Hey mister, don’t play it no more
The things I’ll do for my readers…
It’s been a huge pleasure to seek out and write about all the great music from the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s for this rock music blog.
What is NOT a huge pleasure is to look for the truly awful songs. I’ve subjected myself to this torture twice before, in 2015 and 2017. It seems appropriate, in this shitty year of 2020, to once again compile a short list of what I call “cringeworthy” songs. These are tunes that make you cringe whenever you hear them. They make you want to lunge for the radio knob and turn it off or change the channel.
A song might be considered cringeworthy for different reasons. It might be just inherently annoying. It might have idiotic lyrics. It might be too saccharine sweet, or too harshly noisy. It might just rub you the wrong way.
I asked a few friends to offer their cringeworthy candidates, and some mentioned songs I happen to like. Similarly, when I’ve played these songs at a party just to get a reaction, someone would invariably say, “Oh I love this song!!!” Go figure. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure…
Here are the songs I selected in my previous “cringeworthy” blogs:
“Billy Don’t Be a Hero,” Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods, 1974; “My Ding-a-Ling,” Chuck Berry, 1972; “Something Stupid,” Frank & Nancy Sinatra, 1966; “Afternoon Delight,” Starland Vocal Band, 1976; “The Candy Man,” Sammy Davis Jr.,1972; “The Night Chicago Died,” Paper Lace, 1974; “Seasons in the Sun,” Terry Jacks, 1974; “Winchester Cathedral,” 1966; The New Vaudeville Band; “Convoy,” C.W. McCall, 1976; “Honey,” Bobby Goldsboro, 1968.
“Yummy Yummy Yummy,” Ohio Express, 1968; “We Will Rock You,” Queen, 1978; “Tie a Yellow Ribbon,” Tony Orlando and Dawn, 1973; “Physical,” Olivia Newton-John, 1981; “Babe,” Styx, 1979; “Lovin’ You,” 1975; “Sing,” The Carpenters, 1973; “One Bad Apple,” The Osmonds, 1970; “Muskrat Love,” The Captain and Tennille, 1978; “MacArthur Park,” 
Richard Harris, 1968; “Torn Between Two Lovers,” Maureen MacGregor, 1977; “Song Sung Blue,” Neil Diamond, 1972; “In the Year 2525,” Zager and Evans, 1969; “Don’t Give Up on Us,” David Soul, 1977; “The Girl is Mine,” Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney, 1982.
Sad to say, there are many more songs in the pop music catalog that qualify — probably enough for another ten blog entries. Today, I have selected a dozen more stinkers that you almost certainly won’t want to listen to (but I built a Spotify playlist anyway!).
I suggest you avoid these “songs” at all costs:
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“Having My Baby,” Paul Anka, 1974
This one’s a no-brainer. It has appeared on, and even topped, many “worst songs” lists over the decades. It was voted the #1 “Worst Song of All Time” in a poll conducted by CNN in 2006. Feminists loathed the song because of its sexist theme and lyrics. It should be “Having OUR Baby,” they reasonably point out. Anka wrote the song only a few months after abortion was made legal, and he made no bones about the fact that the woman had a choice, which irked the pro-life crowd: “Didn’t have to keep it… Could’ve swept it from your life…” Despite all this, the song somehow reached #1, but Anka soon stopped singing it in concert. No wonder.
“Total Eclipse of the Heart,” Bonnie Tyler, 1982
Some collaborations of artists from different backgrounds have proven to be artistically creative. Some, however, have not. Tyler, a Welsh singer who’d had a hit in the US in 1977 with “It’s a Heartache,” decided to team up with Jim Steinman, the songwriter behind the showy, Broadway-like “Bat Out of Hell” album by Meat Loaf. Steinman, prone to writing overly dramatic songs, went full Monty on “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” which lacks any of the melodic flair that lifted the Meat Loaf material. That didn’t stop Tyler and her husky, inferior voice from recording it. The infernal, unpredictable US music-buying public made it a big #1 hit in 1983. BORING.
