songofmysnark

[songofmysnark]

“Perfect,” by Ed Sheeran

The least perfect song in the world.  This shit is fucking awful.  It’s bad enough that I have found it necessary to present evidence that Ed Sheeran may have been put under the spell of a powerful sea witch.

Let’s dive right into this unholy mess of unexamined emotional hellscape.  Buckle up, kids.

I found a love for me Darling just dive right in And follow my lead

Why are you diving, Ed?  Stop mixing metaphors, are you ballroom dancing underwater?  Are you waltzing through a swamp?  Why are you wearing scuba gear to this tango meetup?  ED WHAT IS GOING ON? I am worried.

But before we clarify what’s going on, who are you speaking to?  “I found a love for me” is not something you say to your smoochiepie, but then you’re addressing “Darling” and instructing her to dive into your shitty mixed metaphors.  Are you singing to us, the audience, or your love that you found?  Are you telling a story or serenading your lady friend?  Ed, this kind of shit is why you are so goddamn easy to mock.

Well I found a girl beautiful and sweet I never knew you were the someone waiting for me 'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love Not knowing what it was I will not give you up this time

I’m coming up to speed here, my befreckled carrot chunk.  Let me translate: you had a crush on this chick, she didn’t like you much, and then you got rich and she was like “welp, gotta survive somehow” and is now swallowing her pride and marrying a guy with a giant jungle cat tattoo on his chest because it means she won’t have to work anymore?  Cool, glad I’m reading between the lines.  Gold digger, redheaded nugget, it’s a warm-toned match made in heaven.  

But here is where Ed Sheeran starts to do the thing that sends me into a feminist rage spiral:  nothing about this woman is at all about her as an individual, but it is definitely about him as an individual.  It’s one of those “Nice Guy (TM)” things that I hate: the dude here gets to have autonomy and his own story is central to the narrative, while simultaneously, his comfort, pleasure, and gaze are prioritized.  

He found a girl?  No, he did not.  She existed all along, he didn’t do a goddamn thing.  People are not hidden fucking treasures, Ed.

She was the someone waiting for him?  No, she was doing her thing, Ed.  And then you came along (again).  You really think she was waiting for you any more than you were waiting for her?  I mean, you weren’t, you totally sing songs about boinking other ladies.  You both just met at a convenient time and were like “I guess you’ll do.”  Stop making this sound like she actually held out for you.  She didn’t.

You were just kids when you fell in love?  AS OPPOSED TO WHEN, ED?  YOU WERE BORN IN 1991.  YOU HAD TO GROW INTO THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS, PAL.  And we know nothing about when this chick fell in love with you.  Hindsight is 2020, my sweet little baby child crooner.

Let me put on my therapist hat, my little tattooed gnome.  When/why did you “give it up?”  I’m curious.  Tell us more about that.  No?  Not wanting to talk about how you likely acted like a bit of an ass to this woman?  Okay, let’s keep going.

Can we talk about this one thing, though?  Your phrasing is odd.  Like, your syntax is fucking horrid, but points to your own self-centered brand of narcissism that has become your trademark.  You are the one dancing in the dark, and you have her between your arms while dancing.  Not only is this just weird, because the subject/object relationship separates you both, but you’re not even saying that you’re dancing together.  You’re dancing, and she’s an accessory placed between your arms.  It also sort of sounds like you’re in the 8th grade and dancing like a mummy -- you know, the way kids sort of hold their arms out and sway during slow songs?  If they didn’t have each other, they would look like mummies.  Are you mummy-dancing with your love, Ed?  Or are you just writing lyrics that center around you as the primary figure and place your partner as a peripheral accessory object that is described in terms of her physical relationship to your body parts?  Isn’t the point of dancing like that about togetherness, like “we were dancing together” or even using a transitive verb to at least link the activity between you two.  Nope, dancing in the dark, and she was an accessory.  Like a flashlight or a bolo tie.

I know, I know.  I’m so pedantic.  And you’re singing about your experience, from your point of view.  You’re right -- and I’m not saying you shouldn’t think or sing or say this crap.  You can do all those things.  And I can judge the living shit out of you for it, because you come off as a selfish, childish, manbaby.

