Discovery vs. Orville: Where no one has gone before ... and back again

On stardate 1672.1, Captain Kirk was the victim of a transporter accident that split him into two distinct sides of himself. (Actually, this happened in 1966, in an episode of Star Trek called The Enemy Within.)

Flash forward 51 years, and the same thing has happened to Star Trek itself. It feels like the franchise has been caught in a transporter accident and split in two, with the result being one show that expands on the vision and scope of its predecessors, and another that has inherited many of the qualities that made it so much fun to watch.

This year's Star Trek: Discovery and The Orville are both descendants of Gene Roddenberry’s original series, a family of shows that has now evolved beyond next generation.

What’s happened to the Star Trek franchise is kind of like what happens to a rock band when the guitarist and singer have a falling out, and each starts a separate band that sounds a little (but not exactly) like the group they formed together. The result will be endless comparisons, with fans likely enjoying both but, at the same time, many wishing the guitarist and singer could just bury the hatchet and make music together the way they used to.

Now, imagine one of those bands returns to the studio and spends a ton of money recording an ambitious new rock opera, while the other goes out on tour, playing all the old hits and having a little fun at its own expense. The first band is Discovery, and the second is The Orville.

Four episodes in, I’m watching — and enjoying — both. But I’m also, if the truth be told, wishing for a reunion tour.

Discovery is the more focused of the two. So far, it’s zeroing in on a single character, the disgraced but brilliant Michael Burnham, and following a unified story arc that involves a nascent war between the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire. Star Trek started using story arcs, to fine effect, during the 1990s with Deep Space Nine, but before that served up mostly self-contained episodes. It also became adept at introducing us to a large number of interesting regular and recurring characters — who we came to care about because each explored the nature of our own humanity in his or her own way.

Perhaps ironically, this is where The Orville has the advantage in the early going. We’re already painfully aware of the awkwardness between the captain and first officer, who've been through a painful divorce; of the challenges facing the super strong security chief in dealing with her youthful insecurity; and of the family dynamics involving a crew member, his same-sex spouse and their newly hatched (yes, hatched) child.

All very human and all very familiar. They can’t call Seth MacFarlane’s series Star Trek, because CBS owns the rights to that name. But Brannon Braga, who’s created or developed several corners of Roddenberry’s universe, is an executive producer, and the cast includes members who seem a whole lot like Worf and Data from The Next Generation.

Indeed, The Orville is more like that show than it is like Galaxy Quest — the comedic send-up that both spoofed and payed homage to the original — and the humor can be unevern (the sniping between Capt. Mercer and his ex, Cmdr. Grayson, has already started to wear thin). But at least there is humor, which can be hard to find — apart from the stray tribble or a, subdued one-liner — on Discovery. No incarnation of Star Trek has ever aspired to be a laugh-fest, but there’s always been enough humor to leaven the heady, ambitious storylines.

When it comes to special effects, Discovery is light years ahead of The Orville — although it’s odd how sophisticated the technology looks compared to that in the original series, which was filmed a half-century earlier but is supposed to take place a decade after Discovery. Unaccountably, Discovery’s sleek starship with its rotating saucer section looks like it belongs 100 years in Kirk and Spock’s future, not their past. (At least Enterprise, which was set before either series but filmed more than three decades after the original, was designed to look like a bridge between NASA and the Federation.)

The Orville’s sets look like throwbacks to Next Generation or the 1980s movies, even though it doesn’t (technically) even take place in the Star Trek universe — and isn’t therefore bound by any constraints of continuity. It’s not as impressive to look at, but neither are reruns of earlier Star Trek series — which are still just as much fun because of the stories they tell and the insights they provide into our own humanity.

I trust Discovery will delve into some of those insights. The most intriguing human relationship, between Burnham and Capt. Georgiou, was short-circuited by the latter’s death at the end of Episode 2. But the Discovery’s captain, Gabriel Lorca, shows signs of developing into an interesting, multi-faceted character and, given time, here’s hoping others in the crew do, as well. The large amount of time spent developing the Klingons has slowed things down a bit, especially considering the large amount of Klingon dialogue presented in subtitles — which may please Star Trek geeks but frustrate newer fans. (For the record, I’ve seen every episode of every Star Trek series; I don’t know whether that makes me a geek or not, but I still find the subtitles get in the way).

