After years of being exposed to White parties, I’ve gained a particular appreciation for the comfort of attending a Black party and having a general idea of what to expect musically. No getting Rachel Dolezaled when you hear a Black song starting to play and it’s suddenly remixed with EDM porn music. No sir, there are Black classics that will be played, and they will be enjoyed.
In Cleveland, "50 Niggaz Deep" is one of those songs. And oh, does that make me happy. Lola Damone’s verse is at least 4% of why I’m a feminist today. It should be played at every function, all the time. Birthday? "50 Niggaz Deep." Wedding? "50 Niggaz Deep." Bat Mitzvah? "50 Niggaz Deep." Christening? "50 Niggaz Deep." Funeral? "50 Niggaz Deep." Something for the kids, you know?
But some songs have been played out, thoroughly. Some songs make you want to pick up a chair and throw it at the nearest person you think you could take in a fight. Some songs have just been played OUT. And I’m here to ask you—no, beseech you—to stop. Playing. Them.
“This Is How We Do It”
Really just cosigning Jozen on this one, since folks have opted not to listen to his request. But I have to address the DJs out there saying it’s about the crowd or something. Here’s the thing: You don’t play this song because it’s the perfect time to play this is how we do it based on the crowd. How do I know this? Because there is never a perfect time to play This Is How We Do It. No crowd is ever collectively thinking, damn, I wish there was a song I could awkwardly and anachronistically Roger Rabbit to RIGHT NOW in 2015. Looking at you, fellow millennials. Man, oh, man. You play this song because there is no WRONG time to play it, but that’s mainly because it’s been played out to the point of sounding nondescript on every listen. At this point, This Is How We Do It is musical iceberg lettuce.
Alternative: Seriously? Just give me like a minute thirty of elevator music. Or this:
It’s less corny.
Bruh. Breh. Brah. Please stop playing this song. Honestly, I’ll still listen to it on my own, thoroughly enjoying not being in a setting where I am watching people born after 1995 experience a nostalgia they never actually felt themselves and then posture all the easy-to-learn ass words at each other. Also, for those of you interested in classic film history, it reminds me of this:
A very unfortunate part of an otherwise amazing contribution to black excellence in film.
Alternative: At this point, millennials think that literally everything that came out before 2005 is “old school,” so really? Anything. Try this, since it’ll get so stuck in their heads they’ll be too annoyed to request it:
I realize I’m taking shots at myself, but I mostly know better, so whatevs. And if you’re playing for people over 30, just start literally any argument about New Jack and they’ll be too distracted to notice anyway. I would suggest asking who would win in a knife fight between Wanya and Michael.
“Back That Azz Up”
I won’t mention here that "Drop It Like It’s Hot" was ALWAYS the superior song. Nor will I mention that I have seen enough White women “twerk” to this to hate it just off GP. Or how most of the people who think this is the be all end all don’t know a thing about southern music and their other alternatives to THIS ONE SONG. What I WILL mention is that it almost ALWAYS comes on at the end of a long string of exhausting songs. And look, before you start telling me about DJ tactics and what songs to play and when, I get it. People still lose their minds to this song, so I get it. But what I don’t get is why in this earthly world Raynard with the hat seems to just KNOW that I feel like doing goddamn cardio on his dick at 96 BPM after I already danced to fittylem songs. And honestly? That whole people losing their minds thing I mentioned? Is bullshit. I’m entirely convinced at LEAST half of y’all are more worried that you’ll look crazy for not getting hype. Social pressure—I get it. I understand, I really do. Just let it become a cultural artifact already. You can still make your 99 and the 2000 jokes, I promise.
CLEARLY SUPERIOR. CLEARLY.
"Electric Boogie" (The Electric Slide Song)
I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but if something becomes a frequent criterion of a White person being “Black” enough to be acceptable… It’s not that Black any more. Or at all. Your beige NAACP chapter-chair auntie with the lake accent can fight me if she wants to. Give me the Boodie Bounce and your 44-year-old aunty basically doing squats to it. Give me the Monorail and your 68-year-old uncle-stalker killing it with his thumbs up. The young ones will catch up eventually. These are clearly superior line dances. We’re too complex for the Electric Slide, folks.
With that said:
I really, really love Black people.
LOOK HOW BLACK THIS IS. YES. YES YES YES.
Okay, so, honestly, I like this song, but… what I don’t like is how everyone around me suddenly becomes “Jamaican” when it comes on. And I want you to know those are the most aggressive scare quotes I could humanly type, breh. Hurt my index fingers a little bit. Anyway, barely any of you know the words to this song. But will mouth the HELL out of it. Or mouth the hell out of something, because you clearly don’t know the words. Even my Jamaican-ass friend thought they were saying “Heads High, Billy Billy no” when she was younger. And though I realize a lot of you know the hook now, you don’t know these verses. But you will still try to sing them, with your “watermelon watermelon watermelon” looking asses. Stop it.
Because what I will NEVER have issues with are impressions of Diddy’s ridiculous ass verse, regardless of quality. His entire verse sounds like 8 layers of Hustle Man impression with a little cocaine thrown in. Also I enjoy screaming I LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME BIG PO—PPA. THE SHOWSTO—PPA. THE RHYME-DRO—PPA at the top of my lungs. So.
“Peaches & Cream”
So, the clean version of this song is trash, first and foremost.
“On top, underneath, on the side of you
Better yet baby right next to you”
"Better yet, right next to me"??? You saved or something? Like REAL damn saved? I… Okay. Honestly, that’s my primary reason for wanting this to stop. Play the dirty version and we’re good.
Actually, the dirty version is a lot, too.
“In the front, in the back of you,
Ooh I love the smell of you”
Please don’t sniff me from behind, sir. Kindly. Please, kindly. Also…wait, this is in both versions of the song. NO kind of discretion. Nevermind, carry on.
Because better. Just pretend Lil’ Zane doesn’t exist, like you’ve already been doing for the past couple decades or so.
“Be Faithful (Put Your Hands Up)”
Siiiiiiiiiigh. No one needs this song. No one really wants this song—it’s more like we tolerate it because it always comes on when we’re too tired and forget that there are better things in life. I’d ask New Yorkers to weigh in, but New Yorkers are singularly skilled at pretending corny shit is not corny, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll just state that this song is what I imagine a DJ’s midlife crisis sounds like.
ALL THE CHICKENHEADS BE QUIET
WHAT’S YOUR ZODIAC SIGN?!?!
WHO FUCKIN TONIGHT
CAN I GET A WOO WOO
OH MY GOD PLEASE LET ME GET A WOO WOO PLEASE
IS THE CROWD STILL WITH ME? PLEASE LET THE CROWD LIKE THIS
OH MY GOD I HOPE THEY DON’T THINK I’M OLD
LIKE SERIOUSLY, WHAT DO COOL OLD PEOPLE DO? MAKE UP LINE DANCES?
WAIT THEY’RE STILL DANCING I THINK
A LOT OF PEOPLE ARE LEAVING BUT THEY PROBABLY JUST WANT DRINKS
CROOKLYN CLAN! CROOKLYN CLAN! THEY STILL LOVE ME RIGHT
Look if you’re gonna do lazy DJ shit, at least soften the blow by making it Beyoncé.
I know I’m not the only one shedding a single tear while inexplicably rowing a canoe past the bustling, polluted world of Black party music. Are there songs that you need us to get the fuck out of here? Songs we should still be playing that were long forgotten? Maybe you’re one of the people who was too scared to speak out for fear of being ridiculed—I’m here for you. They can’t hurt you here, I promise.