When you’re a third rail pop country band who was unfortunately named after something that sounds like a frozen treat Dairy Queen would put on sale at $1.99 for a limited time, why not sail your self-respect and dignity down Nashville’s mighty Cumberland River and sell out as hard as you can to scrounge together the very last dying embers of mainstream relevancy before your careers are eventually recycled through the audition rounds of The Voice, stimulating America to let out a collective “Who?” when they try to present you as someone who was previously famous?
Spectacularly relevant to 2014, “Hotdamalama” from Parmalee is the Bro-Country mega hit that never was, served with ragingly misogynistic language and imagery that would get you fired from 95% of 2018 workplaces with no severance and a sexual harassment lawsuit trailing your decommissioned ass out the door. You think this is hyperbole, try on for size verses such as…
She got them sho nuffs coming in runner up
Panama city, wet T-shirt, Miss Banana
(Boats, boats) motor-boating
Man it’s a handful juggling all these emotions
Cutoffs clinging to her pocket
Talking ’bout a home run grand slamalamalama
What kind of mush mouth fuck nutted bullshit is this? “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,” eat you’re everloving heart out, and marvel at the fact that somehow a collective group of someones figured out how to stoop even lower than your record-setting level, while at the same time performing such a succulent ripoff of your idea, it can’t even boast a shred of originality. Worst country song ever? “Hotdamalama” certainly puffs its chest out and makes a strong case for itself.
The specter of Parmalee’s “Hotdamalama” being released as a country music single has been haunting the minds for many since this abortion of an audio offering was first commissioned as a track off their 2017 record, 27861. For those of you not boned up on your local area zip codes, 27861 are the digits for Parmalee’s hometown of Parmalee, North Carolina who after this abomination, have announced they will replace the “Home of the Band Parmalee” sign at the city limits with simply a ginormous, vein-popping phallus, with a plaque on one side that simply states, “In commemoration of the pop country band Parmalee who made a whore out of our fine town’s name when they released the worst song in the history of country music, ‘Hotdamalama.'”
What throes of introspection or depths of emotional toil gave rise to such an inspired composition you ask? “I came up with that rhyme scheme cooking a fried bologna sandwich in my kitchen,” lead singer Matt Thomas says. And no, I’m not kidding. “That’s just a word you say when you see a hot girl walk by,” he explains.
Matt Thomas, you’re fucking 44-years-old. A little late for elementary after school snack fare and a wandering eye for “hot girls,” wouldn’t you say? And the worst part about the entire enterprise is that they put the most random banjo riff buried among the drum machine and arena rock guitar garbage. It’s almost like they’re saying, “Fuck You! Here’s a banjo. It’s country!”
You have to put out a concerted effort to make a song this bad. Face it Parmalee, it’s over. Your last two singles stalled out on the charts at #35 and #39 respectively, and your latest record hasn’t even sold 8,000 copies. Don’t make America pay for your last dying prayers at relevancy that will go unanswered anyway. Take your “Hotdamalama” bullshit and bad haircuts back to Cackalacky, and learn how to sell washing machines or something because you’re finished.