That’s a minor quibble, and I’m not complaining. Two heirs to the Star Trek television legacy are infinitely better than what we’ve had for more than a decade: zero. Still, I can’t help but hope each will learn a little something from the other.

That would make the future — imaginary, visionary or otherwise — even brighter.

Trump has made it clear he's #NotMyPresident

Today, I woke up and realized that Donald Trump really is not my president. Not because I say so, but because he does.

No, Mr. Trump doesn’t know me personally. I like it that way. The people he does know personally tend to become targets for his wrath, sooner or later, because it’s impossible to criticize him without being identified as a threat to his own inflated yet fragile self-image. And it’s equally impossible for any thinking person to avoid criticizing him.

This is why Mr. Trump isn’t my president. He doesn’t represent me — or people like me — because he doesn’t want to.

When the #NotMyPresident hashtag started trending, immediately after the inauguration, I dismissed it as sour grapes. Democrats and, specifically, hardline Hillary Clinton supporters, didn’t like the result of the election and were refusing to accept it.

I didn’t blame them for being frustrated with the outcome of a general election marred by an antiquated Electoral College system. Then again, I didn’t blame Bernie Sanders’ supporters for being upset about a primary election in which Democratic leadership clearly and unabashedly favored Clinton.  

Still, I recognize that, however unfair, Clinton was the party’s nominee and Trump was, ultimately, the nation’s president.

Except he’s not.

The Great Divider

Trump has said he wants the country united … as long as he gets his way and gets all the credit. (Remember his absurd boast to the Republican National Convention: “I alone can fix it.” It’s a statement that contains two assertions: He doesn’t think anyone else can succeed, and perhaps even more telling, he doesn’t think he needs anyone’s help.)

When Trump doesn’t get his way, his response isn’t to work collaboratively toward unity, but just the opposite: He makes new enemies. He lashes out at the Jeff Sessions, Stephen Curry, John McCain or anyone else he perceives as a threat to his personal glory. He picks fights with allies (Mexico) and adversaries (North Korea) alike so he can create or magnify scapegoats for people to hate — all for the sake of getting more pats on the back and attaboys.

Make no mistake, that’s what he’s in this for. Trump pursued the presidency for one reason and one reason alone: He wants adulation. He has neither time nor concern for anyone who doesn’t applaud him and affirm him.

To Trump, politics isn’t a means of public service but of personal aggrandizement.

Philosophical carpetbagger

This is why he consistently “plays to his base” … and ignores everyone else. It’s why he holds campaign-style rallies instead of town halls, long after the election. He’s not running for anything except the imaginary office of messianic control freak.

Trump ignored the conventional wisdom that’s been employed since Richard Nixon that Republicans should “run to the right” in the primaries and “run to the center” during the general election. In fact, he ran away from the center against Clinton, and it looks like he’s still running away from it as president. But for him, “the center” means something different than it does for most politicians. To Trump, the center is, well, Trump. The center of the universe, that is.

“We’re dying here. We truly are dying here. I keep saying it: SOS.”

— Carmen Yulin Cruz, San Juan mayor

He’s not about ideology or principle. This should be plain enough, considering he’s flip-flopped on virtually every major issue, from abortion to DACA to the Iraq War, over the past two decades. He’s the ultimate philosophical carpetbagger: He preaches to whatever choir will sing his praises the loudest.

At present, his choir of choice happens to be the Republican Party. But make no mistake: If the GOP’s rank-and-file members sour on him, he’ll turn on them and take his dog and pony show elsewhere. (Just ask Mitch McConnell, Sessions, McCain and other Republicans who have come under withering criticism for failing to support Trump to his satisfaction.)

Trump’s an expert in one thing: taking his ball and going home. Ask the USFL. Or bankruptcy court.

Most recently, he fired Tom Price as Health and Human Services secretary, not because Price did something wrong by using charter planes on the taxpayers’ dime, but because “I don’t like the optics.” Translation: “I can’t put up with this guy making me look bad.”

Turning his back

Through all this, I resisted the idea of saying Trump is “not my president” — even though I’ve never felt as though he is. I believe in accepting the results of elections I don’t like and respecting the democratic process, even when it’s clearly flawed.