Moving right along...

But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own And in your eyes you're holding mine

Ed, you’ve got to cool it with the weird possessiveness shit.  But this has given me a great mental picture of her eyes growing tiny hands and ripping Ed’s eyes out of his head while they (the eyes growing the hands) scream “MIIIIINE.”  Oh Ed, the beautiful images you paint with your lyrics.  Never change.

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight

See, this shit?  This is gold.  This is why I have a tumblr dedicated almost entirely to the shameful pile of lyrical poop that is Ed Sheeran’s discography.  Let’s break down everything that’s wrong with this fucking terrible refrain that we will be subjected to repeatedly, over and over, on our traffic-laden commute thanks to Top 40 radio’s obsession with Ginny Weasley’s favorite saccharine leprechaun. #magicallypernicious #unluckycharms

She said she looked like shit because a. she thought so or b. she’s thirsty AF.  And you’re like “you look perfect tonight.”  I mean, that’s sweet, but also, WTF were you doing barefoot in grass with your favorite song playing?  Were you camping?  Was this a date?  Did you tell her that this OBVIOUSLY PREVIOUSLY ORCHESTRATED EVENT was happening?  Did you give her a chance to, like, make sure she put her anti-humidity spray in her hair before you took her out to some swampy field and put on whatever her favorite song is?  What is her favorite song, Ed?  Do you sing it?  I didn’t think so.  NEXT VERSE!

Well I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets To carry love, to carry children of our own

I swear to fuck, Sheeran.  Stop.

Every goddamn time I hear this verse, I just cringe.  My whole entire body just shrinks up into a massive, painful, muscle-spasming cringe.  Part of it is that melodramatic way you sing it, really going to town on the microphone when you sing about “carrying children,” that makes me hope for the cleansing tide of early-onset alzheimers to wash away the memory of ever hearing this goddamn line being belted through the speakers of my Toyota.

And I get it, you were like “hey I’m a lyrical genius, did you know that the word ‘carry’ can be used as the verb when describing someone bearing and/or transporting a physical or emotional load AND being pregnant with a baby?  Cool, man, you figured that out and had her carry secrets AND your future spawn, because you are that ~*deep*~ to be like “I can use the same verb to describe keeping secrets and popping out some progeny!”  

Do you only value her strength because it’s useful to you???  Way to be.  This is why we still need feminism.  You are framing this all about what this person can do for you.  She can carry your secrets for you!  She can have your baby for you!  She can be strong for you! As previously established, you are disorganized and have a hard time delegating, but seriously, nobody needs to bear this fucking burden.  You’re just like “Fuck her own stuff, fuck how strong she’s needed to be while I behaved badly toward her!” (Reminder: you apparently gave it up and left her for a bit; see verse 1 because you know I keep my receipts).  

And really? To carry MORE than just your secrets?  Like, that’s already a fucking load to bear and now you’re going to weigh your ladyfriend down like a pack mule with the rest of your fucking baggage?  Way to be a gentleman.  Grow a pair of gingernuts and figure your shit out, son.

By the way, what secrets are you keeping?  Like, big secrets?  Like “Dick Cheney would waterboard you to get at them” secrets?  Or just, like, whatever you did at music camp when you were 11 and played a little too much truth or dare?  You know what, forget I asked, the idea of combining enhanced interrogation with Ed Sheeran’s pre-pubescent truth-or-dare behavior is making me want to bleach my mind’s eye.  Carry on, my wayward son.

What dreams of yours does she share, Ed?  I know it’s a figure of speech, but last night I had a dream that in the middle of an international cuisine tasting conference, I was tasked with butchering an octopus in a college dorm room and ended up having sex with Ursula the Sea Witch, so I wouldn’t wish my dreams on anyone.

And sharing her home, Ed? Is this your nod to feminism, like oh, despite singing about her as an accessory, I’m going to acknowledge her earning potential and, in this version of the narrative, make sure you know it’s her home.  The wage gap doesn’t exist, she’ll be the one to get us a home, I’m progressive! Or are you implying that she’ll be a homemaker?  Either way, this is not a good look, Ed.

