It’s genuinely challenging to recall a song in recent memory that has grated on the nerves quite like “Ho Hey.” This track stands out as one of the most perplexing chart-toppers in recent history. On a fundamental level, the song is simply irritating to listen to. The incessant repetition of “ho! hey!” in the background after virtually every line is enough to provoke a primal urge to silence the source – a reaction that seems perfectly reasonable when confronted with such sonic insistence. However, like any truly loathed piece of music, the profound dislike for “Ho Hey” stems from a unique and unfortunate combination of factors: relentless overplay, enthusiastic embrace by demographics seemingly possessing better judgment, and the questionable musical trends this song has come to represent.
What makes the phenomenon of “Ho Hey” particularly vexing is not merely its widespread popularity, but the demographic that has propelled it to such heights. Once upon a time, radio stations like The Current offered a sanctuary from the ubiquitous, often mind-numbing music that permeated public spaces—shopping centers, grocery stores, social gatherings. Ironically, listeners of such stations, presumably seeking refuge from mainstream monotony, crowned “Ho Hey” as their number one song of 2012. This is particularly telling because these same audiences often eschew overt pop anthems like “Call Me Maybe” (a demonstrably well-crafted pop song), suggesting a peculiar self-perception among “Ho Hey” devotees: they fancy themselves as discerning music aficionados, individuals with refined and educated tastes. It’s easy to envision a Lumineers enthusiast casting a scornful glance at fans of corporate pop, all while unironically championing what had become arguably the most excessively played song in contemporary music.
In this regard, The Lumineers, alongside contemporaries like Mumford and Sons, have executed a masterful maneuver: achieving mainstream megastardom while somehow clinging to a veneer of “indie credibility.” Music critic David Greenwald aptly termed this phenomenon “festivalcore,” pointing to Mumford and Sons as the archetype – a band, despite their stadium-filling popularity, that still manages to project an aura of underground discovery, “the kind of band your friends might not know if you ask, the kind that feels like a secret.” The Lumineers operate within a similar paradigm. Despite their omnipresence on radio airwaves and in commercials, their listeners often perceive themselves as possessing exclusive knowledge, as if they’ve unearthed a hidden musical gem rather than consuming a mass-marketed product.
The staggering success of “The Hey Ho Song” is, in essence, the disquieting culmination of a regrettable cultural infatuation with what can be charitably described as mopey, bland white guy folk. It distills prevailing trends within the indie music landscape—the affected vintage attire, the gentle guitar strumming, the inoffensive vocal delivery—down to a meaningless, two-word lyrical hook. One cannot shake the feeling that countless bands could have churned out this exact song, but The Lumineers were uniquely positioned, or perhaps uniquely willing, to descend to this level of pandering simplicity. To their credit, they seem like amiable individuals, and this unexpected windfall must be a welcome surprise for them.
However, this does little to mitigate the bewildering and irritating nature of “Ho Hey”‘s dominance. It is disheartening to witness such calculated mediocrity ascend to such heights, especially when countless more deserving and genuinely innovative indie artists remain relegated to obscurity. This isn’t merely a case of indie elitism; appreciation for well-crafted, mainstream pop is valid. But “Ho Hey” is demonstrably not that. It’s a carelessly constructed, simplistic song that owes its popularity to a cultural fascination with a specific archetype: the melancholic, whimsical white male strumming a banjo. (The repeated use of “dudes” and “guys” is intentional, as this genre is overwhelmingly male-dominated, further compounding its inherent flaws.) Surely, as a collective listening public, we are capable of aspiring to something more musically substantial.
It almost seems as though “Ho Hey”‘s very terribleness is a component of its appeal. The Lumineers are perceived as “authentic” precisely because they appear incapable of crafting a genuine hook, opting instead for nonsensical vocalizations in place of actual lyrical content—a stark contrast to those “manufactured” pop stars who possess demonstrable talent and write songs with coherent English words. Much like the baffling adoration for Adele, partly attributed to her deviation from conventional pop star aesthetics, perhaps The Lumineers are lauded for their sonic divergence from mainstream musicians—a divergence born not of innovation, but of perceived ineptitude?
Regardless, the attempt to decipher the enigma of “Ho Hey”‘s appeal reaches a point of diminishing returns. This particular musical phenomenon feels squarely placed at the feet of the listening audience. The responsibility, or perhaps the blame, for its ascent lies elsewhere.