But once the election is over, it’s a public official’s duty to serve all the people, and Trump hasn’t done that. Individual voters can't expect to agree with his every decision, but they should at least get the feeling that he's trying to serve the entire country — not just his cronies and yes men.

I've never been a Trump supporter. I've always thought he lacked what it takes to be president. But I've never used the phrase "not my president" until now.

The last straw for me came when the mayor of San Juan, Puerto Rico, pleaded for more help dealing with the devastation caused by Hurricane Maria. “You have people in buildings and they're becoming caged in their own buildings — old people, retired people that don’t have any electricity. We're dying here. We truly are dying here. I keep saying it: SOS.”

Trump’s response?

Blame the mayor, the people of Puerto Rico, the Democrats, "fake news" — pretty much everybody else.

“Such poor leadership ability by the Mayor of San Juan, and others in Puerto Rico, who are not able to get their workers to help. They ... want everything to be done for them when it should be a community effort.”

This is not the way you treat someone you’re supposed to represent when that person is pleading for hundreds, thousands of people’s lives.

““They (Puerto Ricans) ... want everything to be done for them ... “”

— Donald J. Trump

It’s a way of saying you’re not their president. Well, Mr. Trump, if you’re not their president, you’re not mine, either. My wife was born on the island of Puerto Rico, and is a “natural born American citizen.” You’ve already indicated by your actions that you represent your base. Period. You’ve said things to alienate huge numbers of women, people of color, Latinos, Muslims … the list goes on and on. Now you’re essentially calling the people of Puerto Rico a bunch of lazy ingrates while they’re trying to cope with a lack of clean water, electricity, housing, health care and myriad other issues.

When a person elected to represent people turns his back on those people, they have every right to turn their back on him. They have every reason not to travel to the White House to accept his congratulations for their sports achievements. They have every right to protest. And they have every right to say he’s #NotMyPresident.

And, Mr. Trump, you’re not.

Not because I say so, but because you’re saying so loud and clear to millions of Americans every day.

If more people listened, players wouldn't have to kneel

What is it that NFL players and others are trying to say when they're kneeling during the national anthem? 

Maybe we should look beyond the debate over the message itself and take a moment to study the body language.

There's been a lot of talk about the fact that some players have chosen not to stand during the anthem, but not much has been written — that I've seen — about the gesture they've chosen to make their point.

Kneeling isn't a gesture of repudiation. You're not flipping the bird or raising your fist. You're not throwing down a gantlet and challenging anyone to a duel. 

Players who kneel before NFL games aren't burning the flag, and they aren'teven turning their back on it. They're kneeling, and that's an important distinction in terms of what they're communicating.

Kneeling is what guys do when they propose marriage. It's what the faithful do when they pray. It's saying, "I have a request to make. Please hear me." Kneeling and bowing your head can indicate sadness or sorrow.

The nature of the gesture itself appears to have been lost in the debate over what players are upset about. Some are protesting racial inequality and police brutality. Others are doubtless upset that the president of the United States has said they should be fired for peacefully expressing their opinions.

Jackie Robinson with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1954.

They're not alone. It might surprise some to learn that Jackie Robinson was among those who refused to stand for the anthem. This is the same Jackie Robinson who broke baseball's color barrier and who received an honorable discharge after serving in the Army during World War II.

Robinson wrote in his 1972 autobiography, I Never Had It Made, "As I write this twenty years later (after his first World Series appearance in 1952), I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world."

If Donald Trump wants the NFL to fire players who don't stand for the anthem, would he also evict Robinson from baseball's Hall of Fame?

DISUNITY UNMASKED

The flag and anthem are supposed to be symbols of unity (this is, after all, the United States of America). I can understand why some might object to those they think are disrupting that unity by choosing not to stand for the anthem.

But I would pose the following question: Are these players really causing disunity, or are they simply unmasking it?

True disunity: Assigning 2nd Lt. Jackie Robinson to an all-black unit of the U.S. Army and forcing him to begin his professional baseball career in the segregated "Negro Leagues."

True disunity: Erecting monuments that celebrate the leaders of a secessionist movement that left more than 600,000 people dead and nearly destroyed the country — all for the sake of preserving another form of disunity: slavery.