We are still kids, but we're so in love Fighting against all odds

How the fuck don’t you realize that I keep my goddamn receipts?  You referenced how you were kids back then (see verse 1 above and my joke about being born in 1991, buddy) and now you’re like “WE’RE STILL CRAZY KIDS!”  Sweetie, buddy, pal, my guy, the lack of continuity here is astounding, I mean how the fuck are you making so much goddamn money off of these truly awful songs?  

I know we'll be alright this time Darling, just hold my hand Be my girl, I'll be your man

Nabokov already wrote this novel.  You know, that whole “light of my life, fire of my loins, I’m dead when she leaves me” book?  Yes?  No?  Okay, look it up later.  

I see my future in your eyes.

Plot Twist:  Ed Sheeran is in love with Lolita, but Lolita is an immortal and ageless sea witch.  IS THIS WHY HE WAS DIVING RIGHT IN?  

It doesn’t matter if her name takes a trip of three steps down the tongue if she steals your voice.  How’s that for lyricism?

I have faith in what I see Now I know I have met an angel in person And she looks perfect I don't deserve this

Okay, I was wrong.  This entire song is about his complicated relationship with a sea witch who has cast a spell.  If you sing it in a minor key, this shit is really ominous.  I have faith in the truth that I see now before me, she has revealed her true identity and it is terrible, please make it stop, I see the horrors for what they are now!  It’s the angel of death, I have seen her in person and I don’t deserve this torture!  She is perfect in her wrath and I must pray now and praise her while recanting my douchebaggery, I am now crying for help in this field as my love has revealed herself as a mirror into my own terror, and I am but a shapeless narrator without an audience, screaming into the void!  Is this why she holds your eyes in hers?  Is this why she shares your dreams, because she can see inside of your soul and reflect your own desires back at you until you’re blinded and crazed by your own self-centered bullshit?  Is the sea witch using the Mirror of Erised as a shield to protect herself from your bullshit?  

We’re worried, Ed.  

You look perfect tonight

For fuck’s sake, Ed.

[songofmysnark]

“Don’t,” by Ed Sheeran, part 2

[Knock knock] on my hotel door I don't even know if she knows what for She was crying on my shoulder I already told ya Trust and respect is what we do this for

First of all, how the fuck did she know which hotel and room you were in?  Did she text you?  Did you invite her over?  It sounds like she knew exactly why she showed up, but you weren’t sure what would happen and you wanted to pin it on her because you have trouble admitting that you’re kind of needy.

But moving on, my tatted up Weasley.  This is all very “Nice Guy (TM).”  She knocks on your hotel door and you don’t know why she came to you, but she was crying on your shoulder?  I don’t know, man, I think what you’re trying to say is “I don’t know if she wanted someone to listen and empathize or if she wanted to get laid because I’m bad at communicating and too much of a clueless, self-centered moron to ask her about her feelings prior to her showing up at your hotel room” but I’ll let it slide.  The story doesn’t add up, but let’s move along for the sake of getting to the real shit.  

“Trust and respect is what we do this for,” fine.  Whatever.  If you say so, pal.  But if you’re going to use that line, don’t expect any woman over the age of 25 to be impressed with this next round of malarkey...

I never intended to be next But you didn't need to take him to bed that's all And I never saw him as a threat Until you disappeared with him to have sex of course It's not like we were both on tour We were staying on the same fucking hotel floor And I wasn't looking for a promise or commitment But it was never just fun and I thought you were different

SCREEEEEECHING HALT, BUDDY PAL.  First of all, lyrically, this sucks.  And the way you sing it makes it sound very much like you want to be EDGY for singing about SEX like oooooh, they had SEX.  Pal, you’re an adult.  The whole “I’m going to talk about sex, and very explicitly call it sex because I’m having sex” thing is very, well, it’s something kids in college do when they’re getting laid for the first time and think they’re the first people to have discovered the joys of penetration.  It makes you sound like you’re kind of too young and inexperienced to be singing this song anywhere, much less on a stage or in a recording studio.  Dude, you could have left out the word sex and we’d still know she was schtupping another fellow.  You think it sounds like a pointed, painful jab but it makes the rest of us cringe reeeeeal hard for you.

