Here's somebody who hasn't bothered to listen to Gord's music or lyrics. It's a combination rant against "dinosaurs" of the 60s and (mostly) 70s and their idiotic, if fun, lyrics - which carries over to today's "stars". Makes me wonder if the late Arthur Treacher had been cryogenically frozen and recently thawed; for you young'uns, Arthur was a film actor who largely played butlers and in his later years served as a sort of second banana to Merv Griffin [Google if necessary] on his talk show. He had a recurring feature in which he would solemnly recite - to great hilarity in the audience - the lyrics of pop songs.
Anyway....
KC, Sunshine Band, bad lyrics return
Sunday, July 23, 2006
By John Sinkevics
The Grand Rapids Press
To think these lyrics have stood the test of time:
"Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake your booty! Shake your booty! Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake your booty!"
Or revel in these classic lines (try reading them out loud for full effect):
"Oh, that's the way, I like it, that's the way, I like it, that's the way, I like it; Say OK, that's the way, that's the way, that's the way, I like it, that's the way, I like it; doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo"
Doo-doo, indeed, thus proving there really are good reasons for kids to get sooo embarrassed by stuff their parents grew up with.
So, it was with some horror, nearly choking on my morning bagel, that I discovered those guilty for unleashing these tunes, KC and the Sunshine Band, are back in the spotlight. I figured the giant discotheque in the sky had long ago swallowed Harry "KC" Casey along with his chest-revealing vests and skin-tight purple pants.
But there he was the other day, croaking out his '70s disco hits in New York on "The Today Show." I think I even saw some placard-waving folks in the crowd cheering, though they might have been screaming in agony, it was hard to tell.
Look, I know we all have -- and frantically try to hide -- our guilty-pleasure pop heroes, but KC and the Sunshine Band? What's next? A return to white belts and polyester leisure suits? His Web site proclaims proudly in misspelled fashion: "Shaking Bootys Since 73." I don't know about you, but I worry what 33 years of booty shaking has done to the digestive systems of KC's fans, not to mention the joists under their living room floors.
True, KC isn't the only act trying to relive old glories this summer and capitalize on baby boomers' nostalgic bent. The Who, older than dirt but more deaf, recently announced they'll tour again come September, joining other Jurassic Park escapees Chicago, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Deep Purple, Journey, Earth Wind and Fire, Gordon Lightfoot, James Taylor, The James Gang, Jefferson Starship and Ringo Starr on the road. (What year is this, anyway? 1977?)
And oh yes, the '60s and '70s generated a bonanza of woeful lyrics to rival KC's fiasco-pieces. Neil Diamond gave the world: "I am, I said to no one there, and no one heard at all, not even the chair." Naturally, everyone cites the old stinker "Muskrat Love" ("Muskrat Susie, Muskrat Sam/Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land.")
But I'm relieved to report stupid lyrics aren't just a product of that bygone era: They span generations and genres, with record buyers and music downloaders currently and happily forking over millions to snag repetitive, trite, profane or downright moronic verses by the likes of R. Kelly, Eminem, Puddle of Mudd, Toby Keith and Limp Bizkit.
Take these brilliant lines from rapper Lil' Jon's "Snap Yo Fingers," a fast-rising hit and one of the few Lil' Jon songs with a title that can be printed in a family newspaper:
"Snap ya fingers and do ya step! And you can do it all by yo self! Let me see you do it! Ay! Let me see you do it! Ay! Snap ya fingers and then rock wit it; do it, do it, do it, gon drop wit it."
I think I'll pass, Jon.
Shakira's "Whenever, Wherever" is a smorgasbord of groaners: "We'll learn to be together/I'll be there and you'll be near/And that's the deal my dear."
For Shakira, finding rhymes clearly poses challenges, though it's pure genius compared with the sexist, tasteless chart-busters "Ms. New Booty" and "I Love My B*****," which I wouldn't recount here even if I could.
Then there's Yung Joc's "It's Goin' Down," which tops Billboard R&B/Hip-Hop charts despite incessant repetition and the need for bleeping: "Meet me in the trap, it's goin' down; meet me in the mall, it's goin' down; Meet me in the club, it's goin' down; anywhere you meet me, guaranteed to go down."
Hey, YC, meet me in the elevator, it's goin' down.
And all this gettin' down stuff makes the perfect segue right back into one of KC's big hits: "Get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby."
Send e-mail to the author:
jsinkevics@grpress.com