It’s super-cute to peruse decade-end lists and pretend to be enthusiastic about true artists like Arcade Fire, timeless music like the Strokes, and inescapable culturlol trends like dubstep or “hypnagogic” pop.
We remember the decade a little differently—not with poptimist lenses or with whatever beer goggles make you think Kid A isn’t boring, but with cold, hard, honest eyes that see the last 10 years as an irredeemable shitpile that makes disco’s final cokefarts look like Woodstock.
Here’s a quick rundown, in case you forgot:
Early ’00s: Every boy band success story came with three mongoloid cousins in bleached tips. Creed dug up
Kurt Cobain’s Eddie Vedder’s corpse, raped it, and spawned hundreds of hhhuruuurrgging monster babies. Heavy rock music became the macho soundtrack to movie sequels about revving motorcycles (that is, except for “real” rock music like the Vines). The Postal Service invented funk and soul for a generation. People convinced themselves they liked Sigur Ros for maybe a day.
Mid ’00s: Rock radio became a revolving door of sad, old ’90s bands releasing ballads you’ll maybe hear at your cousin’s wedding. Adult males wore eyeliner. Creed broke up, spawning the double-headed flaccid penis hydra of Alter Bridge and Scott Stapp solo records. Coldplay fucking existed. American Idol presented a sad farce of democracy even less convincing then the pathetic show that the American government puts on every four years. Bloggers got a sad, moronic superiority complex and convinced themselves that they ran the music industry—and they broke world-famous bands like Annie and the Octopus Project!
Late ’00s: The music industry and economy turned to dog shit… and then turned into that weird white dog shit. Labels handed out deals to whatever idiot famewhore had the most MySpace friends, and then churned out bloops in hopes that they’d sound good on a cell phone speaker that’s both smaller and worse-sounding than a spider’s balls. Your favorite band reformed as a balder, fatter version of itself, and became your fifth-favorite band. Rappers forgot they had to actually rap on songs. Creed got back together. Indie rock became so successful that Zooey Deschanel somehow found Ben Gibbard anything less than completely repulsive.
(It took me four hours to write this intro because of all the breaks for puking, crying, and praying for a merciful God to wipe a magnet over the Internet.)
Maura and I have decided to properly cover the Anna Nicole Smith Decade with F2K: The 50 Worst Songs Of The Decade. (Subtitle: “Fifty songs so terrible, there wasn’t even room for ‘My Humps.’ ”) We’ll be counting them down every day until the end of the year, so tune in every day to see what horrors we unleash. As for us, we’ll be secretly hoping the Mayans were two years off, since we’re pretty much ready for this shitty planet to be reduced to rocks and dust as payback for unleashing Mickey Avalon.
50. brokeNCYDE, “Bree Bree”
[Special thanks to Jordan Sargent and [NAME REDACTED] from [LOL FAMOUS WEB SITE] for helping us put together this list. And extra special thanks to Johnny Ryan for the pukin’ ’pod!]
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