But let’s discuss the whole situation.  In Part 1, we established that you lack basic organizational skills and are very crappy at logistics.  It’s also clear that you’re not very good at communication, since you never actually managed to spit out the details of what happened, which suggest that you never actually talked about whether or not you were exclusive.

Here are some RED FLAGS, my gloriously dorky ginger garden gnome:  “I thought you were different.”  Nope, pal, do not pass go, do not collect $200.  That is some subtle and insidious shaming of this woman for no reason.  Let’s flesh out what you mean by that -- or at least what this phrase means in terms of cultural context and general understanding.  That line you used?  That very much means “I thought that you would treat a fling as a monogamous relationship so that I didn’t have to commit to a relationship with you, but now that you have decided that you’re not going to sleep with me exclusively -- despite the fact that neither of us agreed to a monogamous relationship -- I’m going to use a madonna/whore trope to make you feel guilty about doing something that was completely, 100% within the parameters that had been established.”

Ed, you basically decided in your head that this person was only going to fuck you.  You never talked to her about it.  You never promised her the same thing in return.  

You had a fling and you liked it, then she decided that she wanted to sleep with someone else, you hadn’t talked about being exclusive, and you were hurt.  Buddy pal, that sucks.  The correct thing to do in this situation is to lick your wounds in private, admit to yourself that monogamy is important to you and that you personally need to negotiate that early on in order to feel safe and secure in a relationship, and not use fucked up “I didn’t think you were that kind of [slutty] girl, but I guess you are!” guilt tactics in order to divert attention away from the fact that you done fucked up, son.

And you never thought you would be next? For what, marriage?  Yeah, no shit, pal.  You were not in line to be next for anything because you were having a casual fling and didn’t express any sort of fucking interest in anything beyond sitting on a couch, watching movies, and having pale, fumbling missionary position sex with this woman.  You were never going to be “next” for anything because you didn’t fucking show any sort of desire for a relationship.  You established early on that this was kind of a nice, comfortable, convenient thing for you.  She likely thought the same, and then was like “cool, this other dude has a bangin’ bod and doesn’t look like Ron Weasley’s second cousin, I’m gonna bang that like a screen door!”  And she tapped it like a maple, Ed.  And it was glorious, and then she started crying -- and what happened?  WHO KNOWS, you’re a shitty songwriter and can’t manage to give enough context for the tears, nor any interest in her as a human being to bother!

And really, Ed?  You were staying on the same hotel floor and she had sex with someone else and you were both on tour?  Okay, if she’s on the same hotel floor and on the same tour, is she your employee?  Also, why the fuck are you somehow convinced she wasn’t completely within her rights to sleep with someone else if she was very blatantly bringing this person to a hotel room down the hall from you?  It sounds like you weren’t in a fucking relationship, pal.  You just wanted all of the perks and none of the fucking responsibilities, and monogamous sexytimes based on your pre-conceived notions of purity and social dynamics that suggest that women you deem acceptable won’t have casual sex with anyone but you because that’s what you secretly want but are too chicken-shit to ask for.

Buddy, let me break something down to you:  You’re acting like a shit head in this situation and if this song is actually based on some real events, it does not paint you in a positive light.  It doesn’t even paint you in the light of a flattering victim of a slutty mcsluttyslut slutface.  It makes it very obvious that you lack basic communication skills and feel bitter when women don’t do what you want them to do.  It’s not a good look, Ed.  Knock it the fuck off.

This is not the way you realize what you wanted It's a bit too much, too late if I'm honest All this time God knows I'm singing Ah lahmlahlah

AHHHH LAHMLAHLAH.

Oh, so she wanted to be with you?  Can you fill us in with exactly what happened between fucking another dude and crying to get you back?  Because it seems really fucking odd.  What the hell did you do to contribute to this clusterfuck?  Are you the one who made her cry?  Did you send passive aggressive text messages to her? 

