Gibberish Songs (we’re seriously getting silly) SbS 06.18.25 Newsletter 31

Music Question: The Playful Charm of Songs with Gibberish Lyrics Next: My weekly new music radio show. Week 998 Musical thoughts: Tim by the The Mats turns 40. Norm

Jun 19, 2025

Music has the power to convey profound emotions. Tell amazing stories. And/or provoke deep thought…also it can also revel in pure, unapologetic nonsense.

While many songs feature lyrics that listeners can analyze and interpret, others delight in words that sound meaningful but are, in fact, complete gibberish. We’re not talking about harmless "la la las" or smooth scatting (sorry, jazz cats). Those are the musical equivalent of doodling in the margins—fun, but not quite the full absurdity we’re after. No, we want lyrics that pretend to make sense.

Sometimes, the most memorable lyrics are the ones that mean nothing at all. Let’s celebrate the joy of gibberish in all its nonsensical glory.

The Playful Charm of Songs with Gibberish Lyrics

From psychedelic word salads to infectious nonsense anthems - these songs prove that sometimes, the best lyrics are the ones that leave you scratching your head—or laughing too hard to care. So buckle up, abandon logic, and prepare for a journey into the delightful void of musical gibberish.

Mahna Mahna – The Muppets’ Delightfully Nonsensical Anthem

There are few songs as joyfully absurd and instantly recognizable as "Mahna Mahna.” The Muppets’ masterpiece of meaningless bliss. Originally written by Italian composer Piero Umiliani for a 1960s documentary about Swedish sex education (yes, really)!?! The tune found immortality when Jim Henson’s The Muppet Show hijacked it and turned it into pure, unhinged chaos.

The premise is simple: a cool, smooth-voiced Muppet (the Mahna Mahna guy) gleefully interrupts two uptight pink Snowths trying to sing their *"doo-doo-doo-doo-doo"* backup vocals. The more they try to keep things orderly, the more he derails them with his nonsense scatting, culminating in a glorious breakdown where everyone just loses it. It’s jazz, it’s comedy, it’s anarchy—it’s the Muppets at their best.

There’s no deep meaning, no hidden metaphor—just pure, infectious silliness.

And really, that’s the magic of the Muppets. They remind us that sometimes, joy doesn’t need a reason. You don’t have to explain "Mahna Mahna"—you just have to sing it. Loudly. Preferably while interrupting someone.

https://youtu.be/0kUib8lh168?si=mLEX4Dxxyl3z0UV8

Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo.

Prisencolinensinainciusol: The Fake-English Banger

Adriano Celentano’s 1972 hit "Prisencolinensinainciusol" isn’t just gibberish—it’s performance art. The Italian singer-songwriter crafted a song that sounds like fluent American English... unless you actually speak English, in which case it’s pure sonic sleight-of-hand. With its funky bassline and swaggering delivery, the track became a smash in Europe. Listeners grooved along to lyrics that felt like they should mean something—but were, in fact, glorified mouth noises.

In a 2012 NPR interview, Celentano revealed his genius troll move: I wanted to write a song about the failure of communication. So I made the words meaningless on purpose.

No lyrics were even written—he just freestyled nonsense over the beat, inventing fake English so convincing that non-speakers assumed it was legit. Lines like "Prisencolinensinainciusol / All right!" drip with the cadence and attitude of American rock ’n’ roll, but they’re as semantically empty as a politician’s promise. The result? A disco-funk masterpiece that weaponizes the vibe of language. It’s the musical equivalent of a confident mime convincing you he’s trapped in a real box. Proof that sometimes, the best way to say something is to say nothing at all.

Bravo, Celentano. You absolute bloody madman. 100% Grade-A nonsense.

Bob: The Palindrome Masterpiece That Proves Weird Al is a Mad Genius

When 2002 rolled around—a rare palindrome year—Weird Al Yankovic saw an opportunity and seized it with chaotic precision. The result? "Bob.” A song where every single lyric is a palindrome.

After painstakingly stitching together phrases like "Do geese see God?" and "Rats live on no evil star" Yankovic stepped back, surveyed his work, and had an epiphany: Wait a second... this is just a glorified word scramble. I’ve accidentally written a Bob Dylan song.

And so, with diabolical commitment to the bit, he composed the music in Dylan’s signature rambling-folk style and even filmed a Subterranean Homesick Blues-style video—complete with Yankovic flipping cue cards of his palindromic nonsense.

The lyrics sound profound, like some existential riddle wrapped in a koan—but no!!! They’re just linguistic acrobatics. "Do nine men interpret? Nine men I nod" isn’t deep; it’s just words doing backflips. And yet, in classic Weird Al fashion, what should’ve been a throwaway gag became a cult classic.