“Worst that Could Happen,” Brooklyn Bridge, 1969
There are two large stains on the reputation of otherwise brilliant songwriter Jimmy Webb (who wrote great stuff like “Wichita Lineman,” “All I Know,” “The Moon’s a Harsh Mistress” and dozens more). One is the already discussed “MacArthur Park,” the interminable 1968 tune where someone left the damn cake out in the rain, and the other is this treacly tune recorded by Johnny Maestro and The Brooklyn Bridge. They took the tune exactly as recorded earlier by The Fifth Dimension (who loved Webb’s songs, even this one) and released it with even more melodrama, and watched it reach #3. What is wrong with people? Holy smokes, this is really bad.
“You Light Up My Life,” Debby Boone, 1977
Are you sitting down? This icky tune actually won the Song of the Year Grammy, and the Best Original Song at the Oscars AND Golden Globes. Inexplicably, it maintained hold of the #1 spot on the pop charts for TEN consecutive weeks. I don’t care about any of that. People are morons with no taste, evidently. I find this so cloying that I’m afraid of getting diabetes from listening to it. Debby Boone, the daughter of Fifties lily-white pop performer Pat Boone, doesn’t bear the brunt of the blame. That goes to Joseph Brooks, a sleazeball film director who wrote it, and was later charged with several “casting-couch rapes.” Well, isn’t that special.
“One More Night,” Phil Collins, 1985
A lot of pop songs repeat lyrics ad nauseam, especially in the chorus. Even acts as universally admired as The Beatles had some repetitive tunes in their catalog. But let’s get serious. In this sluggish ballad from Collins’s third solo album, “No Jacket Required,” he sings the title 26 times. By the third time you hear the tune, you’re screaming, “All right already, we get it! One more night without her! Get over it!” For a couple years in the mid-’80s, you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing Collins’ voice. Solo songs, duets, Genesis tracks — he was inescapable. No one can survive that kind of overexposure, so a song like this was doomed to be on cringeworthy lists.
“I’m Not Lisa,” Jessi Colter, 1975
It’s monotonous. It’s annoying. Some guy used to date Lisa, who fell for someone else, and he can’t get over it, even though new girl Julie is more than ready to take Lisa’s place. The lyrics are kind of pathetic. All of this translated into a #1 song on the country charts and #4 on the pop charts in early 1975. It was written by the artist, Jessi Colter, and the record was produced by her husband, the great Waylon Jennings. WTF?? Too many strings, not a bad voice, but just a crappy song. The good news is Colter never had a chance to annoy us again, as she disappeared from the pop charts (although she had a couple more hits on the country chart).
“I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing,” The New Seekers, 1971
Over the years, there have been TV show theme songs that ended up becoming pop hits — “Happy Days,” “Welcome Back Kotter,” “Secret Agent Man,” to name a few. But there are only a couple pop hits, thank God, that got their start as TV commercials. In 1970, Coca-Cola came up with its iconic ad campaign “I’d like to buy the world a Coke” with people of all races, ages and ethnicities converging on a hillside to sing together “in perfect harmony.” Okay, all well and good. But then a vocal group called The New Seekers (a spinoff from the earlier Seekers) recorded the song without the product references, and it sold millions. Ugh. Really??
“Love Hurts,” Nazareth, 1976
Songwriter Boudleaux Bryant wrote numerous hits in rock and roll’s early days, mostly for The Everly Brothers (“Bye Bye Love,” “All I Have to Do is Dream,” “Wake Up Little Susie”). Another one was “Love Hurts,” which The Everlys didn’t release as a single… but it was recorded by quite a few others, including Roy Orbison, Cher, Emmylou Harris and Gram Parsons. None of these are any good except maybe Emmylou’s. Any chances the song had were forever ruined by the Scottish band Nazareth, who released an electric rendition with truly wretched vocals by singer Dan McCafferty. The UK and the US audiences dug it anyway, for reasons unknown.
