This post has been simmering for well more than a month now and, while I hate to admit it, the recent long home stand of the Stampede brings it to fruition. The games reminded me all too painfully of songs that absolutely drive me nuts.
I’m not talking annoying, somewhat obnoxious or even mere hatred (i.e., anything by Celine Dion or any disco tune). I’m talking about songs that make you want to pound your head against a brick wall to ease the pain or that would cause you to crack almost immediately were they used to interrogate you. Undoubtedly, there’s a number of such songs I’ve been fortunate enough not to have heard for a while so they don’t come to mind. But here’s a selection of some of my “winners,” including two special categories:
General:
- “Do You Feel Like We Do,” Peter Frampton. It’s almost impossible to believe such pablum could come from a guy who was one of the founders of Humble Pie.
- “Mickey,” Toni Basil. The video alone, played unremittingly when the song was popular, is yet one more reason cheerleaders are hated.
- “Muskrat Love,” Captain and Tennille. Even the title causes me to cringe.
- “The Sweet Escape,” Gwen Stefani. This certainly may be the most irritating song of the 21st century. Any time this comes on a radio (which is far, far, far, far, too often) within earshot I feel like Dustin Hoffman in the infamous scene from Marathon Man where his teeth are drilled without any anesthetic.
- “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing,” Leo Sayer. Vomiting, yes. Dancing, no.
“There Oughta Be A Law” — a category where Congress could actually do something useful and pass a law banning these songs from any sporting event or public gathering:
- “ChaCha Slide,” DJ Casper. An example of the odor that can come from exercise facilities.
- “The Chicken Dance.” At least “The Hokey Pokey,” which is far superior, tends to be limited to youth activities.
- “YMCA,” The Village People. The song sucked when it came out. It has not improved with age.
The first two in this category are played at most Stampede games. Were it not for the fact I would miss the rest of the game, I would be likely to dive from my seats and impale myself on a hockey stick each time they are played.
Award for Excellence: Virtually anything from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, which has ensured that a special place in hell has been reserved for the BeeGees.
Extraordinary how potent cheap music is.
Noel Coward, Private Lives
from your “There oughta be a law” category, allow me to remind you that you apparently are only subjected to these songs at Stampede games. which, i’ll readily agree, is bad enough. but imagine if you will, however, being a wedding photographer, and having to listen to these and others of their ilk (“Electric Slide”, the “New Electric Slide”, and not to mention virtually any sappy croonerism that passes as relevant to a father-daughter dance). there comes a point, usually by the third wedding of each year, where i seriously begin contemplation of reneging on contracts….