I mentioned earlier this week that thanks to prolonged exposure to Soulja Boy Tell 'Em's "Kiss Me Thru the Phone" (via L.A. radio), the song is permanently lodged in my head. I complained about it, but, in fact, I not-so-secretly love it. And I know that's wrong. Soulja Boy Tell 'Em is a talentless, toxic waste of space, who couldn't even come up with a coherent moniker. Seriously, is it a name or a command, and if it's the latter, who's Soulja Boy telling to tell 'em? Us? Himself? And what are we supposed to tell 'em? That he's Soulja Boy? He could have done that himself by choosing a simpler name! In fact, I don't want to tell 'em anything because it all seems so unclear. I might make a mistake. I'm not expert in these Soulja Boy matters.
And yet, I don't hate myself for loving "Kiss," despite the fact that it is maybe the stupidest song this side of Flo Rida. "Baby, you know that I miss you / I wanna get wit' you / Tonight, but I cannot baby girl and that's the issue," sings anonoteen Sammie. I'm really glad he explains what the issue is, because I really wouldn't have gotten it otherwise. I seriously would be sitting in traffic, screaming at my radio, "What's the issue?" without Sammie. So, thanks Sammie. I appreciate it so much that I'll tell 'em for you. Whatever you want, I'll tell 'em.
Soulja Boy's raps (if you want to call them that, and if you're like me, you don't) are devoid of ideas enough to make Sammie sound like Thomas Edison. "Baby, I know that you like me / You my future wifey / Soulja Boy Tell 'Em, yeah! / You can be my Bonnie..." he sing-songs, making narcissism seem less like a disorder and more like a syndrome (as in Tourette) as he drops his (did I mention?) really fucking stupid moniker for no reason beyond reminding us how stupid it is. "I can be your Clyde / You can be my wife," he continues, which: really? I can be your wife? Because I thought that "You my future wifey" already implied permission, but I suppose no amount of commanding is enough from a manchild who calls himself, in case you need reminding, Soulja Boy Tell 'Em. "Baby, I been thinkin' lately / So much about you / Everything about you / I like, yeah, I love it," he says, and then later, "I miss ya / I miss ya / I miss ya / I really wanna kiss ya, but I cain't." In these examples Soulja Boy Tell 'Em is using repetition for effect. The effect just happens to be more support of the notion that he is an idiot with nothing to say. And then, the bridge: "She call my phone like, 'Dah-dah-dahdahdahdahdah-dah Dahdahdahdahdah-dah Dahdahdahdahdah," he intones, proving that he doesn't even have the musical talent to imitate a ringtone worth illegally downloading.
I'm dogging this hard after professing my love for it, but that's the point. When you think as much as I do about all the pop culture that passes through your senses, there's something wonderfully refreshing about surrendering to the charms of something you know is terrible. There's something primal and basic about loving a piece of shit like this: like oxygen, you take the pop song in and it does what it's supposed to and you don't have to think about it. (The guttural bass line that contrasts with the bubblegum nature of the song, as well as the insanely catchy chorus don't hurt, either.) To call "Kiss Me Thru the Phone" mindless seems almost too obvious, but it's worth doing since this song does stupid particularly well: it makes sense that someone dumb enough to believe that a kiss can be placed through the phone would be dumb enough to rap any and all of the lines quoted above. Bravo, Soulja Boy! You really told us.