/This post has been commandeered by guest blogger Don Bito/
It’s true that I have some beef with the Black Eyed Peas. Let’s just say I find their beats flaccid, their lyrics trite and in general I think they’re a pretty talentless act.
Let’s also say that this in no way means they did not release what is obviously the pop anthem smash hit of the summer, I Gotta Feeling.
How, you may ask, are these two things not contradictory? This is the fabulous nature of pop itself, readers. Pop demands nothing of its artists beyond a marketable look and sound (which is not to say that some pop artists don’t boast much more). This can be a bad thing, in the case of such regrettable music as Boom Boom Pow – and by the way, my brain still dribbles out my ears a little every time I think about how that song is apparently marketable.
It also means that if you (and by “you” I obviously mean “The Black Eyed Peas”) have the straight up balls to admit that what you really are is not “artists” but vessels for selling music with mass appeal you stand a good chance of making an awesome song that may actually be deserving of its popularity.
Enter I Gotta Feeling. The music is simple, repetitive, and uplifting. It makes me want to dance. It definitely makes me want to dance. So: check.
It’s also an entire song about getting fucked up and dancing – of which, unlike spitting sick rap, I have no problem believing the Black Eyed Peas are capable. Boasting about something you actually have the means to back up? Reality: check.
I Gotta Feeling brings the BEPs back into the realm of “self-aware comma patently ridiculous” (yea, thou must speaketh the comma aloud) from “utterly ridiculous comma totally annoying.” A few of the highlights:
-When Will.I.Am repeats the line “fill up my cup,” and Fergie, beginning a series of call-and-response lines, simply hollers “DRINK!” at the top of her lungs. Not gonna lie, that’s my favorite part of the song.
-“Like Oh My Gawd” …’nuff said.
-Okay, so the parts when Will.I.Am just says “do it” 187,000,000 times in a row verges on ear-bleedy. But honestly it takes up a good 30 seconds of the song in which he could be saying something infinitely more retarded. ZING! Funny and true.
I could babble on about the details, but the fact of the matter is, this song is exactly what I was looking for in a summer pop smash. It makes the perfect soundtrack for pre-gaming a night of epic crunkitude and dancing until one drops.
So while I wouldn’t go so far as to say that the BEPs have earned my respect, they have indubitably earned my momentary obsession.
Go forth and dance.
/and send all your pop flotsam to firstname.lastname@example.org//