A list of one-hit wonders worse than "Home"

Exploring current events these days is like taking a little detour to Hell. The only question is what level of Hell to enter. There's the politics level, which usually involves headlines with the phrase "Trump threatens" or a story about a Missouri congressman sponsoring a bill to make divorce illegal. There's also the environmental level, in which a scientist predicts that we're less than five years away from all melting into a puddle of hot goo, like John Carroll Lynch in Volcano.

We can't forget the economic level, where bread is projected to cost $15 a loaf by next year, around the same time Americans will need to earn no less than $180,000 a year to afford to stay on someone's couch. Don't overlook the health level, where a new strain of COVID that causes one to shit out the entire lining of their digestive system is on the rise. Finally, there's the entertainment level, where it's announced that an actor who has multiple credible accusations of sexual assault against him just signed a $200 million contract to play Blorko the Undefeatable in a proposed Blorko the Undefeatable trilogy.

Less actively harmful and depressing, though no less aggravating, is the ragebait level, devoted mostly to manufactured controversies designed to bring ad revenue to struggling news organizations. Fake generational conflicts have long been a goldmine for this. For a long time, it was Baby Boomers vs. Millennials and their supposed helplessness and ample collection of participation trophies. Then it was Boomers and Millennials vs. Gen Z and their supposed need for safe spaces and refusal to provide unpaid labor as "work experience." You'll note that, other than being incorrectly lumped in with both Boomers and Millennials to make a muddled point, Generation X has mostly been ignored, and in this case, we are grateful for that.

ANYWAY, now that Boomers are finally starting to drop dead, it's turned into Millennials vs. Gen Z. In keeping with whatever generation consists mostly of young adults, Gen Z is the current arbiter of taste. As is usually the case with these things, Gen Z's taste in fashion and culture is often inconsistent and baffling: they've revived the mullet, but wouldn't be caught dead wearing skinny jeans. Unsurprisingly, much of what they deem as uncool is representative of the generation that came before them, and interpreted as a rejection of both that generation's values and cultural contribution. Note this is how generation gaps have always worked, and yet we still continue to feed into this artificial bullshit like it's something new.

The media dutifully reports on whatever it is Gen Z is giving the ol' Roman emperor thumbs down to this week, and Millennials, usually in op-eds (or just TikToks filmed in their cars), angrily respond in kind, and The Atlantic reports on all of it as if it's actual news, while managing to earn a few more dollars from a Temu ad. Hey, it's a living, am I right?

One of the latest not-troversies is over 2009's one-hit wonder "Home," by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Not immediately familiar to you? That's okay, in the run-up to writing this newsletter, I discovered I was initially confusing it for a different one-hit wonder called "Home," by American Idol season 11 winner (and ridiculously named) Philip Phillips. A modest success upon release, it has since lived on (more or less) in commercials and Michael's in-store playlists.

I know nothing about Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros as a band, other than it appears to have anywhere from 9 to 20 members at a time, none of whom are named Edward Sharpe. They seem to have been mostly forgotten – that is, until, prompted by an X post asking what the worst song of all time was, a user posted a clip of the band performing "Home" on NPR's "Tiny Desk Concert" series. Somehow, this single comment escalated into multiple posts across social media debating the song's merits, the leader of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (again, not named Edward Sharpe) being forced to issue a statement stating that "Home" is not the worst song of all time, and numerous articles about what all this means (including this, I suppose).

When you consider it for a moment (and I urge you not to), it's really a brilliant Brundlefly of the most irritating aspects of internet discourse: generation gaps and hyperbole. Gen Z is knowingly poking the bear by declaring a Millennial anthem as "cringe," and Millennials are unknowingly engaging in "you kids today don't know what real music is" arguments in kind, all because one (1) person still swimming in Elon Musk's toilet declared a minor folk pop song as "the worst song of all time," suggesting that he had only ever heard that and one other song, maybe "Hey Jude" or something.

Once I established that it was not, in fact, the song of the same name performed by American Idol season 11 winner Philip Phillips, I listened to "Home." It's not good. It incorporates a lethal amount of whistling and features the lyrics "Me oh my, you're the apple of my eye." It's the perfect song for wedding receptions where the guests drink out of mason jars and the groom doesn't wear socks.

