Ask Matt Labash

Ask Matt Labash: Do’s and dont’s of wedding songs, why Adele sucks, and the evils of remix dances

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Matt Labash
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      Matt Labash

      Hi, welcome to “Ask Matt Labash.” I’ll be your host, Matt Labash. The idea for this column – if idea isn’t too strong a word – is that it is not a column at all. Rather, it’s a conversation. One in which I do ninety-five percent of the talking. If you did most of the talking, you’d have to watch my eyes go dead and my attention wander until it was my turn to talk again. So trust me, it’s better this way.

      For those unfamiliar with me from my day job at The Weekly Standard, I’ll give you a capsule bio by way of introduction: I have the gift of wisdom. Does that sound arrogant? I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention. I didn’t choose wisdom. It chose me. If I had my druthers, I’d have chosen another gift, perhaps the untold riches of Lil’ Wayne, whose teeth are made of actual diamonds, or to be the sexiest man alive, like Rachel Maddow. But wisdom is what they gave me, so wisdom is all I have to give back to you.

      This is not, you should know, a mere advice column. If you need advice, I’ll give it. But the only rule here is that there are no rules. You can ask me a question about anything that’s on your mind: current events, pop culture, media, theology, string theory, fishing tips, wicker repair. The only limits we have are those of your imagination. And those of my knowledge base. Which is considerably limited, truth be told. So try not to ask me anything that requires research. Though they tell me I have access to Google on this computer if we need it.

      If all goes according to plan, ours will not be a traditional writer/reader relationship. It’s more complex than that. I might empathize or cajole. I might educate, instruct, or inspire. I might pretend to answer your question while actually reporting you to Social Services, since you’re a dangerous person who should not have contact with children. I might tell you to climb up on my shoulders, that you’re not heavy, you’re my brother. Or I might tell you that you are heavy, and that you should hop down until you lose a few pounds. I might just sidle up behind you, put my big strong man hands on the small of your back, and whisper in your ear the words of the poet, Kenny Rogers: “We’ve got tonight, who needs tomorrow?”

      To which you’ll say something like, “I can’t, I’ve got to go home and wash my hair.”
      To which I’ll say something like, “Shhh. We’ve got tonight babe, why don’t you stay?”
      Wherever this takes us, our journey begins now:

      <i>Matt Labash is a senior writer with The Weekly Standard. His first book, <a href="">Fly Fishing with Darth Vader: And Other Adventures with Evangelical Wrestlers, Political Hitmen, and Jewish Cowboys</a> will be published next month by Simon & Schuster.</i>

EDITOR’S NOTE: Have a burning sensation? Consult your doctor. Have a burning question for Matt Labash? Submit it here.

Dear Matt,
I recently got engaged and am getting married next spring (yay!). But I need your help. What song should the new husband and I dance to at the celebration of our nuptials in front of friends and family? As an avid reader, I know you have good taste in music. Plus, this is THE song choice of song choices. My decision on this will live with me for the rest of my life. Any suggestions? A couple things to keep in mind: young children will be present so please keep it PG; and anything involving Gangnam Style, The Chicken Dance, or the words “Flo Rida” is a non-starter. Thanks a million! – Amanda

This is a question I often hear when counseling premarital couples at Five Love Languages Seminars. Music is obviously important. As Auden said, “Music is the best means we have of digesting time.” And no time tends to freeze itself as indelibly as the minutes that comprise the first dance at your wedding. The gooey advice columnist in me would like to tell you to dance like nobody is watching. But the calculating realist in me is sad to report that in fact, lots of people will be. So don’t get drunk or nervous, trip on your train, and go sprawling on the parquet. Or six of your so-called friends will have your humiliation uploaded to YouTube before you can even cut the cake. Such is the current nature of things. We are all stalkarazzi now.

I will therefore give you a do’s and don’t’s framework in selecting a first-dance song, a menu of first-dance philosophies and song selections from which you can make an informed decision:

Don’t select any Chris Brown numbers, unless the values you want to celebrate at your wedding are bad taste and wife-beating. Specifically that bane of every “viral” wedding, Brown’s tune “Forever,” which started the showboat wedding-dance production. Just as bad are those awful “remix” dances, the ones that require the couple to begin with something slow and staid, until a newer, funkier song comes on. At which time you and your groom pull sunglasses from your bridal cleavage, and prove what horrible sheeple you are, as you obediently sniff the anal pheromones of the throngs of halfwits who have preceded you, all of whom upload videos of themselves gyrating like asses on the most important day of their lives. It wasn’t funny the first time. It’s much less funny by the ten thousandth. If you’re contemplating any song that requires choreography, don’t.

