It’s a challenge to recall a song in recent memory that has grated on my nerves quite like “Ho Hey.” It stands out as one of the most perplexing hits of the past decade. Frankly, on a purely auditory level, the song is simply irritating. The incessant “ho! hey!” chants peppered after nearly every line evoke a primal urge to silence them – a reaction I maintain is perfectly reasonable when confronted with such repetitive hollers. But, as with any piece of music I truly loathe, the profound detestability of “Ho Hey” stems from a potent cocktail of factors: relentless overplay, adoration from supposedly discerning listeners, and the questionable musical trends it unfortunately embodies.
What truly amplifies the frustration with “Ho Hey” isn’t just its widespread popularity, but rather who exactly champions it. Not long ago, radio stations like The Current offered a sanctuary from the inescapable sonic bombardment of mainstream music that plagued shopping centers, grocery stores, and social gatherings. Yet, ironically, these very listeners recently crowned “Ho Hey” as their top song of 2012. Remarkably, they didn’t elevate more conventional pop tracks like “Call Me Maybe” (objectively, a well-crafted pop gem), suggesting that the demographic embracing “Ho Hey” also perceives themselves as possessing refined musical sensibilities, far removed from mainstream tastes. It’s easy to picture a Lumineers devotee condescendingly dismissing fans of corporate pop while simultaneously humming along to what became arguably the most ubiquitous song of that era.
In this regard, The Lumineers, alongside fellow folk-adjacent acts such as Mumford and Sons, have executed a masterful sleight of hand: achieving colossal mainstream success while somehow preserving a veneer of “indie credibility.” Music critic David Greenwald aptly coined this phenomenon “festivalcore,” describing Mumford and Sons, despite their stadium-filling status, as “the kind of band your friends might not know if you ask, the kind that feels like a secret.” The Lumineers operate in a similar vein: despite their constant radio presence, their listeners often perceive themselves as uniquely insightful, as if they’ve unearthed some hidden gem. This perception is key to understanding the enduring appeal of the “Hey Song.”
The runaway success of “Ho Hey” tragically represents the culmination of our nation’s perplexing infatuation with melancholic, generic white-guy folk music. It distills prevailing trends in indie music – think vintage-inspired attire, gentle guitar strumming, and inoffensive vocal deliveries – down to a nonsensical, two-word hook. One can’t help but suspect that countless bands across the country were capable of producing a song like this, but The Lumineers were simply the ones willing to descend to such depths of pandering simplicity. Credit where credit is due, I suppose: they seem like perfectly pleasant individuals, and this unforeseen triumph must be a delightful surprise for them.
However, this doesn’t mitigate the utterly baffling phenomenon of “Ho Hey’s” immense popularity. It remains disheartening to witness such calculated mediocrity achieve such heights while countless more deserving indie artists remain relegated to obscurity. And this isn’t some form of indie elitism; I can genuinely appreciate a well-crafted, commercially-oriented pop song. But “Ho Hey” is none of those things. It’s a hastily constructed, vapid track that gained traction solely by shamelessly capitalizing on our culture’s peculiar fascination with despondent, goofy white men wielding banjos. (The consistent emphasis on “dudes” and “guys” here is intentional, as this genre is overwhelmingly male-dominated, further exacerbating its inherent issues.) Surely, as a collective listening public, we are capable of aspiring to something better than this “hey song.”
It almost feels as if “Ho Hey”’s popularity is partially fueled by its sheer awfulness. The Lumineers project an image of “authenticity” precisely because they seem incapable of crafting a genuine hook, resorting to gibberish in place of meaningful lyrics, unlike those “manufactured” pop stars who possess actual talent and write songs with coherent English. Perhaps, mirroring the inexplicable adoration for Adele based on her perceived deviation from conventional pop star aesthetics, The Lumineers are lauded because they don’t sound like other mainstream musicians (because, frankly, they’re not very good)?
Whatever the reason, I confess defeat in attempting to decipher this musical mystery. This one is on you, the listening public. I had absolutely no part in this “Ho Hey” phenomenon.
