Something odd just happened a few minutes ago. As I recognized the faint audible overflow of the Black Eyed Peas’ excruciatingly ubiquitous song, “I Got a Feeling” (for the longest time I assumed it was called “Good Night”) from the pizza place below my apartment, I realized my opinion of the song had completely changed since the last time I heard it. Certainly not a 180 degree turn – more like 90.
Absent from my mind were the previous feelings of disgust and…no, disgust was just about the only one. Present was a new appreciation for the hit as a self-parody, along the same lines as listening to a song by Rick Astley, Rick Springfield, or Ricky Martin (good lord, the list of awful Ricks goes on). Today marks the day that “I Gotta Feeling,” for me, crosses the line between the depressing kind of awful and the kind that actually bestows genuine pleasure. I’m sure it’s not the same kind of pleasure that made it the most popular song in the universe the last two years; but its a liberating kind, the kind that now allows me to dance to that godawful creation with nothing more than a shake of the head and the slightest bit of pity.
I won’t include a link to the song because there’s a good chance you’re inadvertently listening to it right now anyway. Also out of respect for the masses who have probably not reached the same level of conciliation, who still have violent fantasies at the very thought of an auto-tuned will.i.am. (among them, IF writer Bryant Kitching). But for those who were in my boat long before I was, mazel tov!
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