“Ring My Bell,” Anita Bell, 1979
Well, isn’t that interesting: My research discovered the fact that songwriter Frederick Knight wrote this obnoxious ditty as a teenybopper tune about kids talking on the phone. When the intended artist, Stacy Lattislaw, signed with a different label, he changed the lyrics and arrangement to make it more of a disco number, and newcomer Anita Ward took it to #1 in the US and Top Ten in 15 other countries. People seemed to like the sexual suggestion as to what “ringing my bell” meant. Ward and Knight had disagreements and disco was on the wane, so she ended up a one-hit wonder. You’ll hear no complaint from me.
“Hooked on a Feeling,” Blue Swede, 1974
Here’s an example of a perfectly decent song that had already been a hit in its original rendition and should’ve been left alone. B.J. Thomas had a fun, catchy #5 hit with his 1969 version of “Hooked on a Feeling,” written by songwriter Mark James, also famous for writing “Suspicious Minds” for Elvis Presley and “Always on My Mind,” a 1978 smash for Willie Nelson. End of story? Nope. A Swedish outfit called Blue Swede recorded a full album of covers, including “Hooked on a Feeling,” on which they chose to use a relentless “ooga-chaka-ooga-ooga” chant that rendered the track unlistenable. I mean, UNLISTENABLE. It was #1 for a week in 1974. WHY?
“Float On,” The Floaters, 1977
I think the best way to illustrate the degree of bad we’re dealing with here is to show you the lyrics. The (spoken) verses introduced The Floaters and their zodiac signs and offered a couple lines describing their perfect woman. For instance: “Cancer, and my name is Larry, /And I like a woman that loves everything and everybody, /Because I love everybody and everything…” “Libra, and my name is Charles, /Now I like a woman that’s quiet, /A woman who carries herself like Miss Universe…” OMG…and it reached #2! Stoner comedy duo Cheech & Chong felt the need to record the parody “Bloat On,” and needless to say, we never heard from The Floaters again.
“Rock Me Amadeus,” Falco, 1986
Johann Holzel, a popular Austrian singer who went by the name Falco, recorded mostly German-language songs, which made sense in Europe, especially his native Austria. In 1985, capitalizing on the Oscar-winning film “Amadeus,” Falco wrote the punky-techno tune “Rock Me Amadeus” about Mozart and his meteoric rise and fall. His producers felt correctly that the timing might be right for breaking into the US market, and sure enough, it reached #1. But go ahead and try to listen to it today. Go on, I dare you. It’s absolutely dreadful. Mozart himself would’ve laughed out loud at how abysmal it is.
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Honorable mentions:
“Cat Scratch Fever,” Ted Nugent, 1975; “Endless Love,” Lionel Richie and Diana Ross, 1983; “Kung Fu Fighting,” Carl Douglas, 1974; “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” Rod Stewart, 1977; “Another One Bites the Dust,” Queen, 1980; “Clap For the Wolfman,” The Guess Who, 1974; “Love is Thicker Than Water,” Andy Gibb, 1977; “Da Da Da,” TRIO, 1982; “Cat’s in the Cradle,” Harry Chapin, 1974; “I Believe in Miracles (You Sexy Thing),” Hot Chocolate, 1975.
My wife is always relating her sleeping dreams to me (I even show up in a few of them), and she loves to try to speculate what might be the hidden meaning behind her dreams.
aspirations. They’re both in the process of pursuing their professional dreams, and their personal dreams as well.
I couldn’t very well leave this mega-platinum hit off my list, even if mostly because of its title. In the writing of this tune, Stevie Nicks was doing what she does best — revealing her thoughts and feelings about her relationships, which, in this case, was the tempestuous back-and-forth she had with band guitarist Lindsey Buckingham. Truth be told, I think “Dreams” has been overplayed. She has better tracks with the band that deserve more attention (“Silver Springs” comes immediately to mind). But the lyrics do deftly offer a gentle reminder that dreams can sometimes haunt the sleep of those who are unkind in how they end relationships: “It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and… /Have you any dreams you’d like to sell? Dreams of loneliness…like a heartbeat… drives you mad… /In the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost….”
