The cancel culture is a radicalized stance based on the insecurities of an agenda that is too weak to entertain anything other than its own indefensible platform. ― Author Craig D. Lounsbrough
With their post-COVID power rapidly eroding, the insipid Cancel Culture has taken to attacking dead people because they can’t defend themselves. And mark my words, the current Cancel Culture clearly includes those reporters and columnists who insist upon reminding us that if someone’s life wasn’t perfect, it renders all of their achievements moot.
Look at what sportswriters and entertainment “reporters” just did to Blackhawk great Bobby Hull. I’ll be the first one to say he was far from perfect as evidenced by his daughter becoming an attorney to represent domestic violence victims as a result of what her mother had to endure.
But does the fact that Hull was flawed diminish his accomplishments on the ice? It’s not as if his dark side was a well-kept secret. So, when it comes to the eulogies, can’t we recognize the Golden Jet put the NHL and the Blackhawks on the map without having to tear him down because we hold athletes to a standard that “regular” folks can’t begin to meet?
It’s also important to note that Hull was a superstar at a time the public believed they could do no wrong and team owners protected the reputations of their expensive franchises and players at all costs.
Considering Hull’s complicated legacy, I can understand some of the tepid sendoffs, but Burt Bacharach? Yes! Because those Cancel Culture progressives just turned their sights on the recently deceased legendary songwriter who apparently wrote, “The most sexist/misogynistic song ever written.”
For reference purposes, Burt’s songs hold a special place in my rather eclectic vinyl collection heart. Whether it’s the melodies that made Dionne Warwick’s career like “Walk on By,” or “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head” sung to perfection by B. J. Thomas, nothing quite takes you away like a Bacharach/Hal David creation.
But when I refused to believe some nitwits were savaging the late songwriter, a friend insisted I visit a mediocre former Chicago Tribune columnist’s social media page which turned out to be a huge mistake. Despite her protests to the contrary, this “columnist” just couldn’t help but diminish Bacharach’s entire career at the hands of one 1964 song, “Wives and Lovers” made popular by singer Jack Jones:
Hey! Little Girl
Comb your hair, fix your makeup
Soon he will open the door
Don’t think because there’s a ring on your finger
You needn’t try anymore
For wives should always be lovers too
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you
I’m warning you
First of all, it’s not all that sexist. It simply warns us of the price of taking things for granted. If Carrie Underwood can sing “Before He Cheats,” and Adele, Shakira, and particularly Taylor Swift, can whine about their exes ad nauseum – in the 2020s – then I don’t have a problem with “Wives and Lovers” which is truly mild by comparison.
Really Taylor? A ten-minute song about a former boyfriend? It’s not a very attractive trait. And despite that obscene level of self-absorption, women everywhere couldn’t wait to applaud it.
To be fair, the majority of the comments on the “columnist’s” post were reasonable, many noting the song was a product of its time. But that didn’t stop the overly vocal progressive plurality from issuing condemnations like, “Asshole,” “Yuck,” “Misogyny set to music,” and one even claimed Bacharach “looked like Jeffrey Epstein.” That group wasn’t nearly the only one who dismissed the songwriter based on lyrics that were actually written by his partner, Hal David.
As the friend who alerted me to this story so eloquently put it:
That was middle class life in the early1960s and how dare you shit on what previous generations had to do to get through the dictated societal circumstances of their time. To the degree that you are so “offended” in 2023 by a song lyric you feel the need to so self-righteously whine about its composer on the day he dies at the age of 94.
“The most misogynistic song of all time?” I don’t think so! Let’s take a look at some of the more contemporary concoctions that can’t claim the same it-was-all-the-way-back-in-1963 exemption. We’ll start with Fredo Santana’s lovely “Gang Bang” song sentiment, where he explains, “Baby girl pull your pants up, I only want your face.”
Suddenly Hal David’s lyrics don’t seem so bad, do they? Then Snoop Dogg serenaded us with Dr. Dre’s lilting lyrics:
Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks
Lick on these nuts and suck the dick
Get’s the fuck out after you’re done
So much for subtlety. But what do you expect from a song called “Bitches Ain’t Shit.” Not to be outdone, Chief Keef extolled the virtue of women everywhere when he intoned:
You say you ain’t gon’ let me fuck, and I feel you
But you gon’ suck my dick ‘fore I kill you,
So much for combing your hair and fixing your makeup being bothersome. And how can we forget Cardi B’s uplifting exultation of women everywhere called “WAP” which, of course, stands for “Wet Ass Pussy:”
Beat it up, nigga, catch a charge
Extra large, and extra hard
Put this pussy right in yo’ face
Swipe your nose like a credit card
Hop on top, I want a ride
I do a kegel while it’s inside
Spit in my mouth, look at my eyes
This pussy is wet, come take a dive
At least she appreciates her man. And lastly, who can forget Jay-Z’s lovely little ditty “Bitches and Sisters:”
You ain’t no better cause you don’t be fucking rappers
You only fuck with actors, you still getting fucked backwards
After careful consideration and some serious mental imagery not suitable for a family blog, I’m still not sure how one gets “fucked backwards.” I am convinced, however, that it can’t possibly be a good thing. But while white progressives shriek, howl, and rend their garments over a 94-year-old songwriter who didn’t even write the lyrics, Snoop Dogg’s doing Corona Beer commercials and Jay-Z and wife Beyonce are hawking Tiffany jewelry.
After all, he’s got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one. Though I do kind of wonder if Mr. Z really does “fuck” her backwards because that would go a long ways towards explaining why Beyonce’s latest album is so awful.
Ah! But if you have the temerity to ask those same Caucasian progressives to grow a pair and “cancel” these rap “artists,” they’ll break into a cold sweat while they tug at their overly starched Everlane white shirt collars as they stammer “It’s a cultural thing and we don’t have the right to cancel that kind of minority artistic expression.”
There’s nothing quite like that kind of magnificently blatant double standard, is there? “Most misogynistic song ever written?” No, it isn’t – not by a longshot.
So, here’s my plan. After embarking upon my midday errands, I’m going to ask random shoppers if they know the way to San Jose. My fondest wish is that at least one of ‘em will break into a rousing rendition of my second favorite Bacharach/David song:
LA is a great big freeway
Put a hundred down and buy a car
In a week, maybe two, they’ll make you a star
Weeks turn into years, how quick they pass
And all the stars that never were
Are parking cars and pumping gas
Snoop who?
