Every so often, there comes a song so bafflingly incoherent that the only possibly answer to the question how was it made is that everyone involved was stoned. Such a song is “My Favourite Waste of Time”.
Both the lyrics and the fact that the song was a hit suggest that there was some really primo dope around in 1986. The idea that anyone thought this song was a good idea to release could be explained by more of the same, but given the year, is more likely the result of a cynical (and deadly accurate) evaluation of the tastes of stoners.
Owen Paul’s annoying voice singing Marshall Crenshaw’s vacuous lyrics embody all the things we both loved and hated about the Eighties: at the same time that we identified with its essential frivolousness and its celebration of a lack of committment in relationships, we also saw ourselves in the need to mock our partners for thinking that we took them seriously as potential relationship material, or even as human beings. As it stands, the song is an anthem to the great depths of self-loathing that existed in the heart of every hopeless romantic who protected themselves from potential heartbreak by acting like a selfish prick.