Strip club DJs come in all shapes, sizes, races and ages—but, there is one thing that we all share in common: an MP3 folder full of the same dozen songs that have been deemed safe to play for pretty much any dancer or crowd. However, we rarely stop to reflect on the messages we are sending by playing these supposedly one-size-fits-all strip club jams. And, no, I m not talking about obviously messed-up choices like "She Talks To Angels or "P.I.M.P. Rather, I m going to be unpacking the problematic elements of songs that have been systematically given privilege, due to historical inequality. Okay, now that I m speaking the Portland language, here is my list of songs that need to be removed from every strip club DJ s playlist.
After declaring that he would like to be buried in a shopping mall after he dies, rapper and jewelry minimalist, 2 Chainz, opens "Birthday Song with the following hook:
They ask me
what I do and who I do it for (yeah) /
And how I come up with this shit up in the studio (yeah) /
All I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe
(true) /
All I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe (tell
em).
At this point, we, the listeners, are quite familiar with what 2 Chainz wants for his birth day...but that doesn’t answer the question as to what he does, who he does it for and how he comes up with shit in the studio. Hey, 2 Chainz, the people demand answers. Did you forget about your constituents? And, yes, this comparison of Mr. Chainz to a politician is no mistake—it s the age old, bipartisan trick of leading into what truly concerns the people, but then switching things up, so you can first ask the people for material goods. In this case, material goods may refer to a big booty hoe, but it could be anything—all politicians play this scummy trick:
"People are asking if I will forgive student debt
(yeah) /
And if we re getting another stimulus check
(yeah) /
All I want for 2022 is to get re elected (true) /
All I want for 2022 is to get re elected (tell ‘em).
I mean, I can t really tell the difference at all. Can you? Make a bunch of promises, pretend to care and then just straight up ask for a nice piece of ass (or the monetary equivalent, which has actually gone up during quarantine).
So, I ask you, 2 Chainz, do you really care about your fans enough to share your goals and secrets, or was this song just another lame attempt to GoFundHoe a big boo ty birthday gift? How do you come up with that shit up in the studio? The Koch brothers? George Soros??? WHO IS FUNDING YOUR CHAINZ, SIR?
"Friday night and I need a fight /
My motorcycle and a switchblade knife /
Handful of grease in my hair feels right /
But what I need to make me tight are /
Girls, Girls, Girls.
It s the weekend—Friday, specifically. And, the boys in Mötley Crüe are armed with switchblades and looking to beat someone up. So, they get on their motorcycles and... head to the strip club? Come on, Vince. Have you ever been to a strip club? If so, why do you plan on sneaking a knife past the bouncers, with the intention on instigating physical violence? This is why we can t have nice clubs, guys. And, to make things worse, Mötley Crüe doesn’t just sing about any old club. No, they mention the exact names and lo cations of the clubs, in which they plan on slashing up strangers. The Dollhouse in Ft. Lauderdale must love the free publicity... jerks. Come to our bar, stab someone and take a stripper home isn’t the type of mot to that any respectable club wants on their reader board. We don t play rap music here because it promotes violence, the closet racist manager tells the DJ. Uh-huh. Sure. Ice Cube brags that he didn’t have to use his A.K., but these young lads are just running around in hairspray, waving switchblades at naked women. Sounds like a fair set of standards, David Duke.
Just a small town girl /
Living in a lonely world /
She took the midnight train going anywhere /
Just a city boy /
Born and raised in South Detroit /
He took the midnight train going anywhere.
Okay, there is so much to unpack here, it s beyond frustrating. First of all, you cannot catch a train after 10pm anywhere on Amtrak’s route. I am unaware of any other company that offers an alternate train service, but as a betting man, I m going to assume that some upscale, indie start-up that offers niche railroad service at midnight, is not stop ping anywhere near the Motor City. Further, I doubt that a single woman from a small town would feel comfortable even boarding such a train, so we re just going to assume that this whole interaction between South Detroit Boy and his lonely girlfriend-in-the-making never happened.
But, if Journey is simply exaggerating for poetic effect, then let s look at the other begged questions that arise from this wasted white person at a wedding anthem (that has paid a significant portion of my rent, so I m not just being a hater). What the fuck are streetlight people, if not an army of brainless zombies, walking the pavement after dark, heading anywhere to avoid loneliness? And, why would the two protagonists of our story want anything to do with said people? What movie goes on and on and on, while also referencing rail travel and South Detroit? Robocop? Beverly Hills Cop? Big Money Hustlas? I can t think of a single Michigan-inspired flick (yes, Axel Foley is from Detroit) that features even the slightest mention of a single rail road tie.
And, if not a non-existent midnight train, what are strangers waiting for up and down the boulevard? If they re waiting for a ride, then why are they hiding? Do they know how fucking hard it is for a taxi to find people who do this kind of thing? Yeah, Uber, I d like a pickup from somewhere in the night, and, oh yeah, I m from the D. Good luck getting that lift home, yo. Try not to get stabbed.
Did I mention that this is supposedly an age old love story that repeats over time? This guy got on a train and a girl got on the same train, but neither one knew where it was going. The end. But, then again, perhaps life isn’t about the destination...
It s a song about the holocaust. For fuck s sake, just play "Dead Skin Mask and tell the dancer it s "Angel Of Death." Anne Frank will finally stop frowning on you from beyond the grave.
Everyone and their mom know this song, so I m not going to insult our readers by quoting it. But, does anyone realize that a healthy butt is not one attached to some one with 36-24-36 proportions at only 63 inches tall??? If a woman (or a man) has little in the middle, but is rocking enough back to cause one s homeboys to shout, they re looking at an extremely risky case of spinal injury, caused by high cholesterol and a genetic predisposition to mild dwarfism. If Mix A Lot cannot lie, then why is he proclaiming pseudoscience and encouraging women to stop listening to workout tapes? I mean, sure, the driver s seat of a Honda is no place to be emulating the gymnastic strategies of Jane Fonda, but that s beside the point Jane Fondas Original Workout tape is the highest selling VHS release of all time (dead serious, look it up). This means, that the statistical chance of Mix A-Lot finding a woman who is barely five feet tall with a gigantic ass—and, that said woman never purchased a copy of the best-selling videotape ever—is less than the chance of someone being unfamiliar with this song. Oh, and let s not forget, that the same rapper encourages hoopties over Hondas, as well as buttermilk biscuits, the average of which contains over 49 calories per serving. Have you ever tried to eat just one buttermilk biscuit? Those things are like crack. So, we re talking at least 245 calories per haul. All while driving around in a vehicle that violates D.E.Q. emissions standards? On Broadway??? I m really starting to wonder who knighted "Sir Mix A-Lot Of-Lies.
This is AC/DC s shortest song, next to "Big Balls and "I Forgot The Title (Because It Sounds Like Everything Else From The Post Bon Era). We re talking about a band that milks Iron Maiden-lite riffs for over five min utes, while singing about one of two topics (physics and/or women). They have done this 175 times.
So, this brings us to You Shook Me All Night Long, a love anthem that expresses one s desire to make love to a woman for the duration of an entire evening...or, three minutes and thirty eight seconds. Ladies, if your man promises to screw you until the sun comes up, but pulls out less than four minutes into Tryst, he s probably an AC/DC fan.