Nogu Svelo!’s “Haru Mamburu”: The Russian Hit That Defies Translation (And Possibly Reality)

In the wild musical landscape of 1990s Russia, Nogu Svelo! dropped "Haru Mamburu"—a song that gleefully lives in a dimension where meaning goes to die. The band themselves admit: Yeah, we made this up, and no, we don’t get it either.

The lyrics? A glorious stream of absolute nothingness—phrases like "ramamba haru mamburu" and "a cheketu chejsi fari ju" bounce around with the confidence of words that should mean something... but don’t.

Pure chaos. Pure genius.

Beck’s "Loser": A Masterclass in Nonsense That Somehow Made Sense

Beck’s slacker anthem "Loser" wasn’t just a surprise hit—it was a middle finger to coherence. Born from the frustration of playing to indifferent coffee shop crowds. Beck explained: I’d be pouring my soul into some old blues tune, and everyone would just keep slurping their lattes and talking loudly. So I started making up absurd lyrics on the spot, like a court jester testing if the king was even awake. “Loser” was basically me yelling “Hey, are you listening? Because I’m definitely not saying anything!”

The chorus (“I’m a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me?”) got pegged as a Gen X manifesto, but Beck insists it’s really about his questionable rapping skills (or lack thereof). As for the verses? Pure word salad, tossed with zero regard for nutritional value. It’s the lyrical equivalent of a thrift store ransom note—none of it makes sense, but you can’t look away.

Somehow, this glorious mess became an anthem. Maybe because, deep down, we all feel like a monkey in the time of chimpanzees. And my son (yes, the same one that wrote about The Beatles) this is his Karaoke song. And he nails it! 🤘🎤👊

Adding this one because…well it’s brilliant. On so many levels. And kinda ties in with Beck’s “Loser”, no?

Blues Traveler’s "Hook": The Smug, Self-Aware Banger That Played Us All

Most gibberish songs at least pretend to mean something—but Blues Traveler’s "Hook" outright brags about its own emptiness. Right out the gate, it drops this cheeky confession: “It doesn’t matter what I say / So long as I sing with inflection / That makes you feel that I’ll convey / Some inner truth or vast reflection.” Translation: “Yeah, these lyrics are meaningless, but if I sound deep, you’ll eat it up anyway.” We are dolts.

The song is a full-blown satire of pop music’s hollow seduction—packed with absurd, intentionally nonsensical lines like “Suck it in, suck it in, suck it in / If you’re Rin Tin Tin or Anne Boleyn / Make a desperate move or else you’ll win.” It’s the musical equivalent of a magician revealing his tricks mid-show, then watching the crowd applaud louder. And the punchline? "Hook" became the very thing it mocked—climbing to #23 on the Billboard charts and going 6x platinum.

We are dolts.

And we’ll piggyback on Hook with The Beatles:

John Lennon's “I Am the Walrus”: A Middle Finger Disguised as a Psychedelic Nursery Rhyme

Oh, the poor sods who spent decades dissecting "I Am the Walrus" like it was the bloody Rosetta Stone. Let’s get one thing straight: John Lennon didn’t write this song to enlighten you. He wrote it to laugh at you.

Yes, there was LSD involved (obviously). Yes, he was reading Lewis Carroll’s "The Walrus and the Carpenter" (though, in classic Lennon fashion, he missed the memo that the walrus was the *bad guy*—oops). But the real inspiration? His growing irritation at pretentious twits picking apart his lyrics like they were holy scripture. So, like the magnificent bastard he was, he concocted the most deliberately nonsensical, acid-fried word salad he could muster and cackled to himself: Let the fuckers work that one out.

"I am the egg man / They are the egg men / I am the walrus / Goo goo g’joob" isn’t some profound existential statement. It’s nonsense. Glorious, chaotic, intentional nonsense. A big, sloppy raspberry blown directly in the face of overanalysis.

So next time you hear it - just sit back, enjoy the circus, and remember: Lennon was trolling you. And frankly, that’s the most Beatles thing ever. Goo goo g’joob, motherfuckers.

As Lennon himself put it in Anthology:

“'Walrus” is just saying a dream—the words don’t mean a lot. People draw so many conclusions and it’s ridiculous... What does it really mean, 'I am the eggman'? It could have been the pudding basin for all I care. It’s not that serious."

