mutantlog

At this point in the series I think we can all agree that the Black Eyed Peas are essentially a four-person advertising agency flimsily masquerading as a pop group. Think of them as the distinguished firm of Hologram Man, Meth Lady, The Other Guy, and The Other Other Guy, Inc. (Incidentally I’m planning on writing up the autobiography of The Other Other Guy, a.k.a. Taboo, for a spectacular Silly Show-Biz Book Club/THEN That’s What They Called Music crossover.)

Chairman and CEO Will.I.Am understands the secret power of irritation better than anyone this side of Ke$ha or Katy Perry. I suspect he just wanders around wherever the hell he lives (for some reason I see him living in a penthouse suite at the Trump Tower in Las Vegas and having a walk-in closet full of nothing but fur boots) with a Casio keyboard, randomly hitting various notes until whoever he’s with can’t take it anymore and finally blurts out, “Jesus fucking Christ! That is so fucking annoying! Can you cut that out? That has to be the most obnoxious noise I’ve ever heard.”

That’s when Will.I.Am knows he has a hit. After discerning the most irritating possible melody imaginable, Will.I.Am then moves on to the next step in the songwriting process. He heads down to the lyrics lab of Hologram Man, Meth Lady, The Other Guy, and The Other Other Guy, Inc., where scientists with clipboards monitor crazy homeless men around the clock and write down their most annoying patter. Once the most irritating possible melody is married to the most obnoxious conceivable lyric, the song is given to Fergie and the horrible-ification process is complete.

I need to think of The Black Eyed Peas as some sort of Warholian stunt exposing the emptiness and spiritual corruption of pop music, because otherwise their existence would prove almost unbearably depressing. You have to laugh at the Black Eyed Peas because they’re so eminently laughable, but also to keep from crying about their inexplicable popularity and longevity.