On… good bad songs

I have a long history of loving good bad songs. I’m not ashamed of it. I truly do love them. I learn all the lyrics. I put them to the top of my iPod playlists. I have special dancemoves for them that involve a lot of miming and shimmying and frowning-head-bobbing.

The other day I began singing this song, and all I can remember is that it’s from about 2002, the guy’s name is Lemar, and I think he won some kind of talent show like Pop Idol. Fuck, I loved this song. This song is SO forgotten that there doesn’t even seem to be a YouTube video for it.


Note the extremely short use of a voice equalizer on ONE WORD. Wow, that is some cheap-ass production values right there.


I loved this song too. I actually loved the entire album.
Loving Paris Hilton songs means having conversations like this with Chris, my lovely then-art director who is truly into music and used to be in a band and everything:

Me: This is the best song.
Chris: No, it’s really not.

Me: Paris Hilton is really talented.
Chris: No, she isn’t.
Me: Watch, I can do a Paris face. Don’t I look like Paris when I do this face?
Chris: No, you don’t.

(Chris and I found common ground with early 80s new wave music, and this was our Friday song, but it is a really genuinely good song and thus has no place in this post.)

Loving Paris Hilton songs also means bobbing around the DJ box using a bendy straw as a Madonna microphone and trying to get the Djs attention to ask:

Me: Hey, will you please please play Paris Hilton’s Stars Are Blind?

DJ: (incredulous pause) No.

Me: (shouting) WHY NOT?


Yeah. That’s right. I mean Abz from 5ive. Stop laughing! This is a great fucking song. I listened to it a lot when doing my early-20s elliptical trainer workouts. God, those workouts were boring. And pointless. Back to the point: turn it up and dorkdance your heart out.

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