Black Eyed Peas + SB45 Halftime = Bathroom Break
Slated to perform during halftime of Super Bowl XLV between the Green Bay Packers and Pittsburgh Steelers, the Black Eyed Peas, let it be known, are the worst, most unforgivable, most immoral human beings ever purporting to be a “band” in the world. “Retrograde,” “aesthetically bankrupt,” and “flat-out stupid” are just a few of at least a thousand pejoratives I’d use to describe the allegedly musical output of Fergie and her crew, whoever they are, I don’t care, three dudes. When the Black Eyed Peas are not heavily sampling some existing popular song (and what a cheap way to endear yourself to your audience; I mean, do something original), they are churning out unadulterated drivel such as “My Humps,” easily the most retrograde, most aesthetically bankrupt, and flat-out stupidest “song” (for lack of a better word) ever pinched out and committed to tape. If you haven’t heard it, it’s about a woman claiming that her T and A can seduce men into performing assorted tasks for her, including buying her “ices,” an Ebonics term for “jewelry” (and Fergie is Caucasian, which makes the application of the patently ridiculous “ices” just that much sillier). “I drive these brothers crazy,” she raps. “I do it on the daily / They treat me really nicely / They buy me all these ices.” I mean. My God. Is she in freaking sixth grade?!
The rest of the lyrics are so juvenile and mind-blowingly asinine they border on absurdist theatre. The “song” begins with a guy saying, “Whatcha gonna do with all that junk? / All that junk inside your trunk?” To which The Duchess (Fergie’s self-given nickname) replies: “I’m-a get, get, get, get you drunk / Get you love-drunk off my hump / My hump / My hump / My hump, my hump, my hump / My hump / My hump / My lovely little lumps.” That’s eight repetitions of the same phrase (“my hump”) in a single sentence. I wouldn’t even say “please stop” that often if I were getting bashed over the head with a mace.
Later in the “song,” one of the guys, maybe the same one, asks the admittedly Fergalicious vixen, “Whatcha gonna do with all that ass? All that ass inside dem jeans?” And he later goes on to say, “Whatcha gonna do with all that breast? All that breast inside that shirt?” Really?! Could you be more lurid? And since when did the word “breast” become sexually charged? The only time I ever hear the word uttered is in relation to breast cancer. The word seems entirely out of place is such lewd context. Simply put, if only the Black Eyed Peas winked at us to let us know they were just kidding, all would be forgiven. But they’re serious. Deadly serious. And their guilelessness should be an affront to anyone not in sixth grade.
But what’s even worse –– yes, it can get even worse –– is the product placement throughout the “song.” Would anyone be surprised to learn that the Black Eyed Peas accepted money from any or all of the brands mentioned in “My Humps”? The names Dolce & Gabbana, Fendi, Adonna (a JC Penney brand? seriously?!), Donna Karan, Seven, and True Religion all come out of Fergie’s mouth at one point or another. You ever read a novel in which the author tries to bring to life a character by merely listing the brands of clothing and/or jewelry that he or she wears? Yeah. “My Humps” is that gratingly assumptive.
As a native Pittsburgher, life-long Steelers fan, lifelong football fan, and ex-college football player, I’m more than a little peeved that for a Super Bowl featuring perhaps two of the most blue-collar teams in all of professional sports, the Cristal-sippin’, True Religion-wearin’, “ices”-sportin’ Black Eyed Peas will be performing during halftime. Of course, when the big break arrives I’ll be making a little Black Eyed Peas music of my own: on the can.