And then there’s the walrus itself—Lennon’s accidental villain arc. He lifted it from Lewis Carroll’s "The Walrus and the Carpenter" (Through the Looking Glass) blissfully unaware that the walrus was the bad guy. Only later did it hit him:

Lennon: It never dawned on me that Lewis Carroll was commenting on the capitalist system. I never went into that bit about what he really meant, like people are doing with the Beatles' work. Later, I went back and looked at it and realised that the walrus was the bad guy in the story and the carpenter was the good guy. I thought, Oh, shit, I picked the wrong guy. I should have said, 'I am the carpenter.' But that wouldn’t have been the same, would it?

So there you have it. "Goo goo g’joob" isn’t a Zen koan. "Semolina pilchard" isn’t a metaphor. The whole song is a giant piss-take—a psychedelic shitshow of absurdity designed to make overthinkers lose their minds.

Mairzy Doats: The Ultimate Nonsense Song That Wasn’t Nonsense (Okay, Fine—It Was Totally Nonsense)

Most gibberish songs at least commit to their absurdity—but "Mairzy Doats" (1943) plays a sneaky little game. At first listen, it sounds like a drunk children’s rhyme: “Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey / A kiddley divey too, wouldn’t you?” Pure, unfiltered word salad. But wait! The song then helpfully explains itself: “If the words sound queer and funny to your ear… sing ‘Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy.’”

Turns out, it’s not nonsense—it’s just homophone hell. The entire song is a linguistic prank, scrambling farm animal facts into a tongue-twisting earworm. The Merry Macs took it to #1 in 1944 (because the ‘40s were a wild time), and even Bing Crosby couldn’t resist its chaotic charm.

The backstory? Songwriter Milton Drake heard his toddler muttering gibberish about livestock, which unlocked a core memory of his own childhood nonsense rhyme. Teaming up with Al Hoffman and Jerry Livingston, he weaponized it into a hit. Since then, it’s popped up in Radio Days and Twin Peaks—because nothing says "nostalgic whimsy" or "Lynchian nightmare fuel" like a song about dyslexic barnyard meals.

So yes, it’s a cheat for this list—but how could we leave out the OG troll of nonsense songs? Case closed.

—--------

"Chacarron" by El Chombo: A Nonsense Anthem

If you’ve ever wondered what it sounds like when a song rejects language itself, look no further than "Chacarron" by El Chombo. This viral absurdity—long before "viral" was even a concept—features lyrics that sound like a possessed tamagotchi trying to rap after one too many energy drinks.

The "vocals" (and we use that term loosely) are a relentless stream of gibberish: "Chacarron, chacarron / Chacarron macarron / Moo la la, moo la la / Chacarron macarron." Is it Spanish? Is it nonsense? Is it the secret language of sleep-deprived toddlers? The world may never know. Even the artist himself has admitted the "lyrics" have no meaning—they’re just sounds that happened to burrow into the collective subconscious like an earwig with a PhD in annoyance.

The song’s hypnotic beat and aggressively silly delivery make it impossible to ignore—like the musical equivalent of a clown car crashing into a karaoke bar.

It doesn’t need meaning. It doesn’t need depth. All it needs is for you to scream "MOO LA LA" at 3 AM and question your life choices. And honestly? We’re better for it.

Welcome to NEXT my new music show. It’s week 998. Next - where we hunt down what’s coming - well - NEXT. This is your front-row seat to the future of music. Lorde: The next big thing? It’s already here. You just haven’t heard it yet.

Every week, we’ll dive into the artists, tracks, and sounds that deserve your attention before they blow up. Because the best music - it’s the stuff that creeps up on you and changes everything.

Why Listen? If you love music we try to find you your NEXT, new favorite song.

Questlove: Music isn’t just background noise—it’s the heartbeat of culture.

🔥 TURN IT UP. THE FUTURE STARTS NOW. 🔥 Let us know if you hear a song that makes your ears smile!!!

What’s up, music lovers? We bring you the best tracks to soundtrack your life—from legendary icons to the freshest voices you need to hear. Strap in, because today’s lineup is a wild ride of indie anthems, raw emotion, and a few surprises. Let’s get into it!

David Byrne – Everybody Laughs. Kicking things off with the one and only David Byrne—because who else could turn existential dread into a funky, surrealist bop? ‘Everybody Laughs’ is Talking Heads’ weirdo genius distilled into pure gold. Dance like nobody’s watching… or like everyone is, and you don’t care.

Josh Ritter – You Won’t Dig My Grave. Folk-noir at its finest—dark, poetic, and hauntingly beautiful. For when you want to stare dramatically out a rain-streaked window and ponder mortality. In a good way!

