Okay, so, it’s been a while since I’ve been here to give you silly people an update.
Surprise!
Now.
What I’m here for is another rant in regards to one person: Rebecca Black.
If you don't know who that is, you are a shame to all memes and viral videos everywhere.
My college, the lovely place that it is, decided that it would be a good idea to play “Friday” by Rebecca Black to help raise money for the earthquake victims in Japan.
Until this point, I had never heard this song before. I had watched the Youtube video and a couple of hilarious spoofs of it, but it never crossed my mind again.
My first reaction to the news it was going to be broadcasted across campus was: “Hmm, this might get annoying.”
Then, I forgot about the whole business of Rebecca Black, despite the posters around campus that read “Black Friday,” heralding the mass destruction of sanity and people’s ability to comprehend much of anything past ‘fun, fun, fun, fun’.
However, I didn’t realize it would be:
~ On loop
~ Over the loud speakers.
~ Starting at 7am until they had raised 2000 dollars.
[Coolest Gravestone ever.]
As I was walking to class for the first time that morning, I was feeling chipper.
It was raining outside, the air was cool, and I was wearing my shoe socks.
Then a song drifted into my unsuspecting earholes.
Then I was audio-assaulted by the lyrics:
“Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend”
After that point, my ability to hear had been corrupted to a point where I could never regain my taste for decent music.
No, no, I didn’t like the song.
It was just so bad that it was permanently scarred into my audio memory, removing all traces of goodness like Hans Zimmer and Danny Elfman forever.
I hastily dashed into the nearest building hoping that the walls would douse the terrible noise and assuage my disgust.
The building was built solidly enough that I was out of the onslaught for the moment.
But I still had to go to class.
So I braved it across campus and made it alive.
As I sat in the classroom, safely away from the horror that still continued to throb in people’s innocent minds, I feared.
How long could this go on? How long will it take until someone, seized by rage at the audacity pouring from the speakers, drives a car into the station hosting the fundraiser? How long until Rebecca Black’s voice permanently takes the place of every singer that ever lived?
Even now as I sit here typing this blog, the repulsion from the music threatens my ability to stay seated. Even the calming voice of Enya could not sooth me.
Why?! I asked, my question directed at God. Why?!
What could possibly possess a person to think it was a good idea to do this?!
Even if it’s for a good cause, the latent damage and psychological appointments that will result costs far more!
Horrors!
And I still had to go back to my dorm!
Despite the overwhelming urge to shriek and clutch my ears, I walked stoically back to across campus to my room.
As I sat down at my desk and tried with shaking hands to turn on my iTunes, my thoughts flashed to Fuzzle and to Brother.
Both were frail in their ears and didn’t have the musical experience of poor quality tunes that I had.
They’d never make it.
Visions flashed in my mind: Fuzzle crumpling to the ground, gray matter oozing from his ears, Brother rending his clothes and tearing out his own eyes to allay the pain in his brain.
Panic seized me.
I had to save them.
Gathering up what money I had to my name (a total of 4 dollars and 76 cents), I ran to the booth where they were playing the accursed song.
I slammed it down on the table and screamed, “Take it! Take it all! Just make it stop!”
They informed me through their sadistic grins that they still had over 300 dollars left to raise.
Agonized, I threw myself on the concrete, praying God would make it rain money instead.
But alas, the music played on.
Even after they had raised 2000 dollars, it still played.
I resorted to holing myself up in my dorm room and the library to hide from the hideous desecration of song.
The music finally ceased around 5 o’clock.
The campus went eerily quiet, but within the first seconds of silence a breath of relief and joy sighed out of all the residents.
Now that my story is done, it’s time for a rant.
What. The. Hell?
I know I said that in my Emerson rant, but this merits it far more than he ever did.
This girl was given a music video as a gift for her 16th birthday.
Her parents paid approximately 300,000 dollars for this piece of unholy sacrilege and told the record company to let her make a music video.
And now, because the record studio is a spineless, money-sucking wench, it’s grossing thousands, possibly millions of dollars because of how bad she sucks.
Music has nothing to do with talent anymore. It has to do with how much money you’re willing to shell out!
Which provokes me to ask, will the literary world fall this far as well?!
Son of a biscuit!
I have never seen something this awful get popular so quickly.
I mean, sure, there was Beiber, but he’s grown into something less abominable now since he’s finally hit puberty and he got famous through his own song work.
NOT BECAUSE HIS PARENTS BOUGHT HIM A MUSIC VIDEO!
Some of you may argue, “Hey it’s not that bad of a song. It’s got a great tune.”
No. No, it doesn’t.
I think there were like 7 notes that she had to sing and I’m pretty sure those are the only ones that she can hit.
“But the lyrics are catchy.”
Yes, because they were written by a 12 year old.
Repetition does not make a song pleasant to hear. It only makes it annoyingly difficult to wipe from your audio memory!
And NO, Rebecca Black, repeating a word does not lend it more emphasis.
That just makes it maddeningly pointless and it makes you sound like a broken record.
And another thing!
There is no depth in the lyrics at all.
Nothing.
It’s just flat, completely anti-poetic garbage.
Let me tell you the meaning of the lyrics in three words: It’s Friday.
Ta-Da!
Not to mention what she’s describing has to be the most mundane, stereotypical scenario about which any half-brained writer could have thought.
She talks about eating cereal for Pete’s sake!
The only songs I know that have those sorts of subjects that are ones by Lemon Demon and Psychostick and those songs are clearly satirical.
Augh!
I feel like I could-
No, I feel like my foot––on morphine––could write a better song.
If it’s this easy in the record world to fail this big, I might invest in a high quality music video with the most irritating and repetitious lyrics known to man.
No, I’d never stoop so low.
I’d rather not make it at all and produce my own works myself, through labor and tears, than have my parents pay through the nose to get me famous.
And so I will sit, here in the mire of obscurity with my pet rock and Fuzzle, and wait for my time to come.
Yeah, you’re right.
If I ever get famous, it will be a miracle.
ANYWAY.
The rant is done.
Rebecca Black’s music can die now.
Peace off.