Do go with a big band over a DJ if you can possibly afford it. It’s not a necessity. It’s just a nice touch. I’m (unfortunately) not getting a kickback on this, but if you’re in the region, I suggest hiring my friend Eric Felten and his orchestra. Felten has what every memorable big-band leader needs: good hair. He’s also a silken vocalist who plays a wicked trombone. The benefit of hiring his ilk is a sort of look beyond the first dance to the rest of the reception. As it’s not just about the music he’ll play (everything from Duke Ellington to Bobby Darin to Harry James), but it’s about what he won’t play. None of those make-your-ears-bleed wedding groaners like “Old Time Rock’n’Roll” or “Celebration” — the dog-whistle cue to the unrhythmic, inebriated hordes that it is their time to shine. Yes, your slutty cousin with the neck tattoos in the Lucite heels will likely be disappointed that she can’t put out her mating calls during the Cupid Shuffle line dance. But let her muck up her own wedding with that stuff. She’ll probably have three or four of them, anyway.

Do remember that like a snowflake — no two of which are alike — your first-dance song should be an expression of your individuality. As a modern American, you should be used to the notion of your own specialness, since your mollycoddling teachers and parents have been instilling this in you since you were in Montessori school. So go ahead and pick something that’s a reflection of your taste (assuming your taste is any good). But don’t take that so far that it becomes an act of aggression. It’s fun to pretend that you don’t care what people think. But you obviously do. Which is why you’re paying 100 bucks a head so that your dad’s retired business partner who you’ll never see again can gorge himself on Surf and Turf and drink his weight in single malt scotch. It’s okay to admit to ourselves that we all care, at least somewhat, about what people think of us. You know who doesn’t? Sociopaths. So don’t pick a song like “If My Nose Were Full of Nickels, I’d Blow it All On You,” just to be “interesting.” Do pick a song that means something to you, but nothing that’s licentious, offensive, scatological, profane, or sexually explicit. There’ll be plenty of time for that sort of behavior on the honeymoon.

Don’t play anything by Adele. This dictate doesn’t have much to do with wedding songs, since I wouldn’t expect you to pick one of hers, as most of her compositions seem to be from the John-Hinckley school of stalkerhood — Taylor Swift for the roly-poly set. But I’m gratuitously taking this opportunity to bash the most overpraised singer of this generation (Time magazine decided the woman, who once said that the Spice Girls “made me what I am today,” is one of the most influential people in the world. Sadly, they’re probably right.) Adele seems like a perfectly nice girl. Still, I can’t stand that caterwauling cow. As it makes me quarrelsome when moony critics, starved for any blue-eyed soul singer who doesn’t need auto-tuned, unanimously heap superlatives on some mediocrity (she’s Kelly Clarkson, but darker!), deeming her the new Queen of Soul. Blecchhh. Real soul music — the kind that doesn’t need colored contacts, the kind sung by Aretha and Gladys and Linda “What a Man” Lyndell (who oddly, was white, though you’d never know it) — has been dead for almost 40 years. (Adele was born in 1988, and she isn’t bringing it back.) Yes, Adele has presence, and her songs have a bit of urgency. But so does gastrointestinal distress. And both G.I. disorders and Adele songs make me want to run for the loo, as her people say. Aidan Moffat, in the British music magazine, The Quietus, probably put it best, describing Adele’s hit “Someone Like You” as sounding “like it was penned by a rom-com robot for a new Haagan Dazs-sponsored Girls Night In compilation.”

Do stay classic. About one out of two American marriages end in divorce, and the average duration of those is eight years. So goose your odds of success and pick a song that’s lasted longer. Nearly anything from the Sinatra songbook will do. Though my favorite Sinatra tunes are “The Summer Wind” and “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning,” (not at all wedding songs), my friend, The Cool Refresher, went with “Witchcraft” at his wedding, which works nicely. From the same family, you might consider Tony Bennett’s version of the 1947 Sammy Cahn/Jule Styne gem “Time after Time.” And if you want a more muted version of that, go with Chet Baker’s cover. Also hard to beat: John Coltrane’s and Johnny Hartman’s 1963 version of the 1952 song (first recorded by Sinatra) “My One and Only Love.”

If it’s less sleepy you’re after, and you want earthier and dirtier, do go with classic soul music (as opposed to the faux Adele version). Big, bad, gravel-voiced singers are your friend. If I come back in another life, and in that life, I can sing, I hope to sound like Wilson Pickett in what would be a pretty choice first-dance song. It’s named, straight-forwardly enough, “I’m in Love.”  Recorded by Pickett in 1968, it was written by Bobby Womack after he was criticized for marrying Sam Cooke’s widow shortly after Cooke was shot in the chest at the age of 33. (Aretha did a soaring version of the same. It’s easy to forget, in her current incarnation, how there was a time when every version of every song Aretha Franklin used to sing was worth listening to. Try on her version of Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me” for starters.)