My money is on you being kind of a dipshit and getting very mad that she slept with someone else, despite that being fully within the boundaries you had set up with her.  And she trusted you, and then you were kind of cruel and distant and withholding to punish her for not worshipping your pale, freckled knobby peener, she cried because you fucking hurt her feelings, and then you pinned it all on her because you’re too much of a coward to accept the consequences of your actions like a grown-ass adult man.

[songofmysnark]

Stop trying to make “fetch” happen, it’s not going to happen

If you describe yourself as a “polyglot,” it is a great way to let other people know that you think Ted Talks are the height of intellectual discourse. Similar: describing yourself as a “third culture kid.”

[songofmysnark]

The Bullshit Industry That Is Women’s Clothing

We’re gonna have a little talk, friends.  We’re gonna have a talk about the state of women’s clothing and how much it sucks.

I’m talking off-the-rack clothing aimed at adult, working women.  Your Ann Taylors.  Your J.Crews.  Your Banana Fucking Republics. The Nordstroms of the world. You know, the companies that are trying to get us to buy their most recent monstrosity of polyblended horror and the subject of plenty of thinkpieces, this one included.  “Are millennials killing the clothing industry?”  Yes, because you deserve to die, but also now we’re naked so can we please strike a plea bargain?

Before any of you get your panties in a twist, I’m counting stay at home moms as working women, because domestic labor is work, childcare is work, and juggling logistics is work.  If you can outsource it and the person who is doing it would reasonably expect to get paid, it’s work -- so don’t tell me being a SAHM isn’t work just because nobody’s paying her to do the job of a nanny, line cook, housekeeper, administrative assistant, executive director, coach, motivational speaker, teacher, or community organizer.  And also, no SAHM should have to resort to the MLM hell that is LueLaRoe in order to clothe her body.  Put the valentine heart printed butter leggings down, Karen.

So, working women, clothing ourselves is hard.  It has gotten worse over the past two decades.  Let us break this shit down:

Declining quality.  Don’t gaslight women over 30 and tell us that the decline in quality is all in our heads and that our expectations have increased as we’ve gotten older and more critical or educated.  A lot of us still have our blazers from J.Crew that we bought in 2007 -- at least I do.  I saved them because they’re gorgeous and sentimental, and now I save them as a physical reminder that clothing currently available to me as a retail consumer has sharply decreased in quality.  

Fit issues.  Between the unreasonably sloppy, inconsistent sizing (sometimes between two of the exact same garments), bizarre proportions, limitations on size ranges, and a seemingly universal refusal to cut garments for women larger than a B cup, women’s clothing fits horribly.  The solution to this problem seems to be to sew everything in stretchy, cheap materials that are clingy, unflattering, and translucent, which translates to...

...Awful styles.  Since the solution to lazy fit is stretch, the industry makes a lot of clothing styles that are not suitable for most women’s daily lives because they’re too cheap to use decent fabric in making clothing to account for the fact that they’re too cheap to invest in fit and quality construction.  Oh, you can’t wear a cold-shoulder top and a pair of stretchy black leggings to your corporate job?  Too fucking bad, that’s what’s in stock right now.  If we call it “Athleisure,” it’s all good!  And if you look shitty in it, it’s because you’re not athletic enough to be wearing it.

It’s funny how when women abandoned the corset, it was liberating -- until style started demanding that women become their own corsets.  No lumps or bumps or bulges allowed, but unless you want to wear Spanx (read: a girdle), you better diet yourself down to a flawlessly smooth size 2 if you don’t want to look horrible in a simple tshirt.

Sure, good style is available to those who have enough social or economic capital to access it -- and by social capital, I am including people who are thin.

The state of plus-sized fashion has always been appalling, but as the country tumbles into greater income inequality, the concentration of jobs paying a living wage into traffic-jammed cities with a lack of reasonably affordable or accessibly housing, the masses are not going to be getting thinner.  The workday has been getting longer, either by extending hours or by making it very clear that people who leave before 6 are slackers, or by tethering us to email in the spirit of “leaning in.”  Sorry, when you spend 1-3 hours/day commuting to your soul-sucking job that doesn’t pay enough to afford help to outsource all of the shit you have to do on weekends in order to function as an adult, the “obesity epidemic” is not going to end.  How about we call a spade a spade: the “obesity epidemic” is a side-effect of the confluence of income inequality and late-stage capitalism.  “Calories in, calories out, it’s so simple!” say people who are able to prioritize and afford to be thin, and are rewarded in kind with clothing that at least isn’t punishingly ugly or uncomfortable.