Its primary sin (at least as far as Gen Z is concerned) is its upbeat earnestness. "Home" is perfectly reflective of that brief period of mostly misguided optimism during Obama's first term in office. Sure, the economy was in the shitter and the Republican Party had fully removed its masks to reveal just how much it despised women, minorities, and the poor, but we solved racism, everyone! We were feeling pretty good about ourselves, and that showed in our aggressively cheerful "life is an endless party" music. This was the era of the Black-Eyed Peas, of "Party in the U.S.A.," "Viva la Vida," "Teenage Dream," "Hey, Soul Sister," and way too many other songs that involved the use of a ukulele. It redefined what a pop song is: ephemeral, vapid, and carefully crafted in a laboratory for maximum feel-good vibes.

However, Gen Z is cynical in the same way Generation X used to be (or at least, how we were perceived). They have every right to be: things suck on a level no one could have ever possibly predicted. The future is bleak, at best, and too many of their elders seem content to do almost nothing to make it even slightly better. "Home" represents a time less than 20 years ago when we didn't know who people like Stephen Miller were, mass shootings only happened once a year or so, and the legalization of gay marriage was still part of a bright and beautiful future rather than threatened by opportunistic cretins. What's moist-eyed nostalgia to some is hollow and smug to others.

But the worst song of all time? Nah. It's not even the worst song of 2009. That would be "Fireflies," by Owl City, a different one-hit wonder, in which an auto-tuned dork talk-sings about sock hops and disco balls while blooping on a keyboard. In fact, take a look at the list of one-hit wonders from the past 60 years and you'll find many songs that were far more of an insult to recording equipment, if not human decency itself. "Home" is "Bohemian Rhapsody" when compared to, say, "Afternoon Delight" or "The Curly Shuffle," both of which are undoubtedly held in high, nostalgic esteem by Boomers and Gen Xers. "Home" is better than a lot of songs released by bands and singers with multiple hits. Chuck Berry was a legendary guitarist who performed some of the biggest songs of the early rock 'n' roll era, but for me, he'll always be remembered as the guy who performed "My Ding-a-Ling," which is truly the worst song of all time.

As a challenge to myself, I selected a one-hit wonder from each decade from the 60s up to the 20s that was significantly worse than "Home," a song by a group whose biggest crime was creating music to be played in Starbucks, and having a girl singer doing Amelie cosplay. It wasn't easy, I can tell you that. It meant being reminded that we collectively demanded to hear more of "Rappin' Rodney," not to mention the godawful medley of "Baby, I Love Your Way" and "Freebird," and the unspeakable "Cotton-Eye Joe." I'm sure someone will argue that these songs are good, actually, and while taste is subjective, I will truck no such argument on my own newsletter. Make your own gd list.

1960s

Barry Sadler, "The Ballad of the Green Berets" (1966): In what is a truly American bit of trivia, the most financially successful song to offer comment on Vietnam wasn't "For What It's Worth" or "Fortunate Son." No, it was this pro-military slog, the rare pop radio hit that sounded like a funeral dirge, and was neither fun to sing along with, nor could you dance to it. Released at the perfect time, when public sentiment was still on the side of the U.S.'s involvement in a land war that didn't concern us, it ended up in the company of "California Dreamin'" and "96 Tears" as among the top songs of 1966. Public sentiment had changed by just two years later, when John Wayne personally selected the song as the theme to The Green Berets, legendary jingoistic trash that ended with the U.S. winning in Vietnam, a full seven years before we conceded that we were getting our asses beat but good and went home with our tails between our legs.

1970s

C.W. McCoy, "Convoy" (1975): The 70s was the decade of burnt orange, Quaaludes, and novelty songs playing out of a cracked radio in a brown AMC Pacer. While some novelty songs, like Carl Douglas's "Kung Fu Fighting," were undeniably charming, consider (or rather, don't) "Convoy," a song so implausibly successful that it ushered in both the (thankfully brief) CB radio craze, and our love for shitkicking truckers, as seen in Every Which Way But Loose and BJ and the Bear (where the orangutans came from, I have no idea). You'll be utterly unsurprised to know that C.W. McCall wasn't a real person, but rather the creation of an advertising executive named Bill Fries, who coasted on the success of "Convoy" for four more albums before retiring from music to become a conservative politician. Although, in retrospect, creating a song about talking in weird slang to people in far-off places foresaw the rise of social media, so maybe he was secretly a genius.

