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Why, No, I Don't Like the G.B. Leighton Twins Song, Either. Thanks for Asking.

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Disclaimer: by all accounts, G. B. Leighton is a solid citizen, one who does countless benefit gigs, is a cancer survivor, and recently emerged from a stint at Hazelden.  Please do not take this as a commentary on him personally.

That said, allow me to be the ten-thousandth person to say: OH MY GOD IS HIS TWINS SONG BAD.  "MAMBO NUMBER FIVE" AT YOUR COUSIN'S WEDDING BAD.  Back in college, my roommate Karl was watching MTV, and the video for Madonna's "Cherish" came on.  Karl hated that song, and attempted to change the channel.  However, the remote wouldn't work, so Karl did the next most logical thing: he threw the remote against the wall, shattering it, and left the room in disgust.  I tell you this because this is exactly the urge I get whenever FSN gifts us with this turgid, tuneless mess.

I am not alone in my distaste.  Twinkie Town member mnsportstalk posted a poll last Sunday asking for your thoughts on the song.  The results speak for themselves: out of 700 respondents, 83% hate or dislike it.  While the internet is larded with anonymous misanthropes who hate everything, in this case the misanthropes have it nailed.  There are even two Facebook groups that have been formed to combat it.

Still, what is it about this song that has created such an outcry?  It's hard to put into words, exactly.  As Elvis Costello memorably said, writing about music is like dancing about architecture.  My internet friend Brandon discusses the inherent silliness of doing so while analyzing a New York Times Magazine article that tries to describe the music of The National (who are awesome, and you should buy all their records):

Like every other music profile, the very best part of the article is when the author tries to describe the band’s sound through words. To my knowledge, the results of such attempts have never not been awful, and typically result in hella LOLs from the readership. Case in point:

"The National sound has a layered, seductive quality that is filled with intimate male feeling and uneasy cinematic portent: a storm coming up outside the window; leaves blowing in the road."

Can’t you just hear it? Yes, you can. Thank you, feature writer, for your spot-on description of the band’s unique sound. Your job here is done; feel free to go back to what you were doing, which I assume was furiously humping your thesaurus.

Since I have a respectful, platonic relationship with my thesaurus, I'll keep my criticism simple.  There's more melody in his Pizza Hut jingle (everybody now: "488-8888, Pizza Hut delivery is on its way") than in this thing, and the lyrics are so banal and clichéd that Diane Warren should sue for brand infringement.  Seriously, this:

We got baseball outside
Minnesota Pride
Target Field bring on the heat
Twins are the team to beat

Followed by this:

Bring on Mauer and Morneau
the fans are ready to go
Dick and Bert on every call
they're gonna circle em all
Brainerd, St Cloud, Winona, hey Dakotas

Good God, man.  I half expect Dirk Diggler to start singing 'You Got The Touch" at any moment.

I realize that all this carping will likely be to no avail, and we'll be subjected to this all season long.  But I could remain silent no longer, and thank you for allowing me to say my piece.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to listen to "The Berenguer Boogie" a couple times to clear my head.