Whiff o’ the Week (5/3/2015)
“In a world of monotonous horror there could be no salvation in wild dreaming. Horror he had adjusted to. But monotony was the greater obstacle, and he realized it now, understood it at long last. And understanding it seemed to give him a sort of quiet peace, a sense of having spread all the cards on his mental table, examined them, and settled conclusively on the desired hand.”
Lay your cards on the table and see that your hand has come up short. This is Whiff o’ the Week.
Last time we met, we had a free-for-all of riffs from every style and discipline. Not only did Ron Deuce claim victory in Riff ov the Week, but he also obliterated everyone else in whiffs. Congrats, Ronny Boy. You are the soldering iron of justice.
Next time we meet, I’ve got a bit of a challenge for you, courtesy of my favorite time lizard, the depraved Aussie reptile Lacertilian. Here’s your task: find and submit the worst Mike Patton whiff. The guy has played with every band ever, so it shouldn’t be that hard, right? Don’t forget the rules:
- Send me your whiff at firstname.lastname@example.org.
- Include a blurb and your disqus handle.
- No Fred Durst. I don’t think they’ve ever worked together, but I can’t be certain.
Alright, this week, we’re talking about the nastiest ear-worms. Bring the thunder.
Many soldiers returning from the first conflict with Iraq were left hollow and broken shells, utterly drained by Gulf War Syndrome. Curiously, psychologists have noticed a very similar trend among those returning from Country Jam. Their professional opinion is that driving your lifted F-150 off a bridge is the only long term solution.
At the end of the evening in those rare moments of silence and self reflection, I hear a murmur. Low and dull, it increases in frequency and volume, tearing a gaping hole through my psyche. “I’M IN LOVE WITH THE COCO.” I will never know the sound of silence again. Suicide is the only answer.
The very idea that something so shitty can become so obdurately stuck in your head is proof that the human experience is a fucking mockery of virtue. Just end it.
I’m not a fan of Britney Spears in the least, unlike our resident tapir, but goddamn if this song doesn’t get lodged in my head every time without fail. It’s always that damn violin “riff”. I hate this song but I also know the chorus by heart because of how fucking stuck it gets in my brain.
I don’t really understand anything that’s happening in that video. Why are there prisoners?
Sorry JJD, I know you love this band but I can enjoy Evanescence more than this.
This song is proof that rap and metal do not mix. It’s also proof that 4th tier metalcore bands should not be covering rap songs. The fact that you got Ice-T on the song does not give you street cred. Upon A Burning Body’s amps are turned up for what?
Na na na na na. Na na na na na.
Fuck disco. Fuck this four on the floor bass drum. Fuck Kiss. This is such an abomination, yet… my groove senses are tingling. GOD DAMMIT PETER CRISS YOU STOP THAT GROOVING RIGHT NOW *sobs* *hands in kvlt card* *paints face* FLUSH!
This is a “flushable” whiff by metalhead standards, but not mine. I think this song is fucking brilliant! My love of Top 40 is no secret- and it’s jams like this that further solidify my plebeian status. The vocal melody along with Becky G‘s absolutely lovely vocal style make this tune one YOU should have for your Summer 2k15 Playlist. If you’re into that kind of thing, of course.
There’s catchy, and then there’s bad but you like it so you listen to it a lot. I’m fairly certain this an experiment in torturing individuals; it’s catchy but holy hell is it awful. It’s basically a musical abortion.
This was THE SHIT back when I was 12/13 years old. It was ages since I last listened to this song, but the lyrics are still embedded in me. I’M NOT OKAAAAAAAAY. Honorable mentions: Fall Out Boy, Blink 182.
I could nominate any song written by a band signed to Fueled By Ramen. Visual edge and sugary music that will take over your soul if you listen to too much of it. Good thing they’re probably bankrupt right now. I guess.
Face: alarmingly punchable. Subject Matter: horrid. Other Redeeming Qualities: even less than Nickelback. Catchiness: broke my E-meter.
I’m usually a sucker for melodeath, but this is some of the tritest garbage to ever bore its way into my ears. Every melodic death metal cliche you can think of is at play here. I could have realistically picked any point in this mess as a whiff, but the real insult is the chorus (1:28). Combine an obnoxiously catchy melody with some of the worst clean vocals ever and you’ve got yourself an earworm too repugnant even for Khan Noonien Singh to consider.
Sorry Dr. W, but this song grates me to no end and gets stuck in my head. [W. Note- The Diamond Dogs are currently zeroing in on your location. You’ll be dead by the time everyone reads this.]
There are few people I want to kick harder than the singer for My Chemical Romance. I don’t know his name, but it’s probably Johnny Suicidey and I bet he refers to himself as “just a boy who wants to love” regularly. Anyway, it wouldn’t even be a really violent, damaging kick; I just want to wear some heavy shoes, wind up, and just nail him right in the shin, so it just ruins his day but isn’t going to send him to the doctor. Then I’d wait a few days until the bruise almost went away, and do it again. This is a light punishment for that supremely catchy chorus in this pathetic feels-fest of a song. I hate it, but I know it’ll be stuck in my head for the next three days.
There is no greater evil on this earth that Bon Jovi. They’re like an evil, fecal robot pumping out infectious piece of shit after infectious piece of shit, and this is their crowning turd jewel. I hope you fucking die on those docks, Tommy.
There you have it. Now you must decide. For which of these songs is suicide the only solution?