True disunity: Waving the Confederate battle flag, war symbol of that secessionist movement, 150-plus years later.

Race aside, slavery aside, how is it acceptable to anyone that an American citizen standing for the national anthem should also display a flag that was carried into battle against men who raised the Stars and Stripes? 

How can anyone defend such a flag of treason and, at the same time, object to someone kneeling and perhaps bowing his head before a sporting event? Someone who doesn't want to fight, but just wants to be heard. And acknowledged. And valued.

That's what this is about. It's not too much to ask. Indeed, it's exactly what our flag is supposed to represent.

"It" ain't great horror, but it's still a good movie

“It” ain’t scary – at least, it didn’t scare me. But that doesn’t mean it was a bad movie. Funny thing about this one: It worked better as a drama than it did as a horror movie.

Full disclosure: I think it’s pretty hard to do good horror. Most movies I’ve seen in this genre end up drowning in clichés, cheap gotcha scenes/jump scares and an excess of blood. “It” had all of these things at various points, and it was then that it lost my interest.

On the other hand, it held my attention when it focused on the drama behind the horror – how the kids of the town reacted to it emotionally, how they bonded and how it helped reveal and forge their character.

“It” works best as an allegory. The central message, as I saw it, was inspiring: A group of supposed misfits may be better equipped than two-dimensional heroes to do battle with great evil, because they’ve already experienced great evil/adversity. Of course, this theme is nothing new; it’s been explored in everything from the X-Men to the Rocky series. But it’s done very well here.

Stephen King

The main characters are outcasts, reviled and bullied by peers and mistreated/abused by their parents. Ben (Jeremy Ray Taylor) is the overweight kid who tries to hide the fact he listens to New Kids on the Block; at one point, he’s physically – and brutally – attacked by the town bully. Bill (Jaeden Lieberher) talks with a stutter and feels responsible for the death of his brother. Beverly (Sophia Lillis) has been abused by her father and unfairly branded as “loose” by the mean girls on campus; she finds refuge hanging out with Ben, Bill and their friends.

The true horror in this film is provided by the bullies, Beverly’s father and some of the other adults, all of whom are pretty two-dimensional but work well as a means of developing the younger characters. This is where the film really succeeds. You get to know Bill, Beverly, Ben and their friends, and you get to feel some of what they feel. Few films manage this, and “It” deserves major props for pulling it off.

Bill Skarsgård does a good job of acting psychotic as the villain, Pennywise the Dancing Clown, but the film never truly belongs to him. Instead of the villain stealing the show from the hero, as Heath Ledger and Jack Nicholson did as The Joker in “Batman” films, the heroes steal “It” from the villain. This is not a knock on Skarsgård, but rather recognition of how well the young characters were written and acted.

(I don’t generally find clowns scary, funny or interesting in general, so that element of the film didn’t connect with me.)

“It” is best at the beginning and the end, when it first develops the young characters and, later, reveals their inner strength. Each of the young actors (particularly Lillis and Taylor) does a great job. Finn Wolfhard provides some fun comic relief as Richie, and Chosen Jacobs is effective as Mike. The middle of the film, however, degenerates into a series of gotcha scenes, a supernatural bloodbath and a haunted house excursion that could have been plucked from pretty much any standard horror movie template. Yawn. There are only so many times the monster can jump out “unexpectedly” from behind the curtain before you start, well, expecting it. At such times, I found myself saying, “Get on with it, already.”

Fortunately, the movie does, and it picks up well from there.

I haven’t read the Stephen King novel on which this was based or seen the 1990 TV production with Tim Curry, so I’m reviewing this film solely on its own merits. Coming in cold, I interpreted the villain allegorically, as a personification of the townspeople’s fear, which I thought made the film even stronger; I was a little disappointed to find out that the clown is, apparently, a real being, but the film still works well based on first-rate acting and, overall, good writing.

While there’s clearly a sequel in the works, "It" stands up well on its own. (One loose end: We find out the monster appears every 27 years, but the film never explains why.)

Although I thought it didn’t really work as a horror flick, “It” more than succeeded as an examination of the human condition … which is a heck of a lot more interesting to me, anyway. I’d give it a B overall, and say it’s definitely worth seeing. Acting: A. Story: B-plus. Horror: D-plus.

