People get so excited when a DJ spins radio hits. They’re like “whoa I haven’t heard this a million times a day in so long. I don’t remember hating it or wishing someone would just shoot that radio DJ in the face after playing it for the tenth time in one car commute. At all! Yeah, this song really takes me back.”
Some woman offered to sing me a song at my birthday party once. She said she was a trained classical opera singer or something (I actually hadn’t invited her), and that it would be her pleasure to honor the privilege of crashing our party by graciously doing “the one thing she was good at.” I didn’t ask for this but certainly wasn’t about to tell her to shut the fuck up. She sang “Moon River” I think. I’m going to her birthday and translating my moms fucked up English for her to repay that kindness, because knowing what my mom’s just said is about as useful as hearing her version of Moon River at my goddamned birthday.
I got really excited to compile a playlist of songs about drinking until I realized musicians are all cyrrhotic raging alcoholics.