Let’s talk about uncomfortable clothing: there’s a lot of it when you get out of the stretchy-spandex land masking the laziness of corporate clothing behemoths behind 2% spandex in an already forgiving knit.  Wovens, friends, let’s snark on wovens.  Wovens are the fabrics that are stiffer -- think jeans without spandex, chinos without spandex, button down shirts without spandex, your wool coat without spandex, etc.  

Believe it or not, young people, most of these items didn’t stretch 10-15 years ago, or if they did it was a tiny amount -- enough so that you could comfortably drive a car while still wearing a garment that was purposefully cut and constructed so that it would lay close to the body.  Instead of spandex, clothing was constructed with more ease -- more space, looser in areas where a normal human body needs space to move.  And nobody looked shitty, because the clothing was made so that the structure of the garment kept it from looking like a sack of potatoes; that structure comes from quality fit, construction, and materials.  

And of course, companies will retort that if they did anything the way they did 10-15 years ago, costs would skyrocket!  Materials are expensive and skilled labor isn’t cheap, especially if paid a living wage in a country with labor regulations to protect workers!  To which I say: bullshit.  Costs won’t skyrocket unless you expect customers to pad the pockets of your shareholders and executives to make up for increased production costs that narrow the profit margin.  Essentially, you want the same profit margin that was established and became the norm when you switched to shitty quality while raising prices.

The problem is really of your own doing, Mr. Mall Fashion Executive Dude; you trained your customers to expect good quality clothing for decades, rested on your laurels while increasing your profit margins by cutting production costs, got everyone on the corporate end used to booming profits based on this giant margin, and then got confused when shit went south.  You went for short-term profits, banking on the reputation of your brand to carry the company through a quality control nosedive.  And now we’re rubbing your face in it.

So here’s some advice to the corporate powers that be: 

Make some fucking decent clothing.

Make the entire line in a wide range of sizes, 00-24+ with no differentiation between “plus” and “misses.”  

Give women’s clothing the attention, quality, consistency, and detail of men’s items.

Stop putting random shit on your clothing.  I want a goddamn tshirt without a sequin, weird design, picture of a bird, a saying, etc.

Don’t “bring back a classic” and mark it up 200%.  Take a hint: we all still have that item from 2003, don’t think we won’t compare them and put the videos taking you down for both an outrageous markup and a comparatively mediocre product.  Looking at you, Lululemon’s “full on Luon” (i.e. regular luon from a few years prior with a new name and higher price).  Looking at you, J.Crew icon trench from 2003 (i.e. the old trench marked up higher than it was before but with a shittier fit and cheaper materials).  

If your wovens look like shit on the average American woman, that means you need to hire people who know how to design a decent garment, use better materials, and learn about ease, drape, and tailoring.  

If your pants don’t fit women with hourglass figures, the problem is your pants.

And finally:  Listen to the women screaming at you on Instagram every time you roll out a crappy collaboration.  What do they want?  Natural fibers, better fit, a size range that is inclusive and reflects the general public without arbitrary cutoffs, good design, cohesive collections, solid basics, durability, functional pockets that can hold a fucking iphone, classic lines, and comfort.  

If that is too much of an order, maybe get the fuck out of the industry that makes clothing for women, because there are actually companies that have demonstrated that it is possible to do it right:  MM LaFleur (pricey, but excellent), Boden, Land’s End, etc. are all examples of companies that manage not to completely screw the pooch on selling clothing to women.  Hell, I’ll even give you Eileen Fisher.  Give me some linen and a functional pocket, Ms. Fisher, I’ll gladly look like a sexless therapist who moonlights at an art gallery.

But seriously, fuck right off with this cold-shoulder, poly-blend, lazy bullshit.

