The Songs We Can't Escape
Lady Gaga feat. Beyoncé
What rankles isn't this song's nakedly opportunistic Madonna jockin', but its total lack of subtext; what you hear is what you get, even as the future-schlock video dry-humps your corneas.
Emphatically not a Daniel Powter cover, more like being ambushed in an alley and beaten within an inch of your life by Bleeding Kansas and the Jesus Lizard because you just happened to be the first poor sap they could unceremoniously lay waste to.
Somebody needs to tell Millz that "YM" was the name of a popular women's magazine for years before it stood for "Young Money"; hearing him rep "YM" all over new mixtape The Flood is almost as culturally bizarre as his fetish for the sort of gear Matt Damon sported in Invitcus: "Depending on how I feel, I might go lemon rugby socks/All-white cargo shorts, lemon yellow rugby top." Here's hoping he calls his next tape Hooker's Delight.
"Muddy Swim Trunks"
In Roth's world, weed's known as "headduce," Madlib beats are primo mixtape canvasses, and 1996 was indisputably hip hop's finest year. Dude sounds like he had more fun cutting his new Seared Foie Gras with Quince and Cranberry mixtape than anyone's had doing anything this year.
"Who Threw That Ham at Me?"
B-52s' master of ceremonies mints new band where he's basically a camp spoken-word artist; here, amid scampering '80s prom keybs, when he says "ham" (and later "turkey") it's not existential self-identification—he's literally referring to a meat one cooks and eats on Easter. Someone threw meat at him. Really! By the way: Happy belated Easter!
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