I can't help it. There's something I find really compelling about this song. For starters, it's too stupid to hate. Then there's the weird melancholy that runs through the song; the downbeat chord progression that makes us feel nostalgic for events in the song that haven't even happened yet; the way that only FEELS like this could POSSIBLY be a GOOD night. This is supposed to be a big rave up of unbridled optimism but you can't escape the feeling that instead it's just some kind of desperate stab at wishful thinking.* It captures, in musical form, that moment right before we realize we should have given up a long long time ago. This is the song for every unhitched sagging made up thirtysomething in a shiney too-tight party dress who ever went stag to a wedding, washed her irrational hope away with too many apple-tinis, then was dumped weeping into the backseat of a cab as her friends returned to the party and the city lights quietly receded behind her into darkness. This song is the death rattle of our youth. L'CHAIM!Friday, September 11, 2009
1,000,000: Black Eyed Peas — I Gotta Feeling
I can't help it. There's something I find really compelling about this song. For starters, it's too stupid to hate. Then there's the weird melancholy that runs through the song; the downbeat chord progression that makes us feel nostalgic for events in the song that haven't even happened yet; the way that only FEELS like this could POSSIBLY be a GOOD night. This is supposed to be a big rave up of unbridled optimism but you can't escape the feeling that instead it's just some kind of desperate stab at wishful thinking.* It captures, in musical form, that moment right before we realize we should have given up a long long time ago. This is the song for every unhitched sagging made up thirtysomething in a shiney too-tight party dress who ever went stag to a wedding, washed her irrational hope away with too many apple-tinis, then was dumped weeping into the backseat of a cab as her friends returned to the party and the city lights quietly receded behind her into darkness. This song is the death rattle of our youth. L'CHAIM!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
Picture my head blowing up like Dizzy Gillespie’s cheeks at the mere mention of the BEP; most definitely not in a rockin’ out way, either. Christ, I feel like will.i.am (fuck you, it’s “William,” dude) was sent to Earth to specifically taunt me for having taste. Sorry, but if I played more 15 seconds of that ready-made Target commercial/Jock Jam in my office, the custodial staff – who I like and appreciate very much – would have had a bitch of a time cleaning my soul off of the wall behind me.
ReplyDelete