Where's Bob Dylan When You Need Him?

I don't know if any of you have turned on a radio lately. If you have, then I'm writing this to you. I'm rallying the troops to fight against the horrific noise that has been accumulated into a powder puff of cultural indignity which has left me bewildered and disoriented after each painful blow to my central nervous system.

For the record, I don't intend to focus my writings on the things of this world that disgust me or cause a general disenchantment with society that is so profound I often find myself wandering off to a vacant corner three times a day so I can rock back and forth while holding myself, occasionally bursting into hysterical sobs.

But this is a situation I can no longer ignore. This cultural travesty affects the reputation of music as a whole and therefore must not be taken lightly lest the spirit of rocker legends gone by rise collectively from their graves and threaten to take back all that is good and true from the lyrics and melodies and songs and souls they provided. I'm not willing to let that happen.

So allow me, please, to raise the red flags of warning and cry 'Traitor!' to the following "songs" that I have recently had the not-so pleasurable experience of listening to on the radio. Wha-oh-oh-oh on the radio.

Candy Kisses. As the song starts to play, we are romantically whisked away to a world of lullabies and fairy tales with its clever use of the triangle chime. You know the triangle chime...that instrument you always wanted to play in 4th grade music class because, hello, it looked like a triangle and all you had to do was hit it with a metal bar occasionally or, if you were really daring, you could run the metal bar all around the inside of the triangle at a rapid pace so as to illustrate your extensive musical talent. Okay, so that's the image this song sets up for us in the beginning. Eventually, the singer commences the lyrics and we recognize immediately that she's going to sound like every other nasally 18-year-old female singer on a rocket ride through the pop charts. Great. But the part of the song that has me the most confused is the demon-possessed stalker/serial killer guy who is intermittently singing about these wonderful candy kisses. It begs the question...are these kisses really full of candy? Or are they kisses of death bestowed upon an unsuspecting victim who just happens to enjoy singing about touching someone else's lips with their own and it reminding them of a Starburst Fruit Chew? It's hard to tell based upon the Satanic quality of this gentleman's voice. Triangle chime + nasally 18-year-old musical stereotype should not, in my opinion, equal the Angel of Death quality this song possesses. Picture with me, if you will, Jack Nicholson's character from The Departed singing "I've got your candy kisses on my mind" while tucking your child into bed. Awk-ward.

A Bay Bay. This song is by a young man named Hurricane Chris. His name is appropriate considering the amount of destruction he has caused and how he has somehow managed to obliterate fifty years of quality music with one incomprehensible phrase. A Bay Bay. What does it even mean? I'm so perplexed by the level of horror that is this song. Let me just let you see for yourself:

Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3] (I don't get that it's X3...four times...)
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]

You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Stink Wit It,Stink Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'

When I Holler Ay Bay Bay
I Finna Get My Groove On
Its So Hot Up In Da Club
Dat I Ain't Got No Shoes On
Im Holdin' Up A Big Stack And Dem
Hundreds In A Rubba Band
Girl Don't Ask Me For No Cash
Cause Im Not Dat Other Man
Everybody Trippin' Cause Im Limpin'
When Im Walkin' And Im Pimpin' When Im Talkin'
I Don't Trick On Chick Dats Talkin'
Dem Boyz In Da Back Dey Be Rollin'up Dey Doughdy
Then Dey Blow It Till Dey Chokin'
Dats Wat Godly Came Out

When I See A Bad Chik Im Hollerin Out(Ay Bay Bay)
I Hope Yall Ain't Wit Ya Boyfriendz
Cause I Don't Care Wat Dey Say
And I Don't Care Wat He Say Or She Say
Im In Da Dj Booth Takin' Pictures Wit Da Dj
You Wanna Know What We Say
When Clubs Get Crunk (Wat)
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up [X2]

You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Sting Wit It,Sting Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'

Now If You Lookin' For Me Baby You Can Find Me
Bangin' In Da Chevy Candy Painted Swingin 9 Deep
Saint Card Creep Wit My People Right Behind Me
I Showed Dem My Chain Now
She Hollerin Wat U Buyin' Me
I Show My Mouth Piece
To Dem Freaks Now Da Hirin' Me

Oh You Got A Problem Well I Hope You
Tryin Me. Throw Them ....Park
Then I Reach Under My Sit
Hop Out With My Hand Under My Shirt
Dats Where Dey Hirin Me
Yellow Bone Chirpin' Me
She Trying To See Where Imma Be.
You Gonna Let Me Get Up In
Your Mouth Well Dats Where Imma Be
I Don't Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be. Straight To The Hotel
All Da Bad Chick Followin' Me
I Know You Like My Style, I Ain't Trippin
Im Just Tryin' To See, Girl Is You Drunk
Well Tell Me Why You Leanin' All On Me
And If You Thinkin' Imma Stink You Trippin
I Pull Up In An Expedition Wit Da Roof Lift

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay (2x)
Ay Bay Bay (3x)
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up
Im In Da Club Hot,Crunk,Sweatin, Burnin' Up
Im 'bout To Do The Crowd
Bumpin And Hollerin Wats Up
I Done Fell Out In Da Dance Floor
And Now Bring It Up
Js On Your Feet But You Cant Get These
You Wear Wats Unbrown White, And Yellow
Till You Breeze
Ill Go To Saint Louis Let My Chain Hang Low
Con Every Yellow Diamonds Mixed Wit Rozo
I Shy Real Bright In Da Light Because Im A Star
8 Shots Of Patrons Now Stannin'on Da Baw
Probably Get Drunk Wit A Scum And Put Da
Keys In Da Wrong Paw

Is this song even in English? I mean honestly. What is 'Keys in Da Wrong Paw?' And why don't he "Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be?" It is physically impossible for me to unfurrow my brow in this moment. Seriously??? This is what we've become? If someone were to actually come up to me and say "A Bay Bay" with the same emphasis and shrill inflection that Hurricane Chris uses, I might reasonably be compelled to commit an act of murder. And who could blame me? Sheesh.

Mercifully, there are some songs out there that are romantic and poetic and it's probably the praise I should be handing out rather than the criticism. I just wanted you all to be aware of what passes for "popular" these days. Bob Dylan once said "Him not busy bein born is busy dyin." Artists, of all people, should know all about reinvinting themselves in a new light, so why is it that we still have the same five songs being rewritten over and over and over, sucking all the passion out of a powerful lyric and leaving a life-changing melody writhing in the gutter?