Mayweather-McGregor: We just got sucker punched

There's a sucker born every minute, and maybe half of them are fight fans. Floyd Mayweather and Conor McGregor are well aware of this, which is why they're both laughing all the way to the bank.

Now, I'm a fight fan, but I'm not a sucker: I didn’t watch the Mayweather-McGregor fiasco for the simple reason that I had no interest in paying $100 to line either man’s pockets. McGregor's a loudmouth, and Mayweather has a history of domestic violence. And they have this in common: They're both con artists.

Now that the fight is over, some commentators are saying it was a decent fight and worth the money.

I didn’t watch, but I beg to differ.

These commentators apparently are reacting to the fight exceeding expectations. But consider: When you expect to be served stale Spam, an undercooked hot dog can taste downright delicious, and that’s what these to combatants were – undercooked hot dogs.

The result just confirms how bad they both really are.

Mayweather, a 40-year-old ex-champ inactive for the past two years, knocked McGregor out (technically) in the 10th round. This tells us two things:

1. McGregor had to be pretty lousy to get knocked out by a defensive specialist who hadn’t KO’d anybody in seven – count ’em, seven – years.

2. Mayweather’s skills must have eroded markedly to let a novice like McGregor win a single round, let alone land more punches than Manny Pacquiao tagged him with a couple of years back.

This fight wasn’t for any titles. It had a single raison d'être: Making an over-the-hill has-been and a never-was greenhorn both look a lot better than they really are by pitting them against each other. And in doing so, suckering the American public into paying mega-millions to watch it. That's it.

Mayweather, who even tried to bet $400,000 on himself, retired (again) a rich man. McGregor made so much money he never needs to enter the ring again, either.

Thanks to us. We’re so damned gullible.

Well, not me. Remember, I didn’t buy into this malarkey. The fact that I predicted this would happen doesn’t make me a genius – almost everyone with half a brain cell forecast the same outcome. But it does mean I don’t have to wash the stale Spam out of my mouth with a gallon of liquid bleach.

And it also means I’m not $100 poorer.

The 30 worst songs in the modern history of popular music

Stephen H. Provost is the author of Pop Goes the Metal: Hard Rock, Hairspray, Hooks & Hits, chronicling the evolution of pop metal from its roots in the 1960s through its heyday as “hair metal” in the 1980s and beyond. It’s available on Amazon.

“If you can’t say something good, don’t say anything at all.” That’s generally good advice, but I’m about to violate it. I consider it my duty as a music lover to provide fair warning about a handful of songs I think are so bad they should never have been committed to vinyl, compact disc or any other auditory medium. Some ear worms, to be blunt, just aren’t ear-worthy.

All of the songs on this list made the charts (many of them went to number one), so chances are I’ll be offending some folks with my picks. Just remember not to take any of this personally: It’s all a matter of taste. And if radio DJs can come up with their top 30s (or 40s), I can pick my bottom 30.

So here they are, the members of Stephen’s auditory Hall of Shame, starting off with a little number that earned a Grammy for Sweet Baby James.

30

Handy Man by James Taylor (No. 4 in 1977)

I like James Taylor. I really do. I’ve even seen him in concert. It helps a little that he didn’t actually write this song, which repeats the nonsensical comma-comma-comma line far too many times. Couldn’t he have just finished this song off with a period and spared us to the egotistical prattle about fixing broken hearts? I’ll use Liquid Plumr instead.

29

Wonderwall by Oasis (No. 8 in 1995)

Oasis was lauded as the heir to the Beatles in the UK., but it was their only top 40 single in the U.S. But just what the hell is a Wonderwall, anyway? The song never explains it.  Maybe it has something to do with the 1968 film of that name, for which George Harrison composed his first solo album, “Wonderwall Music.” But if you’re looking for an explanation in that musical collection, you won’t find one: It’s all instrumental … at which point you’ve probably stopped caring what it means anyway.

