*language warning!*
File this under: the obvious like the sun is hot, but I think we have
unequivocal proof that Nashville-driven pop country is garbage – a steaming
shitheap of garbage. So much waste you need waders to stomp through the
bullshit. Like, before it was a lot of the obvious raised eyebrows, the
throwing of hands in the air, and to everyone who likes this trash, a complete
denial not seen since the last Trump speech.
What I’m talking about is uber-tools who use auto tune and wear man
buns, the Florida/Georgia Line doing a song with the Backstreet Boys.
Come on dudes. There’s zero defense that pop country is just pop. We need to
finally come to terms as a species and tell everyone that their new song God,
Your Momma, and Me has culturally absolute zero with anything Johnny Cash
or Waylon ever did.
I only cite them because every dork in a trucker cap and a flannel with
beautiful teeth name drops them constantly like it adds some sort of
credibility – well, hoss it don’t. Luke Bryan still sucks, and these two clowns
parading around with a geriatric boy band only proves the point further. Yeah,
Luke, we remember Here’s to the Farmer where you pander to every
blue-collar worker out there in some maligned attempt to be “genuine” – too bad
it’s genuinely awful.
But, back to the task at hand, God, Your Momma, and Me – this
song defies any logic of how horrible it is. It’s like if AIDS fucked Cancer
and created a super hybrid that killed you within an instant. That’s what this
is. Within the first few verses, we nail the archetypes of all pop country
diatribes: God, love, mommas, angels, shotguns. Of course, they turn up the
radio on a dirt road. And they call this malignant colon of music “country” –
what the fuck is country about six dudes dancing in tandem and wearing $200 jeans?
Next time you’re at the bar some clown in turquoise “dress boots” starts
giving you the business when you tell him Jason Aldean is as country as a Cher,
you’ve got probable ammunition to go down the rabbit hole. We already knew
Florida/Georgia Line sucked to the infinite levels with their hokey, cliché
driven audio enemas, but this is some next-level suckery.
God, Your Momma, and Me is so awful because it falls on pretenses like
they’re being slick about singing some shitty love song that features one guy
and four other guys oohing and ahhing. That’s the point, it’s deft and meant to
distract you from a cold truth: pop country is Rihanna in a cowboy and tight
jeans. It’s pop, it’s harmless, its bubble gum and it fucking sucks.
Fight me at swings after school.
*entirely devoid of editing by lazy Trailer*
Standing ovation for Mr. Dean.
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