The Stupidest Songs of 2015
(And why I love them)
Bad and good are subjective. But stupidity is a quality that can be measured out in all sorts of ways. The following songs are on this list for the following crimes: inane or disgusting lyrics, campy subject matter, melody sacrificed for a sick beat, and unfortunately timed dubstep breakdowns. Four entries on this list feature gibberish lyrics, and two name-drop Instagram. Two reference the exact same line in Mean Girls, and one mentions Steak ’n’ Shake.
However, this is by no means an indictment. These songs are all deliriously enjoyable for their unapologetic dumbness, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Them Girls Be Like” by Fifth Harmony
Crimes: lyrical in nature. “Do my ass look fat / or nah?”, “Do you ever post your pics with no filter / Hashtag I woke up like this too”, “If you thirsty you can’t sit with us”.
Pardoned for: Fifth Harmony’s killer vocals. Also, it’s a song that unapologetically celebrates selfie culture, being basic, and loving life; it’s pretty much the only thing that could ever make me want to be a teenager again.
“Truffle Butter” by Nicki Minaj, Drake, and Lil Wayne
Crimes: both Drake and Lil Wayne get pretty disgusting in their verses. The former muses “I could probably make some step-sisters fuck each other” and the latter constructs an elaborate sexual fantasy involving the titular substance and a woman’s genitals.
Pardoned for: each rapper opening their verse with the same opening line and developing it from there. And Nicki is at her best when she’s destroying everyone else in the game; she goes for the throat in her verse, reminding us “I’m still the highest selling female rapper for the record” and “Your whole style and approach, I invented.”
“Ratchet Commandments” by Tink
Crimes: rampant misogyny. Tink blasts ‘ratchet’ women for promiscuity, for dating skeezy men, and for posting on Instagram instead of reading.
Pardoned for: the third verse, in which Tink turns the tables on the men who are to blame, sneering “You fake fathers never held your daughters, never had a conversation / You too fucking immature to get an occupation.” Also, she sings “y’all can’t sit with us” on the chorus with such self-aware camp that it’s charming instead of childish, just like Mean Girls itself.
“Yoga” by Janelle Monáe feat. Jidenna
Crimes: the entire song uses yoga as an extended metaphor for sex. Nama-stay away from me.
Pardoned for: Janelle telling the haters to “get off my areola.” Also, it’s a welcome club banger that doubles as a workout anthem, drenched in bass and catchy as hell.
“Gibberish” by MAX feat. Hoodie Allen
Crimes: Hoodie delivers a weak guest verse that’s faster than he has the ability to deliver. MAX is at fault, too: his silky falsetto is best suited to soul and slow ballads, not an awkwardly timed dubstep breakdown featuring terrible fake gibberish.
Pardoned for: the fun of trying to construct a sentence out of the titular gibberish. “Aw, she Lebron papa shoes ban noody noody?” What could it possibly mean? And how does Lebron feel about this?
“Marvin Gaye” by Charlie Puth feat. Meghan Trainor
Crimes: the strange incongruity of two flavor-of-the-week popstars delivering a tribute to someone their audience has probably never heard of.
Pardoned for: the perfect harmonies between Charlie and Meghan’s soaring vocals. It’s hard to disapprove when I feel like Mr. Gaye himself would enjoy the chorus of “Let’s Marvin Gaye and get it on.”
“Dessert” by Dawin
Crimes: considers an autotuned “doo-wah-doo-wah-dee-dah” an adequate chorus. It sounds like a Despicable Me minion getting faded in a recording booth.
Pardoned for: Dawin’s consistent excellence in constructing beats that pair with his nonsense noises. Also, I will always bump anything that tells me to murder the dancefloor.
“I Really Like You” by Carly Rae Jepsen
Crimes: Carly sings the world “really” 68 times in this song.
Pardoned for: the sheer catchiness of this song means it could consist entirely of the world “really” and I’d still bop to it.
“I Like Tuh” by Carnage feat. iLoveMakonnen
Crimes: iLoveMakonnen’s weird alien voice and stuttered delivery are even more disarming than they were on “Tuesday.” The EDM and trap beat pounds relentlessly without any filter; it could be a background track in Spring Breakers. The lyrics have the simplistic quality of a child’s writing — a child who mixes their juice with Goose, that is.
Pardoned for: the well-rounded, staggeringly poignant emotional journey of “I smoke the best weed in the states / I don’t fuck ‘round with no fakes / I have to scrape the whole damn plate / I like to go to Steak ‘n Shake.”
“Drop That Kitty” by Tinashe, Ty Dolla $ign, & Charli XCX
Crimes: might have been recently unearthed from a time capsule from 2005. All of the elements are there: references to a ‘video phone’ (so, like… a phone), the line “Shake it like a saltshaker / She goin’ hard like a jawbreaker,” and Ty’s long drawn-out “uh oh”s that would fit right into a Black Eyed Peas chorus.
Pardoned for: Ty Dolla $ign’s verses are a fun combination of sexy and playful, and the first verse is an impressive stream-of-consciousness monologue about a girl shakin’ it. Tinashe’s pleased, confident purr is a great counterpoint to Charli XCX’s drill-sergeant chanting. Also, the song is technically G-rated, even though the ‘kitty’ metaphor gets old quickly. In theory, you could play this song for a ten year old, although they would probably wonder why Ty’s “Playin’ with that kitty / It ain’t got fur.”
“The Weekend” by Eden XO
Crimes: so many. “Started from the bottom with the plan to get rich / So had to chill everyday like one bad bitch” is not an acceptable method of making money. She rhymes ‘Mandalay Bay’ with ‘Phoebe Buffay.’ She introduces the bridge by imitating an ice cream truck. Her dedicated weekend activities are “Getting dumb in the morning / Dumb in the evening / Dumb like a cherry flav.”
Pardoned for: the refrain of “Oh my god, it’s the weekend… Like every day,” because it’s fun to imagine her trapped in a hellish endless weekend like a twisted, bikini-ed Groundhog Day.
