Which brings us to my least favorite song, and it’s only grudgingly that I acknowledge it’s even a song:
Hinder – Lips of an Angel
For a while, my least favorite group was Nickelback. I remember liking “How You Remind Me” when I was in 7th grade, but it didn’t take long before my opinion of them went south like a flight of turbo-charged geese. I suppose their instrumentation abilities are fine, but Chad Kroeger must be one of the worst band frontmen since Fred Durst; his songwriting ability is absolutely horrid, and his Southern fried “‘Merica!”-sounding voice gets on my nerves—it’s the audio equivalent deliberately smashing your thumb with a hammer, then lighting the hammer on fire and doing it again. Imagine my surprise and disgust when I found a band that took the worst aspects of Nickelback and made them even bigger.
Yes, that would be Hinder. Pop pseudo-rock sound drained of all edge and other interesting elements? Check. Song catalog full of vaguely misogynistic tracks about how all women are bitches? Check. Douchey-sounding frontman whose very utterances make me want to find a very tall building and cast myself from its top floor? Ohhhhhhhh check.
I’m pretty sure there must be other, worse songs from Hinder (though I pray that I’m wrong), but this one gets to me the most. From the very first, breathily-sung stanza to the ending chord fades, this song spells sonic misery for one Andrew Testerman. Perhaps there are other songs that piss me off more than this turd of a number three charter, but more than any other piece of music I can think of, this track makes me want to take my radio and throw it on the ground.