SONG SUNG P.U., PART DEUX

James Lileks continues talking about bad music today. His comments on Joe Cocker’s “You Are So Beautiful”:

Towards the end, Joe did sound as if his lap area was being consumed by a large python. When he reaches for that last high note you can actually hear the nodes grow on his vocal cords, too. Big as cantaloupes. But the song’s not that hot. The lyrics are rather insulting, when you think about it: “You are so beautiful . . . to me.” Translation: Other guys may think you look like a shaved rhesus monkey, but you do it for me, hon.

The more I read these “worst song” lists, the more I become convinced that the true path to music industry immortality lies in creating the Ultimate Bad Song. Oh, sure, it’s more pleasant to be remembered for creating good music. But the public’s good will has a shelf life; its ill will is eternal. Steel Breeze is now all but forgotten. However, there are a lot of people out there who still hate Dexy’s Midnite Runners with white-hot passion. Both bands had exactly the same number of hits.

I feel a bit like I’m handing out the instructions to make zombies, but here’s my Guide to Achieving Immortality Through Being Hated By Anybody Who Owns A Radio:

1. If you can sing a little bit, record a mega-sappy ballad that’s sure to get lots of radio play over a six-month period. If it worked for Debbie Boone and Oleta Adams, it’ll work for you, too.
2. If you can’t sing at all, start a dance craze. Maybe you can’t make people cry, but you can get them to flop around like dying salmon on the dance floor. They’ll hate you in five years, but they’re certain to remember your name. (Like you’d ever forget “Los Ketchup” anyway.)
3. If you can’t sing or dance, make a profoundly stupid video. Good approaches include “Irish street urchins,” “little twerp who keeps pointing a lantern at everybody,” and “girl in a bee costume whose dancing is more interesting than our hippie blooze.”
4. Never resist making comparisons between yourself and the Beatles. Remember, they only revolutionized the sound of rock, the form of rock songwriting, and the internal politics of pop music. But they never recorded a song with the word “bootylicious” in the chorus, so you must be better. This observation will only endear you to the public.
5. If you’re a novelty act, insist on being taken seriously. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if Vanilla Ice had been Chocolate Frosting, he’d never have gotten anywhere. Maybe now he’d be name-checked on a Black Eyed Peas single or something. True immortal hatred only comes from being the last person to get the joke.
6. Desecrate the classics whenever possible. Old Motown records are great for this. There’s never been a techno version of “My Girl” or a symphonic goth remake of “My Boyfriend’s Back,” so there are still lots of possibilities in this field. Michael Bolton and Rod Stewart have not completely despoiled the products of Hitsville, U.S.A.; it just seems like it.
7. Promulgate an inside joke that much of the public won’t get right away. (Hey, it worked for the Village People.)
8. Don’t complicate your hatred potential by dying prematurely in a tragic, rock n’ roll way. A lot of people hated Jim Morrison in his lifetime, but you can’t say anything bad about him now.
9. When all else fails, cross over. By doing so, you may not ensure immortal hatred of yourself, but they’ll be all over the next person down the pike. Faith Hill built Shania’s playhouse, after all.