[songofmysnark]

“Don’t” by Ed Sheeran, Part 1

For those who are unacquainted with the most catchy-yet-annoying Top 40 monstrosity that my car radio subjected me to last week, “Don’t” is a song by Ed Sheeran.  The basic storyline is “Ed the ginger hobbit meets a woman but he calls her a girl, they kind of see each other a bunch of times but the logistics are difficult for anyone to really figure out, she hooks up with another dude, and Ed is a sad, sad ginger hobbit.”

We need to discuss how utterly awful this song is.  Let’s break down this particular snippet of WTF: “But me and her we make money the same way Four cities, two planes the same day” Darling Ed.  You are British, and I understand that you blokes across the pond have an elaborate and intricate class system, and I am the first to advocate for slack being given for the sake of artistic license, regional dialect, and the evolution of the language.  You hail from the heritage of Shakespeare, and if the stark difference between the bard’s couplets and the general acceptance of your absurd lyrics by the general public isn’t ample evidence of the evolution of language over time, I don’t know what is.  That’s no excuse for the way you’ve just brutalized the English language. My sweet redheaded nugget of manchild, I think you meant to say “She and I.”  As in “But she and I make money the same way.” 

See, “I make money” sounds fine, right?   And “She makes money” sounds okay, correct?  But “Me make money” and “Her make money” sound awful, right?  Right.  And that’s what you just wrote.

“Her make money” makes you sound like a confused Russian bot trolling a presidential candidate on twitter circa October 2016, and “Me make money” makes you sound like fucking cookie monster.  So let’s get our objects and subjects straightened out and move on to the next line so we don’t sound like muppets who live in the Kremlin.  

I’ve been confused by this line for a while.  Four cities and two planes the same day.  First of all, this is definitely possible, it just sounds like poor logistical planning.  I live in the San Francisco bay area and I regularly drive through 4 different cities while commuting and I only live 12 miles from my office.  (For the record: Oakland, Emeryville, San Francisco, and Berkeley if I want to pick up something from Berkeley Bowl for dinner.)  So yeah, I do four cities in a day, too.  Not sure why this is somehow a major feat?  Cities can be close together. I guess it’s the two planes, Ed.  What in the world are you DOING if you have to take two separate planes in a day?  Are we talking about having a layover?  Lord knows I’ve spend a decent amount of time in the Detroit airport having never spent any other time in the great state of Michigan.  I wouldn’t count that as being in a city, that’s sitting in a Chilis-To-Go and hoping my gate doesn’t change, but I doubt your travel plans involve a chain restaurant’s shitty off post in Terminal C. I’m just confused, man.  You’re a singer/songwriter/performer/hobbit and you definitely have a staff, so I’m not sure what the hell you are doing taking two separate plane trips in a day.  Who is doing your booking?  Why are you just dropping into a city via plane and then getting back into the plane and leaving?  I surely hope you’re using a private plane because your poor, tiny, little ginger body is going to certainly glow an even more unnatural shade if you’re exposed to that much TSA screening radiation that often.  

But let’s say you wake up in one city, fly to another, do something there (?), fly somewhere else, and then... IDK, hit two cities by car?  It seems like the problem is whoever’s scheduling you, SURELY it could be more efficient.  But it sort of sounds like you want to whine and make it sound like “I travel a lot for work” is some deeply rare thing, my dude.  Which it is not.  Many adults do it. 

But really, who the hell is doing your booking?  How is this person so inefficient that you can be “between the sheets” until the “late AM,” and yet have other days where you make money by traveling on two planes and visiting four cities.  Ed, something is wrong with whoever is doing your booking and scheduling.  Maybe that’s a bigger problem than this issue with the lady banging someone who isn’t you in a hotel. Putting aside the logistics of the mismanagement of your current tour, I’d like to talk about your most egregious offense -- and one that is almost your hallmark, Ed.  It’s “I’m going to use particular words and phrases to make a completely boring and typical situation sound incredibly deep and meaningful.”  You do it all the time, and so does that dude from the band Fun, who will be addressed in a separate post.  (I’m coming for you, Fun.)  Here’s the offending line:

