Right now, I’m working for an AM station that recently changed its format to Adult Standards. In a nutshell, this entails stuff like Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como; music that appeals to an older audience of 55 and older.
The other day, I was working in the on-air studio when Bobby Goldsboro’s “The Autumn of My Life” came on. The song, like so many of Goldsboro’s other masterpieces, is about the death of the narrator’s wife. It is depressing. As far as I’m concerned, that song (and, frankly, all of his others) should be removed from the playlist. In fact, the two songs I hate more are “Honey” and “Watchin’ Scotty Grow”. I would sooner rupture my eardrums with an icepick than listen to anything performed, written or thought about by this man. And he has a website.
Add your two cents about really bad music. Not merely Barry Manilow bad, but truly, egregiously, criminally awful.
Another geezer (AARP card carrying type, dagnabit) checking in who would rather dip “Ernie” in a meat grinder than listen to Barry Manilow.
By the way, before you get your self in a lot of trouble around here, we prefer to be called, “Athletic Looking Studs.” Just so you know.
I have to leave the room when I hear a I-got-a-good-woman-and-I’m-going-home-to-her-just-as-soon-as-I-finish-this-bottle-and-bimbo type country music. Or Achy, Breaky Heart.
I didn’t know who Bobby Goldsboro was, so I listened to some Amazon samples.
While the music is completely, unremittingly awful, I confess it holds some kind of weird attraction for me. I think it’s the same reason I can’t help watching The Lawrence Welk Show when it’s on; it’s irredeemable pap, but it sounds so completely, heartbreakingly sincere that I can’t help liking it a little bit, in an odd way.
I also, incidentally, think “Autumn of My Life” would be totally awesome as the backing music to a savage killing-spree in a movie. It really would. The scene would be ten times scarier than that death-metal that so many directors use during violent scenes.
There was a band in the 80’s my sister used to listen to called “Haysie Fantasie” or something like that. I’ve never heard anything worse, to this day.
As for criminal music - Ornette Coleman. The only greater criminals are those 60’s hipster critics, who, obviously confused and paralyetic when confronted with the worst music ever made, decided to actually encourage the man to make more. And he did. And it still sucked!
Well, I’m married to an AARP card carrier- I’m 47 myself.
And today I heard at Wal-Mart some ungodly nigger fuckin’ fuckin’ nigger music blasted to hurt the ear drums. I’m not being racist, really. Those were some of the lyrics.
If you want your brain to explode (possibly in a good way), then you have to check out Songs in the Key of Z. Not necessarily vomit inducing awful, but the stuff is well beyond strange.
The same goes for music made by famous, hot actresses. While they look good wearing prctically nothing on stage, the damage done to my ears cannot be overlooked.
I’ve said it before i’ll say it again Marie Osmonds Paper Roses could be used to torture prisoners.
Add “Wild Fire” and “Short People” and anyone would give up all their secrets to make it stop.
Gah! I didn’t realize that Bobby Goldsboro was wallowing in the loss of his wife via song-I’d always thought he was just someone with a penchant for writing weepy, syrupy shit.
One that’s near the top of my shit list is ‘Wedding Bell Blues’. The wailing of c’mon and marry me Bill… should see Bill leaving a vapor trail in his attempt to escape such an insipid woman.
