A Strange Land

In one of Pitbull’s latest songs, Ke$ha (oh, how I wish that were a typo) sings the following chorus:

“It’s going down; I’m yelling timber.
You better move; you better dance.
Let’s make a night you won’t remember;
I’ll be the one you won’t forget.”

I suspect the first two lines give a pretty good indication of how well modern lyricists handle metaphor.  (Or perhaps lumberjacking is more festive than I think.)  The second two lines are probably a decent barometer of cultural insanity.  Not only are they incompatible; they’re both individually…

I can’t think of a word to effectively convey my disdain, horror, exasperation, and pity.  Oy.

I think I’ll go with corrupt.  It’s not perfect, but it’s a place to start.  It takes a corrupt heart to sing this song.  (And I’m not going to quote the rest.)  Not that that’s either surprising or unusual.  The radio is not fit listening for the easily disturbed.

A lot of the time, it’s not fit listening for humans.  I would say that it’s cruel even to animals and plants, but animals and plants have the simplicity to be beneath much harm from “art”.

As I say this, a group of kids has come into the library.  They’re maybe 10, but they have an array of fancy gadgets and are listening to exactly the sort of music about which I was thinking when I said some was not fit for humans.  It would be destructive to them if they were older and wiser.  I can’t imagine the effects its having now.

My objection isn’t a matter of genre, for the record.  There are genre’s I happen to prefer, but I don’t object to the others even if I don’t want to listen to them.  I’ve studied too much historical literature.  Genre is fleeting; what is one period’s artless trash is another period’s pinnacle of culture.

Interesting.  Apparently I’m now a matter of curiosity among the wee ones.  And here they come.  Let us see how this goes.

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