Disclaimer: I realize this blog will make me sound very old, but then again, I am old. After all, I’m not fooling anyone when I recall events from the 1980s with photographic accuracy.
My wife has a habit of choosing the most inane song on the radio and then singing it all day, every day, for weeks at a time. She doesn’t sing the whole song or even half the song; she simply sings the chorus over and over again. If I thought that was annoying before, something else has come to my attention in the past year that makes it doubly so. Pop songs are getting dirty. In a way, I guess they always were (Prince’s “Darling Nikki” was released 40 years ago this year), but these days, hit songs are crammed with curses. And I’m not just talking about regular PG- or PG-13-rated swears, like “hell” or “damn.” (I even use them in these blogs, as I just demonstrated.) No, I’m talking about the mother of all curse words. The word that Ralphie from A Christmas Story described as the “F-dash-dash-dash” word. The word he used “fudge” to substitute for as a euphemism. This word keeps appearing in quaint, little ditties like, “And if they laugh, then f*&# ‘em all!” Or Ariana Grande’s “I’m so f-ing grateful for my ex.” (At least that song has a clean version on the radio.)
Maybe a younger version of me wouldn’t care so much, but I’m a father now with two daughters, and it pains me to have these songs ingrained in their consciousness. I’ve even noticed an increase in swearing in their conversations.
Let’s imagine a scenario in the ‘60s, ‘70s, ‘80s, or even ‘90s where a band storms a radio station and insists a popular DJ plays their new song, which was actually the plot of the Adam Sandler/Brendan Fraser movie Airheads. After much haggling, the DJ finally relents, puts their demo tape in his machine, and presses “Play.” Then the following lyrics stream out:
“F*&# you and your mom and your sister and your job… F*&# you and your friends that I’ll never see again/Everybody but your dog, you can all f*&# off!”
The DJ would kick them out of his studio so fast, their (air)heads would spin. (See what I did there?) Even if by some miracle he enjoyed the song, he would be bound by FCC regulations that would prevent him from playing it on air. Yet this was the exact chorus of a recent hit song. When I first heard my wife singing it, I thought she made it up as a joke. Nope. Totally real.
Years ago, I played sax and occasionally sang and rapped in a ska/punk band you’ve never heard of called All Out Riot, and while we certainly weren’t the best band in the world (or even top 50), our singer would complain about how many of our songs were better than the ones being played on the radio at the time. I agreed with her then and agree with her even more now. Our songs were tasteful, catchy, and well written. And we couldn’t get arrested. Sure, taste is subjective, especially when it comes to music, but we weren’t dropping F bombs for shock value every chance we got. And, if you think about it, if everyone is doing the same thing, the swearing becomes much less shocking. So then what’s their excuse? Their vocabularies aren’t big enough? Then you shouldn’t be in the music-writing business! Or at least hire an f-ing lyricist! (See what I did th—never mind.)
I’m sure things will only get worse from here. A few decades from now (or even sooner), there are going to be songs with nothing but curse words that will make the lyrics I cited in this blog look like nursery rhymes. Until that day, I’m going to stick with my old-fashioned CDs. After all, Billy Joel never cursed unless he really meant it.
MTP
P.S.: If my wife happened to read this blog, please know that I was knocking the music, not you or your taste in said music. (I have a feeling we’re going to have to return to Disney World posthaste to make up for this.)
P.P.S.: Loyal readers of my blog may be wondering why this dropped a day early. That’s because I have a special announcement tomorrow that I didn’t want to overshadow with this post. To see the announcement, you’ll have to follow my social media channels. There won’t be a separate blog about it.
P.P.P.S.: Next week’s blog: Crazy Movie Coincidences
P.P.P.P.S.: These are a lot of postscripts! (This might be a blog record.)
P.P.P.P.P.S.: Déjà View is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:
Michael Thomas Perone 