It’s not an exaggeration to call Rundgren one of the real revolutionaries of rock music. Beginning with his bands Nazz and Runt in the late ’60s, he has always been keen on experimentation. At only 24, he released “Something/Anything?,” the astounding double album which yielded two pop hits (“Hello It’s Me” and “I Saw the Light”), then followed it with a far more challenging LP, “A Wizard/A True Star,” inspired by his use of psychedelics at the time. By 1974, he would release yet another double album, titled simply “Todd,” including “A Dream Goes on Forever” as the single that died on the vine at #69. To me, it seemed an unfinished work, lasting only 2:21, but its lyrics took a look at both kinds of dreams: “A thousand true loves will live and die, but a dream goes on forever, /The days and the years all go streaking by, but the time is stopped within my dream…”
Pretty yet powerful, Heart’s 1976 debut single “Crazy on You” became a template of sorts for the band’s catalog, which struck a balance between heavy and light. Lead vocalist Ann Wilson, on her own and in tandem with her sister Nancy on harmonies, struck a distinctive sound that brought them much success throughout the late ’70s and ’80s. On the 1985 LP simply titled “Heart,” they struck gold with the irresistible ballad “These Dreams,” the band’s first #1 hit, with Nancy Wilson singing lead. I was surprised to learn that the tune was written by lyricist Bernie Taupin in collaboration with songwriter Martin Page. They wrote it about a woman who enters a fantasy world when she falls asleep, hoping to forget whatever difficulty she’s having in real life: “These dreams go on when I close my eyes, /Every second of the night I live another life, /These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside, /Every moment I’m awake, the further I’m away…”
During his tenure with the New York City band he formed, John Sebastian was among the hottest singer-songwriters in the business. “Do You Believe in Magic,” “You Didn’t Have to Be So Nice,” “Younger Girl,” “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind” and “Summer in the City” beautifully captured that wildly creative 1965-1969 period, and The Lovin’ Spoonful’s ubiquitous appearance at or near the top of the charts proved their widespread appeal. Their huge hit “Daydream” uses a sing-song melody, whimsical lyrics and funky instrumentation in its spot-on exploration of what we feel and think when we sit back and let our minds wander in the afternoon: “I’ve been having a sweet dream, /I been dreaming since I woke up today, /It’s starring me and my sweet thing, ’cause she’s the one makes me feel this way…”
Petty and his early band Mudcrutch hailed from Gainesville, Florida, where they played small clubs and struggled for more than just regional recognition. They concluded that they should move to music hot spot Los Angeles where they secured their first record deal, but still no chart success. Mudcrutch disbanded, but Petty pursued a “solo” career with a new band of accomplished musicians who became The Heartbreakers. From the late ’70s until Petty’s death in 2017, they were one of America’s most successful groups, with eight Top Ten albums and a ton of classic rock singles. In 1989, when he belatedly released his first actual solo album, “Full Moon Fever,” he got around to writing “Runnin’ Down a Dream,” inspired by his 1974 drive from Florida to California in search of fame: “Yeah, runnin’ down a dream that never would come to me, /Workin’ on a mystery, goin’ wherever it leads…”
In rock and roll’s earliest years, recording artists like Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis were keeping the nation’s dance floors hopping, but the dancers needed a slow number now and then so they had the chance for a little cheek-to-cheek romance to develop. That’s where acts like The Everly Brothers came in. Their impeccable harmonies gave them the credibility they needed to pull off doing cheeseball songs like “All I Have to Do is Dream” (which may have been cheesy but went to #1 nevertheless). Successful songwriter Boudleaux Bryant, writing alone or with wife Felice, composed lyrics that struck a nerve in every teenager who hoped real romance might come true if they just kept dreaming about it: “When I want you in my arms, /When I want you and all your charms, /Whenever I want you, /All I have to do is dream, /Dream, dream, dream…” 
