I'd Go To The Ends of the Earth To Never Hear These Songs Again #1
The fantastic CD Rose Week in Outsideleft, concludes with CDR launching our newest list of something to get het up about, 5 Songs You'd go to Ends of The Earth to Never Hear Again. Because well, we've gotten too mellow, there's not enough of the right kind of honest to goodness seething, hating and loathing, ain't that the truth. Also, I won't say this everytime but, I do not love the Beatles and when I emigrated, I got off the plane and into a car, put the radio on and the first thing I heard was Penny Lane. I grimaced and my heart sank. Here I was in a new world where it turns out they adore the Beatles more than even the Beatles do.
Over to CD Rose...
1. Dire Straits - Money for Nothing
I find it difficult to say why I have such a pathological hatred of this song. It could be the horrendous sound of it: those gated drums, that awful riff, the sneery vocals and then, to compound the horror, Sting. It actually hurts to listen to. Then there’s the appalling video, disdaining MTV and consumerism while being an integral part of them, with a cut to these sweaty blokes being, like, real musicians, man. Ugh.
2. Spandau Ballet - True
Pretty much all of the above goes for this one too. This was the apotheosis of Thatcherism, in musical form.
3. Vampire Weekend - Oxford Comma
Posh boys going ethnic, annoyingly clever lyrics, rinkety-dink smartarses humblebragging. An ex listened to this all the time, and when we broke up, although I was devastated, I remember thinking that at least I’d never have to listen to this shit ever again.
4. Throbbing Gristle - United
I’ve singled this one out, but it could be anything by this lot really. I wanted to like them for ages, probably even pretended I did for a bit. I mean, theoretically, ideologically even, there is a certain amount I want to get behind (and Cosey Fanni Tutti is brilliant), but god, please do not ever make me have to listen to their godawful records.
5. Morrissey – everything (except ‘Suedehead’)
Just because I’m from Manchester and have an occasionally lugubrious outlook on life, it is often assumed that I must be a Morrissey fan. I am not. Much as I love many Smiths songs, his solo work has always seemed to amount to little more than a bad impersonation of what he is perceived to be. Right from the start you could see what a dull, charmless, nasty little man he actually is.