The Captain & Tennille, 1976

28

Muskrat Love by Captain & Tenille (No. 4 in 1976)

This is the song that gave the jitterbug a bad name. (You couldn't possibly do the jitterbug to music like this, anyway.) If Love Will Keep Us Together hadn’t dominated the charts a year earlier, Muskrat Love wouldn’t have made a dent, except maybe on Sesame Street, where it belonged. It would have made the perfect B-side to Rubber Duckie.

27

The Freshmen by the Verve Pipe (No. 5 in 1997)

The forced angst of the only hit by this Michigan band is bad enough without it being driven into your head like an ice pick by the oft-repeated, impossible-to-dislodge line “We were merely freshmen.”

26

American Pie by Madonna (No. 29 in 2000)

This was a great song when Don McLean did it. Madonna synthesized, sterilized and lobotomized it by leaving out most of the verses. It should have been retitled American Stale Slice. And it’s not even the worst Madonna song on this list.

Dan Wilson of Semisonic

25

Closing Time by Semisonic (No. 11 in 1998)

The opening line, which is also the title, is even more annoying than “We were merely freshmen.” A little math will demonstrate why this song is so annoying: It has, in all, 32 lines, nine of which merely repeat the title and 12 of which are either “I know who I want to take me home” or “Take me home.” That leaves just 11 lines that say anything else at all ... and even these don't say very much. This vapid piece of drivel makes Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight sound positively inspired.

24

Every Morning by Sugar Ray (No. 3 in 1999)

This song starts out with the singer talking about using the “halo” hanging from the corner of his girlfriend’s bed for his own one-night stand. If that’s not disgusting enough for you, the melody will push you over the edge. There's nothing angelic about this one at all. It’s pure hell … but it’s still not as bad as another song by the same band, which managed to crack the top five.

23

Mr. Roboto by Styx (No. 3 in 1983)

This piece of wannabe rock operatic fluff from the album Kilroy Was Here is an affront to everyone from Robbie to R2D2. No wonder guitarist-vocalist Tommy Shaw quit the band after the release of the Kilroy. The seemingly endless repetition of the Japanese phrase “domo arigato” probably pushed him past the brink, thank you very much.

22

Like a Virgin by Madonna (No. 1 in 1984)

There’s got to be some reason an artist named Madonna would record a song with this title, but I don’t really care. Weird Al Yankovic’s parody “Like a Surgeon” is infinitely more fun – and it’s his lyric that comes to mind whenever the music to this tune invades my ears. Madonna's original requires a hefty dose of general anesthesia.

21

Michael Jackson

Bad by Michael Jackson (No. 1 in 1987)

About the best thing to be said about this song is that it more than lives up to its name. Atrocious would have been more appropriate, but it just doesn’t roll off the tongue. 

20

 Playground in My Mind by Clint Holmes (No. 2 in 1973)

Maybe your name is Michael, and perhaps you have a nickel. Maybe it's even shiny and new. But whatever its condition, have pity on yourself and do not use it to buy a copy of this song. In compiling this list, I chose this over the terminally maudlin “Seasons In the Sun,” which came out around the same time. That should tell you something.

19

The Pina Colada Song by Rupert Holmes (No. 1 in 1979)

Rupert Holmes is no relation to Clint Holmes, but he put out a similarly bad piece of music that became the last No. 1 song of the ’70s. Its actual title is “Escape,” which is what you’ll want to do if they start playing this on the radio. It’s an affront to the Journey album of the same name, which includes the endlessly overplayed “Don’t Stop Believin’” – a song that, nonetheless, would be a welcome relief after hearing this one.

The Bee Gees, 1977

18

Fanny (Be Tender With My Love) by the Bee Gees (No. 12 in 1975)

This gets my vote as the Bee Gees’ worst song of their disco period ... and it isn't even disco. Think about that for a moment. In the opinion of this author, whose teenage motto was "death to disco," this song is actually worse than Night Fever, The Hustle and Hot Stuff. (But not as bad as Ring My Bell, which appears later on this list.) Believe it or not, the Bee Gees were far better in their first incarnation, when they were turning out sappy syrup like Words and I Started a Joke. Everything after that was just jive talkin'. Moral of the story: Be tender with your ears and avoid this one.

17

You Light Up My Life by Debby Boone (No. 1 in 1977)

This was written as a love song. The singer, however, considered it a devotional song to God. I suppose a pyromaniac would find yet another interpretation, and if someone had set fire to the sheet music for this saccharine serenade and used it as kindling on a cold winter night, the world might have been a brighter place. 

