The most popular is probably by the snotty mall-punk band New Found Glory, but one of my greatest delights digging back into MHWGO lore has been finding out that the reunited Blondie has taken to covering it in concert, in a souped-up performance that sounds as native to Debbie Harry as peroxide. Sometimes the ground is prepared by a hip artist covering an unhip one, whether in mockery or tribute, as the Sex Pistols once did for the then-reviled Monkees, and as many musicians have in fact done with MHWGO. This is often preceded by the designation of a "guilty pleasure," a term of inherent snobbery and self-contradiction better applied to the music of a bigot or criminal (Chris Brown fans need apply). Some common tactics are in their own ways overexposed and internally flawed: There's critical reclamation, as Vulture writer Amanda Dobbins attempted last week for MHWGO, or as has been done before for Abba, Neil Diamond, the whole genre of heavy metal and, recently, Hall & Oates. Is there any cure for the song poisoned by its own success? Any equivalent of what Cameron has attempted to do by retooling Titanic in 3D, so that audiences might see his epic literally in a new dimension? There are a few. But by now it has joined countless other hits whose terminal catchiness condemns them to stalk the earth as musical zombies, devoid of any purpose but to mindlessly devour airspace and patience. I dimly recall a halcyon interlude last year when I was amiably inclined toward Adele's "Someone Like You," for instance.
Purchase my heart will go on song rights pro#
Most often, though, you lean a little pro or a little con until repetition wears the feeling down to a numb, useless stump.
![purchase my heart will go on song rights purchase my heart will go on song rights](https://images.rmitshirt.com/2021/11/premium-grinch-my-students-stole-my-heart-christmas-sweater-hoodie1.jpg)
When you hate one, it's like a swarm of mosquitoes waiting around every corner. When you like a hit, it's an occasion for extreme sociability-that "summer song" feeling, as its lilt becomes the beat of the era, a big tuneful umbrella over all our heads. That's the thing about overexposed songs, no matter how diligently you purge them from your personal playlists: You can't shut your ears the way you can shut your eyes.