F2K10 is a countdown of the 20 worst songs of 2010. Track our progress here.
Far be it from me to make life harder for the least embarrassing living Beatle… but, wow, someone just double-parked his Yellow Submarine in Creepytown.
Seriously, after hearing “Who’s Your Daddy,” I’m a little worried that Mr. Conductor can’t make ends meet after leaving Shiny Time Station. Dude must be hurting for scratch because early this year, Ringo Starr released the lousy Y Not–an album whose title alone puts it in the league of such modern-day classics as Ringo Rama, I Wanna Be Santa Claus and Me Bleedin’ Doodle Deedle Doodle Doo (Love Your Brother, For Fuck’s Sake). As an album, Y Not lives up to its insultingly non-committal title by providing good, old-fashioned rock and roll music for the sad, sad bastards that still desire that in 2010. The lyrics to “Peace Dream” are like Blood Sausage Soup For The British Soul, and they should get this dude and his mustache promptly erased from all the Beatles iTunes billboards in Times Square:
“Can you imagine, all of this coming true? It’s really up to all of us to do/Just like John Lennon said, in Amsterdam from his bed.”
Ugh, maybe he should’ve asked someone who was actually in a band with Lennon about what type of boner he was in real life.
Anyway, it’s really hard to choose the worst tune on an album that has Richard Marx songwriting credits, but album closer “Who’s Your Daddy” is a magical misery tour of its own. In the song, Dirty Uncle Richard lures you into the back his van and shows you his Blue Meanie–or at least that’s the first image I get when I hear a 70-year-old man rasping “who’s your daddy?” For the most part the song is your average, dull Joss Stone number full of the grating, over-compensating melisma that kept her from being our Amy Winehouse. But this time it’s complete with guitars (and saxophones!) awesomely set to “Bob Seger karaoke band.” Everything seems pretty normal until Ringo shows up and starts being too “huggy” at the Sweet 16 party, belching out “WHO’S YER DADDY” through a mouth full of warm ale and starchy British food. Dude sounds like a fucking serial killer. If they find Joss Stone’s body in a hole where the rain gets in, the cops aren’t gonna have to look too incredibly hard for suspects… Y, Ringo, Y?
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on November 30, 2010