“I'd rather put on a film with you and sit on a couch.” A film, Ed?  Really?  Are you going to wear a black turtleneck and discuss the evolution of Francis Ford Coppola’s use of lighting as a sort of informal career retrospective of the filmmaker as an artist?  Are you going to watch deep, brooding documentaries about genocide?  No.  You’re going to watch “Ocean’s 11″ under a soft blankie, and that is totally fine.  Just don’t make it sound like you’re doing a deep analysis of thematic patterns in the cinematography of Jean-Luc Godard.  You sound like an ass. Let’s break down this particularly terrible snippet:

I'd rather put on a film with you and sit on a couch But we should get on a plane Or we'll be missing it now Wish I'd have written it down The way that things played out When she was kissing him How I was confused about Now she should figure it out while I'm sat here singing Ah lahmlahlah

Good God, my ginger muppet.  What the fuck is this and who let you sing this in public?  This is nonsensical bullshit, friend-o, and it is not cute.  You know when you catch someone in a lie and their story gets really complicated and incoherent?  And they’re like “yes and she was there but also the lamp is blue and I didn’t kill the Professor in the drawing room with the candlestick!”  That’s what you sound like.  You wish you’d written it down?  Why?  So you’d remember?  You’re writing a song about this, how the fuck are you not remembering the basic plot points of how you were wronged by a woman (who technically did nothing wrong by your own admission) and now feel entitled and butt-hurt?  Kinda seems like at this point in the song, you know that neither of you really did anything wrong, but you’re having a lot of feelings about rejection, monogamy, and asking for what you need and want out of a relationship.  That’s fine!  And that’s what therapy is for, babycakes.  That is not what I want to hear on Top 40 radio while I drive to my office for a day of soul-sucking litigation.  If I have to read hundreds of pages of people lying in deposition, I certainly don’t want any part of that day to also involve trying to decipher exactly what happened to make you feel like this probably lovely biddy owed you unilateral monogamy.  Maybe if you weren’t flitting around with a shitty travel itinerary, you’d be able to figure out WTF happened with your not-boo.

Ah lahmlahlah.

You are a songwriter, man.  Why are you and this lady singing “Ah lahmlahlah” all the time?  What is that?  It’s not nearly as catchy as other nonsense words in music (I’m looking at you, Earth Wind and Fire, “ba-de-ya” is a fucking excellent addition to “September,” and I love it and will sing along with it every time I play it in the car).  It’s just... lalalala?  Cool, man.  Way to be.

I don’t know, Ed.  Perhaps get your story straight and come back and explain it to us when you can form words.  It would be a much more compelling case for you, and would make for a better song.  Who on your staff is a massive enabler?  Who is letting your first-draft scribbles get into your discography.  I’m worried, Ed.  You need to think about your hiring decisions.  I don’t know, though.  I’m not the songwriter.  Lahmlahmlahlah.

Why is this lady coming on the plane with you?  No, seriously.  She makes money the same way (see terrible lyric above), so why is she going with you?  Is she on your staff?  Again, Ed, I’m having a LOT of feelings about you as an employer.  Work on this.  

Don't fuck with my love That heart is so cold All over my home I don't wanna know that babe Ah lahmlahlah Don't fuck with my love I told her she knows Take aim and reload I don't wanna know that babe Ah lahmlahlah

This is angstier than Linkin Park nugget wrapped up in Good Charlotte blanket wrapped in a Joni Mitchell “Blue” burrito for good measure.  It’s the turducken of angst.

But digging further, why is your heart cold and all over your home?  Did your heart explode, Ed?  ED.  PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.  This sounds like a major cardiac event, I don’t even know. This is some Jack the Ripper stuff and I am deeply concerned.  Also, you’re telling her to take aim and reload but that you don’t want to know?  You’re sending mixed messages, and I’m very concerned about the way you’re invoking the imagery of a firing squad.  We’re talking about a hookup gone wrong.

I know that sometimes it hurts to see Hermione go out with that hot Quiddich player and yes, she did look really lovely at the Yule Ball... but you need to get it together, man.  Would it raise your spirits if we gave 10 points to Gryffindor?