16

We Are the World by USA for Africa (No. 1 in 1985)

How do you guarantee a No. 1 chart position for a tune? Assemble dozens of best-selling musical artists and dedicate the money earned from sales of said tune to a high-profile charity. You don’t even have to write a decent piece of music. Here’s proof.

15

Lovin’ You by Minnie Ripperton (No. 1 in 1974)

I wasn’t a morning person when this came out, so the gimmick of having songbirds chirping incessantly for 3-plus minutes did not endear me to Ms. Ripperton’s biggest hit. Neither did the la-la-la-la-la refrain that made her sound like a drunk hippie. These days, I have to wake up early, but I still don’t like this tune. Call me silly, but I prefer my songbirds in trees, not on vinyl.

Paul and Linda McCartney in 1976

14

Let ’Em In by Wings (No. 3 in 1976)

Paul McCartney is perhaps the pre-eminent example of a musical genius who also has an incredible knack for writing crappy music. Let ’Em In is Exhibit A. The song consists entirely of a narrator telling someone to let various people in at the front door. The effect is only slightly less grating than Mrs. Wolowitz yelling, “Howard! Get the door!” on The Big Bang Theory. Think of this half-baked musical concoction as John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance, minus the message.

13

Love Shack by B-52s (No. 3 in 1989)

This was supposed to be a fun party song, which I suppose is why everybody still wants to sing it during karaoke night at the bar nearly 30 years later. Trust me, it gets old real fast: That tin roof rusted a long time ago. (And please, no questions about why I spent so much time hanging out in karaoke bars. That’s beside the point.)

12

Cherry Pie by Warrant (No. 10 in 1990)

This song may have single-handedly killed the hair metal era, for which many people are probably grateful. But it still deserves a place on this list, if only for the ridiculous lyric “swingin’ in the living room, swingin’ in the kitchen; most folks don’t ’cause they're too busy bitchin’.” Huh? That almost makes ob-la-di, ob-la-da sound literate.

11

 Afternoon Delight by Starland Vocal Band (No. 1 in 1976)

The song’s music sounds like it belongs in a summer camp singalong. Its lyrics are, well, more than a little suggestive. Those two things simply shouldn’t go together.

10

Having My Baby by Paul Anka (No. 1 in 1974)

The only good thing about this song is that you’ll never hear a deadbeat dad singing it. The only good thing. This song will send you running from the maternity ward to the emergency room ... if it doesn’t render you comatose first. It’s so bad that you have to wonder why it only made No. 10 on this list. Until you see what finished ahead of it, that is. Read on.

9

Mickey by Toni Basil (No. 1 in 1982)

Toni Basil has a reputation as one of the best choreographers around, which explains why this song’s video casts her as a cheerleader. MTV played it in such heavy rotation it was impossible to avoid it – which is precisely what I want to do whenever I hear it. Maybe Basil should have listened to the Bee Gees before recording this. They would have given her some good advice: “You should be dancing.” Not singing.

Phil Collins

8

 Sussudio by Phil Collins (No. 1 in 1985)

It’s unclear whether Sussudio is a woman’s name or a word that she’s supposed to say. Why should she say it? Mr. Collins never bothers to explain. Of course, he's no stranger to nonsensical lyrics. We’re never told, for example, what exactly is “coming in the air tonight” or why we should “hold on.” We ask in vain what “paperlate” might mean. And if “abacab isn’t anywhere” why should we go searching for it? We’re better off just leaving it behind to keep Sussudio company while we go find something worthwhile to occupy our eardrums for a while.

7

Ring My Bell by Anita Ward (No. 1 in 1979)

This song about talking on the telephone was reportedly written for an 11-year-old to sing. It sounds like it. But Anita Ward managed to make it sound sexually suggestive, which would be impressive if it weren't so disturbing. The singer also makes the word "bell" sound as though it's got three syllables, which should count for something. But it doesn't.

