Some music makes me mad

[cartoon id="295973"] Some people like mumble rap. Those people should nuhsaluhnayl. I’m sorry, I meant ohuminanuh. Okay, I’m done with the joke. It’s tempting to mash the keyboard one more time, but I’m no meshugana. I promise that’s a real word, even if it doesn’t look like it. Some types of music don’t deserve the label of music. Now, I’m not saying that everything should be a rhyming ballad, but everything should be a rhyming ballad. Free verse in music doesn’t sound rhythmic. Especially when someone speaks it instead of singing it. I don’t get why songs where people talk over a beat are considered songs. Take Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant.” That has some hugely meaningful lyrics, like “This song is called Alice’s Restaurant, and it’s about Alice, and the restaurant, but Alice’s Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant, that’s just the name of the song, and that’s why I called the song Alice’s Restaurant.” I can call this Alexandra Paskhaver’s humor column, not because it’s just humorous or a column, but because it’s a humor column written by Alexandra Paskhaver, which is why I call this Alexandra Paskhaver’s humor column. See how easy it is to write garbage — I mean, music — like that? Music should be rhythmic. You should ideally be able to dance to it, or at least tap your foot to it. Of course, writing music like that is hard. It’s a lot harder than “Alice’s Restaurant.” But that’s what makes it more meaningful and worthwhile to listen to. Now, I could write lyrics like “This column is written by Alexandra Paskhaver / Who tends to give it a humorous flavor. / She writes about music, and sound, and beats / And is an interesting person to meet.” Admittedly, that may not be Grammy-Award-winning music right there, but at least it has a rhythm to it. When I was a teenager, I wanted to become a singer-songwriter. Forget for a minute that I couldn’t play any instruments, and that my only introduction to singing was humming along to the “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” theme song. I filled notebooks with poetic lyrics (or so I thought) full of suffering and angst and things which, several years down the line, make me cringe like I’ve just bitten directly into a popsicle. I never ended up recording those songs, and the world is better off because of it. But sometimes, when I revisit those notes, I think about my old dream. I imagine what it would be like to record my own music. I would only ever record rhyming ballads. Never rap, and never songs where people just talk about Alice’s Restaurant, or Bar, or Café. But maybe that’s why I’ve turned into a bit of a music critic. I’m jealous of other people’s successes, even if they’re just talking over some notes. Maybe one day I’ll climb off my high horse and admit that some music is good even when it lacks a beat and a rhythm, and—dare I say it?—lyrics, spoken or otherwise. Until then, I’ll keep complaining. After all, that’s what Alexandra Paskhaver’s humor column is for, because it’s Alexandra Paskhaver’s humor column, and – now I’m a meshugana. - Copyright 2025 Alexandra Paskhaver, distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate. Alexandra Paskhaver is a software engineer and writer. Both jobs require knowing where to stick semicolons, but she’s never quite; figured; it; out. For more information, check out her website at https://apaskhaver.github.io.