Prepare to be excited. ‘cause this is a real-time events-unfolding article right here.
I’m about to read what the “top three” catchiest songs are in a piece that promises not to disappoint me. But before I do, I feel like some rumination on the matter is needed. And I think what we have to start with first is acknowledging what makes a song “catchy”.
That term – “catchy” – can mislead people into thinking the song is good or likeable or something that’d make you recruit all your friends to come to karaoke with you for just so you could sing it. While sometimes that’s the case, really, it just means that it’s something that gets stuck in your head like a producer looping a song sample before turning it into a day long beat. Like Pharrel’s “Happy” song (whose music video was literally a day long).
Which reminds me of another facet to “catchy” tunes: exposure.
No, not that kinda exposure.
But Gaga’s a good example of someone whose music you can’t escape being exposed to if you have to listen to the radio at work. When I worked in physical therapy, we had the same damn songs playing all the time because the radio stations had some blood contract with satan about how frequently to taunt nine to fivers into feeling like they were prisoners of war undergoing tympanic torture for their secrets. The only secret here is that yes- I’m singing the song – but it’s only stuck with me the way “Singing in the rain” did for the widower in Clockwork Orange – because of the auditory assault I suffered when it bore its way into my brain all day like cacophonous head parasites.
Then, there comes a point when I genuinely dunno anymore how I feel about it. Have I’ve “grown to like the song” suddenly? Or have I merely developed Stockholm Syndrome from being around it so much, seeing other people like it, and then associating their pleasant nature with the deplorable ditty they’re singing like five-year-old girls do “Frozen”? And before you know it, I’m singing it too as a little part of me celebrates that it’s playing on the soft rock station. Yet again. Because this is the best song in the w-…Oh god, they’ve gotten me. Quick! Look under the bed for my body! I have to get back into it! You won’t get me alive! Me, my ears, and singing mouth!
And that, I think, is a final element that’s needed. Can I sing along to it? Even if the answer’s yes, but badly and you’ll probably make up a few lyrics because the singer’s one of those one’s who articulates weirdly in order to be unique, then yes: that can still qualify as a green check mark.
Yes, the 90’s was great for this. For example, Third Eye Blind’s doot-doot-doo-doot-doo-doot-doooooo song was hook line and sinker enough for my generation that all of us collectively, spontaneously, and synchronistically somehow learned how to white boy rap impeccably. Like, overnight.
Witchcraft. Illuminati. Aliens. I suspect ‘em all on that one.
That said, I suppose there is a subjective element to this. What gets stuck in my head may not in yours. So it’ll be interesting to see if their list (and this is live, so bear with me here as I uncover who the winners are) measures up to my standards, or if they make me scrunch my face into a confused reaction of “Howww?” Mmkay. Here goes:
Of the past 70 years, “Eye of the Tiger”, “Mambo Number Five” and “Wannabe” are the toppers.
….
Yeah.
I’m makin’ that confused face.
And not even for the reasons I outlined above, but because I don’t get the parameters. These songs are okay, and yes they’ve been “played out” and you can sing along. But it’s not equal to recent-songs because they’ve got time on their side. I feel cheated. These may have been viral-before-the-internet-was-ubiquitous in their era to the point that even your granny was whistling girl band melodies at night while she cleaned her teeth. In a dish. But they aren’t still, are they? Compared to modern stuff? None of this applies to today and all the current catchies. I mean, I wanna know which pop star beats who? Or if they all just suck equally and that’s why we have to dig through the tune museum – which I refuse to believe. Because, I’m sorry, but there’s no special V.I.P. room roped off in my head for Spice Girls or Survivor when I’m carrying out my daily tasks.
*Sigh*this was a waste. I’m so sorry for bringing you into this.
It was clearly a futile exercise.
And speaking of exercise, I need to go exercise. Right after I put on my sweats and ipod and get pumped.
“Mmmhmm…eye of the tiger….hmmhmm… I.liiike.to.fiiight…”
GODDAMMIT.