Never one to shirk controversy, I happen to believe that Eurovision songs are not the worst. In fact, I believe the one recurring feature of the Eurovision (apart from Terry Wogan) is its inability to produce truly bad songs. What it does produce is forgettable songs and, as I hope to explain, forgettable in this context is no bad thing.
I know what you're thinking: "What about the 1981 Norwegian entry, Paa Dommedag Er Vi Alle Lige?" Well, yes, that was certainly unpleasant. But it wasn't really, really bad - not like If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body, (Would You Hold It Against Me) bad, if you know what I mean.
The particular qualities that mark out the really bad songs are: (1) at some time in the past (usually 1973) they have been hits; (2) because of this, they are on radio playlists; (3) they can never, ever be removed from radio playlists, unless two-thirds of the world's population signs a petition. The other important thing about them - and this is where they differ sadly from Eurovision entries - is that they are unforgettable. Like classic good songs, classic bad songs are notoriously catchy - but catchy in an unpleasant way, like measles.
And while musical taste is notoriously subjective, the hatred of these songs is almost universal. Everybody has his or her own favourites, but the badness of the really bad songs is recognised across all cultural and linguistic boundaries (except by the threepiece bands specialising in weddings).
You can prove this with a simple experiment: when several people are gathered together in a room and one of these records comes on the radio, it only takes one person saying "God I hate that song" to turn the occasion into a therapy session. People will lose all reserve and open up to total strangers: "You too? I always thought it was just me".
So, in an effort to resolve some inner tensions, here's a short list of some of the worst songs ever recorded, in no particular order: Torn Between Two Lovers; Honey; I've Never Been To Me; Yessir, I Can Boogie; the Pina Colada Song; Coward Of The County; Feel- ings; everything by Boney M; The Floral Dance (Terry Wogan version); Old Shep; Too Sexy For My Shirt; the one about the truckers and the little cripple boy with his late father's CB radio; and Bohemian Rhapsody.
Does that feel better? Probably not, because voices in your head are now singing "I can boogie/boogie-woogie/all night long" and won't stop singing it for the next three days. Well, a good tip for trying to get a horrible song out of your brain is to think of an even worse one. So how about Paul Anka's You're Having My Baby? Yes, I thought that would do the trick.
Barry Manilow occupies a chapter all to himself in the history of bad song-writing, probably because he composed the unofficial anthem of the genre: I Write The Songs (That Make The Whole World Sick). I saw Barry interviewed on television recently, and he was a charming and consummate performer, who made writing bad songs sound easy. Which it is not, even though some people manage by a fluke.
For instance, I'm not aware of a single other record by the man who sang: We Can Thank Our Lucky Stars (That We're Not As Smart As We Like To Think We Are). But just the memory of that lisping duet with his romantic other half ("Did you see Lisa? Yes, I saw Lisa . . .") gives me ear-ache.
Some subjects are more productive than others when it comes to inspiring musical awfulness. Christmas is one: let me just mention Cliff Richard's Mistletoe And Whine (Sic, stet); Paul McCartney's Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Whine (Ditto); and David Essex's A Winter's Tale ("On a worldwide scale/it's just another Winter's Tale". Yeuch!)
Death - more understandably - has also inspired some doozies. Seasons In The Sun by Terry Jacks is up there with the best; by contrast, George Jones's He Stopped Lovin' Her Today/They Put A Wreath Upon His Door) is almost good, but not quite. And, of course, Honey and Old Shep are both deceased, which at least means they don't have to listen to the song.
Love is the great subject, of course. But, you know, Sometimes When We Touch ("the embarrassment's too much/and I have to close my ears and sigh"). Bad grammar and even nonsense lyrics are a cornerstone of rock 'n' roll music, as the great line "a wop bop a loo bop a lop bam boom" proves. But when somebody like David Gates writes a song called Baby I'm A Want You (Baby I'm A Need You), well, you just have to draw the line.
Some songs you almost forget, but not quite. In this category, there's one from about 15 years ago in which each of the band members introduces himself and his star sign and describes his ideal woman before inviting her to join him in a funky chorus line. I can't remember the band's name (although I'm hearing the words "Fat" and "Larry") or even the tune, but I'm pretty certain it belongs in the hall of fame.
Ireland lags behind in the production of international-standard bad songs: of our mainstream pop performers, only Chris De Burgh can be regarded as world-class; In A Country Churchyard is probably the pick of his rich repertoire, although I know some connnoiseurs have a weakness for Lady In Red. Sinead O'Connor has a lot of potential and I know there are many people who think she will one day write a truly awful song. I thought the rap number about the Famine was going to be it, but already I'm having trouble remembering the lyrics, so it obviously wasn't.
Curiously enough, it's the lyrics that make almost all bad songs bad. But there is at least one notable exception. Nobody can now remember who it was recorded The Birdy Song but, tragically, many of us will never be able to forget the tune.
So, if I have to pin the rosette on one particular ditty, The Birdy Song has to be it. Whoever it was wrote that belongs in the ninth circle of song-writers' hell, where I hope Barry Manilow will turn him on a spit for all eternity.