Whitsett – Ohio. A lo-fi gem that feels like a half-remembered dream. Hazy guitars, whispered vocals—this is the sound of nostalgia for a place you’ve never been.

Cowboy Mouth – Can’t Hardly Wait (Cover). Cowboy Mouth takes The Replacements’ classic ‘Can’t Hardly Wait’ and injects it with bayou swagger.

Ax And The Hatchetmen with Albert Hammond Jr. – Blurry Lights. Teaming up with The Strokes’ Albert Hammond Jr. for ‘Blurry Lights’—a jangly, neon-lit indie rocker that’s equal parts reckless and romantic. Turn it up and pretend you’re in a downtown dive bar at 2 AM.

Park National – Old Wounds. Post-punk with a heart of gold. Angular guitars, brooding vocals—this is the sound of emotional scars turned into art.

Friendship – Tree of Heaven. Alt-country with an angular guitar. It’s mostly tender and twisted. Like if Wilco wrote a love song for a ghost.

Eauclaire – You Me The Kids. A mid-tempo road trip anthem for lovers who just want to hit the gas and disappear together. Dreamy synths, steady drums, and a melody that feels like sunlight bleeding through the car window as the highway stretches endlessly ahead. It’s romantic without being sappy, free without being reckless. A song for running toward something, not away.

Molly Tuttle – That’s Gonna Leave a Mark. A fiery, fingerpicked masterpiece about love that burns just right. Warning: This one sticks like a tattoo.

Pulp – Grown Ups. Britpop at its most sly and sophisticated. And add Sci-Fi. Jarvis Cocker’s wit cuts deep—because nothing’s scarier than realizing adulthood is a myth.

Turnstile -Look Out For Me. Closing out with Turnstile’s ‘Look Out For Me’—hardcore punk meets psychedelic warmth. Mosh pits optional, but highly recommended. Play it loud enough to shake the walls!

From legends to punk revolutionaries, we’ve covered it all. Remember: Great music isn’t just heard—it’s felt. Keep your ears open and your playlists weird. Catch you next time!

The Mats’ “Tim” Turns 40, and Somehow I Wrote About "Bastards of Young"

“Tim” hit the big 4-0, S.W. Lauden at Remember The Lightning went all in, dedicating a whole week to its brilliance. He even tapped me to write a bit about "Bastards of Young." Now, I had originally asked for "Here Comes a Regular"—because, of course, that’s the one that guts me—but someone else snagged it first. So, like an idiot, I agreed to tackle one of The Replacements’ greatest songs instead. No pressure, right?

Somehow, I think I did it justice. You can read the SW edited version (along with takes on the other 11 tracks) SW wanted 100 words - And now that I’m reading it again - I’m trying to get to 100. Here’s another edit/try. THEN my rambling “full” attempt.

"Bastards of Young" isn’t just a song; it’s a middle finger wrapped in a power chord, a sneer that somehow breaks your heart. Westerberg howls about wasted youth, dead-end dreams, and the kind of anger that only comes from caring too much. The "God, what a mess" line isn’t just self-deprecation—it’s a generational sigh. And that video? Just a speaker blasting the song in an empty room (well you do see shoes). Perfect. No posing, no pandering, just the raw, messy truth.

The Replacements never got the respect they deserved in their time, but “Tim”—and this song especially—proves they were ahead of theirs. Or maybe the world was just behind. Either way, 40 years later, it still hits like a gut punch.

So yeah - “Tim”’s a masterpiece. Time to blast "Bastards of Young" at full volume. Again.

Here’s my unedited ramble.

The Replacements - Bastards of Young

From its very first seconds - “Bastards of Young” announces itself with a burst of raw energy. Bob Stinson’s jagged opening chords. Chris Mars’ thunderous drum fill. And, most famously, Paul Westerberg’s primal scream. That guttural “Aaaah!” before the first verse isn’t just an introduction. It’s a declaration of frustration. A middle finger to complacency.

Westerberg snarls: God, what a mess, on the ladder of success / Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung. Yes this song was (is) an anthem for every misfit who ever felt cheated by the system.

The Replacements were never ones for polish and “Bastards of Young” thrives on that chaos. In Trouble Boys (a must read book) Bob Mehr describes the band’s attitude during this era: They didn’t just play rock and roll—they bled it.

This song had its moments. First, let's chat about the iconic (infamous?) video. When everyone was trying their damndest to get on MTV (when they played music) The Mat's - well, not so much. Here’s how the story goes - When The Replacements signed with Warner Bros (Sire) their contract apparently required them to make a music video. Problem was, the ‘Mats despised everything music videos stood for. Not ones to play nice - they dropped THIS atomic bomb of apathy. A single, unbroken shot of a stereo speaker thrashing out the song (slow pull back) with no band, no edits, and absolutely zero fucks given.