1980s

Timbuk 3, "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades" (1986): This is undoubtedly my most controversial pick, but I must be true to myself. I was a teenager when this was released, and even then, it was nails-on-a-chalkboard irritating to me. Though supposedly intended to be a satirical take on the threat of nuclear war, it sounded like the theme song for every sunglasses-wearing, finger guns-throwing jagoff who watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off once and decided to make it his entire personality. On the other hand, according to their Wikipedia page, Timbuk 3 turned down all offers to license the song for commercial use, so maybe I've been wrong the whole time. About the meaning of the song, not that it sucks, that is.

1990s

Billy Ray Cyrus, "Achy-Breaky Heart" (1992): This was the hardest choice of my life, requiring hours of quiet meditation and religious counsel. To ask "Which was the worst 90s one-hit wonder, "Macarena" or "Achy-Breaky Heart'" is like having to choose between broken glass or dog shit as the worst sandwich. The difference between a paper cut and a stubbed toe is incremental, they both hurt and make you unreasonably angry, much like "Macarena" and "Achy-Breaky Heart." But one has to prevail, and while "Macarena" was so inescapable for a period that it began to feel like a government psyop, "Achy-Breaky Heart" popularized line dancing and the scourge of ball-less, soulless "my girl shure looks good in them tight blue jeans" country pop. Professional big galoot Billy Ray Cyrus enjoyed a career resurgence in 2019 thanks entirely to Lil Nas X, and he's since celebrated that by gradually turning into Rob Zombie, marrying (and then almost immediately divorcing) a woman young enough to be his daughter, and, inevitably, endorsing Donald Trump for President.

2000s

Daniel Powter, "Bad Day" (2005): I described "Macarena" as inescapable, so deeply sewn into the pop culture fabric of 1996 that, even after I explicitly instructed him not to, my wedding reception DJ played it anyway (the extra-long version too!). But, even in the post-radio era, "Bad Day" was the audio equivalent of the menacing beings in It Follows, always wherever you were, whether it was in pharmacies, on hold music, or when watching television. Season 5 of American Idol tormented its viewers with it, playing it over every scene of a losing contestant glumly walking off stage, their dreams shattered in front of a scowling Simon Cowell. I said that "Home" embodies all the worst aspects of pop music, but at least it has a little juice. "Bad Day" is completely juiceless, just a collection of empty platitudes about how if you're sad you should just cheer up. If a "Live Laugh Love" sign was brought to life by a witch's curse and wrote a song, it'd be "Bad Day," and yet somehow it took three people (none of whom were Daniel Powter) to write the goddamn thing, somehow.

2010s

Hot Chelle Rae, "Tonight Tonight" (2011): This was another tough choice. The 10s had a lot of contenders for worst song of the decade, but the list also featured a lot of songs I don't think I've ever heard, so I may be premature in my selection. And yet, it feels right to point to Hot Chelle Rae's "Tonight Tonight" as proof that maybe the music industry is a net negative and should be destroyed for the good of mankind. Other than the fact that the band has four of the most punchable faces you've ever seen, on its surface the song is innocuous, just more bland bullshit about dancing the night away or some shit. What pushes it over into a Marathon Man "is it safe" torture device is singer Ryan Follese's vocals, which were presumably meant to sound punk-snotty but instead are closer to a 12 year-old sassing his mom over having to do chores: "La la la, whatevurrrrr, la la la, it doesn't matturrrrrrr." Pop songs can be annoying, they can be vapid, but rarely do they make you want to give the singer a wedgie and stuff him into a locker.

2020s

Oliver Anthony, "Rich Men North of Richmond" (2023): Yes, we're only halfway through the decade (God help us), but as with Hot Chelle Rae, I feel confident that we've already reached peak shitburger with "Rich Men North of Richmond," a hit single powered entirely by social media discourse, because that's just how things are these days. Championed by such luminaries as Marjorie Taylor-Greene and Ron DeSantis (though Anthony tried to claim that the song criticized both sides of the political aisle), it's a lite country list of workin' man grievances, like low wages, high taxes, and, uh, obese people using welfare to pay for "bags of fudge rounds." It might be the only pop song in music history that mentions "fudge rounds." I suppose that's an accomplishment, but also, it sucks, and it's going to be hard to top. But even if the 2020s close with a song worse than "Rich Men, etc." it'll still be worse than "Home," so my point has been made!!!!!