Well, I have just had a heated debate. The important topic was WORST rock ‘n roll song of all time. The first issue was deciding what could be consider rock and what could not. Schmaltz is not rock by definition, so no Carpenters songs, no Capt. & Tennile–that means no Muskrat Love. We are not going there. If there is no electric guitar, it is probably not rock ‘n roll.
So I won’t bore you with our desideratum. That’s your part, below if you wish.
But here is the choice. Imagine a song that manages to be both pompous (rock star strut), stupid, ugly and demeaning all at the same time. A true harbinger for the death of rock ‘n roll. Ladies and Gentlemen, submitted for your consideration as the worst rock ‘n roll song of all time, “What’s Your Name” by Lynyrd Skynyrd:
Well, its 8 o’clock in Boise, Idaho
I’ll find my limo driver
Mister, take us to the show
I done made some plans for later on tonight
I’ll find a little queen
And I know I can treat her right.[chorus]
What’s your name, little girl?
What’s your name?
Shootin’ you straight, little girl?
Won’t you do the same?.Back at the hotel
Lord we got such a mess
It seems that one of the crew
Had a go with one of the guests, oh yes
Well, the police said we can’t drink in the bar
What a shame
Won’t you come upstairs girl
And have a drink of champagneWhat’s your name, little girl?
What’s your name?
Shootin’ you straight, little girl?
For there ain’t no shame.[chorus 2x]
9 o’clock the next day
And I’m ready to go
I got six hundred miles to ride
To do one more show, oh no
Can I get you a taxi home
It sure was grand
When I come back here next year
I wanna see you againWhat was your name, little girl?
What’s your name?
Shootin’ you straight, little girl?
Well there ain’t no shame
What was your name, little girl?
What’s your name?
Shootin’ you straight, little girl?
Won’t you do the same?
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a nasty song…and I think they didn’t even write it but took credit for it until sued.
speaking of Lynyrd Skynyrd….Sweet Home Alabama. Don’t you dare criticize our bigoted ways! We’re coming to get you! In our airplane! We’re kinda stoned though…aaaaaaaaaa!!!!
It’s the only explanation!
I may be off on the spelling. A lot of Bobby tunes come to mind. Money Honey for the obscurity of it all.
The sound of nails-on-a-chalkboard turns into babbling brooks and the cooing of doves when put next to these, ahem, “voices” that screech and claw their way through, ahem, song-after-horrid-song like so many throats, ripped to shreds by the jagged edges of broken Boone’s Farm bottles, attempting to tear limbs off of rabid hyenas — only not quite so melodic.
Drop discs, thousands and thousands of them, of “Heart’s Greatest Hits” on Taliban- and al Qaeda-infested areas of Eastern Afghanistan and Northwestern Pakistan and, I promise you, within 24 hours the bad guys will come out of their mountain hideouts, screaming and holding their hands to their ears, crying for mercy and medical treatment. For the young ones who just got caught-up in these horrid organizations, we will show them mercy. For the officers and big-wigs, we should throw them back into their caves, along with iPods loaded to the gills with . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . Foreigner, then seal-up such caves. Sometimes, I admit, I can be pro-torture.
Mu . . .
on a very simple, one-plank ticket, During the first year of my administration there would be a total ban on the playing of “Stairway to Heaven” in any public space and on all radio frequencies assigned by the state.
Year 2, “Hotel California”
Year 3, “Piano Man”
Year 4. A national referendum, leaving it up to the voting masses (though in my presidential magnificence, I would hint that a year without “Aqualung” would be almost as nice as re-election.)
the meter and words can be translated into Español,
Como se llama, Muchachita?
Como se llama?
or more formally,
Como te llama, Muchachita?
Como te llama?