I’ll be honest, I’m not above a little snobbery. The books I read, the cheese I eat, grammar. Music, though? While there’s potential for me to get a little ‘tude-y on the subject (see my collection of 60s French yé-yé pop vinyl for details), I’m never above indulging my sweet tooth for ear candy with music some may quantify as “garbage” (see me, with the ticket I bought myself for the second row at Mimi’s latest show, for even more details).
I’m ok with this and, listen—listen to me loud and crystal-bleeping-clear—you should be ok with it, too.
Why? Because life does this really nifty thing where it hands us seedy opportunities commonly referred to as karaoke bars, wedding dance floors, and the entire season of summer that, along with a mojito or craft beer of your choosing, encourage us to remember we can like whatever it is we like without explanation, flushed cheeks, or apology—regardless of what’s cool, what’s tasteful, or what the Internet insists is cool and tasteful.
Life does this really nifty thing where it hands us seedy opportunities commonly referred to as karaoke bars, wedding dance floors, and the entire season of summer that, along with a mojito or craft beer of your choosing, encourage us to remember we can like whatever it is we like without explanation, flushed cheeks, or apology.
So, in the spirit of just that, I’ve decided to use summer as a fine enough excuse to ask folks to cop to their “guilty pleasure song”—ditties that aren’t by any means highbrow or underground, but are ultimately very fun. (And if fun isn’t the main objective of summer, then I’m going to need to take another look at the syllabus.) After squirreling away responses from local DJs, boutique owners, artists, and designers as well as real-life friends and strangers on the Internet, boys and girls, I’ve got just one thing to report: you’re all quite good at this.
Do your co-workers a favor and try “forgetting” to plug your headphones into the jack sometime at work, will ya? Then, maybe add a few of these guilty as charged numbers to your summer playlist:
Chime in below with the bangers you’re most likely to play from the comfort of the “hide” feature.
April (Swinson) Smasal spent her formative years in Wyoming, where her career options were limited to rodeo queen or writer. Foregoing the lure of an impressive belt buckle collection, she opted for the word thing. Now, she’s a copywriter and writer-writer living in St. Paul, Minnesota with her husband, Nick, baby boy, Hank Danger and very cute-slash-spoiled French Bulldog, Arnold E. Biscuits.
BY April Smasal - June 8, 2019
Thank you for being here. For being open to enjoying life’s simple pleasures and looking inward to understand yourself, your neighbors, and your fellow humans! I’m looking forward to chatting with you.
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