Rude

Having forsaken all of Top 40 radio for nearly 25 years now, most of my exposure of pop music comes from having to put up with it as background music at supermarkets or whatever’s piped into restaurants and the overhead at my place of employment. Due to the mostly homogeneous nature of the music, I can usually tune it all out. So, it takes a special type of suckage to pry its way past all the mental safeguards I have in place and annoy me on my outing in the real world. “Rude” by some band named Magic! is one of those songs.

First of all, that band name. It’s not just the laziest sounding name, but by adding the exclamation point at the end, it seems that someone came up with that in Junior High, and suggested it when it came time to form the band, and no one could think of anything better for whatever reason and went with it.

Second, after some research on the band itself (translation: 10 minute Google search), it looks like Magic! is a “Canadian reggae fusion” band…which roughly translates to “White guys playing lame reggae”. Well, okay, granted the head of the band is from Palestinian decent…but he was born in Canada, so he’s an honorary Caucasian. I’m old enough to remember the first time this kind of things was foisted upon our collective pop sensibilities: back in the 1980s, by this British band named UB40. They, too, were a bunch of white guys affecting a fake Jamaican accent, with two songs that you couldn’t get away from–“Red Red Wine” and a cover of Elvis Presley’s “I Can’t Help Falling In Love (With You)”. Genuine reggae is one of my least favorite styles of music (running neck-and-neck with ska, but still preferable over hip-hop country and dubstep); I’d rather have that over this homogenized style of fake reggae.

Third, oh sweet mother of Elvis, that song. It’s basically a whiny guy who asks the father of his girl for her hand in marriage, is told no, and then fires back with a passive-aggressive catchphrase from one of the Tanner girls from the original run of Full House. Which is followed by the proclamation that he’s “gonna marry her anyway.” Yeah, that’s gonna work out, there, you douchenozzle.

“Rude” manages to hit the trifecta of suckage. This is one Canadian import I can do without.

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