Mainstream pop music often faces criticism, and for valid reasons. Beyond a few exceptions that genuinely break through, much of it can feel like manufactured noise, engineered for charts rather than artistic merit. When it comes to acts embodying this trend, LMFAO, particularly during their “Sorry For Party Rocking” era, often comes to mind for those seeking examples of pop at its most grating. Their hiatus, far from being mourned by all, was met with relief by many who felt overwhelmed by their brand of crass, overproduced sound. While the duo’s musical talent is debatable, what truly grates is their forced attempt to present themselves as quirky outsiders, a persona as thin as their lensless glasses.
And then there’s “Party Rock Anthem,” a track that for many represents the nadir of early 2010s pop. It’s a sonic assault, seemingly designed to test the endurance of anyone within earshot. With a level of sophistication akin to a beginner’s music project, the song throws Europop synths at the listener with such abandon that even proponents of the genre might wince. Adding insult to injury, Redfoo and SkyBlu’s contributions are generously described as “rapping,” delivering tone-deaf verses that strip any potential enjoyment from the already repetitive and uninspired beat. Despite the comedic suggestion in their name, LMFAO’s music, especially from the “Sorry for Party Rocking” album, is strikingly devoid of genuine personality, leaving a listener feeling strangely empty.
LMFAO performing their hit song "Party Rock Anthem" from the album "Sorry for Party Rocking," a subject of critical music reviews.
The second single from “Sorry For Party Rocking,” “Sexy and I Know It,” delves further into perplexing territory with its awkward attempts at humor. The chorus appears to shamelessly borrow from Right Said Fred’s already-overplayed “I’m Too Sexy,” offering the cringe-worthy line, “Ah, girl look at that body, ah, I work out.” The supposed joke—that they clearly don’t work out—lands with a thud. Later, Redfoo escalates the lyrical absurdity with the line, “When I’m at the beach, I’m in a speedo trying to tan my cheeks.” To dismiss this as juvenile would be an understatement; it’s humor that fails on every conceivable level.
LMFAO, particularly in the context of their “Sorry for Party Rocking” fame, evokes the memory of that relentlessly unfunny classmate whose jokes consistently missed the mark, yet were delivered with unwavering persistence. Despite the silence that greeted their punchlines, they persisted, seemingly fueled by an oblivious self-assurance. The barely suppressed urge to react negatively was only held back by the understanding that any attention, even negative, might be misconstrued as encouragement. The hope for respite only arrived with the end of the school year, a temporary reprieve that barely preserved one’s sanity.
Ultimately, LMFAO and their “Sorry for Party Rocking” album represent a questionable chapter in pop music history. They are the kind of act that, when mentioned to future generations, will likely elicit a mix of confusion and distaste upon the realization that, yes, this was once mainstream music. While the group has hinted at a return from their hiatus, the prospect of further exposure to their brand of pop feels unwelcome. One can only hope that if they do return, the cultural landscape will have shifted to a place where such music is met with the indifference it arguably deserves.
