I am totally shallow when it comes to music.
It’s all about the surface to me. I don’t care about stirring lyrics or timely cultural messages; just give me an addictive melody and a strong backbeat and maybe some fake orchestral undertones (hi there, Carly Rae Jepson) and I’m sold.
Ideally, all that comes pinned to a nice set of words, something I can slap on my away message without looking like a blathering, melodramatic psychopath or a 12-year-old girl. But, like our poor male friends who oftentimes find themselves forced to prioritize tits over ass, sometimes you just can’t have the whole package.
I choose the beat.
Nowhere was this more apparent than when I fell for Mark Ronson’s Bang Bang Bang a few weeks ago. It was so catchy (from the Girls Bushwick episode, obvs) that I soon found myself playing it on repeat, sucking up the $1.29 to have it for keeps. But what was that chorus exactly? I hummed along, mumbled my own made-up words, sure it had to be something pertinent and smart to match such a fun and modern sound.
Turns out the whole chorus is in French. A language I do not speak.
Guess I’m even more vapid than I suspected.