The Bloody Lazy Song
31 May 2011
Let's consider The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars. Why should we? you're asking. Well, you don't have to, I just am because I've had to listen to it for something like eight hours in the car.
It's a jaunty enough little number, and no mistake. I have it in my head now, although after eight hours that's not really surprising. I'd have the most obscure, tuneless Ladio Gaga song in my head after eight hours.
The song promotes a lack of worth ethic, which is all right on some levels. That would be the levels where you aren't happily doing fuck all every day of your life. But let's say that Bruno's a hard working little chap, and he means what he says. He's just taking the day off. Just the one. Nothing wrong with that.
However, it's not too long into the song before he tells us he's going to "throw my hand in my pants". Steady on there sunshine. No one wants to know anything about your pants. And this rather brazen act will come after he's turned the TV on, so I think we all know what he's watching.
So we start off with an innocent song of a young hardworking chap of Presbyterian origins taking a well earned day of rest, and then the next minute he's wanking off to some sleazy Scandinavian animal porn.
Another jaunty chorus, where he once again fools us with his Calvinistic work ethic schtick, and then we get... "Tomorrow I'll wake up, do some P90X, Find a really nice girl, have some really nice sex..."
So, now we know what he's taking the day off from. He's not working at all, he's having the day off from doing a bit of a work-out at home, getting himself into shape so that he can do some shagging. With a really nice girl apparently. Not if she sees you coming, chum. The really nice ones don't like the young chaps who watch Swedish animal sex.
We arrive quickly enough at the middle eight, where he tells us he's not going to comb his hair, which is fine, but then moves on to, "I'll just strut in my birthday suit, and let everything hang loose..."
Hang on a second! You were wearing pants a minute ago...
And another thing. We do not want to know about everything hanging loose. That's a disturbing image.
There's no mystery anymore, is there?
(As I write this I do begin to wonder if perhaps Bruno wasn't aiming his song at mysanthropic 47 year-old white men from the west of Scotland.)