Mitchell spent the first third of her remarkable career creating confessional music and lyrics, writing vignettes that borrowed from her own upbringing, her own love life, her own experiences in the music business. That kind of songwriting served her very well, but when she branched out into jazz stylings in the late ’70s, she was abandoned by some of her audience, and betrayed by her record label. In the ’80s and beyond, she grew bitter about the industry, and about society in general. On her angry 1985 LP “Dog Eat Dog,” there’s a lovely track with callous lyrics called “Impossible Dreamer” that mocks those who continue to dream of utopian ideals: “Land of the free, no hungry bellies, /Impossible dreamer… No acid rain, love without pain, /Impossible dreamer… Give peace a chance, don’t think, just dance, /Impossible dreamer…”
A trio of relatively unknown songwriters came up with the romantic song “Dream a Little Dream of Me” way back in 1931, and it became a standard recorded by many dozens of artists since then, from Ozzie Nelson and His Orchestra to Doris Day, from Dean Martin to Barry Manilow, from Louis Armstrong to Diana Krall. In 1968, Mama Cass Elliot suggested The Mamas and The Papas record the old chestnut, which they’d been toying with in rehearsals and soundchecks for a while. On second thought, Elliot found the song a bit too campy and dated, but she treated it as if it were a brand new song, giving it just the right amount of charm to gain broad appeal during a tempestuous summer: “Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, /Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, /But in your dreams, whatever they be, /Dream a little dream of me…”
Beginning with the arrival of singer/songwriter Justin Hayward to the band’s lineup, The Moody Blues emerged as pioneers in Britain’s progressive rock movement. The music of The Moodies, with lyrical themes of fantasy and dreamscapes, became a soundtrack for listeners experimenting with recreational drugs. Following some time off, the group reunited in the Eighties with a more commercial sound. On the 1981 LP “Long Distance Voyager,” the first single was “Gemini Dream,” in which Hayward and bassist John Lodge merged two unfinished tunes to make a finished whole that went Top Ten in the US. Hayward’s main theme was about a couple who share twin (Gemini) dreams of lasting love: “There’s no escaping from the love we have seen, /So come with me, turn night to day, you’re gonna wake up, /You know you’re gonna wake up in a Gemini dream…”
I remember, when this song came out, thinking, “What a great line!” I admired the way the lyrics correlate the physical hangover you get from drinking too much with the emotional hangover you might get from dreaming too much. I’ve had nights when I had three different dreams going in one night’s sleep, or dreams that went on too long, or were just too intense. In each case, you wake up dazed, confused and not at all rested. Songwriting duo Annette Tucker and Nancie Mantz came up with “I Had Too Much to Dream (Last Night)” and saw it as a ballad, but once L.A.-based psychedelic band The Electric Prunes got a hold of it, it became a trailblazing Top 40 freakout, reaching #11 in early 1967. The lyrics speak of the disappointment of dreaming about being with the one you love and waking to find it wasn’t real: 
My very favorite “shoulda been stars” of all time is this talented duo of acoustic guitarists/singers who released two of the most amazing records of the early ’70s, “Off the Shelf” (1971) and “Batdorf and Rodney” (1972). John Batdorf showed an uncommon gift for writing thoughtful, optimistic songs that were perfect structures on which to place impressive guitar work and gorgeous harmonies. Tunes like “Can You See Him,” “All I Need,” “You Are the One,” “Home Again” and “Oh My Surprise” have been indelibly etched in my mind since I first heard them nearly fifty years ago. “Poor Man’s Dream,” the leadoff track on the second LP, talks of the wisdom in keeping one’s dreams simple and positive: “Have no fears of growing old, /Have no need or use for gold, /In my life I’ve gone both ways and in between, /I know my day is coming, am I in a poor man’s dream?…”
Before the birth of The Allman Brothers Band, Duane and Gregg Allman marketed themselves as The Allman Joys, moving to California in their late teens to pursue their dreams of musical careers. Duane became disillusioned and returned to Florida and Georgia, where he built a reputation as a brilliant session guitarist. Gregg felt bound by the contract they’d signed in L.A., and stayed busy by writing some incredible blues songs that captured his depressed mood, including “It’s Not My Cross to Bear” and “Whipping Post.” He too eventually went home, where he hooked up with Duane’s band and brought them the songs he’d written. One of them, originally called “Dreams I’ll Never See” but shortened to “Dreams,” described how hard it is to chase dreams: “Went up on the mountain to see what I could see, /The whole world was fallin’ right down in front of me, /’Cause I’m hung up on dreams I’ll never see…”
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