they certainly aren't helping matters.

The didactic message and failed rhythmic composition seem to be in competition with each other as each aspect sinks to lower levels. Alone they are both terrible. Together, they make for the worst track of the year.

Nothing Comes Close...

Katy Perry featuring Snoop Dogg - California Gurls (feat. Snoop Dogg)
Uploaded by EMI_Music. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

“California Gurls” is the best song of 2010. There may be four months left, but Katy Perry’s infectious summer anthem has already produced more joy than any subsequent song possibly can this year. Yes, joy can be measured (see John Stuart Mill), and as the days get shorter so too does the potential for greatest-happiness. This potential increases again during the holiday season, but at this point any new song must yield to Christmas songs… but I digress.

The song’s melody has that elusive, indefinable feel of a hit track. It’s the rare sound that studio producers long to hear, but know they’ve got a surefire hit on their hands the moment they hear it. The keyboards and drums establish an enchanting rhythm, and by the time the guitar and bass enter full swing at the chorus, head-bobbing is unavoidable. The hook is so catchy that even those of us who are neither Californian, nor gurls feel the urge to sing along. The lyrics invoke summer fun imagery in ways that only the Beach Boys previously could. The tempo lends itself to choreographed dancing, and the order to represent the west coast and put your hands up must be obeyed by all regardless of coastal loyalties.

The lyrics, always the primary concern here, are just as solid— although with music this much fun it’d be nearly impossible to screw up this song. Arnold Schwarzenegger can stop recruiting celebrities for California tourism spots. This song makes Cali more appealing than any star-studded commercial ever could. Everything about hanging out and partying there sounds awesome. The setting and the girls discussed are both tempting, and Snoop Dogg even makes the electropop sing-a-long seem chill.

Perry and Snoop make amusing allusions to each other as Perry sings about “sipping gin and juice” and Snoop mentions that “she drives a jeep.” It’s not the annoying kind of self-promotion we hear in so many rap songs, wherein each participant is announced ad nauseam throughout their songs. Perry’s and Snoop’s playful mentions of each other are merely flirtatious acknowledgments. It’s the kind of lively flirtation that audiences have come to expect on the golden coast.

In the lyric, “…so hot, we’ll melt your Popsicle,” Perry makes the best phallic reference since Lady Gaga’s “I want to take a ride on your disco stick.” Snoop Dogg’s rap is so on point that he makes the juxtaposition of martinis and bikinis seem kindred with zucchinis (another phallic symbol?). He even uses the word “weenies” with aplomb. If a guy can say the word “weenie” with a straight face while dressed as a character from a board game for kids ages 3-6 and still command respect, that’s pretty bad ass.

Perry doesn’t employ the dazzling vocals she utilizes in “I Kissed a Girl” and “Hot ’N Cold”, but in this song she doesn’t need to. Unlike Mariah Carey and Christina Aguilera, Perry understands that not all of her songs need to be an exhibition of her vocal range. She grasps the concept of pop for pop’s sake, “l’pop pour l’pop”, and for that we should be grateful.

The song was written in response to the Jay-Z and Alicia Keys song, “Empire State of Mind,” and even though my upbringing and allegiance is purely east coast, this information makes me want to put my hands up for the west coast even more. Katy might be under the misconception that “Empire State of Mind” is embraced by all on the east coast—-a belief that residents of any eastern city other than New York will take great exception to. Philadelphians, for example, recognize the song for what it truly is: garbage. The refrain, “concrete jungle where dreams are made of” makes absolutely no sense and inexplicably contains the ear-splitting and unnecessary preposition, “of” at the end of a sentence where none is needed. Moreover, Jay-Z’s claim that he made the yankees hat more famous than a yankee did is utterly ridiculous. Even after making such a libelous assertion, Jay-Z had the audacity try and perform the song at game one of the World Series. Mother Nature and Phillies pitcher Cliff Lee made sure New Yorkers had nothing to sing about that night, but the Jay-Z dirge still reminds Americans of the tragic fall classic in which a collection of steroid-abusing, free-agent prima donnas stole a World Series that rightfully belonged to a band of homegrown, hard-working athletes from Philadelphia.

With the joyous anthem, “California Gurls”, Katy Perry and Snoop Dogg have delivered us from the miserable requiem, “Empire State of Mind.” They have saved east coast audiences from New York’s sins, and reminded us of the fun that summer holds. And greatest of all, they have given us a video in which a sun-kissed Katy Perry lies naked on a cloud and shoots whipped cream from her chest. What more could you ever want in a song?

Off the Charts Avarice

Remember when a million dollars was a lot of money? It could solve all your problems and secure you for life. The Barenaked Ladies once sold quite a few records by imagining the possibilities of being a millionaire. And while many of their silly ideas were written just for laughs, the message was clear: A million dollars can get you pretty much anything.

Now, in what is either an alarming commentary on inflation or a gross display of greed, Travie McCoy and Bruno Mars yearn for a whopping billion dollars in the hit song, “Billionaire.” Not just two or three, or even a hundred million dollars, but 1,000 times more than BNL's modest request. Talk about ambitious. The only songwriter with that kind of paper stack is Sir Paul McCartney. And he got there by singing about how he didn’t care too much for money.

Mars even admits to seeing his name in shining lights every time he closes his eyes. Again, this is pretty ambitious for a couple of guys whose names I had to look up just a paragraph ago.

I have to give the kids some credit. They do have some noble plans. Adopting poor kids, giving away luxury cars and helping hurricane victims is all well and good. But when he starts each proposal with “I’d probably,” his conviction seems less sincere than a common campaign promise. His pledge to “probably pull an Angelina and Brad Pitt” is even less believable than the idea that Obama would probably end the war.

One of the more imaginative lyrics of the song is when Mars shares that wants to be on the cover of Forbes magazine, “smiling next to Oprah and the Queen.” I imagine this would be Forbes’ attempt to find the world’s strangest triumvirate of billionaires. Perhaps it would appear in a three-part series showcasing diverse tycoons and starry-eyed singers. This month: Mark Cuban, Warren Buffet and Lil Wayne. Next: J.K. Rowling, Steve Jobs, and La Roux.

McCoy would hardly feel out of place with business magnates either. He is so confident in his ability to handle financial matters that he even offers to take a crack at saving the economy from recession. But considering that his plans include tossing “a couple milli in the air just for the heck of it,” I’m not so enthused about the prospect of him fixing the nation’s deficit.

After saving New Orleans from ruin and balancing the budget, McCoy
turns his attention to the White House:
I'll be playing basketball with the president.
Dunking on his delegates.
Then I compliment on his political etiquette.

First of all, Travie, the president does not have delegates; states and parties do. I'm not sure what his idea of political etiquette is, but I can't imagine constituents would approve of elected officials spending their time in Washington playing pickup games against one-hit wonders. Moreover, who the hell does this washed-up gym class hero think he is that the leader of the free world needs his approval? Is McCoy so delusional that he 1.) thinks he knows anything about politics, let alone is in a position to tell the President that he is getting the hang of it; or 2) believes that the President gives a shit what he thinks?

Before writing this entry, I toyed with the idea that the song was written merely to draw attention to the diminishing value of the U.S. dollar. Maybe a million dollars just isn't enough to make one's dreams come true anymore. But now I realize that these dreamers are far too out of touch with reality to be concerned with inflation. Their motives are not altruism, political reform or creating awareness of financial issues. These guys want a billion dollars and they want it bad. How bad, you ask? So bad, it drives them to swearing. McCoy and Mars should be careful. Using such foul language might hurt their chances of securing their billion(s).The only other thing holding them back is talent.