It’s the most Replacements power move imaginable—technically checking the box while giving corporate rock the musical equivalent of a shrugged "eat my shorts." No glam shots, no fake energy, just the song’s raw nerve and a glorious middle-distance stare at the entire music industry.

The Replacements themselves were conflicted about their place in music—too punk for mainstream, too polished for hardcore. Decades later this song remains a raw, resonant snapshot of youthful defiance—proof that The Replacements’ chaos and honesty still strike a chord.

Shorter write up?

5 words: Raw, defiant, anthemic, chaotic, timeless.

3 words: Unfiltered youthful rebellion.

1 word - Howl.

And of course that ’86 SNL gig? They played 2 songs. This one and Kiss Me On The Bus. SNL is an accidental metaphor for their career: booked as last-minute replacements when the Pointer Sisters canceled, only to torch the opportunity spectacularly. Three decades later, they played the same building sober(ish), grinning through the cosmic joke.

When The Replacements imploded in 1991, it felt like a fittingly messy end (that WXRT concert WAS something) for rock’s most gloriously unreliable band. But true to form, they couldn’t stay gone. In 2012, they reconvened—partially, chaotically—to record Songs for Slim. A charity EP for stroke-stricken guitarist Slim Dunlap. What was meant to be a one-off snowballed into full-blown reunion shows, festival rampages, and even a darkly poetic return to 30 Rock (where they’d been persona non grata since their drunken, disastrous 1986 SNL performance) for a "Tonight Show" slot.

SNL video: It's so perfectly Replacements-esque that this clip of them playing SNL has to be shown low-res and framed sideways otherwise it gets taken down.

Somewhere between the truth and myth you have The Replacements!!! 👊🎸🤘

And since it’s my post I’m writing about Here Comes A Regular. You don’t have to read. I was asked to write about The Mats just after George Wendt died. So I was going to write and combo…

"Here Comes a Regular" – The Replacements’ Haunting Ode to Barroom Despair (and a Tribute to George Wendt’s Norm)

The Replacements’ "Here Comes a Regular" is one of the most achingly honest songs about barroom melancholy ever written. From their 1985 album “Tim”, the track strips away the rowdy energy the band was known for. Offering a slow, whiskey-soaked meditation on loneliness, routine, and the fragile camaraderie found at the bottom of a glass.

Paul Westerberg’s lyrics paint a picture of a man whose life has narrowed to the dimensions of a barstool—someone who shows up not for celebration, but because there’s nowhere else to go. "Well, a person can work up a mean, mean thirst / After a hard day of nothing much at all" captures the quiet despair of a life slipping into inertia. The bar becomes both a refuge and a prison, a place where the regulars are known but not truly seen.

Norm from “Cheers” – A Lighter Reflection of the Same Truth

At first glance, George Wendt’s beloved character Norm Peterson from “Cheers” seems like a lighter, sitcom-friendly version of the barfly Westerberg sings about. Norm’s endless pints of beer, his iconic one-liners (It’s a dog eat dog world out there and I’m wearing dog bone underwear), and his perpetual perch at the bar made him a lovable fixture. But beneath the laughs, there was always a subtle sadness—a man who’d rather be at Cheers than anywhere else, whose entire identity was tied to the stool he occupied.

Yet where "Here Comes a Regular" leans into the darkness—"Am I the only one who feels ashamed?"—Norm’s struggles were played for warmth and humor. The song’s narrator knows the bar won’t save him; Norm, at least in the “Cheers” universe, never had to fully face that truth.

A Tribute to George Wendt

With the recent passing of George Wendt, it’s worth remembering how brilliantly he embodied the duality of the barfly—the humor and the hidden sorrow. Norm was a character who made us laugh but also, in his own way, reminded us of The Replacements song’s quieter implications: that bars are full of people running from something, even if they’re doing it with a smile.

Westerberg’s "Here Comes a Regular" doesn’t offer the comfort of a laugh track. It’s a raw, unflinching look at what happens when the drinks stop being fun and start being necessary. But in both the song and Norm’s endless rounds at Cheers, we see the same truth: sometimes, the bar is the last place where you can still feel like somebody.

Rest in peace, George Wendt. Thanks for giving us a character who made the "regular" life feel a little less lonely—even if just for a half-hour sitcom. "Making the rounds, hey, here comes a regular…"

Thank you for reading/listening.

Music is Life. Music is Magic. Live Music Is Good For Your Soul.

And remember if you love someone hug them right now.