6

Spill the Wine by Eric Burdon and War (No. 3 in 1970)

This song is supposedly a sexual allegory, which, when you visualize it, makes you feel like you’re watching a bad porn film. (The song was actually used in the soundtrack to Boogie Nights, a movie about a fictional porn star.) I didn’t know what the lyrics meant until I looked them up ... which made me wish I hadn’t, because I like the song even less now. If there’s one thing I like less than unintelligible lyrics, it’s graphically obscene lyrics. Plus, I like wine.*

Mark McGrath of Sugar Ray

5

Fly by Sugar Ray (No. 1 in 1997)

The lyrics to this one are even more nonsensical than Phil Collins’ stuff. The line “Twenty-five years old, my mother God rest her soul,” seems to have been lifted from the maudlin but at least coherent 1972 hit Alone Again, Naturally. Its inclusion here makes about as much sense as inserting a line from Monster Mash  into The Battle Hymn of the Republic. To make matters worse, the melody is just as irritating as the lyrics. The fact that this band's two biggest hits both made this list is all you need to know. 

4

 Who Let the Dogs Out? by Baha Men (No. 40 in 2000)

I’m a sports fan. My alma mater’s mascot is a bulldog. That alone should tell you why I hate this song so much, but it would still be near the top (bottom) of my list, regardless. The dogs should never have been let out, and this song should never have been released.

3

 Jump Around by House of Pain (No. 3 in 1992)

For some reason, this song became insanely popular at shoot-arounds prior to high school basketball games. It would have been harmless enough had the band not decided to include a sound that can only be compared to horse whinnying in agony after falling down and breaking its leg. Over and over and over again. It’s enough to make your ears bleed. Someone please put this tune out of its misery.

2

Do Ya Think I’m Sexy by Rod Stewart (No. 1 in 1979)

There was a time when Rod Stewart put out some great, or at least near-great music. Every Picture Tells a Story. Stay With Me. I Know I’m Losing You. This was not that time. This was the disco era, and this particular song was Stewart’s supposed attempt to spoof the disco culture. The only problem is that it was too convincing, which made Stewart seem like a preening egomaniac. Come to think of it …

Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas, 2011

1

My Humps by Black Eyed Peas (No. 3 in 2005)

Many of the songs on this list became more annoying because I heard them repeatedly on the radio. I seldom heard “My Humps,” which alone is testament to why it’s so earsplittingly godawful. The lyrics are disgusting and the music is, quite possibly, just as bad. I’ve heard it maybe two or three times in my life, which is 100 times too many. Only a deaf camel could like “My Humps,” and being neither a camel nor deaf, I can’t recommend it. In fact, I’d walk a mile to get away from it.

Dishonorable mentions:

Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice and any other song that “samples” original material from a more talented previous artist. In fact, the only reason this didn’t make the list is that the song it sampled was so damned good: Robert Van Winkle (Ice’s real name) “borrowed” from Queen+David Bowie’s Under Pressure. Freddie Mercury. David Bowie. Robert Van Winkle. To revisit the Sesame Street theme raised briefly earlier, “one of these things just doesn’t belong.”

Any duet featuring Paul McCartney in the early 1980s (Say Say Say and The Girl is Mine with Michael Jackson; Ebony and Ivory with Stevie Wonder). I told you McCartney could be bad.

Songs included in movie soundtracks about ocean disasters, specifically The Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion from Titanic in 1997 and The Morning After, Maureen McGovern’s theme song to The Poseidon Adventure in 1973. (Despite the title, it has nothing to do with sex.) Both hit No. 1, and neither is quite bad enough by itself to include on this list. But together, they go to show that a singer’s loose lips really can sink ships.

I Can Help by Billy Swan could easily replace Handy Man on this list. Both are songs about some conceited jerk waxing philosophical about how he’s God’s gift to women. This list just wasn’t big enough for two songs with a sexual messiah complex.

Late addition:

After I compiled this list, a few readers mentioned Wildfire by Michael Martin Murphy, which I'd mercifully forgotten. This song about the ghost of a girl who died searching for her escaped horse (the Wildfire of the song) reached No. 2 in 1975 and was played so often that year that I began to dread the next time it would come on the radio. This is perhaps the best example of why "story songs" shouldn't be played in heavy rotation: Listeners get sick of hearing the same story over and over again ... especially when it's as depressing as this one. See also: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot.

* No, I’m not going to tell you what it means. Google it.